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Reyla

O ut of the corner of my eye, I caught Merrick-Lorant lurching to his feet, using his sword more as a cane than a weapon. As the towering borgon thundered our way, he staggered over to stand beside me.

His blade scraped the cobblestones as he dragged it along with him, but his eyes were locked on the borgon barreling our way. Blood streaked what was left of his tunic, his chest, his own mixed with all the beasts he'd killed.

“Get back.” My blades tight in my hands, I thrust myself in front of him. I’d face this creature no matter the cost. My husband had suffered enough, and he’d lived despite a horrifying wound.

How had he lived? I couldn’t process what had happened. No time. No way to figure it out. But I would not let anything take him from me now. If that meant being his shield, his savior, and his weapon, that was who I’d be.

Snarling, the borgon roared closer. Its sheer size made the ground quake, the cobblestones cracking under the hammering weight of its steps. Its jagged jawline dripped. Every slick scale shimmered like polished onyx. Heat rolled off its body in thick waves.

If I died here, it wouldn’t be in vain. My husband would live. He had to.

“Stop.” His voice tore through the air, a blend of the man who loved me in daylight and the one who consumed my night, settled into something new.

And the borgon…

Its claws scraped against stone as it came to a standstill only a few paces away. It loomed over us like a jagged, two-story building about to collapse and crush us. Smoke billowed from its flared nostrils, and its muscles bunched as if it wanted to leap but suddenly couldn’t. The scent of charred flesh and steel hung in the air. As the creature huffed, its smoke-tinged breaths channeled across the front of my bloody leathers.

Snarling into its face, I didn’t waver, my blades primed.

But for some reason, I could not strike out.

The creature inhaled, its cavernous chest expanding. It lowered its massive head, the thick ridges of its skull catching the light. Its eyes gleamed like molten amber, focused on him . One pupil dilated, the other narrowing, as if it was trying to see something in this man that wasn’t visible to me.

The menace radiating from the borgon shifted like the tide rolling back, leaving the shore cracked and steaming. Its massive right front claw scraped against the cobblestones as it sank down.

Bowing.

No, that could not be right .

Yet its massive head dipped farther, brushing against the ground, its eyes narrowing to study my husband before slanting its gaze at me. This wasn’t submission, but it also didn’t strike us. The silence around it felt louder than its earlier snarls.

My husband's expression mirrored my confusion. He stood straighter now, no longer leaning on his sword.

The borgon eased up onto its haunches and backed away one step. Another. Slowly dragging its bulk across the debris-strewn cobblestone. Its gaze didn’t leave us, though. Even as it slunk farther away, its towering frame rippled with coiled tension. Heat pulsed against me as it exhaled.

It extended its neck and tipped its head back, roaring, a deafening cry that vibrated through the city.

I braced myself, expecting it to pivot and charge at us again.

After one last look at my husband, then me, the borgon lumbered around to face the other direction, its claws scraping the ground. It sent another ear-piercing roar toward the sky and launched itself into a sprint, all speed and force as it surged toward the city’s upper wall. The rest of the borgons thundered after it, their monstrous bodies a tide retreating from shore.

As they clambered over the city walls and surged into the forest beyond, a hushed, almost waiting quiet fell.

I lowered my blades, and they clanged when the tips hit the stone. Taking good care of them at all times had nearly been beaten into me, but I could barely hold onto them with my trembling grip.

Cheers erupted around us as the villagers realized they were safe—for now.

“Praise King Lorick,” someone cried, his voice echoed by others. “Long live King Lorick. Long live Queen Reyla!”

I spun to face my husband, studying this mix of a man who had once been Merrick by day and Lorant by night, but now was a mix of them both—in appearance, at least.

“King Lorick ?” I croaked.

He dropped his sword on the ground and stepped forward to cup my face in his warm hands, gazing into my eyes. “Wildfire. My wife. My love.”

My breath tangled in my throat as he leaned closer, the space between us dissolving. His lips hovered just above mine, his breath warm, laced with the scent of something dark and intoxicating.

His mouth claimed mine, both brutal and tender and stunning all at once.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and I gasped against his mouth. He stole the sound, swallowed it like he would take every breath I had and make it his own. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, coaxing, demanding, and I let him in. A slow slide, slick and velvet, the sudden intimacy of it made my knees threaten to give way. He tasted me with aching deliberation, a sweep and retreat, then another, teasing, tormenting, until I opened completely for him and met his passion with my own.

A groan rumbled deep in his throat, and he pulled me flush against the solid weight of his body, searing his to mine. His fingers tangled in my hair, tugging enough to make me gasp again. My heart thundered, wild and unchecked, and still, he kissed me as if he'd never get enough, as if he would devour me piece by piece.

I dragged my hands up, over the hard lines of his chest to his shoulders, the tense cords at the back of his neck. He shuddered, answering with a slow, deep stroke of his tongue against mine, so languid and sure it made fire coil low in my belly.

The world had narrowed to his mouth. The dizzying press of his body. The taste of something I hadn't craved until now. And when he finally pulled back, his breath ragged, his forehead pressing against mine, my lips felt swollen, my body utterly undone.

His voice was rough when he spoke, his gentle hands still cradling my face. “Want to fucking kiss you all the time. Plan to. But if I start again, I won't be able to stop.”

Neither would I.

I raised a trembling smile. Devastation surrounded us, and we needed to help those who’d survived and mourn those who hadn’t. But here, and for one instant with this man, I found hope.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, his green eyes solemn yet sparkling with that heat I adored above everything else. “I’m your husband, King Lorick . Those close to me call me Lore .”

My breath caught. “That’s why you laughed that I called him Lore.”

“It’s always been my name.” He leaned close, kissing me quickly before stepping back enough to meet my gaze. “Even then, you knew.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

He placed his palm on my chest. “In here, you knew.”

“My queen.” Surren and the rest of my guard rushed over to surround us, joined by Lorick’s guard as well to form an impenetrable wall facing outward. Surren dropped toward us in a sharp bow. “I deeply apologize, King Lorick, for not ensuring our queen remained inside her rooms.”

“If she had, I wouldn’t be alive,” my husband said dryly.

“She…got away from us.”

“I went to the aerie and talked Kian into flying me here on a dragon.”

“That’s my unconventional bride.”

I studied this man I’d married, still unable to believe that they were now, somehow one .

Where was Lorant?

Where was Merrick?

Doomed to never be fully loved for all facets of who I am. Cursed to live as two who will never be one unless fused together by the pure love of a willing bride’s heart.

Me. My love had done something I still couldn’t explain.

“Is the curse broken?” I croaked.

His solemn gaze met mine, and his head jerked in a no, followed by a gag.

Fuck.

I’d done something major, but it wasn’t enough?

Break the first if you can, but then you'll need to find... Find them all. The final one will be the toughest. And watch out for… Kian’s words.

His thirtieth birthday was still roaring toward us, and the curse would still steal him away unless I… My snarl ripped up my throat, but I bit it back. We’d figure this out. I’d nearly lost him, but I wasn’t giving up now.

Lore scanned the area. “So much devastation. So much death.”

“Why did they attack?” I asked. We’d talk about this soon, but with the city in shambles and people wailing around us, this needed my attention now.

“I don’t know.” He frowned. “They left when I told them to, and we need to understand why. For now, we need to help as many as we can.” He squeezed my upper arms. “Are you alright?” His gaze swept down my frame. “No injuries?”

“Nothing major. Don’t do too much. You almost...” Died. I could not name it.

The shadows in his eyes told me he knew what I meant. He’d used most of his energy to fight off the borgons. He didn’t have much left for healing, though if I knew my husband, he’d give everything he had to help those around us.

He stroked my face. “Stay within eyesight? ”

I nodded and watched as he strode past our guard and immediately stooped down to help a fallen villager.

Cries of pain and dismay filled the city. Smoke churned down the streets and fires still blazed, lighting up the night sky.

“Start putting out fires,” I barked to Surren. “I’m going to help whoever I can.” I hurried past him while he directed my guard to join the bucket line drawing water from the well in the center of the marketplace, passing it along a person chain to dump it on the closest building on fire.

I sheathed my blades and started helping, first kneeling beside an old woman pinned under a collapsed cart. Blood streaked her wrinkled cheeks, and her breathing came shallow and uneven. Gritting my teeth, I tugged, trying to lift the wooden frame. My muscles screamed as I heaved, but I didn’t stop. Two villagers hurried over, their soot-smudged faces flushed with determination, and together we managed to lift the cart enough to pull the woman free.

“We're here to help you,” I said as I dropped beside her again, keeping my voice calm. Her right arm lay askew, but her breathing had evened out. Hopefully, her arm was her worst injury. “Where do you hurt? Anywhere other than your arm?” She shook her head as I wiped the blood from her face with the edge of my tunic.

Her frail hand shot out, clasping my wrist with surprising strength.

“Thank you, my queen,” she said as she struggled to rise, wincing when her arm moved. “Go care for the others. I'll be alright.”

“Do you live nearby?” I couldn't leave her here on the street. “I want to take you to your home first.”

“Three streets over, and thank you.”

Once I was certain she wasn't going to pass out and there wasn't anything worse wrong with her, I helped her rise. After sliding her good arm over my shoulders, I followed her directions, slowly taking her to a building still standing that had been painted pale green with white trim. Surren, seeing me leaving the marketplace, waved for one of my guards to follow. I hated taking anyone away from helping others, but he wasn't going to let me out of his or my guard's view now that he'd found me.

Inside the woman's home, I urged her to sit at her tiny kitchen table. “Do you have family?”

“A daughter and son.” Her face pinched. “If they live.”

“What are their names? I'll look for them and send them to you.”

She gave them to me, patting my arm. “You're too kind.”

“I'll also find a healer and send them your way.” I frowned at her arm. “Will you let me touch it? I don't have magical healing skills, but I was once a dragon trainer. We all got injured at one time or another, and sometimes far from the fortress healers. We were taught to set broken bones and give simple aid ourselves.”

At her nod, I gently probed the bone, grateful to see it wasn't projecting through the skin. “It still feels aligned.” I fashioned a sling out of one of her scarves, and after making sure she had water, I left her.

I returned to the marketplace, my gaze seeking Lore. He knelt beside someone who was clearly dead, his hand on the person's chest, his head tipped back as he spoke to a woman standing on the opposite side of the body, tears streaking down her face. She pressed her clutched hands to her throat.

Fatigue lined his face, and he rose and rounded the body to gather the woman into his arms, holding her while she sobbed.

Fires still burned unchecked in parts of the city, and smoke clawed at the air. Muted cries echoed from all directions. A young man rushed into the marketplace, calling out for his mama. He spied the woman with Lore and paused, his gaze falling to the body. With a sharp cry, he rushed over to join them, holding his arms out to the woman. They held each other, mourning their loss.

Lore turned away, and when he staggered, I flitted to him, grateful the skill worked now when it hadn’t earlier when I was so determined to take him to the castle. I caught his arm, holding him upright while our guards rushed to surround us. But the true threat had fled. Now was for mourning and saving those we could, including the king.

“Hey.” My concern came through in the creak in my voice. “We should go home.”

He stroked hair off my face, his sad gaze finding mine. “I can't. They need me.”

“I feel the same, but they also need a king and a queen who have the strength to fight off the borgons if they attack again.”

The weight of all he'd been through was apparent in the drop of his shoulders and the deeply etched lines on his face.

He pulled me into his arms. “I can’t leave them now. Not yet.”

“I know.” My breath hitched, and I sank into him. My unease and disbelief over what had happened blurred as his warmth seeped through me. His touch was Merrick’s, tender in its firmness and in the way he soothed my wounds seen and unseen. His hands skimmed my back in slow, deliberate strokes, and I clung tighter to him, pressing my forehead into his chest. His scent, mixed with ash and steel, settled something feral inside me.

He looked down at me, and the heat in his eyes… This was Lorant. He bent his head, and his lips brushed against my temple before tilting lower. His hands slid up, cradling my face, and as I met his gaze, my stomach tumbled like it had when this man who was a mix of them both first kissed me. The soft green of his eyes carried that quiet understanding I’d always trusted in Merrick, but there was a glimmer of something wilder, something sharper that wa s pure Lorant. The contrast pierced through my doubts as completely as his lips crushed mine.

I hadn’t lost either of them; they’d fused into one.

Like the last, there was nothing tentative about this kiss. It burned with every promise Lorant had snarled in the dark, every longing Merrick had set ablaze in daylight. A thousand heartbreaks I’d never realized I carried melted away under the intensity of this man's touch. His lips moved against mine with possession, not demanding but searing into me as though branding the very shape of me into his soul. His fingers tightened, holding me to him as if the world itself would never be able to tear us apart.

I returned his kiss, my hands sliding up to his face, as though to confirm what was now so utterly clear to me. I’d loved both sides of this man, the light and dark, the fight and the calm. And here he was, completely whole. In loving them both, I’d chosen Lore before I knew he existed, and now, as he poured what felt like every fragment of himself into our kiss, I ached for more than only this brief pause in the storm.

When he drew back, I shivered, my breathing shallow. His forehead touched mine, but the peace between us lasted only until a cry tore through the streets. Sharp and guttural, the wail sliced apart the tender moment we’d carved out of ruin.

My first instinct was to pull away, to go to whoever had lost someone, to remind myself that comfort wasn't an option for us. Lore stilled me with his hands, trailing one to lift my chin until our gazes locked again.

“We live.” His deep, quiet voice touched something deep inside me. “Others are mourning, and we grieve with them. But we live , Reyla. It’s alright to feel glad for that. To hold on to it.”

I swallowed hard, his words settling against my chest, a balm for wounds that may never completely heal. He kissed my forehead again before stepping back .

We parted like a tapestry unraveling, but not completely. I felt the tether between us at all times, pulling taut as we moved through the wreckage of our city and worked to help those in need.

There was no hesitation in his steps now, no falter as he waded through rubble. He helped hoist beams from shattered homes, his strength almost unnatural. He knelt just as freely beside villagers too wounded to rise, his presence showing he was with them as their faces twisted in pain. He spoke to them, listened when others shared news of their dead, and he gave quiet commands to our guards to tend to every single person with care. I only caught pieces of this as I helped others, but knowing he was near kept me going despite exhaustion’s determination to knock me to my knees.

I stopped to help a woman bracing an injured young man, sliding beneath his arm to hold steady him as she staggered under his weight. A borgon had slashed his leg, and it bled, the dark red seeping through his torn pants and hitching down his leg. He whimpered, biting back a yell when my leg brushed against his wound.

“Over there,” I said, jerking my chin to where they'd set up a small clinic. Healers leaped from one person to another, doing what they could.

The stitch of panic in her gaze spurred me faster, and we didn’t stop until we'd brought him over to the improvised clinic and gently laid him down on one of the many blankets they must've either brought with them or raided from the marketplace itself.

“His leg,” I said when a healer came over to join us.

Her gaze met mine, and she nodded. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine. Nothing of concern.”

“Good. We need you.” I didn't know her, but when her hand landed on my shoulder, I found new strength to keep going .

I turned, my eyes drawn to Lore again. He was carefully tugging a young boy from beneath a pile of loaded crates. Once free, the child clung to Lore’s neck as Lore pressed him into a man’s arms, whispering something that made him nod.

He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze seeking mine. Our eyes met, and even across a marketplace strewn with blood, rubble, and loss, I felt his assurance as vividly as if he’d pressed his hand to my chest again.

We lived.

Every time I saw him glance my way, his gold-flecked eyes sending reassurance through the smoke-filled streets, I started to believe him. Love could exist here, despite our loss. It had to. Love was all we could hold onto, and somehow, it had carried us through fire and blood and death together.

By the time dawn stretched over the city, its golden rays cutting through the thinning smoke, the streets were quieter. Fires had died back to smoldering embers, and any lick of flames had been beaten back by weary villagers with ash-smeared faces and blistered hands. Some sought food and water, others collapsed in small circles, leaning on one another to rest.

I stood on the steps of a battered shop, overlooking the marketplace while sipping water from a flask one of my guards had handed me. My arms ached, my legs felt like stone, but I refused to stop looking for Lore. Then I spotted him emerging from the shadows of a crumbling alley. He wiped sweat from his face and tipped his head back, catching sight of the sun rising. When he lowered his eyes to find mine, a quiet strength lingered in the curl of his mouth.

My husband—one man now, yet still both the men I loved—strode toward me.