Page 47

Gavriel settled back against the velvet seat, crossing one leg over the other. The picture of relaxation, of control.

"It's a remarkable artifact," he continued. "Ancient. Powerful. Few truly understand its capabilities."

"Did you use it on me?" I asked even though I knew the answer. "Before, when we were married?"

His expression softened in a way that might have seemed kind to anyone who didn't know him.

"Only when necessary. Only when you were being.

.. difficult. Toward the end, when you began having those hysterical episodes about me controlling you.

" He sighed, regretful. "I had no choice. You were becoming a liability."

I stared at him, struggling to keep my rage hidden. He'd gaslighted me for years, making me question my own perceptions, my own sanity. And all along, he'd been using the Seal to reinforce those doubts.

"And now?" I asked, gesturing vaguely to indicate my current compliance.

"Now you're seeing clearly again," he said, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Though I admit, it was challenging. That ritual you performed with the orc." His lip curled. "It created an interference. A magical barrier of sorts."

My heart kicked once, hard.

"But I found a way through," he continued, his tone triumphant. "During the Council hearing. You were both there, standing side by side like fools in love." He chuckled. "That's all the Seal needed. Proximity. Emotion. A single crack—and I slipped between you."

A single crack .

I thought back to that day in the chamber—the weight of the words I'd spoken, the pressure of so many eyes watching, the way Uldrek had held himself tense beside me. We’d been close. Vulnerable. Open.

And in that opening, Gavriel had struck. Not with force, but with poison. A whisper. A doubt. Just enough to cloud what had been clear.

He didn’t break the bond.

He corrupted it. Twisted it until it dimmed under the weight of what he made us believe.

My fingers drifted to my collarbone, to the mark that had felt so silent these past days. Just skin, I had thought. Just memory.

But now—beneath the numbness and doubt—I felt it.

A pulse. Faint, but real.

It had never left me. Uldrek had never left me. We’d just been drowned under everything Gavriel had made us fear.

It wasn’t broken.

It was waiting.

And maybe it was protecting me even now.

The Seal hadn’t touched me. His voice hadn’t warped my thoughts. Not this time. Because the bond was still there. Quiet, but steady. A thread of truth he couldn’t sever.

The carriage rolled on, passing through quiet streets toward the eastern gate of Everwood.

Outside the small windows, I caught glimpses of the city I'd come to love—the proud buildings, the winding lanes, the play of moonlight on stone.

How strange, to be leaving it this way, when just hours ago I'd been thinking of it as home.

"It's an elegant solution, don't you think?" Gavriel continued, oblivious to my inner turmoil. "We leave cleanly. No mess, no fuss. By the time anyone realizes you're gone, we'll be halfway to Riverbend."

The carriage slowed as we passed through the eastern gate, then lurched forward again as we crossed the threshold, leaving Everwood behind.

The road under us shifted from smooth city stone to the uneven rhythm of outer paving stones, the wheels knocking in quiet, ceremonial finality. We were outside the city now.

I didn’t know where he was taking me.

But I knew who I’d left behind.

Ellie, warm in the cradle, her limbs loose with sleep. She smelled of milk and lavender, and when I’d tucked her in hours ago, I never imagined it might be the last time.

They would find her soon. They’d know something was wrong. They'd know I wouldn't just vanish. Not without her. Not like this.

I imagined Gruha waking with a grunt, pulling her robe tighter, and storming down the stairs. Leilan, whispering spells in her sleep. Dora—oh, Dora—with the confusion of an interrupted glamour and no memory of this evening except a vague, aching wrongness.

And Uldrek. My stubborn, loyal, maddening mate. Who never said the thing right the first time but always showed it in his hands. In the way he carried Ellie, as though she was shaped from starlight. In the way he looked at me like I was real. Like I was whole.

He’d think I left. After that fight. After everything we said. He'd think I walked away because the fire went still in our bond.

But it hadn’t. Not really. I felt it now, faint yet steady, like coals beneath the snow. Still warm. Still alive. And if he went looking for me—and he would—I needed that warmth to be waiting.

Because I had not been broken. I had not been claimed by that Seal, that man, that false kingdom he built on rules and power and control.

I had chosen.

And if staying in that house would have risked even one of them—even a hair on Ellie’s head, or Gruha’s calloused hand, or Leilan’s hard-earned peace—I would’ve walked into this carriage a hundred times.

So I sat in silence.

Not because he broke me.

But because love—real, maddening, terrifying love—is what let me close the door behind me.