Page 18

Chapter

Seventeen

Araya’s fingers skimmed over the delicate silver housing, her touch searching for flaws unseen by the eye. She and Jaxon had spent two painstaking months extracting, distilling, and stabilizing Loren’s blood—ensuring not a single drop was wasted. These housings had to be flawless—even the slightest imperfection in the silverwork or a single misdrawn rune, and all the power they’d worked so hard to preserve would bleed out into the air, lost to them forever.

And that was just the best-case scenario. Loren might be weak and broken—but he was still a powerful fae. The amulet could just as easily shatter, pelting them with shards of bone and molten silver. That’s why the Arcanum had confined any activity involving his blood to the dungeon workshop, where layers of complex warding and strict directives ensured no one discovered Loren’s existence.

Thankfully, crafting the silver housings required nothing but a keen eye and a steady hand. That meant she would work on them here, in her own workshop, far from the dungeon’s damp chill and the heavy, suffocating guilt that always tugged at her heart whenever she passed his cell.

Araya exhaled slowly, fingertips tracing every edge, every groove, searching her work for even the faintest irregularity. Like last time, she found nothing—no weak spots. No sign of instability.

It was ready.

“You aren’t even close to ready, are you?”

Araya jumped, glancing up to find Jaxon leaning in the doorway, arms folded and amusement flickering in his dark eyes.

“This is the last one,” she said, carefully nestling the finished amulet into its velvet pouch and tucking it away in the iron-lined box. “We’re ready to start imbuing?—”

“That’s fantastic.” Jaxon pushed off the doorframe, his grin widening. “But that’s not what I was talking about, Starling.”

She blinked at him, confused—then frowned as she took in what he was wearing.

Jaxon always looked polished, but tonight he looked almost unfairly handsome. The lamplight gleamed off the blackened buttons of his dress uniform, catching on the fine gold embroidery that traced the midnight fabric like spellwork. The dark sash slashed across his chest, pinned with the polished symbols of his rank and honors—each one a gleaming reminder of just how dangerous he really was.

“Did you forget?” He raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. “Father’s party?”

“I—” Araya whirled to the tall arched window, where the sun was nothing but a sliver on the horizon. “I lost track of time. I just need to run home and change?—”

They were going to be so late. How could she have forgotten?

“No need,” Jaxon said, holding his arm up to reveal the swath of shimmering black fabric draped over it. “I brought your dress to you, Starling.”

"Gods—thank you, Jaxon." Araya snatched the dress from his arm, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. She exhaled, half laughing. “You always think of everything. Just give me a few minutes to change.”

"Be quick, Starling." Jaxon smiled down at her, running his fingers over her cheek. "A lot of important people will be there tonight—impressions matter."

Araya ducked into the attached bathing chamber between their workshops, her fingers working quickly to unfasten her plain woolen overdress and tug her chemise over her head. She folded them carefully, setting them on the vanity before turning to the gown Jaxon had chosen for her.

She slid it over her head, catching her breath as the sleek, black fabric kissed her skin like liquid shadow, clinging to every line and curve. Delicate embroidery traced the bodice like threads of moonlight—silver to Jaxon’s gold—before flaring into floating layers that settled around her like a dark cloud.

Araya shivered, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The dress bared more skin than she ever would have chosen on her own, leaving her actually aware of the delicate lines of her collarbone and the prickle of exposure along her spine.

This was Jaxon’s vision of her. Elegant. Captivating. Flawless.

She looked like a queen— his queen.

“Beautiful.” Jaxon straightened as she stepped back into the workshop, his dark eyes glittering as he took her in. “Absolutely perfect, Starling.”

Araya smoothed the fabric of the dress against her hips, still uncertain. “It’s not much like anything I would normally wear?—”

“This isn’t the sort of event you would normally go to,” Jaxon reminded her. The hair on the back of her neck prickled as he prowled forward, circling her slowly. He reached out, tugging the tie from the end of her braid and carding his fingers through the wild waves until it tumbled loose down her back.

“I have something else for you,” he said, pressing a small velvet case into her hands.

Araya opened it carefully—and caught her breath. Two delicate silver bracelets nestled inside, thin as ribbons, glinting in the gleam of the aetherlamps .

“Jaxon,” she breathed, startled. “They’re beautiful. You shouldn’t have?—”

“Of course I should have,” Jaxon said, already lifting the first one from the dark velvet. “Tonight’s important, Starling. It’s your first official Arcanum event as my bond. You should look like everything you are—irreplaceable.”

The second bracelet snapped shut with a soft click. His fingers lingered over the clasp, twisting her wrist slightly as he turned it in the light. The silver links gleamed against her skin—delicate and beautiful.

“And now everyone will know exactly who you belong to,” he said, stepping back to admire her with a slow, possessive grin. “Although I’m tempted to say to hell with it and stay here with you in that dress. We’d have a lot more fun than we would rubbing shoulders with all of Father’s sycophants?—”

“And disappoint your father on his birthday?” Araya shook her head with mock severity despite the blush heating her cheeks. “I don’t think so.”

Jaxon chuckled. “You’re far too good at making me do things I don’t want to,” he said. But instead of turning to leave, he took her hands in his and tugged her into a deep, slow kiss that left her skin hot and her breath short.

“You’re going to dazzle them, you know,” he said when he finally pulled back, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as he led her toward the door. “And there won’t be any doubt as to who you belong to.”

“As if you’d ever let anyone forget,” Araya teased, leaning into his side.

Jaxon’s smugness only deepened as they descended the stairs and crossed the central hall, every head turning to follow them as her heeled slippers clicked softly against the marble floor.

One of the Shaws’ black carriages waited outside, pulled by a matching set of sleek, dark horses. The Arcanum’s golden eye was emblazoned on the door, watching them with silent authority. Even after months of wearing that same sigil around her throat and reaping the privileges it offered, it still stirred something primal in her—an instinct to melt into the shadows instead of stepping forward.

Jaxon helped her up, sliding in across from her as she sank into the plush leather bench. He watched in silence while she smoothed her palms over the gauzy folds of her skirt—once, twice, again.

“Nervous?”

“A bit,” Araya admitted, managing a faint smile. “Just thinking about how many people will be there.”

“Kai and Mira will be—with their parents.” Jaxon leaned back, stretching his arms across the bench as the carriage lurched forward. “So it’s not like you won’t know anyone. Kai will probably bring Caylin—but she won’t dare cause a scene in front of Father and the other magisters.”

Araya had her own thoughts about that, but she kept them to herself. Caylin hated her enough to cause a scene no matter who was watching.

When the carriage finally came to a halt, Jaxon stepped out first, extending a gloved hand to Araya to help her down as she faltered in the heeled slippers.

“Watch your step, Starling,” Jaxon said, tucking her hand back into the crook of his arm. “I still can’t believe you’ve never been here before.”

“Not many reasons for a halfblood fae to be at the High Magister’s house,” Araya murmured.

Jaxon cut her a sharp look as he led her through the open gate and up the wide, stone-paved path. “No more of that, Starling. You belong here just as much as I do now.”

Araya didn’t answer, focusing on keeping pace with him in her heeled shoes as they started up the stairs. The house didn’t tower over them like she’d expected. Instead, it stood just three stories high, its understated grandeur softened by the dusting of snow that covered the manicured evergreen hedges .

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

“It’s home,” Jaxon said, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Father’s made a lot of improvements over the years, but he kept much of the fae architecture intact—a nod to the past.”

He shrugged, breezing past the servant who scrambled forward to open the grand double doors, not sparing her so much as a glance. But Araya lingered, pausing to offer a smile to the fae female standing outside, shivering despite the dark cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she said.

The female didn’t answer, her lips thinning as she fixed Araya with a cold stare—like Araya had tracked mud across the sparkling floors.

Araya faltered, her smile freezing on her lips as shame bloomed in her chest. She dropped her gaze, her cheeks hot as she hurried after Jaxon into the manor’s warmth. The door closed behind her, leaving her blinking in the warm glow of hundreds of aetherlamps in sparkling chandeliers. She craned her neck, taking in the jewel-toned tapestries that lined the walls, depicting human triumph in vivid detail.

“Understated, as always,” Jaxon quipped, taking her arm. He breezed by them, saying something about the architecture—but Araya barely heard him, her attention captivated by the soft music and low murmur of conversation drifting from the ballroom.

Clusters of humans moved through tables laden with silver trays of bite-sized delicacies, their laughter mingling with the chime of crystal glassware. The women glittered in rich winter shades, their gowns catching the light like frosted jewels, while the men stood sharp in dark tailored coats, boots gleaming, every detail carefully curated to impress.

It was stunning—glittering and grand in the kind of way human spaces were so often designed to keep people like her out. Araya tensed, her heart pounding as she hesitated on the threshold, every instinct screaming at her to turn and run .

But then, Jaxon’s hand found her waist.

“You’ll be fine, Starling,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You’re with me.”

“Jaxon Shaw—late to his own father’s party.” Kai raised his glass in mock toast, the amber liquor sloshing close to the rim. “We were beginning to think you weren’t coming at all.”

Jaxon chuckled, unfazed. “Not all of us have time to sit around drinking, Kai.”

Kai snorted inelegantly, but his teasing grin softened as he turned to Araya. “You look marvelous, Araya. I hope you get to enjoy your first Arcanum party.”

Enjoy. Araya smoothed down her skirts, forcing her shoulders to relax. She had every right to be here—she’d earned it, with her work, her sacrifices… and Jaxon’s hand at her back.

“Thank you, Kai,” she said, offering him a genuine smile. He always had a way of making her feel like a person, not a specimen under glass. “Who else?—”

Bright, sharp laughter sliced through the conversation as Caylin swept in, crimson silk clinging to every curve like her gown had been stitched directly to her skin. She attached herself to Kai’s arm, flashing Jaxon a dazzling smile before turning it on Araya—sharper.

“Jaxon,” she purred. “You didn’t tell us you’d be bringing her.” She raked her gaze over Araya, her smile widening into something bright and cruel. “That dress is absolutely stunning. You’ve always had impeccable taste in your acquisitions.”

“Araya always looks stunning,” Jaxon said with an easy grin. “But I’ll take credit for the dress.”

“Well, your seamstress deserves a medal.” Caylin laughed, tossing her hair. “She’s almost made your little halfblood look like she belongs here.”

“ Caylin —” Kai’s smile faltered, his eyes darting to Jaxon—who was already shifting, one hand tightening at Araya’s waist, the other curling like he was preparing to step between them.

But Araya stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest. “It’s fine,” she murmured.

Then she turned to Caylin, her smile perfectly measured. “You’re right, of course. It’s a beautiful gown.” She stroked her hands over the soft, floating layers of the skirt. “Jaxon does have impeccable taste. I’m sure he’d be happy to give you the designer’s name—if you wanted something a little more… elegant for the next event.”

Jaxon guffawed, the startled bark of laughter turning heads around them, while Kai coughed into his glass. “Gods,” he muttered, barely hiding his grin.

Caylin blinked, her smile freezing on her face. Her eyes narrowed, and for a heartbeat Araya thought she might actually lunge.

But then?—

“Jaxon. Araya.”

Mira Redmond’s smooth voice sliced through the tension like a well-honed blade. She swept into the circle in a shimmer of emerald silk, every inch of her polished and poised. “I was starting to wonder when you’d arrive. Araya, you look lovely?—”

“Let’s grab a drink,” Caylin cut in, looping her arm through Mira’s and dragging the other woman after her without waiting for a response.

Kai shook his head, his grin lazy but wicked. “She spent all night setting up a performance, and you walked in and took the final bow.” He lifted his glass slightly. “Beautifully done, Araya.”

“Araya usually takes the high road,” Jaxon said, his voice warm with pride as he watched Caylin storm away. “But she knows how to finish a fight.”

But Araya was looking at Kai. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

Kai smirked, but there was something wry beneath the charm. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching it catch the light.

“Caylin being jealous?” He chuckled, tossing back his drink. “No. She doesn’t want Jaxon—she just hates watching you wear the crown.” He rolled his glass between his fingers, his sharp smile never quite fading. “I was the runner-up—lucky me.”

The words should have stung, but Kai said them with a grin, tipping his drink toward Araya in a mock toast. “To settling.”

Araya smiled, but something in her chest twisted as she lifted her glass slightly in return. Kai might have wrapped his words in humor, but there was no mistaking the truth in them—or the grace it took to say them out loud.

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words died on her tongue as movement at the edge of the crowd drew her attention, her breath hitching in surprise. “Is that Master Carrow?”

Carrow spotted her too, his face lighting up with recognition as he changed direction, cutting through the crowd to reach them. “Adept Starwind—you look lovely tonight.”

“It’s just Miss Starwind, now.” Araya clasped his proffered hand. “It’s good to see you, sir. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

“I could say the same for you.” Carrow chuckled. “It looks like things have worked out for you—even if I do miss having you in the workshop. No one is quite as meticulous as you.” His gaze shifted to Jaxon, respectful but shrewd. “And you must be the reason she’s here tonight.”

“Master Jaxon Shaw.” Jaxon stretched out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Araya always spoke highly of her time in your workshop.”

“Did she?” Carrow mused, raising his eyebrows as he shook Jaxon’s hand. “Having her in my workshop during your years in the Eldergreen was a true privilege. Though, truth be told, the work never quite challenged her enough—she’s an extraordinary mage.”

Jaxon’s smile didn’t slip, but his fingers tightened at her waist, his voice cold. “She certainly is.”

Before anyone could say anything else, movement at the far end of the ballroom caught Jaxon’s attention. His father now stood surrounded by a cluster of high-ranking magisters and officers near the dais, their uniforms dark and severe against the gold-lit walls. Garrick caught Jaxon’s eye and made a sharp, deliberate gesture—summoning him.

Jaxon’s jaw tensed. “Commanders’ meeting,” he grumbled. “Only my father would schedule one during a party—” he glanced down at Araya, his expression torn.

“I’ll be fine here,” she reassured him. “Master Carrow and I worked together for years?—”

“Exactly,” Jaxon said, his voice dark. “A long time. I’m sure you have plenty to reminisce about.”

Then, to Araya’s shock, he dipped his head and kissed her—holding her in place until she relaxed into him, letting him claim her for everyone to see.

“Be good, Starling,” he murmured, his fingers brushing over her bracelets as he stepped away. “Pleasure to meet you, Carrow,” he added, barely glancing at the other man as he turned and strode into the crowd, cutting a clean path toward his father’s side.

“You apprenticed under Shaw, didn’t you?” Carrow asked mildly, watching him go.

Araya flushed at his implication—but there was no censure Carrow’s tone. “A long time ago,” she said, tucking a loose wave of hair behind her ear. “We reconnected when he came back from Elvanfal.”

“Well, Garrick must be pleased,” Carrow said. “I can’t imagine he’s seen his son this happy in a long time. And you—” Carrow smiled at her, his voice warm. “You seem to be thriving, Miss Starwind.”

“Some things have been an adjustment,” Araya said with a laugh. “But I’m very happy with how it all worked out.”

“I’m glad.” Carrow regarded her with a thoughtful expression, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You know, I’ve yet to find anyone who matched your efficiency and intuition in the workshop. It’s a rare combination, and one I appreciated more than I likely told you at the time. If Master Shaw can ever spare you, there will always be a place for you in my workshop. ”

Araya’s eyes widened, her breath stuttering in her lungs. That kind of offer—it wasn’t made lightly. And Carrow was making it to her —not to Jaxon Shaw’s bond.

“That—that’s very generous, sir,” she said carefully. “But I’m assisting Jaxon with a project right now?—”

“It’s an open invitation.” Carrow gave her a warm smile. “Think it over. No rush, no pressure.” His gaze flicked past her shoulder. “Though it looks like someone else is hoping for a moment of your time.”

Araya turned, expecting another guest—someone eager for a polite introduction, another curious gaze drawn by Jaxon’s bond.

Instead, she came face-to-face with Darian Hale.

“Master Carrow,” he said, his pale eyes gleaming as his mouth lifted in the faintest hint of a smile.“ And Miss Starwind. Out and about—without Shaw, for once.”

“Wonderful to see you again, Magister Hale,” Carrow replied lightly, either missing or deliberately ignoring the edge in Hale’s voice. “I trust things have been going well?—”

“Yes,” Hale cut in, his gaze never leaving hers. “I need to borrow Miss Starwind.”

Carrow hesitated, just long enough that the spark of hope in Araya’s chest sputtered and died when he gave her an apologetic smile. “Of course. Don’t forget what I said, Miss Starwind. You’re always welcome.”

Araya forced a tight smile, but it wavered as Hale’s fingers closed around her bare arm. “I won’t,” she managed, her voice thin.

Carrow’s brow furrowed, his gaze dropping to Hale’s grip on her arm—but he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He was in no position to say no to the High Inquisitor—and neither was she.

Araya cast one last, desperate glance over her shoulder as Hale steered her away, searching the crowd for any sign of Jaxon—but he was nowhere to be seen. She was on her own.

Her heart pounded as she wrenched against Hale’s iron grip, trying to twist free as she fumbled for some plausible excuse—but he was faster. With a practiced shove, he forced her into one of the private alcoves that lined the edges of the ballroom, the heavy curtain snuffing out the warmth and light of the ballroom like a candle.

Araya ripped her arm free, stumbling back before he could grab her again. “Don’t touch me,” she snapped.

“How impolite.” Hale’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it widened, his gaze cold, calculating. “Your entanglement with Jaxon doesn’t come with immunity to decorum, Miss Starwind.”

Araya straightened, her chin lifting. “Then I suggest you remember yours, Magister.”

But for all her bravado, her heart pounded against her ribs, betraying her terror. She was alone with the High Inquisitor.

“So passionate.” Hale chuckled, taking a step toward her. “What will you do once Garrick isn’t here to protect the two of you?”

Araya stumbled back, the hem of her gown catching underfoot. Her pulse pounded in her ears, each beat a warning—Hale was too close. Too dangerous.

“What are you talking about?” She demanded, her eyes flicking from Hale to the curtain behind him. His posture might be relaxed, but Araya had no doubt he was ready to stop her if she tried to push by him—that he’d hurt her, if he thought he could get away with it.

“You haven’t heard?” Hale gave her an unpleasant smile. “High Magister Shaw will be traveling to Elvanfal—posthaste. Since Jaxon abandoned his post to take up with you the situation there needs a…firmer hand. And everyone agrees that Garrick is the best man to clean up his son’s mess.”

Elvanfal . Araya’s stomach dropped. If Garrick went to the front and left them behind here—what did the rest of the Arcanum make of her bond with Jaxon?

“Why are you doing this?” Araya asked, her voice shaking despite the steel she tried to force into it. “I’ve never done anything to you?—”

“You exist,” Hale said coldly. “Jaxon might enjoy pretending otherwise, but fae were never meant to stand beside humans. Your bond isn’t just unnatural—it’s offensive. And I’ll see it undone.”

Araya’s breath hitched. But she straightened her shoulders, meeting his gaze head on. “Jaxon would never let that happen.”

Hale laughed, his lip curling. “Jaxon won’t have a choice. He’s young and arrogant. He doesn’t understand how little power he truly has. But once his father is gone…” He sighed, letting the pause stretch. “The Arcanum won’t waste its time entertaining this infatuation. You’ll be put back where you belong, Miss Starwind.”

The sharp rip of the curtains being thrown back cut Hale’s words short. Jaxon strode into the alcove, his fury rolling into the space like a storm. His dark eyes flicked over Araya first, his jaw tightening slightly as he took in her expression before crossing the space in two long strides to tuck her tightly against his side.

“Careful, Darian,” Jaxon said, his tone deadly. “Picking on someone your own size might be a better look for you.”

Darian straightened, but his smirk faltered. “Jaxon,” he said coolly. “I wasn’t aware your meeting had finished?—”

“It didn’t,” Jaxon said coolly. “Surely there’s someone else you can pester—someone who might actually tolerate your company.”

Darian’s lips twitched, though his smile never quite formed. “I was merely offering some… observations,” he said, his gaze flicking back to Araya. “It’s not my fault if she finds the truth uncomfortable.”

“Funny,” he said, his tone glacial. “From where I’m standing, the only uncomfortable thing here is how hard you’re working to stay relevant.”

Darian’s eyes flashed. “Relevance has never been an issue for me. But perhaps it will be for you—especially if you continue letting your bond —” he spat the word like a curse “—influence your decisions. I saw the indulgences you approved for your prisoner. I’m quite certain that wasn’t your idea.”

“And I’m quite certain you spend more time reading my reports than writing your own.” Jaxon clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “ You’ve been coasting on the career my father handed you for more than twenty years. Try picking up your own sword once in a while—before the ground shifts and leaves you behind.”

Darian bristled, his mask slipping just enough to show the fury burning beneath. But Jaxon didn’t wait to see what he had to say.

He turned to Araya, brushing his fingers lightly along her spine as he leaned in, his mouth close to her ear. “Come on, Starling,” he murmured, brushing a kiss across her temple as he led her past a fuming Hale. “Let’s get back to the party.”

“Is your father really going to Elvanfal?”

Jaxon’s steps faltered, his hand tightening on her arm in silent warning as he led them back into the crowd. “It’s not announced yet,” he murmured, his voice low enough that no one would overhear them. “But yes—that’s what the meeting was about.” He stroked a soothing line down her spine, his hand warm on her bare back. “I won’t let anyone touch you, Starling. Especially not Darian Hale.”

Araya nodded, but the tightness in her chest didn’t ease. It was one thing for Jaxon to say it—another to do it. Could he really keep them safe without his father’s influence?

Jaxon studied her, his brow furrowing with concern. “That’s enough for one night,” he said quietly. “We’re leaving.”

“But it’s your father’s birthday?—”

“He’ll understand.” Jaxon guided her through the crowded ballroom with practiced ease, cutting a direct path toward where Garrick stood near the grand fireplace, surrounded by people. Garrick’s sharp eyes flicked to Jaxon as they approached, narrowing slightly as he took in his son’s expression and Araya’s pallor.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, easing out of the circle of officials. “I need a moment with my son—and his bond.”

He led them a few steps away, toward a quieter corner of the room, then turned back to face them, his expression sharpening. “What happened?”

“Hale cornered her,” Jaxon said coolly. “He told her you were leaving. I only caught the tail end, but he threatened her—promised to use your absence to target our bond. I handled it, but I’m taking her home now.”

Garrick’s gaze shifted to Araya, sweeping over her with careful scrutiny as she fought the urge to squirm. Even after months at Jaxon’s side, she never quite knew where she stood with Garrick—and every interaction felt like a test she wasn’t sure she was passing.

“Happy birthday, sir,” she said quietly, dropping her gaze to her feet. “Sorry to ruin your night?—”

“Nonsense,” Garrick said crisply. “Darian should never have dared to corner one of my invited guests—you’re the one who deserves my apologies, Araya. You should never have had to deal with that.”

He glanced back at Jaxon.“You’re not dragging her across the city at this hour. Your room is still here—use it.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary—” Araya started, scrambling. “I can make it home?—”

“It’s not safe, Starling.” Jaxon’s hand curled around her waist, pulling her into his warmth. “Not until we get a handle on Darian.”

“You’re Jaxon’s now,” Garrick added, giving her a rare, gentle smile. “That makes you my concern as much as his. Both of you get some rest—and leave Darian to me.”

Araya didn’t argue, letting Jaxon guide her out of the ballroom and up a sweeping staircase and into a bedroom at the end of the corridor. Araya paused just inside, her gaze sweeping over the unexpected blend of luxury and nostalgia. Polished wood furniture gleamed under the warm light of enchanted aether lamps, and sagging shelves brimmed with books and trophies, remnants of the boy Jaxon had once been.

“ What do you think?” Jaxon asked, leaning casually against the doorframe .

“It’s… not what I expected.” Araya bent to study a set of trophies, most of them academic but some for sports and athletics. “It looks like a real child lived here.”

“I was a real child, Starling.”

Araya laughed, trailing her fingers along the back of the armchair as she moved toward the window. How many nights had Jaxon sat here as a boy—curled up with a book or just staring out at the city, dreaming of the world waiting beyond? Who had he thought he’d be?

“Come here.” Jaxon stepped up behind her, folding her into his arms. His lips brushed her shoulder, sending sparks racing over her skin. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Araya’s breath caught as Jaxon’s skilled fingers worked at the fastenings of her gown. The silk whispered to the floor, pooling around her ankles. His hands followed its path, stoking those sparks into a flicker of heat that didn’t quite chase away the lingering chill of Hale’s threat.

“You’re mine, Starling,” Jaxon said, like he could read her mind. “No one—least of all Darian Hale—is going to change that. Now—” he tugged her toward the center of the room. “Come to bed.”

Jaxon tucked her under the covers, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before he turned back to gather her dress. She could hear the rustle of fabric as he stripped out of his own formal clothes. Finally, he slipped into the bed behind her, his arm wrapping around her waist to pull her close.

“You’re safe with me,” he murmured, burying his face in her hair. “I’d never let anything happen to you, Starling. I promise.”

Araya sank into the warmth of his arms around her, finally letting herself relax into the comfort of his heartbeat against her back. It didn’t banish the fear, but his promise dulled the edge of it—just enough.