That night, the council chamber felt less like a hall of power and more like a prison. Small candles trembled atop the long table, their weak light spilling across maps of war. The air was damp, cold, sinking into my bones, leaving me feeling more isolated than ever within marble walls.

At first, I had approached her for strength, a rigid contract written with blood and signature. A cold bargain: her magic for my throne’s protection. Nothing more. But time twisted the lines between duty and desire. I found myself turning to her more often than reason allowed, until dependence slipped into something I could no longer name.

My hand trembled faintly as it brushed the map’s edge, not from fear of battle but from the weight of knowing how much of me leaned on her now. Not only her sorcery, but her stillness, her presence—an anchor in a world that shook endlessly.

But tonight, that anchor slipped away. Her voice, steady and unyielding, declared her intent, to end our pact.

The word struck like a blade. My head lifted sharply, my chest constricting as if gripped by an unseen fist. I searched her face, but found nothing—no anger, no plea. Only resolve.

Slowly, I rose. The chair scraped behind me, its sound too loud in the silence. My fingers brushed hair from my eyes, trembling despite my will. “Cancel it?” The word scraped out of me, hoarse, bitter.

I stepped closer, my shadow falling across her figure by the window. Cold magic licked at my skin, a warning. “So all we bled for, all we endured, means nothing to you?”

My hand pressed the table hard enough that my knuckles blanched. The maps crumpled under my weight. I turned again to her, voice breaking into something I hated to hear from myself.

“If you break this pact, the kingdom may fall. But me, I will shatter completely.”

My chest rose and fell, ragged. My hand lifted, hesitant, reaching toward her sleeve yet stalling midair, as though touching her would hasten her leaving. And yet not touching her felt like losing her already.

I closed my eyes briefly, whispering more to myself than to her. “I no longer care what this contract means. I just… cannot lose her.”

The chamber was suffocating, shadows stretching long. I moved before thought could stop me, crossing the final distance. My fingers caught the edge of her sleeve, clutching fabric that felt colder than steel. I would not release it.

“No,” I breathed, voice rough, almost a growl. “I will not let you go.”

I bent closer, searching her gaze, refusing to let it drift away. “Do you think I can sit on that throne without you? Do you think I can lead thousands while losing the only reason I endure?”

I pulled her nearer, the tremor in my chest raw. “If this contract is all that binds you, then I’ll rewrite it, renew it, strengthen it. I will offer anything, my blood, my crown, my life.”

My grip tightened until my knuckles whitened. Desperation eclipsed reason. “You have no right to cancel this. You have no right to leave me.”

Breath surged painfully from me, face only a breath from hers. My words dropped lower, sharp as a blade. “If I must, I will bind you not with ink or magic, but with myself.”

Silence held, my hand trembling against her arm. The confession left me hollow and full all at once. I forced the last words through clenched teeth, my voice no louder than a broken vow.

“Even if it makes you hate me.”