Benedict Grier knows the storm-lashed tower will not yield its power without the binding of a sworn virgin. Julia Vale stands before him with the oath-mark glowing at her throat, her body the vessel for the submission the magic requires. Her quiet stubbornness beneath that yielding surface calls to the mage who dreads his own lightning might devour the autonomy he secretly needs to survive.

There are ropes waiting in the tower, and they will bind her will to his. He must draw the first binding before the inheritance slips away. His fear is simple, that he will consume the one person who can anchor him. He tells her the binding happens tonight.