#irids

when andarna told them they were privileged that they'd never had to experience war and instability ?? that was real as FUCK. peak clapback and from a teenager too, they should've been embarrassed (i get that xaden didn't help their case at all but they were already leaving and had spewed sm bs)

and even later on, when leothan did come to help "get" andarna and basically tell her he'll teach her their ways and she'll find her truth (manipulative much), etc and even violet in her guilt thought to herself "he's the only one of her kind willing to accept her" HE'S THE ONLY ONE OF HER KIND WILLING TO CHANGE HER

Another hint is actually in how Andarna’s wings developed. So say the Venin find abandoned feathertails or eggs. Channeling power into the young dragons might force them to grow too fast but cause the same issue Andarna has. How do they fix it? By removing their front legs and forcing them to use their wings as crutches, strengthening the muscles and even making them faster fliers than regular dragons.

Another reason I think wyvern are mutated irids is because it would explain why their scales are white or grey. They would have no reason to pick a resting color and logically, they would likely be a white or grey if they didn’t or couldn’t choose a color. It also would explain why the Venin know about irids. It would also explain why the Empyrean doesn’t know how wyvern come about because they are taking dragons from elsewhere to make into wyvern. Otherwise, the Empyrean would have done something about it if they were the source of wyvern. But if the irids are dumping eggs or juveniles and aren’t bothering to pay attention to the war, they would have no way to know that they’re supplying the Venin. The runes inside of the wyvern prove that they’re made, that they’re not naturally born as wyvern. In fact, the Venin probably wants the irids to remain complacent, which is why they leave the islands alone.

Theophanie might want Andarna to either turn into a wyvern or imprison her so that they can have a source of eggs to produce wyvern with. Then they have preparations for taking over the islands but still have a source for wyverns. Because something tells me that the Venin are confident that they can win and if they think they’ll win one war, then they’re likely already planning the next one.

It would be a bitter irony if the irids are producing young that they later abandon due to prejudice (like maybe it’s because they believe they become wyvern and rather than try to figure out a way to prevent it, they abandon them) only to find out that they are immune to the Venin channeling from the earth or something. Because they know this, the Venin go out of their way to destroy them and turn them into tools. Nature might have been giving the irids a means of balancing things out but their own prejudice has been stagnating everything. The Venin might actually know what cures them, they just immediately kill and corrupt it before anyone can figure it out.

More evidence as to why I think wyvern come from the irids; they have different kinds of fire. Irids have a different fire from regular dragons. Once turned wyvern, they likely only have one fire.

Chapter 4 of my Empyrean time travel AU.

-Xaden-

The valley smells of pine and frost; the cold bites the back of my throat. A red and a green dragon circle and land.

“They are not ready for this,” Sgaeyl murmurs, her mental voice cool steel.

“They have to be,” I answer. “And they have to keep their mouths shut.”

Her snort rattles the stones. “Mortals rarely do what they are told.”

“Then I’ll make sure they understand,” I mutter, brushing frost off my leathers.

Felix Gerault’s dragon touches down, a massive red swordtail whose scales glint like embers in the sun. Felix looks younger than my memory, but his stance is the same, steady, useful. He was the one who listened to Violet then. She’ll appreciate seeing him.

A green lands next. Broader than the red, hide shimmering like a blade of summer grass, horns sweeping back in jagged arcs. Colonel Mairi pats her dragon’s muscled shoulder. She raises an eyebrow. “Gerault?”

“Mairi.” He nods to her. 

“You’re coming?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“I’ve been invited by Duke Riorson to accompany you to Calldyr,” he explains. 

“I asked my father to bring him in,” I cut in.

Mairi’s gaze sharpens. “Why?”

Because I’ve lived this before. Because he was the only one who treated Violet like she mattered, who listened to her when no one else did. Because after my father died, he was the only assembly member who didn’t choke me with politics.

“Because I trust him,” I say flatly. Felix stiffens at the bluntness, no doubt wondering the source of the new found trust, since he’s never met me before. I can’t exactly explain it to him. Not yet, at least. “And because both of you need to know something before you go to Calldyr.”

Sgaeyl presses closer in my mind, steady and cold. “Be careful.”

“I know.” My pulse hammers anyway. “Are you almost here?”

“Yes, shadowed one.”

“I’m a bonded rider. My dragon is Sgaeyl,” I say aloud. 

Mairi’s head jerks. “Impossible.”

Felix’s brows shoot up. “At seventeen?”

“Yes.” I don’t flinch. 

At that moment, Sgaeyl arrives in the valley, landing down in between the red and the green and forcing them both to back up and give her space.

“Sgaeyl chose me. And my signet is shadow.” I lift a hand; darkness curls up my fingers before dissolving into the air.

Both of them go still.

I step closer. My voice drops. “Only a few know, and the secret must be kept. Nobody outside this circle breathes a word.” I fix them both with a penetrating glare. I open my mind to theirs to hear their thoughts. There is nothing but disbelief. 

“When I’m twenty, I will enter the Rider’s Quadrant and we will pretend to bond at Threshing,” I continue. “Until then, my bond will be kept a closely guarded secret. Only my father and one other person know the whole story, and the dragons involved. Do you understand?”

Mairi’s jaw works. “Fine. If Fen’s agreed, I’ll keep your secret.”

Felix studies me a long moment. Then inclines his head. “Of course. I will protect your secret. And I look forward to one day hearing the story of how this happened. It must be magnificent.”

“If they will break, if they fail, I will roast them myself,” Sgaeyl says in my mind, disdain lacing her tone.

Her threat slides under my skin like comfort. I almost smile. “That won’t be necessary.”

Neither of them have any thoughts of betrayal. Although Mairi plans to seek out my father for an explanation. Good luck to her. He won’t tell.

“Good,” I say aloud. “For our plans to work, we need to keep eyes off Tyrrendor. If this gets out, it won’t just kill me. It’ll put a spotlight on Tyrrendor and that could upend all our plans.”

For a heartbeat, the only sound is the green’s growl and the snap of Sgaeyl’s tail.

“My dragon is Eryth,” Mairi says. “We should fly.”

Then Felix clears his throat and nods. “Agreed. Let’s mount. Nuirlach is mine.”

The wind cuts sharp against my face as Sgaeyl wings over the plains, Nuirlach and Eryth steady at her flanks. The others keep their distance, but her mind presses into mine, steady and unyielding.

“When we reach Calldyr, I will not linger,” she says. “Once you land, I will fly to my mate.”

My chest tightens. “Tairn.”

“Yes. He is bonded to Naolin still, but he travelled with us. He remembers everything, as do we. He will fly to Calldyr with me.”

“What of Naolin?”

“If he is wise, he will follow where his dragon leads. You will need him. Brennan is his partner for riding missions. Perhaps he and Marbh should come as well.”

The name hits me like a blade to the ribs. Brennan. Violet’s brother. Still young, still under General Sorrengail’s command. Still blind to the truth.

But I remember.

When the truth finally came the last timeline, when the choice lay between Navarre’s lies and Tyrrendor’s rebellion, Brennan chose us. Tyrrendor. Truth. And it cost him everything: his command, his family.

He bled for us. He will again.

“He could be key,” I tell Sgaeyl. “If anyone can pull Naolin across the line, it’s Brennan, and we need Tairn, so we need Naolin. But we have to get Brennan there first. We may need Violet’s help with him.”

“Then I’ll bring them both,” Sgaeyl replies. 

It’s actually the perfect cover. Brennan could just be visiting his family, Naolin coming along as a friend.

Sgaeyl’s wings snap wide as she rides a thermal, dragging us higher, Nuirlach and Eryth laboring to match her climb. My stomach flips with the surge of altitude, but my mind steadies with the thought.

Tairn. Naolin. Brennan. Marbh.

Pieces of the past, rethreaded into this second chance.

And gods, if we can pull them in now, maybe, just maybe, we will build the net we need to be successful this time.

We travel for hours, cutting over rivers and valleys, resting only when the dragons demand it. By the time we catch up to my father, he’s making camp on the plains outside Calldyr, his guards already pitching tents. 

The dragons drop us a ridge away from camp, wings beating the cold night air before vanishing into the dark. Sgaeyl departs immediately to find her mate. No one sees them. That’s the point. We hike in on foot, boots crunching frost, packs slung over our shoulders like we’ve traveled the same slow miles as the rest of my father’s entourage.

By the time we reach the camp, torches throw halos of light across canvas and guards, and the smell of woodsmoke and stew settles into my lungs. My father’s silhouette is unmistakable, straight-backed by the fire, cloak falling like armor. General Tavis sits beside him, scar gleaming in the glow. Aunt Sera sprawls with practiced ease, boots crossed, eyes sharp even as she smiles too easily at nothing.

Felix, Mairi, and I drop our packs. Bowls of stew find our hands. We take places around the flames.

It doesn’t take long.

Mairi breaks, her sky blue eyes fixed on my father. “I need to hear it from you, my grace. I saw him flying. I saw the shadows curling off his hands. But a rider? At seventeen?” Her voice is tight, disbelief threading every syllable. “It shouldn’t be possible.”

Tavis grunts low. “Shouldn’t and isn’t are two different things. The shadows are real enough.”

Mairi shakes her head, eyes cutting to me, then back to my father. “I’ll keep the secret. You have my word. But gods, I need to know how. How did this happen?”

Aunt Sera leans forward, interest sparking in her gaze. “I admit, brother, I wouldn’t mind hearing the tale myself. You’ve always been too good at hiding things.”

My father sets his bowl aside, his expression carved from stone. “You’ll have to trust me.”

Mairi straightens, her mouth parting. “But you know.” Her tone is accusatory.

“Yes, Brigid, I know.” My father’s voice is iron, steady as the fire. “And the story is…miraculous.” His gaze flicks to me, sharp, weighing. “But it’s not ours to tell. The story belongs to dragonkind, and the dragons involved are not willing to divulge it. So the story will stay with me.”

Sera arches a brow. “We can’t know? Even when we’ve already sworn?”

“You’ve sworn to keep the secret,” my father counters. “That’s all that matters. How it came to be, how my son came to be bonded before his twentieth year, is knowledge that stays with me, with Xaden, and with the dragon who chose him. One day, when the dragons allow, you’ll hear it. But until then, not a word. Not a whisper. To the world, he is only my son, my heir. Nothing more.”

Mairi studies him, searching for a crack, for some explanation that he won’t give. Finally, she exhales, sharp and reluctant. “Fine. But gods help us all if someone discovers it before then.”

My aunt’s smile curls, mischievous and conspiratorial. “Then we’ll make sure no one does. Secrets are safest when they’re shared only with family.”

Tavis grunts again, this time more approval than doubt. “Then it’s settled. Until the right time, only those who need to know will get to know.”

The fire pops, sending sparks into the night. Shadows leap across their faces, across mine.

I let mine slip free, curling low around the flames, black threads sliding over the dirt like smoke come alive. Everyone goes still. Good.

“I appreciate your discretion,” I say evenly, though my shadows twist like knives between us. “And if you tell…” The darkness snakes higher, coiling up their boots, brushing their sleeves. “I’ll know.”

They flinch, even if they try not to show it. My father’s advisors aren’t used to being threatened by a boy of seventeen. But I’m not seventeen. Not really. I’ve lived and bled and killed more than they can imagine. I’ll defer to my father in public. He’s earned that. But the others? They’ll learn fast, I’m not someone to cross.

I force the shadows back, let them sink into the dirt, and hold my hands out to the fire instead. The heat licks my palms, grounding me.

Until twenty, I can’t be the bonded rider who was given a second chance.

I can only be Xaden Riorson. The duke’s heir. Nothing more.

The next day, we ride in together, my father and I on horseback, side by side, Felix and Mairi flanking. Sgaeyl, Nuirlach, and Eryth are gone, unseen by Navarre’s eyes. Although Nuirlach, and Eryth remain close by.

When we pass beneath Calldyr’s gates, no one suspects a thing. To them, I’m only the duke’s son, a boy of seventeen.

And that’s exactly how it has to stay.

The gates of Calldyr rise like a crown of iron, banners snapping above the stone. The city hums with life, merchants shouting in the square, children darting through the crowd, the smell of smoke and brine carried in from the harbor. We ride through it all, our horses’ hooves ringing on cobbles, until the palace walls swallow the noise.

The palace courtyard gleams, marble polished, guards lined in perfect formation. And waiting at the top of the stairs, King Tauri and his sons.

My jaw locks at the sight of Alic and Halden, their younger brother Cam, Aaric, next to them. My gut burns with the memory of what they’ll do, of the games they’ll play with lives.

Alic’s lips curved in the same smirk I’ve always hated. The same one that was on his face when he and four of his lackeys ganged up on Garrick during Threshing. I killed them all. And just like that, memory burns hot and merciless.

Threshing. The mountain wind howled through the valley, dragons circling, cadets scrambling to find the one that would choose them. Alic had moved like a predator through the chaos, hunting for rebellion relics. He and his lackeys would kill without hesitation. He lifted his blade to strike Garrick’s head. Five on one. Cowards.

I didn’t think. I let my daggers fly as I unsheathed my sword. In the end, Garrick and I remained breathing. I never regretted it. Not once.

Now he stands before me again, whole, alive. My stomach twists.

Halden lingers beside him, posture bored, eyes sliding across our group with disdain. His gaze slides past me, and another memory claws to the surface—

Basgiath. My signet battling class. Halden showed up. Sat right next to Violet and hit on her during my class. Leaning too close to her. His voice low, suggestive, fingers brushing her sleeve. I’d seen red. Shadows lashed out before I could think, slamming him away from her like a rag doll. Violet’s eyes had gone wide, a flicker of both shock and something hotter. No one touched her.

The echo of that fury flares in my chest now.

“Duke Riorson,” King Tauri says, his voice carrying like a blade unsheathed. He inclines his head, careful courtesy. “Tyrrendor honors us.”

My father dismounts, cloak falling like armor. He falls into a bow, “We are honored by your presence, your majesty,” he replies.

My father’s words roll smooth and practiced, Tauri’s reply equally polished. Politics is theater, and every glance, every gesture, is a blade.

I swing down after him, every movement measured, my mask in place. Sera slides off her horse with a conspiratorial smile, Tavis already scanning the perimeter like he’s counting exits. Colonel Mairi and Felix flank us, sharp and silent. We all bow behind him.

Alic’s eyes cut across me like he already knows, like he can smell the memory of his death in my blood. “So this is the son,” he says, smug. “You’ve grown since last we saw you, Riorson.”

I bite hard enough to taste iron. Shadows coil low in my gut, restless, hungry, but I hold them down with both hands. I won’t lose control. Not here. Not now.

“Indeed he has,” my father answers smoothly, stepping between us like he’s sliding a blade back into its sheath. “And he will represent Tyrrendor well in your father’s hall.”

Tauri gestures toward the palace. “You will be escorted to your chambers. Tonight, we dine together. Tomorrow, we shall speak of provincial matters.”

We follow the attendants inside.

The palace swallows us whole, tapestries heavy with gold thread, mosaics glittering like jewels, the echo of our footsteps sharp against marble.

Our guest chambers lie in the east wing, silk hangings and carved furniture prepared like we’re honored guests. My father surveys the rooms with cool indifference. General Tavis mutters about guard placement and disappears down the hall.

I move to the window, looking out over the city sprawled below, but all I can see is the ghosts I left at Basgiath, the sneer on Alic’s lips, the way Halden leaned too close to Violet.

Both of them alive. Both of them here.

And this time, I will have to play nice, at least in public.

I head down the hallways to my private guest chambers. Voices echo, courtiers stare, whispering in hushed tones.

Something inside me claws.

Shadows stir at my feet, restless. Hungry. Searching. I let them slip, a fraction at first, then more, curling through cracks, gliding along walls, darting through corridors unseen.

Find her.

The thought pulses like a heartbeat.

And then, there.

Sunlight slants between the stacks and dust motes float like slow stars. Violet is there, head bent over an old spine, hair a slash of brown to silver. I forget to breathe.

My shadows leak from me, a single thread at first, then bolder, curling through the air like smoke. One tendril reaches up, a fingertip of dark, and brushes her cheek.

She flinches, hand coming to the place as if to catch whatever she felt. And then she smiles softly, the way someone smiles at a secret kept between two people. Xaden,” she whispers. She knows.

The relief that hits me is almost physical. Her warmth rides back through the shadows. My knees want to give, my chest wants to split open, because even without words, she feels me. I want to run to her. 

I choke down the rush of relief and school my expression into calm as I step into my room.

But inside, every part of me is burning with one truth.

She’s here. She felt me.

And gods, she smiled.

-Violet-

The shadow lingers against my cheek, warm and cool all at once. I freeze, fingers rising to the spot as though I can hold onto the sensation.

It can’t be.

But my heart already knows.

“Xaden,” I whisper, the name a prayer on my lips.

The silence answers. No voice, no bond, just the echo of touch.

I slam the book shut, the sound far too loud in the empty library, and push to my feet. My pulse hammers as I hurry through the corridors, ignoring the startled looks of passing servants.

If the Tyrrendor delegation is here, if he’s here…I have to know.

“Have the Tyrrish arrived?” I demand of the first guard I see, breathless. He blinks, startled, then nods toward the east wing. “The duke and his advisors were escorted to their chambers not long ago.”

Relief and terror crash through me at once. He’s here. Alive. Whole.

I take the long corridor, my steps quickening, my throat tight. And then, as I pass a shadowed alcove, the world shifts.

Darkness curls out like smoke, wrapping my wrist, tugging me off balance. I gasp, but before I can cry out, strong arms catch me, pulling me into the alcove’s shelter. Shadows seal around us, thick as velvet.

A shield hums to life, muting sound, smothering the world outside.

And he’s there.

Xaden.

Older eyes in a younger face, mouth set in a line that breaks when he looks at me. For one heartbeat we just stare, both disbelieving. Then I’m moving, or he is, and our mouths crash together.

The kiss is fire and fury and desperate relief. His hands frame my face like he’s afraid I’ll vanish, and mine clutch his shoulders, holding tight to muscle and leather, to proof.

“You’re here,” I breathe against his lips, tears hot on my cheeks. “Gods, you’re here.”

His forehead presses to mine. “Violence,” he rasps, voice raw, reverent. “I thought…I thought I’d lost you. I thought I’d lost myself.”

Shadows cocoon us, their hum familiar, steady. His mouth claims mine again, softer this time, aching. I taste salt, his or mine, I can’t tell.

Every piece of me that’s been hollow since Draithus fills. His touch, his presence, the heat of him. It’s all real.

His hand trembles as he cups my jaw. “I fought it, Vi. Fought until Berwyn dragged me under. Every time I drew more power, I felt myself slipping closer to something I couldn’t come back from. I knew it would end me, but I couldn’t stop. And when the darkness swallowed everything, I thought I’d die Venin. Thought you’d remember me as a monster.”

Tears spill hot and fast. “You weren’t a monster. You were fighting to save us.”

His eyes close, pained. “And then I woke up here. Whole. With Sgaeyl. But no rebellion relic. No scars. None of the proof of what we lived through. I thought I dreamed it.” His voice cracks. “Until I knew you were here.”

I press my forehead to his. “I searched for you for months. After Draithus, I hunted. Andarna was gone. Tairn was grieving himself hollow. And you… I couldn’t find you. Not a single lead. I thought you’d been lost to me forever.” My voice breaks. “And when Andarna came back, when she told me what she could do, what Irids could do, I knew. We had to come back.”

His breath hitches, his hand sliding to the back of my neck. “Tairn.”

My throat closes. “He let go of me, Xaden. He went back to Naolin so we could try again. And Andarna…she promised she’d hatch sooner this time, that she’d find me when she was old enough to fly. They both gave me up so we could be here. I miss them so much.”

His arms crush me close, his chest shaking. “Gods, Vi. You gave up your dragons. For me.”

“For us.” My voice is fierce even through the tears. “I couldn’t watch the world die the same way again. Couldn’t lose you again. If there was even a chance to change it, I had to take it.”

For a long moment, neither of us speak. Just shadows and heartbeats and the ragged sound of our breaths.

Finally he pulls back, eyes dark and wet. “Then we don’t waste it. We don’t waste a single godsdamned second of this chance.”

I kiss him again, desperate and certain. 

The shield hums steady around us. His shadows curl closer, holding us like a vow.

Something inside me cracks wide open. Months of loss, of silence where Tairn’s voice should be, of empty nights clutching at memories of Xaden instead of the man himself. Everything pours out in a flood of need so sharp it’s almost pain.

“Xaden,” I whisper, my fingers fisting in his tunic. My voice breaks, but the words rip free anyway. “I need you.”

His eyes go molten, a curse falling under his breath. Then shadows surge around us, thick and consuming, hiding everything but the two of us. My heart races as he tugs me deeper into their cover, guiding me down the hall with a surety that belongs only to him.

Every step is a heartbeat, every brush of his hand at my waist a promise. The world falls away until there’s nothing but the two of us moving as one toward his chambers.

The door slams shut behind us, shadows snapping tight as he locks it with a pulse of lesser magic. The sound is final, like the closing of a cage, and the freeing of something we’ve both held back too long.

His mouth is on mine before I can breathe, the kiss rough, desperate, our bodies colliding like we’re trying to make up for every moment lost. His hands roam, mine clutch, shadows stir. Finally.

And then—

A throat clears.

The sound is quiet, polite even, but it might as well be a blade to the gut.

We break apart, gasping, shadows flickering uncertain around us.

A man sits in the corner chair, half in shadow, cloak draped, expression unreadable.

The kiss dies on my lips as the shadows recoil, and my heart nearly seizes in my chest.

“Son.”

The single word is steady, not harsh, and it freezes me. My heart stutters.

Fen Riorson.

Alive.

I’ve only ever known him through absence, through the hollow grief he left in Xaden’s eyes, through the unyielding weight of the scars carved into his son’s back. He has been nothing but a ghost of pain to me. And yet here he stands, tall, unbent, cloak thrown over his shoulders as if this were any ordinary evening.

Xaden stiffens beside me, his hand still firm at my waist, but his father’s eyes soften when they find me.

“Would you care,” Fen says, voice even but warm, “to introduce me to your wife?”

The word steals my breath. Wife. Not accusation. Not disbelief. Recognition.

“You told him?” My voice cracks, disbelief spilling through. My gaze flies to Xaden’s. “He believed you?”

A low chuckle rumbles from Fen’s chest, unexpected, almost fond. “It was…unbelievable,” he admits. “But I’ve seen my son’s shadows with my own eyes. I’ve seen the relic branded into his skin and the dragon who gave it. No matter how far-fetched his story seemed, I had no choice but to believe.”

My throat tightens. I drop my head in something between a nod and a bow, my voice trembling. “I…I can’t tell you how grateful I am to meet you, sir. In my world, you were already gone, and Xaden—” My words falter. “He carried the weight of losing you every day. To see you alive now…to know he has this chance with you again...”

Fen’s eyes soften further, though his posture never loses that iron-straight control. “Then we both owe thanks to the choice you made, Violet. You gave me back my son.”

Before I can answer, he steps forward, closing the distance between us. His arms come around me in a rough embrace, solid, unexpected, overwhelming. For a heartbeat, I’m too stunned to move, my breath caught in my throat. Then I melt into it.

“Welcome to the Riorsons, Violet,” he murmurs against my hair, voice low but steady. “I am honored to have you in my family.”

The words shatter something inside me, but not in the way grief once did. This is different. Healing. Belonging. For the first time since we came back, I feel seen.

When he finally lets go, his large hands linger on my shoulders, grounding me, steadying me.

I turn and Xaden is watching.

His expression is raw, unguarded, shadows trembling faintly at his feet. His lips part as though he can’t quite take in what he’s seeing. His father’s arms around me. Welcoming me.

Something flickers across his face, astonishment first, then relief so sharp it nearly folds him in two. For just a moment, the iron control that defines him slips, and I glimpse the boy who believed he would never see his father alive again.

His throat works, but no sound comes.

Fen glances back, his hand still resting lightly on my shoulder, and his gaze locks with his son’s. “She is family now, Xaden. As much as you are.”

Xaden blinks hard, swallowing against the storm in his chest, and nods once, short and fierce. His hand finds mine, threading our fingers together with silent desperation.

And for the first time in both our lives, we stand not as broken pieces, but as a family.

Fen shakes his head slowly. “To the world, you’re both younger now. You’re a girl of fifteen and my son of seventeen. If anyone knew, it would raise questions neither of you could afford to answer. You’ll need to be careful.”

I swallow hard and nod, the weight of it pressing down.

“But,” Fen continues, his voice steady with promise, “when we return to Tyrrendor, I’ll make arrangements. A formal betrothal contract with the Sorrengails. The world will see it as politics. And when you’re of age in this timeline, you can be wed again, properly this time.”

Hope flares so sharp it nearly hurts.

Xaden’s hand tightens in mine, steadying me. I glance up at him, find his eyes locked on his father’s, full of something fierce and unspoken.

Fen inclines his head once more, the gesture carrying the weight of an oath. “Until then, no one else can know. Not about the marriage. But in my eyes—” His voice lowers. “You’re already family.”

Fen’s hand squeezes my shoulder once more, then he steps back, his expression settling into something calmer, steadier, more Duke than father now.

“I’ll give you both your privacy,” he says, his gaze flicking between us. “But not before I tell you this: this week, I’ll extend an invitation to the Sorrengails. A private dinner, here in my chambers. Just family.” His eyes settle on me with quiet emphasis. “It’s time I meet your parents properly, Violet. And time they see what’s already clear to me.”

My breath catches. My parents. Dinner with Fen Riorson.

I nod, though my pulse hammers at the thought. “Yes, my grace.”

He studies me a moment longer, then softens. “Just Fen, Violet.”

With that, he turns and leaves, cloak sweeping behind him, the door shutting softly in his wake.

The silence that follows is thick, shadows curling in lazy arcs around us.

And for the first time since Draithus, I believe this second chance might truly be ours to build.

For a long moment, neither of us moves. The room is hushed, shadows curling along the walls in soft, restless arcs.

Then Xaden exhales, sharp and unsteady, and pulls me into his arms.

I go willingly, burying my face against his chest. His scent, leather, mint, steel, wraps around me, familiar and overwhelming. My tears come hot and fast, and when his own fall against my hair, I realize he’s crying too.

We stand there until my legs tremble, and even then he doesn’t let go.

“We have today,” he murmurs against my temple, his breath warm, his voice splintering on the words. “Until dinner. Just us.”

The words wrap around me like armor. A promise. An anchor. I nod, clutching at him, fingers fisting in his tunic as though if I let go, the world might shatter all over again. 

And we don’t waste it.

He kisses me like he’s starving, like he’s trying to erase the months we spent apart, and I meet him with equal desperation. My hands slide over the breadth of his shoulders, memorizing the familiar lines of a body that feels both too young and exactly right. His lips trail fire down my throat, my name rough in his whisper, and I arch into him, needing more, needing all of him.

“Fuck, Vi,” he groans, pulling back just enough to cup my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears I didn’t even realize were there. His eyes are raw, open in a way few people ever get to see. “I thought I’d never—” His voice breaks. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to hold you again.”

“You’re here,” I whisper, my palms framing his jaw, grounding him. “I found you. I brought you back. You’re here.”

He kisses me again, softer this time, trembling at the edges. We tumble onto the bed, shadows curling around us like a shield, a cocoon. The world outside ceases to exist.

Hours blur into each other, every moment a different shade of need. There are frantic, breathless kisses, my fingers digging into his back, his hands clutching me like he’ll never let go. There are slower moments, when we lie tangled in the sheets, foreheads pressed, breaths mingling as we whisper everything we never had the chance to say.

He tells me about waking here in a body that looks unscarred, no rebellion relic, but feels heavier for the memories it still carries. “They’re gone,” he says quietly, tracing the spot above his heart where his scar for me once was. “But I remember every one. Every night without you.”

I swallow hard and tell him about the empty months I searched, about the silence where Tairn once was, about the sharp edges of losing Andarna and the loved ones who fell before the end. “I couldn’t let it be for nothing,” I confess, my voice raw. 

Sometimes we laugh, breathless, ridiculous, giddy at the miracle of this second chance. Once, he rolls onto his back, shadows spilling across the ceiling like constellations, and I laugh so hard tears streak my face. He pulls me against his chest, laughing too, and for a moment it feels like we’re weightless.

Other times we cry. Silent, shuddering sobs pressed into each other’s skin, holding tighter when the memories claw too close. When Draithus returns in his eyes. When the death and destruction of the dark wielders hollows mine.

Through it all, we stay anchored in each other. Touch after touch, vow after vow, like drowning people clinging to the surface.

The sun shifts across the room, marking time in golden stripes over the floorboards, but we ignore it. 

For now, it’s only us.

By late afternoon, the air is heavy with the scent of us, sweat and salt and something that feels like home. I sit up slowly, wrapping the sheet around me, and watch him at the window, shadows drifting lazily over his bare shoulders. His profile is softer than I remember, younger, but his eyes, when they find mine, are the same.