The citadel woke slower than usual.
Not because of damage.
Because something delicate had shifted, and everyone could feel it.
Veyla sensed it in the corridors—guards pausing longer than necessary, servants lowering their eyes too quickly, conversations cutting off the moment she passed. The warmth beneath her ribs had not returned to its previous rhythm. It pulsed unevenly now, uncertain, as if the bond itself had not yet decided how to respond to what she had done.
She had chosen.
And the choice was echoing.
Zora walked beside her without speaking, boots soft against stone. When they reached the inner gallery, the witch finally glanced sideways.
"You're quieter," Zora observed.
Veyla did not deny it. "He hasn't come."
Zora hummed. "No. He hasn't."
They continued in silence.
⸻
Khorg Ironmaw did not leave his quarters.
He had dismissed everyone.
The border skirmish had ended hours ago, his orders executed cleanly, efficiently—but the victory tasted like ash. His body had recovered quickly, strength returning as it always did.
His wolf had not.
It lay coiled inside him, wounded and restless, breathing shallowly as if bracing for another blow.
Mate absent.
Mate chose elsewhere.
The words looped endlessly, not as accusation, but as fact.
Khorg sat heavily on the edge of the stone bench, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed. His stomach no longer churned. The nausea that had once tormented him felt almost comforting in hindsight.
At least it meant she was near.
Now there was only the hollow.
A commander knocked once, hesitant.
Khorg did not answer.
He was not angry.
That frightened him more than rage ever could.
⸻
Vinculus Noctaryn received the morning briefings with composure intact.
The stabilization had held. The sigils remained dormant. No further disturbances reported.
Success.
He dismissed the attendants with a flick of his hand and stood alone in the chamber, hands clasped loosely behind his back.
The bond hummed faintly now—not cold, not warm. Neutral.
Obedient.
He turned his gaze inward, assessing.
Veyla had chosen containment over instinct.
Rationality over emotion.
Predictable.
And valuable.
This was the path he could work with.
He summoned her.
⸻
The summons came quietly, carried by a messenger who did not meet her eyes.
Veyla read the seal, fingers steady.
Zora arched a brow. "That didn't take long."
Veyla folded the parchment. "He thinks I'll understand."
"And will you?"
Veyla hesitated.
"I already do," she said.
That realization sat heavier than any accusation.
⸻
The meeting chamber was cool, deliberately austere.
Vinculus stood near the window, backlit by pale daylight. He turned as Veyla entered, expression calm.
"You're composed," he noted.
"So are you," Veyla replied.
They stood at protocol distance.
The bond barely stirred.
"That is… encouraging," Vinculus said.
Veyla's chest tightened faintly. "Encouraging for whom?"
"For stability," he replied smoothly. "You made the correct decision yesterday."
The word *correct* landed like a weight.
"It minimized risk," he continued. "Preserved the seal. Prevented escalation."
"And cost something else," Veyla said quietly.
Vinculus studied her. "Cost is inevitable."
"That doesn't make it irrelevant."
Silence stretched.
"You feel responsible," Vinculus observed.
"I am," Veyla said. "He needed me."
"And the court needed you more," Vinculus countered. "This is the burden of authority."
The bond pulsed faintly, as if approving the logic.
Veyla felt it—and recoiled internally.
"That burden," she said slowly, "doesn't have to mean isolation."
Vinculus's eyes sharpened. "Isolation is not what I'm proposing."
"No," Veyla agreed. "You're proposing *preference*."
He did not deny it.
"You respond well to structure," Vinculus said. "Your condition stabilizes when variables are reduced."
"And you consider Khorg a variable."
Vinculus inclined his head slightly. "An unstable one."
The words cut deeper than Veyla expected.
"I won't abandon him," she said.
"I'm not asking you to," Vinculus replied. "Only to be… selective."
The bond warmed subtly.
Inviting.
"Consider," Vinculus continued, "how much easier yesterday was—for you—once the decision was made."
It was true.
Once she had chosen, the chaos had quieted.
That frightened her.
"I won't let ease become policy," Veyla said.
Vinculus's lips curved faintly. "We'll see."
⸻
Veyla found Khorg by accident.
Or perhaps the bond guided her.
She was crossing the outer corridor when she felt it—a sharp tug, raw and aching, like a wound brushed too suddenly.
She stopped.
So did he.
Khorg stood at the far end of the hall, armor half-unfastened, hair loose, posture rigid with restraint. He looked up slowly, eyes dark and unreadable.
The bond flared—not warmly, not gently.
Painfully.
Veyla's breath caught.
"I didn't—" she began.
Khorg raised a hand, stopping her without moving closer.
"Don't," he said quietly.
The word hurt more than shouting would have.
"I understand," he continued, voice low and even. "You chose what you had to."
That hurt too.
"I didn't choose against you," Veyla said.
Khorg's jaw tightened. "You still chose."
The truth of it stood between them, heavy and unbridgeable in that moment.
"I should go," Veyla said softly.
Khorg nodded once.
She turned away before the bond could pull her closer, before the ache could soften into something more dangerous.
Behind her, Khorg closed his eyes.
The wolf whimpered.
⸻
Zora found Veyla later, seated alone on the steps overlooking the inner gardens.
"You saw him," the witch said.
"Yes."
"And?"
Veyla swallowed. "I hurt him."
Zora considered that. "Yes."
Veyla looked up sharply. "That's it?"
Zora shrugged. "Truth doesn't need decoration."
They sat in silence for a moment.
Then Zora spoke again, voice deceptively casual.
"You know," she said, "the seal doesn't care who you love."
Veyla stiffened.
"It only cares who you're willing to leave behind."
The words sank deep.
Dangerously deep.
Zora stood, brushing dust from her skirts. "Sleep if you can, Princess. Tomorrow gets harder."
As she walked away, the bond pulsed—once, slow and heavy.
Listening.
Learning.
And Veyla, for the first time since the ritual failed, wondered if the seal was no longer waiting to be broken—
but waiting to be convinced.