The empire's scrolls and reports had long since blurred beneath the storm in his mind. Valerian's crimson eyes scanned the fading shadows of her room, each flicker of light a dagger to his chest. Every visit, every step through the veil of shadows, had left him bruised — body, mind, and soul. Yet he had endured it, endured the pain of invisible longing, for her. And now, hearing her speak another's name, that ache became fire.
Shyla sat upright on the bed, hair cascading over her shoulders, eyes wide and questioning. "Who is Nickolas?" she asked, her voice soft, trembling with curiosity and uncertainty.
The sound struck him like a blade. Every nerve in his body screamed, every shadow around him quivering in resonance with his fury and despair. Nickolas. The name burned on her lips, claiming the bond that he had carried for centuries in silence.
He wanted to step forward, to throw himself into her presence, to claim even a fraction of what she could not yet see. But the law, the oath, the ancient rules of his kingdom — they bound him. And still, desire clawed at him with unrelenting force.
No… I am not Nickolas… his thoughts flared. Please… wait for me, Shyla… every shadow, every visit, every moment costs me my union, my strength… yet I endure it all for you. Please… just wait…
The shadows responded, writhing and coiling as he let them guide him closer, yet still unseen. His crimson eyes never left her, memorizing every subtle flick of hair, every breath, every heartbeat. Each moment of her fragility pressed upon his chest like a vice.
He could not wait any longer. He could not simply watch. The storm of jealousy and longing consumed him, and instinct overrode restraint. In one fluid motion, the shadows bent to his will, and he moved, coiling around her like living darkness.
Before she could even register the presence, his hands were on her shoulders, firm but gentle, and he pinned her lightly against the wall. She gasped, startled, eyes wide with shock and awe.
"Shyla… listen to me," he whispered, low and raw, voice threading through the space between them like fire and silk. "I am not Nickolas. I am… I am the one who has always carried you, even when you could not see me. I endure every pain, every cost, every shadow… for you. Please… wait for me."
Her gaze locked with his, searching, uncertain, trembling with the weight of a presence she could not name. Every fiber of him pressed truth into her awareness: he was here. He had always been here. She was the center of everything he had endured, everything he had sacrificed.
Hearing her speak Nickolas' name had nearly shattered him. The jealousy burned, fierce and inescapable, a fire only her acknowledgment could quench. But now, holding her here, feeling the warmth of her, seeing the innocence of her vulnerability, that fire transformed into something more profound — a fierce, desperate love that had survived centuries of restraint.
"Do you hear me, Shyla?" he murmured, forehead nearly touching hers. "Every name, every claim, every path they speak of… means nothing. You are mine. You will wait… or I will find you, no matter the cost."
Her fingers instinctively brushed against his hands, tentative and hesitant, and his heart twisted with both agony and hope. She was sensing him, feeling the weight of him, the bond that had been invisible until now.
The shadows around them seemed to pause, holding their breath, alive with the intensity of the connection. Valerian pressed one last desperate look into her eyes before releasing her slightly, though his hands lingered near her arms. The room was thick with anticipation, desire, and the unspoken vow that had finally found a tangible form.
He melted back into the darkness, retreating as the law and oath demanded, leaving only the memory of his presence — a warmth, a weight, a promise etched into her awareness.
"Always," he whispered into the shadows. "Always for you… Shyla."
The air trembled with the echo of his vow. She pressed her pendant closer, sensing him even as she could not see him. And in the unseen corners of the night, Valerian's devotion lingered, a tether to the future, a seed of inevitability.
He had crossed the line, broken the restraint of law and shadow, and yet it was justified — every ache, every cost, every stolen moment had led to this. The union of shadow, desire, and bond had crystallized into a truth she could feel but not yet name.
The stage was set. The vow was made. The path to the main story, to the moment where he would claim her fully, lay ahead, waiting for her awareness to catch up with the depth of his love.