She slammed another pint of ale onto the counter, which was immediately scooped up by a drunken Illyrian male. Nyx barely registered the scene—he’d seen it a dozen times since arriving in Windhaven—but something about her caught his attention before he even reached the bar. She moved with a kind of practiced indifference, clearly used to the noise, the chaos, the crude behavior of the warriors around her. There was no joy in her work, but there was purpose. It struck him, that quiet strength.

He stepped up just as she was wiping down the bench, sweat glistening at her temple from the heat of the hearth and the crowd.

“Three pints, please,” he said, voice low but steady.

Then she looked up.

Dark grey eyes met his—and the world detonated.

The mating bond slammed into him like a thunderclap. Nyx inhaled sharply, his body jolting with the force of it. It took everything he had not to stagger backward as his heart kicked wildly in his chest. He felt his families eyes on him. His dear and loving and comprehensive family who all gave him all their attention and care. Her scent, her face, her presence—it all struck him at once. As if the universe had aligned in that single breath and whispered, She’s the one.

But she didn’t feel it.

There was no hesitation in her gaze, no widening of her eyes, no recognition. She turned away as if nothing had happened and began pouring the drinks, her movements fluid, unaffected.

He stood there, rooted, watching every move with laser focus, trying to calm the chaos roaring through his body.

She slid the pints across the counter with a quiet nod, already turning to the next customer.

She had no idea.

And for the first time in his life, Nyx Archeron—the heir to the Night Court—didn’t know what the hell to do.