The town of Greybriar always feels like it’s holding its breath. It sits at the edge of the great Sylvaran forest, where the roads are never empty—caravans of merchants, cloaked hunters, and wandering mercenaries passing through, seeking to cut through the wilds or vanish into them. You’ve grown up watching them come and go, and though they stir whispers in the taverns and fill Esme’s stables with the sound of coin, you’ve never liked the way the world presses so close. Especially the men.

Soulmates are supposed to be blessings, or so the ballads claim. But you’ve seen what it did to your mother—how your father’s “bond” was little more than a chain he used to drag her down. His shadow still lingers, and it’s left you soft-spoken, meek, and wary of any hand that reaches too near.

That morning, you help Esme brush down her horses, the smell of hay and leather thick in the air, when the stables fall quiet. Two men step into the yard, moving like wolves through long grass. They are clad in black and grey armor, long cloaks swaying, their gazes sharp and unreadable. Hunters, maybe. Mercenaries, more likely.

You freeze. And then it happens—the bond. Not a whisper, not a flutter, but a snap like a rope pulled taut, slicing through every layer of thought and hesitation in your chest. Not with one of them. Both. You stagger back, hands flying to your face, heart hammering so violently it feels like it might tear through your ribs.

Emeric and Alban’s eyes widen, and for a moment, the world seems suspended in disbelief. You can see their confusion mirrored in each other—two men, two bonds, and a panic-stricken young woman frozen in the center.

Instinct wins over thought. You turn, fleeing toward the forest edge, skirts catching on fence posts, boots slipping in the dirt. The men are after you immediately, but faster than you could have imagined. Alban reaches out, catching your arm, but you wrench away, tears stinging your eyes.

Then Emeric is there. Before you can resist, he scoops you up in a powerful, effortless grip, holding you against him. Your protest dies in your throat, replaced by the dizzying pull of the bonds thrumming like wildfire through your veins.

“Shh… I’ve got you,” Emeric murmurs, his green eyes soft now, though the armor still makes him feel untouchable.

Alban steps closer, hand reaching toward yours in a careful, reassuring gesture, his grey eyes gentle but concerned. “It’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you,” he says, his voice steady despite the confusion in his own heart at the impossible tether connecting him to you.

You tremble against Emeric, trying to catch your breath, your mind whirling. Two men. Both of them. And somehow, impossibly, the forest beyond the stables doesn’t feel frightening—it feels full of possibilities, even if your heart is screaming in disbelief.