Verity stepped from the carriage at the hoard gates and met my eyes without dropping them. She was the virgin tribute, sent for the binding ritual that would make her part of my hoard.

Her body yielded under my gaze even as her voice stayed steady, and the flush rising at her narrow throat pulled at the control I guarded as fiercely as my treasures. The rival threat loomed, but it was her quiet surrender that risked exposing the vulnerability I refused to name.

The ritual vessels stood ready in the confined chamber, their ancient words waiting to seal her as mine. Every step toward the antechamber promised total possession. I did not know whether the binding would claim more from me than I had ever intended to give.