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Lunara couldn’t decide between letting her head fall forward or slumping back and melting halfway down her horrid seat. Truly, nothing had ever been more tedious, more ridiculous, than listening to two Sorcerit argue over the window placement between their Upper Block boutique storefronts.

As if such a thing mattered whatsoever when Bordoroth was falling apart.

“Perk up, Lunara,” Araxis whispered as the grumbling shopkeepers finally exited, neither of them pleased. “Vann is last and has only come to finalize the delivery of our order.”

“Thank the weeping moons.” She blinked at the domed ceiling. “He won’t mind if I’m asleep.”

“Valandyrian aht Bordoroth, Blessed of Kohamaia, Second Imperial Son of Alwyn and Fionerys. Brandir aht Bordoroth, Blessed of…”

Lunara didn’t hear the rest of her mate’s title, her head snapping up so fast she went dizzy.

“Oh my stars,” she breathed, frozen.

Brand looked exactly as he should. Every inch the Demon Son she loved. Raw. Serious. That deep furrow in his brow more of a threat than a mark of worry. Sisters save her but those hazel eyes locked on her and stayed there, peering straight into her soul. Called out to her. Add in the power radiating from the hard planes of his body, power she hadn’t felt in months, and Lunara was done for.

Araxis’s hand on her knee stopped her from misting away. “You cannot. Such a display would not be well received.”

“But—”

“Please. See what happens. I’m begging you.”

One of these days, you’re going to punch him, and it will feel exactly as good as you’re hoping it will.

Arsehole.

“Welcome again, Vann,” she said, breathless, correct, and fucking hating it. “And B-Brand, what a pleasant surprise. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

He went so soft as he stared at her in the deafening silence, gifting her with a crooked smile. Pressing one hand to his heart, over her fang marks, his lids fluttered closed and⁠—

Lunara gasped when the bond opened wide, everything slamming into her at once before snapping back outwards. His admiration, a drop of sadness and remorse clinging to it. Blind, consuming obsession, an apology alongside it. Deep, deep pain—enough to have tears springing to her eyes—but there was hope, too. And love. So much love she couldn’t breathe for the gale of it.

And then Brand sank to his knees.

“Illustrious members of the Elder Council and Sorcerit of the Elder Tier, I kneel here not before you, but before your Blessed Keeper.” Murmurs swept across the amphitheater, but it was nothing compared to the deep gravel of the Greater’s rumbling voice. “I, Brandir aht Bordoroth, Blessed of Straelon, Fourth Imperial Son of Alwyn and Fionerys, am her most loyal and faithful servant. I am on my knees so that you know to your marrow that the power you love so well is entirely in her hands. If Lunara the Moonweaver commanded it of me, I would call the stone to heel and tear the breath from every last body in this room. I would not blink. I would not hesitate. Whatever wish she has in this world shall be granted, and I will do it with a smile on my face. I⁠—”

“This cannot stand!” Auren shouted, cutting Brand off. “An Imperial Son has no right to make such threats in our realm. You are out of line, Your Highness.”

Fucking eejit.

Brand’s head swiveled towards the Hivewarden so slowly. “Let me guess—you’re the one who called the vote to cull my blessed mate.”

“Oh, shite,” Araxis groaned. He stood, fog starting to gather around his fingers, but a vine shot out of nowhere and tapped him on the nose. Both she and Araxis followed the verdant length to Vann, utterly serene as he called the plant back to himself and mouthed, ‘Trust him.’

Not a hardship for Lunara.

“I did my duty,” Auren sneered. “Illamiata is already corrupting⁠—”

A flick of Brand’s wrist and both the stone bench and banister deformed, rising up on either side and in front of Auren to form three, clawing hands. They stilled, the onyx poised and hovering like angry snakes, aimed at the Hivewarden’s blanching face.

Araxis sank back into his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly giving up.

“I don’t think you understood me. Pay very close attention.” Still kneeling, Brand looked at Lunara. “My love?”

There was a question in the bond, and she understood immediately what he was really asking. What he was showing. The gift he was giving.

“No, Brand,” she answered, proud that she kept her voice from shaking. “Not this time.”

The stone fell before she took her next breath, sinking back to its place as Brand stood. “Do you see? Even when faced with the one who dared to threaten her life, I still defer to her judgement. Her power.” Brand looked around, as if he could meet the eye of every Sorcerit there. “Have I made myself perfectly clear?”