Page 46

46

ERYSS

T hree months.

Three months since the war ended.

Three months since Naranus and I walked into the village, weary, battered, but alive. Since we chose to stay, to build something new from the ruins of our past.

And now?

Life is...different.

Not easy. But good.

Humans and gargoyles. Purna and warriors. Living together. Protecting each other. Who would have thought? Certainly not me.

I never imagined a life outside of my coven, away from the relentless grip of the Elders. I never thought I’d find solace among mortals, nor that Naranus, the warlord, the cursed warrior, the monster of legends, would become their guardian.

The village hums with life.

Children laugh as they weave between the market stalls, sticky fingers stealing pieces of fruit while their mothers scold them half-heartedly. Hunters return from the deep woods, dragging fresh game behind them. The forge clangs, iron striking iron, while the scent of fresh bread and herbs lingers in the air.

In the midst of it all, him.

Naranus stands near the training grounds, watching as a group of villagers spar under his instruction. He doesn’t bark orders like a tyrant, doesn’t command them with brute strength, he teaches, guides.

The humans trust him. Revere him.

Warlord, they still call him, though I suspect it’s different now. Not a title born of fear, but of respect.

My chest tightens as I watch him. He belongs here. We both do.

I exhale slowly, shaking my head as I return my focus to the festival preparations.

Tonight is the Harvest Celebration, the first since the war ended, and the villagers have spared no effort in preparing. Tables are laden with roasted meats, honey-glazed pastries, and pitchers of spiced ale. A great bonfire crackles at the village’s center, its golden light flickering against the dusk-painted sky.

There is music. Laughter. Hope.

I feel light, like the past has no bearing anymore.

But as the night unfolds, the peace is shattered—by my name.

“Eryss!”

I blink, turning as the village chief steps forward, raising his arms to silence the crowd. The murmur of conversation dies, and all eyes shift toward the long wooden platform where the elders sit.

Beside them, Naranus.

He stands tall, arms crossed over his broad chest, his expression unreadable. My stomach twists.

The chief gestures toward him with great reverence. “Tonight, before our people, our protector has something to say.”

My pulse jumps. What?

I glance at Naranus, waiting for an explanation, but his golden eyes are locked on me, intense, unwavering. The world narrows, the noise fading.

He moves.

In his hands, flowers.

My heart stops.

The giggling starts. The women whispering to one another, hands pressed to their lips, eyes gleaming with knowing amusement.

Naranus, the terrifying warlord, presenting me with flowers?

I think I’ve stopped breathing.

The man who once snarled at me for getting too close, who has fought wars and survived curses, who has seen entire civilizations crumble beneath his might, now stands before me, offering delicate moon-blossoms like some bashful suitor.

Heat creeps up my neck. Oh gods.

“Naranus, what are you doing?” My voice comes out hoarse, strangled.

He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t falter.

Instead, he steps forward, closing the distance between us, his clawed fingers brushing mine as he places the flowers in my hands.

He kneels.

Gasps ripple through the crowd.

My mind goes blank.

Naranus kneeling? In front of me?

His gaze burns, sharp as steel, heavy with meaning. “Eryss,” he says, voice deep, rich. “I have fought for many things. Killed for many more. But I have never fought for something like this. Like you.”

A lump lodges in my throat.

“I am yours,” he continues, unwavering. Raw. Open. “I ask you to be mine. To stand beside me—not as an obligation, not as a duty, but as my mate.”

My vision blurs.

He lifts his hands, palms up, offering them in the way of his people. “In the way of my kind, I bind myself to you.” His voice softens, golden eyes piercing. “And in the way of yours, I ask you to bind yourself to me.”

The silence is deafening.

The fire crackles. The wind stirs. My heart threatens to shatter my ribcage.

This is real. This is happening.

I sway where I stand, legs trembling, emotions crashing over me in waves.

Everything we have endured. Every battle, every loss, every sacrifice, led us here.

Suddenly, there is no hesitation.

I sink to my knees, meeting him there, clutching the flowers so tightly the petals crumple against my palms.

“Yes,” I breathe, the word barely escaping before I’m grabbing him, before I’m kissing him like I’ll never stop.

A roar of approval erupts, the villagers cheering, clapping, laughing.

But all I feel is him.

His arms wrap around me, lifting me against him as he devours my lips, as if he can’t get close enough.

I hear their voices, but they are nothing compared to the thunder of my own pulse.

This moment. This choice.

This future.

Naranus grins against my lips, his forehead pressing to mine. “You’re mine now, little purna, my bride.”

I laugh, breathless. “And you’re mine, warlord.”

And with the stars watching over us, with our people cheering, celebrating, believing.

We begin.