The light was soft and silver at the edges.
It slid across the stone floor in a hush, cool with early dawn. The hearth had burned low to amber coals. One blanket was half-kicked to the floor, the other clung to Liora's hips. A tunic hung from the edge of the bench like someone had meant to fold it, then forgotten.
Liora stirred first.
Her body ached in places that felt too intimate to name—low, slow warmth in her thighs, a dull throb through her hips, and the tight pull of healing skin beneath the bandage around her ribs. It wasn't sharp. But it was a reminder.
A slow breath escaped her as she shifted onto her side—carefully—trying not to tug at the wrap too much. She blinked blearily toward the window.
Still early.
Still quiet.
Behind her, the bed dipped with a faint rustle. A warm hand slid carefully across her waist, pausing above the bandage.
"Still breathing?" came Veyra's voice—quiet, rough with sleep.
Liora gave a low, muffled sound. "Unfortunately."
A soft exhale tickled her shoulder—almost a laugh.
"You sound disappointed."
"I'm stiff in eight different places," Liora mumbled. "And not all in the good way."
Veyra gave a faint hum of amusement. Her hand drifted up, fingers curling lightly at Liora's hip—not grabbing but just, resting there.
"You could've said no."
Liora's breath caught faintly.
She didn't answer at first. Her hand shifted slightly on the blanket. But then she lifted her hand, fingers brushing the clasp of the collar still resting against her throat. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer. Gentle.
"I didn't want to."
Veyra went still behind her.
Not tense. Just listening.
Liora swallowed once, then added—quietly, without looking back, "Not just because of the heat. Not just because you were in rut. I… wanted you."
A pause stretched between them.
Then Veyra leaned in. Her lips brushed the edge of Liora's shoulder—not as a kiss, exactly, but as something reverent. Grounded. Like a vow made without words.
"I'm glad," she whispered.
Liora's breath left her in a slow rush.
She shifted—just enough to glance back over her shoulder. Her ribs ached faintly, but not enough to stop her. "You're not going to try charming me again, are you?"
"I wasn't aware I succeeded the first time."
"You didn't," Liora said, smiling faintly. "But you were very polite about it."
That earned her a quiet laugh. Veyra shifted beside her, their knees brushing beneath the sheet.
"I'll take polite," Veyra said. "It's better than passed out from panic."
"Oh gods, don't remind me."
"You did," Veyra added dryly, "look like you were trying to run and kiss me at the same time."
"I was."
Liora rolled her eyes and pushed lightly at Veyra's chest. "And don't act like you weren't sitting there on the edge of the bed like someone just told you you'd committed treason."
Veyra smirked. "Well. In some cultures, I did."
Liora groaned, flopping back against the pillows.
"You're lucky I'm easily swayed by tragic eyes and a decent jawline."
"Decent?" Veyra echoed.
"Don't push your luck."
But she was grinning now—warmth blooming slow and steady between them.
Veyra leaned in, brushing a piece of Liora's hair behind her ear with careful fingers. Her touch lingered for a beat near the collar clasp.
"You wore it all night."
"It's mine to wear," Liora said simply.
That quiet settled in again.
Not awkward. Just full.
Liora blinked up at her—and stilled.
Her gaze had caught on something. Just below Veyra's collarbone. High on her shoulder. Barely visible in the pale morning light.
A red mark.
Sharp. Clean.
Her mark.
Her mouth went dry.
"I… bit you."
Veyra followed her gaze. Her fingers lifted, brushing the edge of the mark like she was only just registering it.
"Oh," she said quietly.
"That's—" Liora sat up too fast and hissed, pressing a hand to her ribs. "Gods. Sorry. It's just—that's mine."
Veyra blinked at her, calm as ever. "You did."
"You're not supposed to sound pleased about it," Liora muttered.
"I'm not?" Veyra asked, tone neutral. "Because I am."
"You can't say that like it's romantic," Liora said, staring at her. "It's not."
"It kind of is."
"Oh my gods."
"I mean," Veyra continued, "you were a little desperate. I was fully knotted. There may have been whimpering."
Liora dropped her face into her hands.
"You're impossible."
"I'm telling the truth."
Liora peeked through her fingers, voice tight. "Do you even realize what that looks like? What it means? I'm the Omega. I'm not supposed to mark you."
Veyra tilted her head, mildly. "Would you rather I cover it?"
Liora opened her mouth—then closed it again.
Her voice, when it came, was smaller. "No."
Veyra's eyes softened.
"I wasn't thinking," Liora added quickly. "It just… happened. I didn't mean to claim you."
"You didn't," Veyra said, steady and quiet. "You held on. That's different."
Liora's hand drifted to her own collar. She didn't unfasten it. Just touched it.
"They're going to notice," she whispered.
"Let them."
"They'll say I crossed a line."
"Then they can say it to me."
Liora stared at her, lips parting. "You're not angry?"
"I was… surprised," Veyra admitted. "But no. I liked it."
"You liked it?"
"I like that it was you," she said, simply and softly.
Liora didn't answer right away.
She looked at the mark again. Her mark. The bite wasn't brutal. It hadn't bruised like a branding. It was clean. Controlled. A line drawn in the dark—not of ownership, but of instinct.
And of choice.
She let out a slow breath.
"You keep saying things like that and I'm going to forget how to tease you."
Veyra smiled faintly. "I'll risk it."
"You're still terrible at sweet talk."
"I'm improving."
"Mm." Liora leaned in carefully, resting her forehead to Veyra's shoulder, just beside the mark. "Don't cover it yet."
Veyra didn't ask why.
She only nodded, wrapping her arm gently around Liora's back, careful not to press too hard against the bandage. Her other hand came up to cradle the back of Liora's head, thumb tracing once along her hairline.
For a moment, she let herself stay there.
Still.
Present.
The weight of scent and instinct had receded—like a fever broken. Her body still ached from the intensity of it, her thoughts still raw at the edges. But she could think again. Clearly. Strategically.
And that was when it hit her.
She inhaled once, slow and sharp.
Liora felt the shift in her breathing and pulled back just enough to glance up.
"What is it?"
Veyra's jaw had gone tight.
"Those boys," she said. "The Serren heir. And that younger guard…"
Alric Serren.
Castian Thorne.
They were still being held.
Veyra's breath caught.
Gods. She hadn't sent anyone to question them. Not formally. Not even inform her father. She'd told Kellen and Ryven to lock them in the lower hall under watch—but the moment she'd returned to her chambers, everything had unraveled. Liora's fear. The scent spiral. Her rut. The night had drowned her.
And they were still waiting.
She exhaled, steady and low, shifting slightly on the mattress.
"I need to go," she murmured.
Liora blinked slowly, and something in her expression hardened—wary, but not surprised. "And you haven't spoken to them yet?"
"No," Veyra said. "I meant to. I told Kellen to lock them down until I could—but I didn't follow through. With everything else…"
She trailed off, jaw tightening.
"They're probably still in the east wing hold," she added.
Liora pushed herself up on one elbow. The blanket slipped slightly off her shoulder, revealing the faint sheen of sweat at her collarbone and the dull line of the bandage below her ribs. "So go."
Veyra hesitated. "I don't want to leave you alone."
Liora's mouth curved faintly. "I'll live."
"You shouldn't have to deal with anything else. Not today."
"It isn't as though you're dragging them in here," she said gently.
Veyra didn't smile, but her shoulders eased a fraction.
"I'll leave a proper guard this time," she promised. "Not just one runner outside the door. Kellen, or one of mine."
Liora gave a small nod.
Veyra reached up—fingers brushing a loose strand of strawberry-blonde hair from Liora's temple. Her touch was softer than her expression.
Liora reached and caught her wrist before she could pull away. Her thumb brushed once over the edge of Veyra's palm, her copper eyes clear despite everything they'd been through.
"Don't let them talk circles around you."
"They won't get the chance."
Liora's fingers stayed curled around Veyra's wrist for another breath—warm, steady.
Then she let go, quietly.
Veyra shifted, bracing her hands beside the mattress as she rose. The sheet slid from her body in a slow rustle, and Liora, for a moment, forgot how to breathe.
It was different now.
Not heat—not desperation or instinct clawing at the inside of her chest—but something else. Steady. Real. Want pressed into stillness.
Veyra moved with the kind of calm that came from discipline—shoulders rolled once to ease the stiffness from sleep, her long legs swinging over the edge of the bed. Her scars caught faint streaks of morning light: the old silver one that arced across her side, the bruising shadows beginning to fade from the ambush days before.
She stood and pulled on her undertunic—dark, close-fitting linen that hugged her frame as she moved to the carved trunk near the wall. A second layer followed: black trousers, well-worn at the knees, and the leather half-coat bearing her crest folded sharp across one shoulder.
She buckled her belt with a smooth, practiced tug.
Liora watched all of it, head tipped against the pillow, half-lidded eyes catching every line of muscle, every mark of a soldier's body kissed by reverence, not vanity. The ache in her hips flared again—but quietly this time, a low pulse that made her shift beneath the covers.
Veyra noticed.
One dark brow lifted—not teasing, but faintly amused. Her storm-gray gaze cut to Liora, steady and unreadable.
"You're staring."
"I've earned the right."
Veyra gave the barest huff of breath—almost a laugh—as she fastened the final clasp of her coat. She reached for her gauntlets but paused, instead smoothing her hair back and refastening the simple leather tie at the nape of her neck.
When she turned again, the Lion's Heir was back in full.
But there was something softened at the edges. Something just for her.
"I'll return before midday," she said quietly, adjusting the fall of her cloak. "I'll make sure it will be Kellen who will stand outside the door. If you leave for any reason…"
"I'll take him with me," Liora finished, voice light but sincere. "Even if it's just to find a better blanket."
"Good," Veyra said. "I'd hate to have to hunt you down."
Liora smirked faintly, still reclining. "You'd enjoy it."
Veyra paused in the doorway.
"I would."
Then she was gone—cloak trailing behind her, boots soft on the stone, the door whispering shut in her wake.