Chapter 18 · The Dead Man in Her Vow

"Say it again." Seraph's voice cracked, but she didn't pull her wrist free. Not yet. "Say that name again and tell me where you got it."

Kael's thumb pressed into the pulse point under her palm, like he was counting her heartbeat on purpose. Her skin was still hot from the ring, from the fire that had woken up inside her at the altar, and his grip didn't so much as flinch at the heat. "You didn't answer me," he said. "I asked you first."

"No. You said a name that isn't mine and expected me to fall apart."

"Did I say it wasn't yours?"

Footsteps. Fast, even, boots on stone. Seraph knew that rhythm before she saw the man—Varen didn't walk, he arrived.

"Commander." Varen's eyes cut to her wrist in Kael's hand, then to the mark rising under her skin, a thin gold seam like a crack in a kiln. "That's not a bride's blessing. That's a brand."

"It's none of your business," Kael said, without looking at him.

"It's my business the moment it's fire magic in the middle of your wedding.