The morning after the meeting in the council chamber still clung to Liora, a mass mixture of pungency she felt couldn't wash off.
Even inside Veyra's chambers, the air was taut with things unspoken—wrapped in the weight of what had been done, what couldn't be undone. The collar rested on the small table near the hearth, a band of dark blue leather stitched with fine silver thread. Embroidered into it was the Halvarin crest: a rearing lion, flanked by laurel branches. It gleamed quietly, accusatory.
Liora hadn't touched it since the guard handed it to her with a quiet, flat instruction: "You'll need to wear this when outside. For your protection. It marks you as hers now."
She hadn't replied. Couldn't. The words had dropped down like stones inside her.
Now, she sat curled in the corner chair, fingers knotted in the hem of her sleeve, the sunlight from the balcony casting pale ribbons over her bare knees. Veyra was speaking softly at the desk across the room with someone from her inner circle—a woman Beta with weather-creased hands and a fast, low voice. Logistics. Fort schedules. Trade routes that had slipped off course after last week's rain.
But even from across the room, Liora could feel the tension in the set of Veyra's shoulders. This wasn't just about trade.
A knock at the chamber door interrupted the discussion. Kellen stepped in, brows lifted, looking from Veyra to Liora and back again.
"I heard the rumors," he said without preamble, though his voice stayed low. "Wasn't sure whether to believe them."
Veyra straightened slowly from her seat. "They're true."
Kellen's gaze flicked to Liora, then back. "You never claimed before."
"I know."
"You said you never would." His voice wasn't angry. Just steady. Measuring.
Veyra's jaw worked for a moment. "I didn't plan to. But they would've devoured her, Kellen. And you weren't in that chamber. You didn't see how they looked at her."
Liora looked down, heart fluttering strangely at the words, as if they were both balm and burden.
Kellen exhaled, then nodded slowly. "You'll have people asking questions. Allies, even. I just thought I'd come hear it from you first."
"Thank you." Her voice was quiet now. He nodded once more, gave Liora a polite if uncertain nod, and stepped back out.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence returned like a tide. Liora finally spoke, barely above a whisper. "It's going to get worse, isn't it?"
Veyra turned. Her eyes were tired, but unwavering. "Not if I can help it."
"But you claimed me."
"I did."
Liora's voice frayed. "Because you had to, or because you wanted to?"
Veyra's throat flexed. "Because both are true." Her eyes bore into Liora's.
That silenced her. Because in her chest, something twisted—and it wasn't fear, not this time.
After a long stretch of quiet, Veyra walked to the table and picked up the collar, holding it gently.
"You don't have to wear it here," she said. "But if you go outside…"
"I know." Liora took it, the leather cool in her hands. "I just want a bit of air. Away from… everything."
Veyra hesitated. "The garden's quiet at this hour. No one should bother you. But if they do—show them that."
Liora nodded once, standing and slipping it over her wrist instead of her throat.
"Do you want me to come with you?"
Liora hesitated. "Not yet."
She walked to the door slowly, her breath shallow but even. Before stepping out, she paused and looked back.
"I'm not fragile," she said.
Veyra's expression softened. "I've never thought you were."
The door closed behind her.
And out in the garden, the first whispers began. Not loud. Not cruel. Just… constant. Like the wind moving through tall grass.
——
Back inside, Veyra stood before the war table, flanked by two captains and a hollow-eyed messenger from the outer provinces. Her ceremonial coat had been replaced with a simpler uniform: crisp black with silver lining at the seams, fastened up her throat. Her hair had been tied back in a high twist—every inch the commander again.
"The patrols near Karsen Vale haven't reported in for four days," said Captain Lorne, brow furrowed. "If they've run into ambush, or worse—"
"They shouldn't have been out that far with the roads still soft from thaw," Veyra snapped, more sharply than intended.
The room went still.
She closed her eyes, pulled herself back.
"Send a scout party. Quietly. Take the old path through the foothills, and don't draw attention if you can help it."
Lorne nodded, and the messenger left at a brisk pace.
Another figure stepped into the chamber—Councilor Merel, a thin Beta woman with sand-colored eyes and a mouth that always looked like it had just finished whispering gossip. She inclined her head politely, but her gaze was sharp.
"I'd ask if you have a moment, Commander," she said, "but I imagine you've already heard the wind turning."
"I've heard many things today."
"Then you know the council is restless. And divided."
"That's not new."
"No," Merel agreed, "but your claiming an Omega… that's not a small act. Especially after all your speeches about reform. There are many who wonder if you've changed sides."
"I haven't." Veyra's voice cut like steel. "I still believe the system is broken. That it's built to cage people."
"And yet," Merel mused, "you've exercised one of its oldest powers."
Veyra didn't flinch. "To protect someone the system would have devoured. Don't mistake my refusal to abandon her as surrendering my ideals."
The councilor tilted her head, not quite smiling. "Be careful, Commander. This path may end with you defending more than your position."
Veyra's eyes narrowed. "Let them try."
With that, Merel bowed and left, her scent like dry parchment and nettle trailing faintly behind her.
Veyra lingered in the chamber a moment longer, jaw tense, hands folded behind her back.
She hadn't wanted this.
She hadn't planned this.
But she remembered Liora's face in the council hall—frightened but defiant, standing her ground before a wall of predators—and something inside her had snapped. No law, no code, no political game had mattered in that moment. Only the need to keep her safe.
To claim her, yes—but not as property.
As hers.
——
Veyra stood by the window of her study chamber, quill in hand, the half-finished note glinting faintly under the soft afternoon light. The parchment bore a column of names, places, and coded notations—her shorthand, known only to a select few. She tapped the end of the quill against her thumb, her thoughts louder than the rustle of leaves outside the stone-paned glass.
A second report confirmed it: the Karsen Vale patrol had still not returned. No crows. No sign of delayed movement or bad weather. Just… silence.
She wrote the word "missing" beside their column, then underlined it twice.
Kellen had given her more than a name that morning. A narrowed route. A schedule that didn't match the council logs. The shift overseen by Tareth's own runner team. Too many pieces that didn't fit.
A quiet knock pulled her attention back to the present.
"Enter," she called, still scanning her notes.
A Beta aide stepped in, saluting crisply. "The smith has your ledger updates, Commander. And the western watch reports one more day's delay on the replacement armaments. A runner left at dawn to pressure delivery."
"Good," she said, setting down the quill. "Leave them on the side desk. I'll review them by nightfall."
As the aide bowed and withdrew, Veyra moved to the maps tacked to the eastern wall—border updates, merchant routes, troop dispersal charts. It had been days since she truly focused on any of it.
Not since her.
She took a breath and stepped closer. Her fingers brushed the edge of the Karsen Vale region. The markings there felt too clean. Too official.
Tampered. Or at the very least, shaped to keep questions at bay.
Her jaw tensed, eyes narrowing.
The weight of command had always rested heavily, but never with this edge of betrayal. If Tareth—or any of his affiliates—had been willing to sabotage a patrol route just to silence dissent or target her faction's growing reforms… she needed proof. Not just suspicion.
She reached for a fresh page and began listing names and question. Discreetly. Carefully.
By the time the hour bell tolled for midday, Veyra had sent three quiet missives with seal-stamped wax, dispatched a scout to cross-check old cargo records, and signed two requisition approvals she barely remembered reading. Her hand ached.
But the work grounded her.
Still, her thoughts drifted—again and again—to the garden.
To the girl she hadn't seen since that morning, since the collar had been given.
Veyra stood slowly, setting down her pen. She needed to finish her rounds, speak to the training hall sergeant, check in with the outer garrison. But before that, she would find Liora.
The garden was a quieter place than the council chamber, than even these halls had been since the news began to travel. But for Veyra, quiet was never truly empty. She could feel the storm building behind the silence.
And she needed to see her before it broke.
But for now…
The midday sun had slanted low by the time Veyra returned to her desk, the window behind her casting narrow beams of amber light across the parchment strewn before her. Her ceremonial jacket hung from the back of her chair, its collar loosened. She'd spent the last hours in quiet motion—receiving visitors from her faction, absorbing their concerns, sorting through a tangled mess of loyalties and questions.
But her thoughts kept returning to the same point, circling it like a hawk over still water.
Karsen Vale.
The missing patrol was not just an unfortunate error in scheduling or weather. No runners had reported poor conditions. No tracks had been found past the northern pass. Not even scavengers circled.
And Councilor Tareth had no satisfactory explanation for the delay in reinforcements—only a bland assurance that the matter was being "reviewed internally."
Internally. As if that meant anything anymore.
Veyra frowned and reached for her journal, the one with no official seal. Its spine was cracked, its pages filled with her private handwriting—messier than the scripted reports she was required to send, but far more useful. She flipped to a fresh page and scrawled the words:
Patrol lost near Vale. Still no response from Tareth. His scouts were delayed during my ambush, too. Coincidence?
She tapped the quill's end against the page, her mind tumbling through possibilities.
There was something in the Vale. Something Tareth wanted or feared. But what?
The territory itself had no strategic outposts, no mines or known resources that hadn't already been stripped or scouted. It was a borderland—one of the oldest paths between Vaereth and the neighboring reaches beyond the mountains. Sparse, wild, often overlooked.
Unless he was hiding something.
Veyra's jaw flexed as she wrote beneath her earlier note:
What is he hiding? What could be worth covering this much?
She didn't like the feeling settling in her chest. It was heavier than suspicion. Closer to certainty.
She sat back in her chair and stared at the flickering light spilling across the room, her fingers tightening around the edge of the desk.
He was up to something. She just didn't know what.
She finally got up from her chair, and sighed. It was getting late. She wanted to find Liora, and update her on what was going on.
——
The gardens at Fort Dalen were quiet that afternoon, tucked behind high stone walls that offered little comfort and less freedom. Liora knelt beside a cluster of blooming white heliotropes, their sweet, heady scent curling in the warm air. A breeze stirred her rose-colored hair, pulling a few strands across her cheek.
She didn't move to brush them away.
Veyra's borrowed training uniform hung loose on her, the sleeves pushed to her elbows, one shoulder slipping low again despite her earlier attempts to tug it straight. She'd stopped trying. The fabric still smelled faintly of pine and spice, like the forest in early autumn—like Veyra. She was wearing the Alpha's presence, even out here.
Even alone.
Her fingers grazed the petals absently, but her mind was far from the flowers.
She felt hollow and full all at once—swollen with feelings she hadn't let herself name. Anger. Confusion. Ache. The memory of Veyra's voice in the council chamber rang louder than anything else:
"I claim her. She is mine, but she belongs to no one."
Liora had gripped the hem of her dress at those words, torn between fury and a pulse of something she couldn't—wouldn't—call hope. What right did anyone have to claim her? And yet… it had not sounded like ownership. Not entirely. Not from Veyra.
Still, the collar burned against her wrist like a brand.
She lifted it now, staring at the band of soft leather embroidered in silver thread, marked with the crest of House Halvarin. The clasp was at the back, meant to be secured by another's hand.
It wasn't on her neck.
She didn't want to wear it. Didn't want to become what they all expected.
But could she ever truly leave now?
Liora's breath caught in her throat—right as another scent reached her, heavy and foreign. Musk and cedar bark, bitter and sharp beneath the sweetness of the garden.
She stiffened and rose halfway to her feet, but a voice beat her there.
"Well, well," came a low, mocking drawl. "Veyra's little pet."
An Alpha stood at the edge of the path, arms crossed, the sigil of a minor noble house stitched to his breast. He wasn't dressed like a courtier or a soldier—somewhere in between, with the confidence of someone who'd always believed himself untouchable.
Liora's posture snapped straight. "I'm not a pet."
The man smirked. "Of course not. But you're marked, aren't you? Claimed. And yet… here you are, unsupervised."
She backed a half step before she could stop herself. "I don't need a handler."
"Don't you?" he purred, stepping closer.
The air around her thickened as his scent pushed outward, rolling like smoke and oil to press into her skin, her lungs. Liora faltered. Her legs didn't move. Her voice refused to rise. Her instincts screamed, and she couldn't even bare her teeth.
He reached for the collar on her wrist.
"No," she said sharply, clutching it—but his hand was stronger.
He held the collar loosely in one hand as he stepped behind her. Liora didn't move. Her fingers gripped the edge of the stone basin beside the flowers, knuckles pale. She could feel him looking—not merely at her, but through her. Measuring. Assessing. Like a hunter watching an animal that didn't know it was already caught.
She flinched when his fingers brushed her hair aside.
There was no need to touch her like that—none at all—but he did it anyway, fingertips grazing the soft skin at the base of her neck. She heard his breath, low and too close, and felt the heavy drag of his presence as he leaned in. He looked at her like something he might own, if Veyra didn't hold tight enough.
Then he slid it into place.
The cold ring of metal kissed her nape—and with a quiet, deliberate click, it closed.
"There," the Alpha said, stepping back to admire it. "Proper."
Liora's breath came shallow. Her hands hovered at the base of her throat.
"You're prettier than I thought, you know," he added. "And if Veyra's grip on power slips, if her claim is… contested—well." His gaze lingered in a way that made her stomach twist. "Someone will take you. Might as well be me."
He turned with a grin, as though nothing had happened, and strolled back down the garden path.
Liora didn't move.
Her hands were shaking where they rested against her collar, jaw tight, breath ragged and quiet. She hadn't whimpered—wouldn't give him that. But her body burned with the shame of it, the helplessness. The memory of his scent still clung to her skin like oil she couldn't scrub clean.
He was gone.
His footsteps had long since faded, swallowed by the hedge-lined path. But the echo of his presence clung to her like oil—thick and rancid. Liora stood frozen beside the flowers, hands trembling at her sides, the weight of the collar suddenly unbearable. It was tight now. Not in fit, but in meaning. It wasn't hers anymore. It had been taken—placed around her throat like a leash by someone who had no right.
Her breath shuddered out, uneven. The scent he'd left behind curled in her nose, foreign and wrong, turning her stomach. Her fingers scrabbled uselessly at the back clasp, but it was locked—meant to be secure once closed, requiring the key Veyra had.
"Damn him," she whispered, voice raw. "Damn him."
Her eyes burned. Not with tears, but with fury—hot and sharp, like knives behind her ribs. She didn't cry. Not for people like him.
He'd looked at her like prey. Like something he could steal. Like her choices didn't matter.
Her teeth clenched. The memory of his hands on her, of his breath far too close as he murmured that threat—If Veyra doesn't keep you, I will—made her stomach turn. But more than fear, she felt shame. Shame that she'd frozen. That her body had obeyed instinct and stilled beneath him. That the collar now rested where he had wanted it.
She dropped to a crouch again, curling her arms around herself, shoulders hunched. The sage flowers beside her swayed gently, unaware. Her nails bit into her palms. She wanted to tear the collar off. To throw it into the pond. To burn it.
But she couldn't.
She couldn't even leave without it.
So she stayed still, trembling with helpless rage, her head bowed—and when she finally heard the sound of boots on stone again, her heart lurched, expecting him.
But it wasn't him.
It was her.
Veyra.
The garden had gone quiet.
Veyra's boots made little sound on the worn stone path, but the moment she rounded the hedge, she saw her—curled beside the lavender bed, small in the oversized tunic, shoulders hunched, hair hanging like a curtain over her face. A familiar ache pressed into Veyra's chest. Something was wrong.
"Liora?"
The name came out low, cautious.
The girl didn't respond.
Veyra's steps slowed, her brow furrowing as she drew near. Then she saw the collar—fastened snug around Liora's neck, silver catch gleaming at the back. Her breath stopped. That wasn't how she'd given it to her. It had been in her hand, resting. Not worn.
And she smelled it—just a trace, but unmistakable. The scent that clung like a bruise.
Not hers.
Veyra's pulse spiked. She crossed the last few steps quickly, crouching down beside the girl. "Liora," she said again, firmer this time. "What happened?"
Liora lifted her head—and the look in her eyes broke something in Veyra clean through. No tears. Just the raw, quiet look of someone trying not to fall apart.
And then Liora moved.
She surged forward without a word and pressed herself into Veyra's chest, hands clutching at her tunic. Her face buried against Veyra's collarbone, and a small, guttural sound escaped her—a low, broken whine, one she hadn't meant to make. Veyra stiffened instinctively, heart jolting at the contact, then slowly, she wrapped her arms around her.
It was awkward, at first—Veyra wasn't used to being touched like this. Held like this. And yet she didn't pull away.
She couldn't.
"I'm sorry," Liora muttered against her, voice muffled. "I didn't—I tried to tell him to go, I didn't want—" She trailed off, breathing shallow and fast.
"Who?" Veyra asked, voice sharpened now, already knowing the answer. Her head dipped, drawing in the faint scent again. Beneath Liora's own—sweet honey and crushed lavender—something fouler lingered. Assertive. Male.
Alpha.
She gritted her teeth. "I know that scent."
Liora nodded once against her.
Veyra's jaw flexed. The muscles in her back coiled tight, her instincts igniting with a flare she barely restrained. He had dared to scent-mark her. Dared to touch what was not his.
Her hands curled, then relaxed. Gently, she pulled back just enough to see Liora's face, her own expression carved from quiet fury. "Did he force this on you?" she asked, fingers brushing the collar.
Liora swallowed. "He said I shouldn't be alone. Hinted that I looked… unclaimed." Her voice shook. "He said if you didn't hold your claim, he would."
Veyra exhaled slowly, nostrils flaring. She didn't speak—not yet. Instead, she leaned in and lowered her face to Liora's throat. The spot where the foreign scent was thickest. Her nose barely grazed the collar's edge.
Liora tensed—and then gasped softly as Veyra inhaled.
The sound that rose in Veyra's throat was a low, furious growl—not directed at her, but at the understanding of what had been done. Then, as if realizing how close she was, Veyra quickly drew back, breath unsteady.
"Sorry," she muttered. "I needed to scent-check. To be sure."
But even as she pulled back, she didn't let go. Instead, she lifted her hand and gently laid it over the place where the Alpha's mark had been. She pressed there—not hard, but firm enough to cover it.
"To overwrite it," she said softly. "Only if you'll let me."
Liora didn't answer at first. But she nodded once, and closed her eyes.
So Veyra stayed just like that, one hand at her neck, the other still holding her close. Silent. Protective. Furious.
Mine, her instincts howled. But she didn't speak those words.
——
Liora kept her eyes closed, her face still half-buried in Veyra's shoulder, where the scent was warmest—pine and sweet spice, sharper than before, sharpened by rage. But it wasn't aimed at her. That much, she understood. She felt it in the way Veyra's hands held her: not to restrain, but to shield.
The trembling in her limbs hadn't stopped yet. She hated that it hadn't.
But what unsettled her more—more than the memory of that entitled noble's breath near her skin, his voice sneering in her ear—was the moment that had come after.
When Veyra had lowered her face toward her neck.
She had flinched at first—she hadn't meant to. It was instinct, raw and half-feral, the way her body responded to the presence of any Alpha that close. But this time, instead of being paralyzed by fear or submission, something else had surged to the surface.
Heat.
A flush that started low in her belly and crawled up the back of her neck like fire. Veyra's breath, the closeness of her mouth near her skin, the sound of that possessive growl—it hadn't felt like a threat. It had felt like claiming. And not the kind that suffocated, not the kind that stripped freedom from her bones.
It had felt like protection.
It had felt… wanted.
When Veyra drew back quickly, Liora had almost chased the warmth of her mouth with her own skin. She'd barely resisted it. She was grateful the other woman didn't seem to notice her breath catch.
Then Veyra's hand replaced her mouth—palm warm, steady, grounding.
"To overwrite it," she'd said.
And Liora's chest had ached.
She opened her eyes now, tilting her face upward just enough to look at her.
"You're angry," Liora murmured. Her voice still sounded too soft, like something fragile trying to find its edges again.
Veyra's jaw tightened, but her voice became softer. "Never at you."
The answer made something tighten in Liora's throat.
"I've never had anyone stop for me," she said, her voice quieter still. "Not when it mattered. Not like that."
Veyra's gaze flicked down to meet hers. Her eyes—dark, intelligent, rimmed with steel—softened in that moment. She was still coiled with restrained fury, still breathing hard, but now her hand slid slightly, her thumb brushing once at Liora's pulse point, careful and gentle.
Liora's cheeks burned.
That warmth returned again—deep and unsettling—and this time she didn't try to pretend it wasn't there.
It wasn't just the gesture. It wasn't just the collar, or the scent. It was the look in Veyra's eyes when she said mine but she belongs to no one.
Like she'd meant it.
Like she saw her not as property—but as something worth fighting for.
Her voice barely above a whisper, Liora asked, "Why did you really say it? That you claimed me?"
Veyra hesitated.
Then she looked away, her jaw shifting. "Because I couldn't let them take you."
"That's not the only reason."
A beat.
"No," Veyra admitted, eyes flicking back to her. "It's not."
Their gazes locked.
The moment stretched—tight and thick and brimming with something unspoken. Liora could feel her own pulse against Veyra's hand still resting at her throat, and she wondered if Veyra could feel it too.
She didn't pull away.
——
Veyra hadn't meant to get that close.
Not to her neck. Not to her scent.
Not to the place where another Alpha had dared to mark Liora—an act so brazen, so violating, it still turned her stomach.
But the moment she had caught it—the wrongness, the bitter oil slick of that other scent tangled with Liora's soft honeyed lavender—her instincts had surged. The need to overwrite it. To undo it.
And maybe… if she was honest, something else too.
The protective impulse had always been sharp in her, but this—this was something more dangerous. Something ancient, low in her gut, threading into her breath and hands and pulse. Her fingers had trembled once before she stilled them against Liora's skin.
And Liora had shivered.
Not with fear.
No. Veyra had seen it—had felt it. The tiny gasp, the shift of breath, the heat that rose in the Omega's cheeks so fast it bloomed like a sun-kissed flush across pale skin. Liora's lashes fluttered, and her breath hitched in that barest second that Veyra had leaned closer.
And then, when she pulled back, Liora had leaned slightly toward her—as if caught between hesitation and want.
Veyra's chest ached, tight with a feeling she couldn't name.
She hadn't missed the way Liora had looked up at her just now, searching and full of questions. Nor the softness of her voice when she'd asked, "Why did you really say it?" There was a tremor in the words—not just from fear. But hope. Wary, reluctant hope.
And when Veyra had admitted the truth, Liora had watched her. Not like she was cornered prey—but like she was something that mattered.
And now, as the silence settled again, Veyra realized her hand was still on Liora's throat.
Not holding.
Not claiming.
Just… there. A promise. A vow made of touch.
And Liora wasn't pulling away.
Her skin was warm beneath Veyra's palm, and her scent—though still laced with residual anxiety—had a thread of something sweeter now. Tentative. Curious. Almost… open.
Veyra swallowed hard.
She'd spent her entire life rejecting the laws that gave her power over others. She had refused to claim an Omega when she'd come of age, had spat at the thought of ownership and forced bonds. And yet here she was, with her hand resting over the very place the collar now sat—and all she could think about was how wrong it was that another hand been there.
And how right this moment felt.
Liora was watching her again. Her copper eyes wide, uncertain.
And Veyra found herself whispering, almost without meaning to, "I'm sorry."
Liora blinked. "For what?"
"For the world. For this collar. For every man who ever thought they had the right to touch you."
Liora's throat moved under her hand. A swallow.
And then—so faintly Veyra might've missed it—Liora leaned in again. Just a little. Not enough to close the distance between them, but enough to invite it.
Veyra didn't move.
Couldn't.
Her breath caught somewhere behind her teeth, afraid that if she said anything else, the moment might vanish like morning fog.
She let her hand fall slowly from Liora's throat, her fingers tracing the edge of the collar gently—respectfully—before her touch disappeared.
"I'll have it remade," she said. "With a clasp you can remove yourself."
Liora's eyes widened a little, lips parting—but she said nothing.
Not yet.
She didn't look away.
But neither did Veyra.
Liora's eyes fluttered shut briefly, a small shiver running through her, and Veyra knew without words that this was something new — something dangerous and beautiful and terrifying all at once.
The silence stretched on, heavy with unspoken truths and burgeoning desire.
Veyra's fingers twitched at her sides, aching to reach out but held back by the weight of caution and respect. She saw the flicker of confusion and hope in Liora's gaze, and her heart clenched.
Slowly, deliberately, Veyra took a small step back, breaking the spell.
Liora blinked, a quiet whine caught in her throat, but said nothing.
The space between them grew, but the heat in the air lingered like a whispered promise neither was ready to speak aloud.
They began the walk back through the garden, towards the quarters.
Liora's steps were careful, matching Veyra's pace as they moved beneath the arching branches and scattered blooms. Every breath she drew was thick with the mingled scents of the flowers—and beneath it, the stronger, undeniable presence of Veyra.
Her mind churned in a restless whirl. Why does it feel so different when it's her? The sharp sting left by the other alpha's claim still burned faintly on her skin, but Veyra's nearness was warm—no, more than warm. It was… alive, unsettling, and strangely tender.
Her fingers itched to brush away the collar clasped around her neck, a symbol of possession she had spent years running from. Yet as she glanced sideways, catching the quiet strength in Veyra's dark eyes, a small, defiant part of her whispered that maybe this—this protection—was something she could hold onto without losing herself.
But fear tangled with that hope. Can I trust it? Can I trust her? Trust had been a stranger for too long. Still, the heat curling low in her belly, the soft, steady rhythm of Veyra's steps beside her—it wove a fragile thread of something new, something almost like belonging.
Her lips parted, almost to speak, but the words fled. Instead, she swallowed hard and kept walking, the garden's quiet beauty around them folding in like a fragile shield.