Page 4 of Fire and Silk

All of it.

I blink. Look up at him, shaken. “All?”

He gives a soft smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes, but there’s something old and tender in the way his mouth curves.

“I don’t want all of it,” I say, the words cracking mid-breath.

“You deserve all of it,” he replies gently. “But it’s not just for you.”

I shake my head. “Don’t—”

He cuts me off, voice softer now. “Your daughter… she’s beautiful. Like you were. Like you still are.”

My stomach tightens.

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes tracing me with something like reverence. “And your son… brave. Daring. Just like mine.”

I freeze. My body goes cold with instinct.

“Stay away from them,” I whisper. “They are not part of this.”

“They already are.”

I turn sharply, ready to leave, my heel scuffing softly against the ancient stone. But he holds my wrist—not hard, not pleading. Justfirm. His touch is warm through the glove.

“That deed,” he says, “only takes effect through the marriage between one of your children and mine.”

I stop.

Slowly, I turn back to him.

My glare is unforgiving. “You’d tie them with a leash soaked in our sins?”

He lifts his hand to my face—slowly, so I don’t recoil—and brushes his thumb across the slope of my cheek. An intimate gesture, fragile for a place like this. His fingers tremble as they touch me.

“All I have,” he says, “is yours.”

His voice drops to a whisper, almost reverent.

“And all you have is mine.”

I don’t respond. I can’t. My throat locks around the breath I meant to take.

He leans in, not rushed. There’s no heat in the kiss, no hunger. Just sorrow. Memory.

His lips press to mine—like he’s saying goodbye to a version of me that no longer exists.

He lingers for a second. One second longer than he should. Then pulls back.

“The choice is yours,” he murmurs. “Burn the deed and no one ever hears of it. Our children remain free. Unburdened. They’ll never carry the weight of what we did.”

He pauses, his gaze steady. “Or… hand it to your lawyer. Make it law. And unite them. Permanently.”

He stands then, as elegant and calculated as always, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. He takes two steps down the aisle before pausing.

His head turns slightly, just enough that I see his profile in the flickering candlelight.

“My biggest regret,” he says, “is not realizing sooner that you’ve owned my heart for a very long time.”