Page 144 of Ashes to Ashes

His mask doesn’t just crack. It crumbles, rebuilt instantly—but I saw it. I see him.

And gods help me, I want him too.

His composure fractures slightly. “And Orion?”

“Orion makes me feel like I could have a home. Not a place. A person. A body I can rest against without flinching, a bond that doesn’t demand I be softer or smaller. He sees everything wild and broken in me... and calls it sacred.” I trace patterns on the manuscript’s edge. “He looks at me and sees someone who belongs.”

“Do you? Belong?”

“With him? Yes. With you? Yes. With Kieran?” I pause, trying to find words for something I’ve barely admitted to myself. “Yes. But in different ways, for different parts of myself.”

“That’s not politically sustainable,” Finnian points out gently.

“I know.” The admission tears from my chest. “I know royal marriages are political tools. I know wanting all of you seems selfish and complicated and probably impossible. But I can’t make myself stop wanting it.”

The words hang in the air like a confession I didn’t know I needed to make.

Why should I accept limitations I placed on myself?

Why should I bleed to fit into a shape I carved from my own fears?

The words hang in the air, and I watch Finnian’s careful composure crack. His magic flares—just for a moment—warm amber light that makes the room’s shadows dance. When it settles, he looks different. Determined in a way that makes my pulse race. His thumb brushes across those full lips one more time before his hand drops.

“What if you didn’t have to choose? What if there was a way to have all of us?”

The question stops my heart. “Wait. Is there? I thought... I assumed royal marriages had to be singular. Political. Strategic.”

“Ancient Wild Court traditions allow for multiple consorts. Political marriages designed to balance power between courts.” His voice stays carefully neutral. “It’s not unprecedented.”

“But?”

“But it would require all parties to agree. To accept sharing. To put your happiness above territorial instincts.” He meets my gaze. “Not all men are built for that kind of arrangement.”

“Are you?”

The question slips out before I can stop it. His stare holds mine for a long moment.

“You’ve thought about this,” I realize, studying his face. “Not just academically. You’ve actually considered what it would mean.”

His hands still on the manuscript. “I spent the night examining every assumption I’ve made about love, about possession, about what I thought I wanted.” His thumb drags across his lip again. “Turns out three hundred years of emotional control taught me everything except how to want someone without trying to own them.”

“And?”

“I discovered something rather unsettling about myself last night.” His thumb traces his lip unconsciously. “It seems I’m more interested in your happiness than my exclusivity—which perhaps says something about the nature of love I wasn’t prepared to examine.”

“Is that what you want? To love without restraint?”

“For you?” He pauses, thumb brushing across his bottom lip like he’s trying to keep dangerous words from escaping. “Yes. Even if it means sharing what I’ve never learned to share. Even ifit means risking the kind of heartbreak that rewrites everything I thought I understood about wanting someone.”

“I’d rather share you than lose you,” he says quietly. “Though that may change when jealousy and possession have time to take root.”

The honesty of it steals my breath.

“The trial will expose all of this,” he continues. “Every feeling, every want, every contradiction. Are you prepared for that level of revelation?”

“No.” The word comes out smaller than intended. “I’m terrified.”

Maybe this time is different. Maybe visibility means power instead of punishment.

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