Page 10 of The Sovereign, Part One (The Sovereign Saga #1)

“Bellam.” He said her name like it was something to be savored, letting each syllable roll off his tongue slowly, as if tasting it. His voice dipped just enough, threaded with a quiet, magnetic allure that turned a simple introduction into something dangerously intimate.

“Is there a more beautiful name?” he continued.

“Smooth on the tongue, rich with elegance. It deserves to be whispered in candlelight, etched into poetry, or sighed in the throes of a dream.” With practiced ease, he sidestepped to her, lowering himself into a dramatic kneel.

Taking her hand with a reverence that bordered on indulgent, he brushed his lips against her fingers, his gaze locking onto hers with unwavering intensity.

“I had planned to behave myself today, but then I laid eyes on you, and now I fear all my good intentions have been thoroughly undone.”

Bellam stared down at him in utter disbelief. “Do women usually survive this level of charm, or am I in danger?”

Roan’s mouth fell open in sheer delight before breathing out a laugh. “I must have you,” he said, looking to his sister. “I must have her. How dare you not introduce us sooner? Nearly unforgiveable.”

“I just met her today,” Lourdes said through clenched teeth. “Thank you, dear brother, for such a rare show of restraint.”

Roan ignored her, instead gesturing to a Hiven, who immediately slid an empty chair between Lourdes and Bellam. He sat, leaning toward his new object of desire.

Lourdes closed her eyes, letting out a flustered but subdued sigh, careful not to draw too much attention. Her patience was clearly at its threshold, but she remained self-possessed, acutely aware of the eyes that were inevitably watching. “You’re such a child,” she murmured.

He was childish. And foolish. Yet, somehow, he was charismatic enough to make even the most ridiculous flirtation seem endearing. All six foot three of Roan’s frame was entirely focused on Bellam’s smaller stature, radiating the boldness of a man who’d never once doubted his presence in a room.

He was devastatingly handsome, in the way that made women forget their own names mid-sentence.

I’d witnessed it enough times to know it wasn’t a coincidence—Roan Vasthane’s charm was legendary—and a cautionary tale.

His olive-toned skin was sun-kissed from his many adventures beyond the wall, his hair stayed clipped to a no-nonsense buzz, the preference of a man who lived outside the wall more than in it, cropped tight, the cut you choose when wind, grit, and distance are your constants.

His irises were both a striking and soft light blue-gray, just as sharp as his sister’s, but recklessly untroubled, framed by dark lashes that should have been illegal.

His mouth curved easily, lips full enough to ease the sharp cut of his jaw, but the dimple that appeared on his left cheek when he smiled was the real weapon.

It made you believe, for just a moment, that you were the reason for it.

His physique was lean but powerful, broad shoulders tapering into a trim waist—a frame that didn’t come from time in the Wellness Pavilion, but from a life spent moving, chasing, lifting, doing.

His tan button-down was a more relaxed fit, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing strong forearms, veins visible beneath the skin, like art made of sinew and bone.

He paired it with rugged olive-green pants, those worn on a hike or through the desert, but they fit in the way that only happens when tailored to perfection.

Bellam leaned in, resting her chin on the heel of her hand, grinning as she fluttered her eyelashes in a series of flirtatious expressions I hadn’t known she was capable of. “Roan, is it?”

“Primar Vasthane to some, but you, darling, can call me whatever your heart desires, as long as it’s only me, now and forever.”

Her sweet, flirtatious smile disappeared, twisting into a sneer that mirrored Lourdes’s disdain. “If you think I’m wasting my last tryst before my Veritas year on a Vanguard with an infamous number of broken hearts in his wake, you’re as dumb as you are desperate.”

Roan blinked, still trying to process her response.

Lourdes straightened, raising her leir in a triumphant toast. My mouth hung open, lips parted slightly as if I’d forgotten how to speak.

Had Bellam spoken to any other Vanguard in such a way, she’d be lucky to walk away with a basic model Supplicant, let alone start her Veritas Protocol.

I likely would’ve been helping her pack for The Vale—or worse.

Such an insult would be met with immediate retribution, the consequences severe.

But Lourdes, momentarily convinced that her brother had somehow failed, forgave Bellam instantly, beaming with satisfaction at what was sure to be her brother’s rare humiliation.

Ironically, it was precisely because Roan Vasthane was unlike any other member of the Vanguard that his expression revealed nothing but instant, all-encompassing obsession with the woman who had just insulted him in the most brutal way.

Lourdes recognized the look in his eyes the same moment I did. Her triumphant toast faltered, her leir lowering slowly to the table in defeat. Roan had been thoroughly conquered, but in a way his sister hadn’t anticipated—he’d just fallen in love.

“I’m…” he began. I watched in awe as I witnessed Roan stumble for the first time, but it didn’t take him long to recover.

“I fear I’m due for the Oathbond ceremony of an esteemed colleague in an hour, but I’m certain we’ll be seeing more of each other, Bellam.

I don’t like leaving things so… unfinished. ”

“You’re never going to make it,” Lourdes said. “Access is restricted ten minutes before the ceremony begins.”

Roan kissed Bellam’s fingers once more before standing, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer.

“No lock has kept me out when I’m determined to get in,” he said, turning to Lourdes.

“I hope to see you again soon, my beloved sister.” He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, nodded toward me, and made a swift exit, his presence still lingering in the air.

“Well…” I said, letting my shoulders slowly drop.

“Was that a threat? It felt like a threat,” Bellam said, bewildered.

Lourdes covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. “I can’t believe it. Roan has met his match. He’s never been told no before. Not with any real conviction.” She reached for Bellam’s hand. “Promise me you’ll make him suffer for as long as you can.”

Bellam pressed her lips into a hard line before nodding, just once. “I believe in the old world that would fall under a pinky swear .”

Lourdes held up her pinky, and Bellam linked hers with a quick motion. Not wanting to be left out, I joined them, my pinky slipping into place.

Once the moment passed, Bellam frowned. “What were we discussing before Casanova made his entrance, as if the plot couldn’t unfold without him?”

Lourdes once again struggled not to laugh.

“Oh!” Bellam said, excited. “Joss. We were talking about you being in love with Joss.”

“I’m in love with Maxim… or, I’m going to be,” I said, as annoyed with her statement as Lourdes was with Roan.

Bellam arched one brow, unconvinced. “Did Joss love you?”

“He did,” Lourdes said. “Desperately.”

Bellam leaned forward, her voice nearly a whisper. “But… if it’s not the same with Maxim, you wouldn’t reconsider with Joss, right?”

“It’ll be the same. It’ll be better,” I said without hesitation. “Just look at the numbers.”

“Love is not numbers,” Bellam said, shaking her head.

I leaned in slightly. “Love is chemistry. A precise cocktail of neurotransmitters and hormones firing in response to stimulus, dictating everything from attraction to attachment. Dopamine makes it feel euphoric, oxytocin forges the bond, serotonin wavers and leaves us obsessing, norepinephrine sends our hearts racing, and vasopressin anchors us in commitment. It’s a system, a predictable sequence of responses masquerading as something intangible, something greater than the sum of its parts.

But strip it down, analyze the pattern, and it’s no different than the coding that governs a Supplicant’s devotion.

Their love isn’t artificial, it’s just engineered.

A controlled algorithm, refining and perfecting the same instinctive processes humans have been at the mercy of for centuries.

“We romanticize the unpredictability of human emotion, but in truth, it’s just an inferior form of programming—messy, inconsistent, often flawed.

Supplicants don’t fall in love; they are designed to love, unburdened by misfires of chemistry, childhood wounds, or the burdens of past experience.

Is that really so different? In the end, it’s all cause and effect.

Inputs and outputs. A beautifully arranged sequence of signals that, whether by biology or by design, lead to the same inevitable conclusion. ”

Bellam wasn’t convinced. “I’ve only heard about it. I’ve never known anyone to fall in love with a Sovereign. What if it’s not the same with Maxim? Do you think you’ll regret it?”

My expression compressed. “Bell, not a single Supplicant has ever chosen to be recast as a Hiven after their Sovereign passes, even after their children reach adulthood. Without exception, Supplicants choose termination over a life without their Sovereign, despite quite literally holding the key to immortality. Think about that. It goes beyond devotion. It’s something greater than love. ”

“What’s greater than love?” Bellam asked.

“Rapture,” Lourdes said.

She exhaled, and Bellam gave me a sympathetic look. The three of us sat in silence for a moment before Lourdes once again lifted her leir.

“To new beginnings,” she said.

Bellam clinked her leir against ours. “And to Isara finally realizing she’s destined for greater things.”

I smiled, but a part of me still lingered on the past. On Joss. On The Vale. On the choices that had led me to that moment.

As the afternoon sun filtered through the translucent ceiling of Celestines’ terrace, I couldn’t help but think about the way Maxim had looked at me, his gaze holding a universe of understanding and promise.

Perhaps fate had already determined my path, but with just one look from him, the questions that, up to that moment, had plagued my life were all but silenced.