Page 173 of Savage Crown

Rylan takes a step closer, his fingers brushing over my wrist, barely a whisper of contact—yet it burns.

I sway.

He notices. His lips curve.

“My little thief,” he murmurs. “You’re nervous.”

A small, sharp breath escapes me. “I am not.”

Lies.

Because this is forever.

There is no turning back. No undoing this bond.

It is not marriage.

It is something more dangerous, more permanent, more real.

It is a mating.

A tethering of body, mind, and soul.

The priest raises his staff, the silver inlay pulsing with crimson light.

He speaks in the old tongue, his voice echoing through the ceremonial grounds.

I don’t understand all the words, but I feel them.

They settle into my bones, into my blood, seeping into the parts of me that are no longer just human.

A bond that does not simply tie?—

It fuses.

A golden dagger is placed in Rylan’s palm.

I watch as he lifts it without hesitation.

The blade gleams as he presses it against his palm, slicing into his flesh.

Dark elven blood, rich and powerful, drips into the sacred basin before us.

The priest nods, turning to me.

And I do not falter.

I take the blade.

Steel kisses my skin, and I watch as my own blood—different now, darker, laced with magic—falls to meet his.

Our blood mingles.

Our souls entwine.

Rylan’s breath catches.

I feel it.

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