Dorian POV
I moved slowly, watching her sleep. I came late to check on her after battling with Liora and her aunt. They wanted me to reject Nyx and continue the wedding to Liora.
Some of the priest and counsel agreed, most were content as long as the prophecy was fulfilled, and the public happy. They were the least of my problems, I realized, watching her sleep. Amazing how innocent she appeared when sedated.
I approached her, step by deliberate step, the way one might approach a wild creature—something that might bolt… or bite.
Her braid, the color of a raven's wing, was still intact, though far from neat. Strands had slipped loose, curling against her cheek, defiant against the order she'd been trained to keep. The moonlight caught in those strands, painting shadows across olive-toned skin and eyes so vividly green they almost didn't belong to this world.
Liora had the same eyes.
That was what sealed it—the engagement, the alliance, the lie. His parents had shown him the portrait, said the eyes meant peace, meant promise. He'd agreed to the union because of those eyes. Because duty required it, because prophecy demanded it, and because he'd been told the other twin had died before taking her first breath.
He'd told himself he could live with that. Two polite meetings were enough for obligation. He could wed silk and light if it meant holding a fragile kingdom together.
But this woman?
This wasn't silk. This was steel wrapped in skin.
Not fragile—feral. Not peace—power.
She bled and still fought. Shook and still defied. Even half-conscious, she looked like someone who'd choose the blade over the throne every time.
And still—he couldn't look away.
The realization hit him like a heartbeat too strong to ignore. The prophecy hadn't been about the gentleness of twins. It had always been about balance—light and shadow, order and chaos, silk and steel.
He'd promised peace.
But staring at her, he understood something that should've terrified him.
Peace was never going to save them.
She was.
And for the first time in two centuries, Dorian felt something dangerously close to hope.
Her pulse fluttered against the bandage at her throat, weak but steady.
He'd been staring too long. He knew it. Cassian would mock him for it later.
But for now, he couldn't make himself look away.
He'd faced assassins and gods, sat in judgment over men who'd burned cities—and none of it had ever made his chest tighten like watching this woman breathe.
"Your Majesty."
Dr. Halden's voice broke through softly. "She'll wake soon. The venom's gone, but she'll be in pain. I'd recommend it to you-
"Leave," he said quietly.
Halden hesitated, caught between protocol and whatever instinct told her not to argue with a Lycan in this mood. She packed her instruments without another word, disappearing through the door.
Dorian stayed where he was—beside the bed, hand resting near hers but not touching. Not yet.
He'd taken her life into his teeth and given it back. The bond was sealed. The prophecy fulfilled. And somehow, he still didn't feel victorious.
He felt… unsettled.
Because when he looked at her, he didn't see fate.
He saw choice.
Her fingers twitched. A soft groan escaped her lips. Then her eyes—those impossible eyes—fluttered open.
"Back from the dead," she rasped. "Again."
He froze, the sound of her voice too human, too alive for the ache in his chest.
"You should be resting," he said, tone too clipped to hide relief.
She blinked, disoriented. Then her gaze locked on him.
"Oh," she muttered, voice hoarse. "You're still here. Guess that wasn't a nightmare."
He arched a brow. "You make it sound like my presence is torture."
"It kind of is," she said, grimacing as she tried to sit up. "What happened? Did we win? Lose? Are you bleeding somewhere again, or was that still me?"
"It was you," he said, reaching to steady her when she swayed. His hand brushed her shoulder; her breath hitched.
Finally, she looked up. "I'm still a soldier. That's who I am. Not a Queen. Not your prophecy. And not—"
He cut her off gently. "Not mine?"
Her lips parted. Her heartbeat spiked through the bond. "Don't."
He leaned closer, voice low. "You can tell yourself that. But your body knows the truth."
"Rest, Shadow," he said instead, rising from the bed. "You'll need your strength. The court already thinks you're the kingdom's salvation."
She sank back into the pillows, glaring. "They're going to be disappointed."
"I doubt that" he murmured. "They haven't seen you fight yet."
He turned for the door, the hum of the bond still vibrating between them.
Hey, Your Majesty," she called weakly.
He stopped, hand on the frame.
"If you ever bite me again," she said, eyes flashing, "I'll return the favor."
He glanced over his shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, he smiled—slow, dangerous, and amused.
"I look forward to it."