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Selene steps into the center, motioning us to gather around.

The four of us form a small circle, ignoring the hundreds of eyes upon us.

She lifts her hand, palm up, an unspoken invitation.

I place mine over hers, Eryx and Zareth doing the same, forging a layered clasp of our hands.

The courtyard hushes, the flicker of torches painting dancing shadows across our joined arms.

In that moment, the swirl of tension from weeks of turmoil, near-destruction, and unstoppable devotion surges inside me.

My entire body buzzes with an intimate memory of how each of us surrendered to her behind closed doors, how we overcame the city’s prejudices.

Now we share that vow for all to see. The city can sneer or applaud, but they can’t deny what stands before them: a purna woman claiming three dark elf warriors in an official vow recognized by Orthani’s monarchy.

The hush stretches. Then Selene’s eyes glitter with a subtle mischief as she leans in toward me, pressing her forehead to mine in a gesture part reverence, part unspoken ownership.

I let my eyes close, feeling her breath mingling with mine.

A wave of raw affection washes over me. She does the same with Eryx, and then with Zareth—a fleeting contact that highlights how each of us belongs in her orbit.

The watchers stir, some pointing, some stifling gasps at the brazen display. But no one dares interrupt.

At last, King Rython lifts a hand. “Let Orthani bear witness: this vow is sealed. The city acknowledges Selene Varess as an ally and council member, these men as her chosen partners. May Orthani endure under new traditions and preserve our unity.”

His declaration resonates off the pillars.

A smattering of applause ripples—purna refugees and some open-minded elves.

Others remain silent, but they do not protest. Gradually, the crowd disperses, voices rising in hushed conversation about the spectacle they just witnessed.

Eryx exhales, releasing a short laugh. “I never thought I’d see the day Orthani politely applauded a purna publicly taking three men. ”

Zareth sweeps a cool gaze across the courtyard. “They’re stunned. But they’ll adapt or be left behind.”

Selene’s shoulders ease, the tension of public scrutiny diminishing. She stares at the crumbling stone arches, inhaling as though tasting freedom. “It’s done,” she murmurs. “They can’t tear me down easily now. My vow stands with King Rython’s blessing, no matter how reluctant.”

I meet her gaze, letting relief flood me. “Tonight, the city saw we aren’t usurpers. We vow loyalty but keep our own power.” I allow a small smile. “And if they test our unity, they’ll find it unbreakable.”

She nods, stepping closer, voice low. “Thank you, Vaelith. I know you once believed purna anathema. You overcame that to join me. Eryx and Zareth too—none of this would be possible alone.”

My chest warms, recalling how I first hunted her, how her defiance lit a spark in me. “You changed everything,” I say simply. “I wouldn’t go back if I could.”

Eryx leans in, teasing. “Enough tender confessions. Let’s slip away before someone demands another speech.”

Zareth inclines his head, scanning the courtyard where King Rython confers with a cluster of advisors. “Agreed. We should celebrate in a place more comfortable.”

Selene glances at me, a flicker of amusement sparking. “Very well. But first, let’s greet the purna who braved this ceremony, let them see we stand for them openly.”

I nod. Together, we move through the courtyard, pausing to address small clusters of purna refugees.

They look at Selene with reverence, offering thanks, some quietly shedding tears of relief.

She reassures them: the city’s new policy stands, a refuge is being established.

Eryx chimes in with his roguish charm, joking that he’ll personally skewer any noble who tries to re-enslave them.

Laughter ripples, tension easing. Zareth calmly outlines how the council seat ensures their voices reach Orthani’s heart.

The purna soak up every promise, hope blazing in their eyes.

By the time we extricate ourselves from well-wishers, the courtyard empties except for a few curious onlookers drifting away.

Dusk slips into full night, the moon peering through cracked ramparts.

Torchlight casts elongated shadows across the paving stones.

Selene halts, gazing up at the battered fortress walls.

“It feels unreal, forging peace in the site of so much battle. But we did it.”

I rest a hand on her shoulder. “We did.” My voice emerges quietly triumphant. “Orthani can still falter, but they won’t dare strike at purna with you seated on the council.”

She exhales, turning to me, Eryx, and Zareth. “Come. Let’s not linger in the open. I want a moment with you three away from stares and expectation. This vow we made deserves a private echo.”

My pulse stirs. “Lead us,” I murmur, unable to hide the warmth that floods my veins. Eryx’s grin curves, and Zareth dips his head in silent agreement.

We slip through side alleys that lead toward Vaelith’s estate—my estate, though it’s become our shared space since the siege.

The city feels different tonight—less fear, more cautious optimism.

A few passersby pause to offer quiet greetings or respectfully step aside.

None harass us. The sight of four formidable figures, one a purna with recognized status, deters any hostility.

Entering the estate, we navigate corridors lit by dim lanterns.

The staff sense our arrival, bowing slightly, then melting into the background.

Everyone knows better than to intrude. Our footsteps carry us to the upper floors, to the grand suite Selene often claims. The moment we shut the door, Eryx releases a soft chuckle.

“Public ceremony done, so let’s savor the private aftermath. ”

Zareth crosses his arms, though a faint smile quirks his lips. “I suspect she has more than simple talk in mind.”

Selene laughs under her breath, an edge of mischief shining in her eyes.

She strides to the chamber’s center, the lamplight catching the crimson of her gown.

“We spent so much time negotiating, parading in front of Orthani. Now, I want to reaffirm our vow to each other behind closed doors. Are you three prepared to stand by me in every sense?”

My chest tightens at her question. She’s not referencing politics. She’s asking if we remain fully, intimately hers, even after forging public acceptance. I step closer, letting all trace of formal restraint slip away. “Yes, always,” I answer. My voice trembles with desire.

Eryx circles behind her, pressing lightly against her back. “You know I can’t resist your call,” he purrs.

Zareth inclines his head, stepping forward. “I gave you my mind before. I give you everything now.”

Her lips curve in satisfaction. “Then strip away the ceremony’s pomp and show me your devotion.

” She unfastens a brooch at her shoulder, letting the gown’s collar loosen.

My gaze remains riveted, heart pounding.

A powerful wave of need surges, recalling all we overcame together—battles, prejudices, subjugation.

Now we stand as equals, bound by a vow the city just witnessed.

Without further words, I shed my formal armor, letting each piece thud on the nearby bench.

Eryx discards his tunic with fluid grace.

Zareth slips out of his embroidered robe.

The air crackles with pent-up tension. Selene’s gown slides down, revealing the soft lines of her body.

Lamplight sets her purna markings glowing faintly.

My breath hitches. No matter how many times I’ve seen her, the intensity never fades.

She glides forward, trailing fingers over Zareth’s chest with a teasing smile, then shifting to Eryx, pressing a light kiss to his collarbone.

Finally, she turns to me, hooking a hand around my waist. She tips her head back, inviting me to take her mouth in a fierce kiss that ignites every nerve.

I oblige, tangling tongues in a deep caress that makes me forget the city’s demands.

We guide her to the bed’s edge, bodies pressing in.

Eryx’s laughter rumbles as he kneels behind her, letting his lips skate over her spine.

Zareth claims her hand, pressing it to his cheek, a silent homage.

My mouth descends on the curve of her neck, tasting the salt of her skin.

Sparks fly, an overload of sensation and relief. She arches, letting a soft moan escape.

Time fragments into a series of heated moments: the slide of skin against skin, Eryx’s playful nibbling at her shoulder, Zareth’s slow kisses along her arm, my hands cupping her waist. She orchestrates us with quiet commands and subtle motions, ensuring each of us feels included, each man’s breath hitching at her slightest touch.

The synergy we found in battle becomes a sensuous dance here, exchanging urgent murmurs, matching rhythms.

Her voice emerges in breathy whispers, fueling us.

We respond with low groans or half-laughed teases, the swirl of arousal so thick I can’t parse who touches whom in each moment.

I feel Eryx’s warmth at my side, Zareth’s presence at my back, all oriented around Selene, who anchors us with a seductive magnetism.