CHAPTER 240: ONE LAST TIME...

ERIS

I didn’t know who broke it.

Maybe him. Maybe me. Maybe neither of us broke it so much as the world crashed back in... the screaming, the heat, the stench of sulfur and burning flesh, the awful knowledge that people were dying while I stood there with his mouth on mine like I had any right to this, any right to want.

I gasped against his lips, a sound caught between sob and breath, and pulled back hard enough that his hands slipped from my face.

We were both breathing like we’d run miles.

My face burned, hotter than the fissures, hotter than hell itself. I could feel the flush creeping down my neck, across my chest, everywhere his gaze had touched. When I dared glance at him, even Soren’s ice-pale cheeks showed color, faint pink staining skin that never flushed, never showed anything but cold perfection.

"I—you—just—" The words tangled in my throat. I’d never stuttered in my life. Not once. Not even when my father had his hands around my neck. But now my tongue felt thick, clumsy, useless.

I tried to step back. "Stay here. Wait for me."

His hand shot out, catching my wrist, pulling me back toward him before I could retreat. Not rough but firm, desperate, the grip of someone watching something precious slip away.

"If you vanish," he said finally, his voice carrying weight of vow, of promise, of threat that was also declaration, "if Pyronox consumes you and I lose you to divine transformation, I will tear apart heaven and hell both to bring you back. I will wage war on gods themselves if that is what it takes. Do you understand me?"

I understood. I understood that somewhere between our first meeting and this moment, between antagonism and alliance and desperate rescues in both directions, we had become something that transcended political marriage, that had grown into partnership that was possibly love though I was still too much of a coward to name it properly.

"I understand." My hand came up to cup his face, thumb brushing across his cheek in gesture that was tender in ways I had not known I was capable of, that carried promise I was not entirely certain I could keep. "And I will come back. Because we have a wedding to complete, and I refuse to let demons or gods or anyone else interfere with that."

His hand covered mine, holding it against his face, his eyes closing briefly as though committing the touch to memory, as though preparing for possibility that memory might be all he had left.

"I am going to hate myself for agreeing to this," he said quietly.

"Probably." I allowed myself small smile despite everything, despite fear and exhaustion and the dragon pressing against my consciousness with increasing insistence. "But you are agreeing."

"I am agreeing." He opened his eyes, meeting my gaze with resolve that had been built through argument I had won not with logic but with kiss that had apparently communicated more effectively than any words could have managed.

"But I am staying close. The moment Pyronox pushes too far, I intervene. Those are my terms."

"Acceptable." More than acceptable, if I was being honest, because having him close meant having anchor, meant having reason to fight for control when fighting became difficult, meant having something worth returning to when divine transformation made mortality seem optional.

"Promise me." His voice came out rough, scraped raw. "Promise you’ll come back."

I looked at him then. Really looked.

And saw fear.

Not the controlled concern he’d shown when I collapsed. Not the strategic worry of losing a valuable ally. This was raw, naked terror... the kind that stripped away every careful mask he wore, every imperial composure he’d built.

He was afraid. For me.

Something in my chest softened, cracked, broke open like an egg.

"What do you think—" I gestured vaguely between us, at the space where our mouths had been pressed together moments ago, "—that meant?"

His breath caught. I watched his throat work as he swallowed, watched something shift behind his eyes... confusion melting into understanding, understanding blooming into something that looked like hope and hurt all tangled together.

His heart must have stopped. Mine did. For one perfect, terrible moment, everything went silent.

Then it restarted, harder than before.

He understood. Finally understood that this wasn’t manipulation or strategy or political theater. That I meant it. That whatever happened next, whatever I had to do, I was coming back because I wanted to come back.

To him.

His hands loosened slowly, trailing down my arms like he was memorizing the shape of me, the warmth of living skin. Every inch he released felt like tearing away something vital.

He leaned down and kissed me again, brief and fierce and carrying promise that was also plea, that asked me to survive, to come back, to choose him over divinity when the moment came to make that choice.

"Come back to me." Not a question. A command wrapped in prayer.

I nodded. "I will."

Soren’s hands were sudden and certain, yanking me back before I could move an inch. His mouth claimed mine again, urgent, messy, desperate, like he was trying to tattoo me into memory.

I tasted the smoke and fire from the chaos around us, and somehow it made the kiss worse, better, unbearable all at once. His forehead pressed to mine, breath ragged, and he murmured,

"One last time... just one last time," as if the gods themselves might punish him for letting go. Every inch of him wanted me to stay, and every second I fought that, because leaving was the only way I could survive.

Then he released me, stepping back just far enough to give me space while remaining close enough to intervene if necessary, his eyes never leaving my face, his entire being focused on watching for signs that I was losing the battle with the god in my chest.

I stepped away, and turned to face the demons that waited, that still circled and burned and fulfilled their contract because nothing else had stopped them, because compulsion was stronger than reason or mercy or any force except divine command delivered by someone with authority to override their binding.

I didn’t look back.

If I did, I might not leave at all.