I stood my ground.
My heart hammered wildly in my chest, every instinct in me screaming to run… but I stayed. I had to. If I let anyone intimidate me now, they'd think they could control me forever. I wasn't his subject. I wasn't his property. And I wasn't going to let a kingdom full of beastly strangers decide who I was.
Even if Gideon towered over me, muscles taut, golden eyes burning like embers ready to ignite.
Yes—I was scared. Terrified. But fear wasn't new to me. I'd faced cliffs and rapids and raging rivers. This was different—but fear is fear, and I wasn't going to fold.
"Look," I said gently, trying to steady my breath. "I'm sorry this isn't going the way you want."
Gideon's jaw tightened, his gaze locked on mine like he was trying to decipher my heartbeat.
"And I'll be honest," I continued, voice softening despite the chaos around us, "when you said you wanted me… I was flattered."
A faint growl—a soft, surrendering rumble—vibrated from deep in Gideon's chest. His shoulders relaxed slightly.
"But attraction isn't enough," I said, pressing a hand to my heart. "Love—real love—is mutual. It comes from connection. Two people feeling the same thing. Right here."
He looked at my hand as if it were the most foreign, precious thing he'd ever seen.
Then he closed the space between us in two slow, deliberate steps.
"I do not understand this," he murmured, voice low and full of restrained emotion. "But if you say I must capture this connection… then I will. Whatever you do to me, it weakens my strength. You calm me. You unsettle me. You make me want."
His fingers brushed mine—tentative, like he was afraid I'd pull away.
Before I could answer, Morro's voice exploded through the trees.
"Sire! Enough of this madness!" he screeched, storming toward us with the elders and bride candidates trailing behind like a small army. "The Oracle has spoken! That girl is a bad omen! Misfortune! Death!"
"She bewitched you!" another elder cried. "Your duty is to your people!"
Gideon turned slowly, and even the trees seemed to hold their breath. His eyes darkened, his posture shifting with the quiet power of a storm ready to break.
"Silence," he commanded.
The force of that one word cut the air clean in half. Every creature froze—women, elders, even the children peeking from the branches above.
"I trust my senses," Gideon continued, voice deep and unshakeable. "And I trust my instincts above all else. I have chosen my bride. It is her. End of discussion."
The collective gasp of the kingdom echoed like a gust of wind.
My heart nearly fell out of my chest. Me?!
We had literally just talked about mutual love. Had he not heard anything?
Before I could form words, Gideon hoisted me over his shoulder. Again.
He leapt, sprinted, swung across branches like the world's most insane roller coaster.
"Gideon! Put me down! Are you crazy?!"
My voice bounced off every tree we passed.
He didn't stop until we reached his dwelling, high in the ancient Sequoias.
He set me down gently—too gently for someone who had just kidnapped me in front of an audience.
"I said I want you," he declared quietly, staring at me with that intense golden fire. "That is final. And do not worry—I will catch your heart too. The others know the meaning of my mark."
I rubbed my temples. How was I supposed to explain that claiming and loving weren't the same thing? That desire wasn't commitment?
But I needed time to figure this out—to plan what came next.
"Alright," I whispered. "Maybe… we can try getting to know each other. Build a connection."
His eyes softened instantly. Relief rolled through him like a gentle wave, and for a moment, he looked almost boyish—hopeful.
The next day, before sunrise, I quietly ripped the Oracle's white dress into strips and turned them into a makeshift bag. I slipped through the vines, collecting unripe fruit, small stones, and a jagged rock that I hammered until it resembled a blade. Theo followed me, asking a million questions, but he accepted every vague answer I gave him.
I taught the mothers how to weave stronger baskets using vines. I told Gideon to separate rotten fruit to avoid sickness and showed them how compost could nourish the soil. The elders kept watching me, eyes sharp and whispery—clearly plotting something.
I didn't have long.
Whenever I could, I escaped to the waterfall. The daisies nodded in the breeze, dandelions drifted like tiny wishes, and kids splashed around my legs. I felt like myself there. Even if the bride candidates awkwardly tried to imitate me, the kids didn't care—they loved playing games with me.
Every time, Gideon found me instantly—like my presence tugged at something inside him.
One afternoon, as I pointed out Sasha and the other bride candidates, I teased gently, "Look—your bride candidates are so beautiful."
He glanced their way, then looked back at me as if I were the only thing in his world.
"Not as beautiful as you," he said softly, voice thick and husky.
I swallowed my reply and pretended I didn't hear him.
Later, when we passed the fruit gatherers, I murmured, "I just hope my suggestions help. Maybe they'll see I'm not here to harm anyone."
As he nodded, I noticed dandelions tangled in his hair. Without thinking, I reached up to remove them.
The moment my fingers brushed his hair, he inhaled sharply.
I froze.
His gaze met mine—deep gold, fierce, vulnerable. I hadn't realized how close we were until I felt the warmth of his breath brushing my cheek.
Before I could pull away, he slipped an arm around my waist and gently pulled me closer.
Time slowed—like the forest itself paused.
His heartbeat thundered against mine. My breath stilled. My entire body felt weightless.
Our eyes locked.
Then the world shifted.
Fireflies drifted into the clearing—one, then dozens, then hundreds—glowing in shades of gold and soft white. They swirled around us, lighting the air like scattered stars. Their gentle glow shimmered over Gideon's tan skin, over my shaking hands, wrapping us in a strange, breathless magic.
It felt like the forest was watching.
Approving.
Calling us closer.
Something in me moved—warm, fragile, terrifying.
A spark.
A pull.
A connection I didn't choose… but felt.
Even if I didn't want to admit it.