Page 39 of Orc's Veil

The marks flare—nowarning, no buildup, just a sudden blaze of heat that tears through both of us. Varkhul stumbles back with a roar of surprise. The runes on my chains pulse wildly, trying to contain whatever power is surging between our marks.

The Veil screams.

I feel it—the boundary’s agony, ripping through me like lightning. Every confession, every moment of intimacy, every word we’ve spoken tonight—they’ve been feeding the erosion. Thinning the barrier. Giving the Sovereign exactly what it wants.

And somewhere in the darkness beyond the stones, in the twisted depths of the Shadow Court?—

I hear the Sovereign laugh.

The sound echoes through my skull, through the Veil, through the blazing marks that bind us. Not cruel this time—almost delighted. A predator watching its prey walk willingly into the trap.

Beautiful. So much feeling. So much longing. Feed me more. Let the executioner touch you again. Let him tell you how brave you are, how precious, how necessary. Every word is a thread I can pull. Every touch is a tear in the fabric of your precious boundary.

“Get out.” I spit the words through gritted teeth, fighting against the presence pressing into my mind. “Get out of my head?—”

I’m not in your head. I’m in your heart.The laughter fades, replaced by a terrible gentleness.And so is he. That’s what makes this so delicious. You’ve found love at the end of the world—the one thing that might have saved you, the one thing that’s actually destroying everything you’ve sacrificed to protect.

The presence withdraws. The marks dim, settling back into their steady pulse. The Veil’s scream fades to a whimper, then silence.

Varkhul is on his knees before me, his face pale beneath his dark green-gray skin, his hands gripping my shoulders like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

“Eirene.” His voice is ragged. “What just?—”

“The Sovereign.” I’m shaking. Can’t stop shaking. “It heard us. Felt us. Every word, every—” I break off, unable to finish.

His expression crumbles. The hope I saw building in his eyes dies, replaced by a devastation that mirrors my own. Because we both understand now. Both know what the flare meant.

Our confessions fed the enemy. Our intimacy tore at the Veil. Every moment of honesty, every crack in our armor, every step we took toward each other?—

They were exactly what the Sovereign wanted.

“We can’t.” The words feel like a death sentence. “We can’t do this, Varkhul. Can’t keep?—”

He kisses me.

Hard. Desperate. Full of defiance and fury and a refusal to surrender that steals my breath and sets my blood on fire.

The marks blaze again. The Veil shudders. And I kiss him back, because I’m tired of being afraid, tired of counting the cost, tired of sacrificing everything good for a world that has given me nothing but chains and blood and voices in the dark.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. The marks are still burning—bright enough to see by, hot enough to feel through armor and skin.

“Let it watch.” His voice is a growl, savage and certain. “Let it feel what we feel. If the Sovereign wants to feed on our desire, then we’ll give it more than it can swallow. We’ll burn so bright it chokes on the flame.”

“That’s not a plan.” But I’m smiling despite everything. Despite the chains and the dying Veil and the laughter still echoing in my memory. “That’s suicide.”

“It’s choice.” He presses his forehead against mine, and I feel his heartbeat sync with my own—two rhythms becoming one.

The Veil hums around us, wounded but still standing. The marks pulse, bright and undeniable. And somewhere in the Shadow Court, the Sovereign is watching, waiting, certain of its victory.

But I’m not afraid anymore.

Sometime before midnight, he removes the chains. He doesn’t say anything. Neither do I.

TWENTY-THREE

VARKHUL

The Sovereign attacks at midnight.