Aeron's vow hung in the dusty air of the War Room antechamber, heavier than the oak map table they were leaning against.
I will burn the Southern Isles to the ground and feed Valerius to his own sharks.
Kaia stared at him. The sheer, unadulterated violence in his voice was terrifying, but the way his silver eyes locked onto hers—possessive, absolute, and fiercely protective—sent a thrill straight to her core that bypassed all logic.
"You would start a war over a broken betrothal?" she whispered, her breath ghosting over his jaw.
"I would start a war over you," Aeron corrected. He reached up, his bare hand tracing the curve of her cheek. "Valerius plays a long game. He thinks he can expose Beckett, force the Emperor's hand, and claim you as the prize for his 'loyalty' to the Crown."
"He doesn't even know me," Kaia argued, her brow furrowing. "I told him three sentences about botany."
