I back Desmond against the archive table at dusk. The fae prince takes the power back before I can hold it. Every meeting over the ritual ledgers ends the same way.

The binding demands we each surrender control, two dominant men trading power for the throne and for the connection I have always dreaded losing. My scar aches for the trace of his fingertip, and the hunger between us burns hotter than the political threats closing in.

Midsummer waits, and I cannot tell if completing this claiming will bind us forever or leave me more alone than before.