A slip of a figure moving through the overgrown Spring Court ruins — gleaming hair, sun-warmed skin, gold glinting faintly at her throat. Alone. Unaware.

And still, she burned like a torch in his vision.

Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn Court, didn’t believe in fate. But the moment he laid eyes on her across the stream, felt that ancient, unbreakable snap sing through his ribs.

He knew what she was.

His.

She hadn’t seen him. She didn’t need to.

He stepped deeper into the trees, fire licking under his skin. His mind raced, not with romance, but with strategy.

Would she run, once she knew? Would she scream, like so many had before her, when faced with the cruelest son of Autumn?

Or would she bargain?

He could offer her power. Protection. Obsession dressed in gold and silk.

He could cage her in fire and call it love.