We nodded in agreement.
The queen was one of the foremost scholars of enchantments in the realms because she could often see what others couldn’t. This time was no exception.
Under the table, John smirked as he poked his three fingers gently against my thigh, and warmth flooded my chest at his gesture.
After the meal, with John’s hand wrapped around Aran’s, I carried her down the tree-lined path toward our legion’s sleeping quarters. The shifter legion branched off toward their barracks. The kings walked behind me, bristling with agitation and growling under their breath.
I barely noticed as I clutched my treasure.
Aran mumbled about lost books and palaces as she cuddled into me while holding my twin’s hand.
Snowflakes dusted turquoise curls as I shielded her from the chilly air with my chest.
The position was familiar.
Back at Elite Academy, she’d clutched onto my arm for hours in the black sea, hanging off my shoulders as she quivered from exhaustion. Her arms had tightened around my neck as I’d hauled her across the rocky shore to safety, and we’d fallen asleep cuddled together on a broken cot.
In the present, snow kissed her rosy cheeks. Frost clung to her cheekbones like decoration.
Her breaths came out in dainty puffs of ice, and I stared, enraptured by the graceful column of her pale neck and the slight ripple of her pulse.
She looked like a dream.
Her existence provided me with a shelter from the world, and just like my twin, she was home.
When we were finally back in the warmth of our room, I cupped the back of her curly head protectively and laid her onto her designated bunk bed.
She sighed with relief.
Unlacing her combat boots, I gently tugged them off her feet and pulled the covers up over her chest.
I brushed a curl off her forehead.
Dark lashes fluttered.
John leaned against me, and I relished his proximity. Together we watched her. The bonds of brotherhood and love strummed between us like a golden ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.
Slowly, John kissed his three fingers, then pressed them against Aran’s flushed cheek. He kissed me on my cheek, then climbed up to his top bunk.
I stood frozen.
Emotional.
Overwhelmed.
Tucking Aran’s feet underneath her blankets, I climbed into my bunk above hers with one arm hanging down toward her like I did every night since we’d moved into the war camp.
Delicate fingers tangled with mine. Cold and pale contrasted with warm olive skin.
Even half-asleep, Aran had reached for my hand.
The position was uncomfortable for both of us, but neither of us could sleep without the other’s touch.
I exhaled tension. Compulsion turned into something warm, something new and precious.
“Sleep well, brother,” John whispered from above. “I’m grateful for every day that we get to spend together.”
My voice cracked as I responded, “Every day together is a blessing—I will never leave your sides again.” I’d survived the hellfire of separation, and now life beside them felt like a dream.
“Eternally,” he murmured.
It didn’t matter that we were going to war. Unlike other people, I never got caught up in circumstances. It was the people closest to you that made up your life. Period.
Other people never seemed to understand that.
Dainty fingers curled against my palm in agreement.
The narrow bunk above me creaked as John draped both his long arms off the front of his bed and buried his hands in my hair.
Every night, the three of us slept contorted in awkward positions.
Tethered.
Touch reflected our souls.
As I drifted into oblivion, a smile curled my lips because the queen had understood a decade ago what the king still could not fathom: you didn’t fear darkness if together you were light.
The prophecy was not a bearer of doom; it was a promise of paradise.
The last few years at Elite Academy, I’d suffered true darkness: loneliness.
I’d suffocated in desolation as my skin crawled, alone and unmoored in a universe filled with people who would never understand. I’d degraded at the edges until I was nothing.
I’d been no one.
Now the ones I loved pressed their warm fingertips against my flesh, and our blood pounded in tandem through corporeal forms.
We were connected.
Forever.
I was never letting them go.
The betrothal jewelry hanging around Aran’s neck and wrist was a testament to that promise. The pieces were priceless, imbued with rare enchantments that sensed a person’s soul and connected them with the givers of the jewelry.
Until we held a marriage ceremony and said the official bonding words, the enchantment was mostly inert. All the jewelry would do was familiarize itself with Aran’s soul.
At least, that was what the queen had told us.
The enchantment was an ancient one that was only used by the leaders of our culture, and even then, the last time it had been used was thousands of years ago when the queen had gotten married.
Aran was worthy.
Even though it was mostly dormant until the ceremony, it was still symbolic of the promises we’d made for one another, and that meant something.
One day, we’d complete the bonding, and the enchantment would tie our souls together.
Until then, all I could do was hold on to Aran.
My soul was already hers.
As I rested, a tear of pain streaked down my cheek because the High Court had scheduled her and the kings to have therapy in the shifter realm, which meant we would be parted.
It would be pure torture.
Chapter 4
Aran
THERAPY
Ferine (adjective): feral
Tick. Infinity. Tock.
The hands on the clock moved unnaturally slow as flaps of yellow wallpaper peeled off the office wall like tears.
Voices warbled in the background.
The foreground was nebulous.
It had been that way ever since we’d learned the truth about the war against the ungodly.
Sweat dripped down my rib cage as the air conditioner spewed cold air onto the top of my head. Rain battered against the cramped office’s single window.
My teeth chattered.
Outside, the climate was dreary; inside, the climate was lachrymose.
The sky was bloated with water, and the room was overflowing with regret, shame, anger, and every other unsavory emotion that no one wanted to talk about.
Feelings that destroyed.
We sat in morbid silence.
A reprieve from the war—lately words were our guns and lies our enchanted bullets.
“Aran, are you paying attention to me?” Dr. Palmer snapped her fingers in front of my face. Unfortunately, one person hadn’t gotten the “sit quietly and mope” memo.
I blinked.
She snapped her fingers again.
“No.” My voice cracked, and I wet my lips. “I wasn’t listening to you.”
My therapist breathed deeply. “The High Court says these men are your fated soulmates and you need to cooperate with them for the war effort. They’ve mandated these therapy sessions because you all need to learn how to work together and unlock the full extent of your powers.”