Page 165 of The Silent War
My chest pulled tight, so sudden I almost lost my breath.
This was it. The final piece. The last barrier between wanting her and binding her. With the Accord in her hands, dynasty law itself would bend. Damius would eager to approve the marriage.
The dynasty couldn’t refuse us now.
She thought she’d confessed a burden.
She didn’t know she’d just given us forever.
I pressed my forehead to hers, my breath ragged. My thumb traced her cheek, catching another tear.
She just gave us leverage.
“You’ll never carry this alone again,” I whispered, my lips brushing her temple.
She sobbed quietly, but softer now, her body folding into mine like she believed me.
Luca’s hand never left her back. His eyes stayed locked on me, unspoken truth passing between us. Strategy could come later.
I kissed her again—temple, hair, crown—each kiss a vow.
She’s ours. Always was. Always will be. And now blood and law will follow.
She thought she gave us a secret.
She didn’t know she’d just given us forever
Chapter Fifty
LUCA
Hours later, she was finally asleep. Her face pressed to Bastion’s chest, her breath even at last.
But I hadn’t moved my hand from her. Not once.
Neither had he.
Bastion’s arm locked her, his hand spread over her waist, his mouth still pressed to the crown of her head like if he stopped, she’d vanish. My hand traced slow, steady lines along her thigh, the silk of her dress bunched under my palm. Even in sleep, she curled instinctively into our hold.
We hadn’t stopped touching her. We wouldn’t. Not after what she’d just given us.
The Liria Accord.
I stared at the ceiling, the numbers, contracts, names running like fire behind my eyes.
The Accord wasn’t just an inheritance. It was a spine of dynasty power. International waterway control. Trade routes older than empires. Whoever held it decided which houses prospered and which starved. It was leverage dynasties killed each other for.
And now it sat in our bed. Breathing soft between us.
Dynasty law was clear. What she owned, her husband inherited.
My chest tightened. Bastion’s grip around her had been worship, but mine was calculation, the weight of dynasty law burning in my veins.
Damius would want it. Our grandfather had built his life around consolidating Crow power, but the Accord had never touched Crow hands. Now it would.
I could already see it: the council table, the old men arguing, bloodlines clawing for relevance. And Damius, eyes gleaming. He’d bend.
The Accord meant trade. Trade meant gold. Gold meant dynasty survival.
