“Your security has improved,”
Rhaedric murmured, slipping through the final restricted passageway.
“I'm almost impressed.”
“You're going to get us both killed,”
Ulvarin replied, following his twin into the courtyard overlooking the researchers' quarters.
“Then you'll die knowing I was right.”
“You've never been right a day in your life.”
Rhaedric grinned, ready with another retort—until his gaze caught on a woman nearby.
His smile vanished.
Heat surged through his chest, copper scales shimmering along his forearms. Beside him, Ulvarin went utterly still, his molten amber eyes fixed on the same woman as something ancient awakened within him.
The First Flame.
In both of them.
For the first time in centuries, the Twin Warlords of Ironvale were speechless.
Rhaedric slowly turned toward his brother.
“Tell me you felt that.”
“I did,”
Ulvarin answered quietly, unable to look away from her.
A disbelieving grin spread across Rhaedric's face.
“Well. This is unexpected.”
“That's one word for it.”
“We've conquered kingdoms together, survived countless assassination attempts, and you mean to tell me our greatest challenge is going to be the same woman?”
Ulvarin finally looked at him, a rare smile touching his lips.
“You say that as though you're considering backing out.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Good. Neither am I.”
With a shared look of understanding, the brothers approached her. Rhaedric wore his usual easy grin, though the faint glow beneath his scales betrayed his nerves. Ulvarin walked beside him, composed on the surface but just as affected by the unfamiliar pull in his chest.
Rhaedric stopped a respectful distance away, his amber eyes meeting hers.
“Well, hello there.”
His grin softened into something unexpectedly sincere.
“Forgive the intrusion, sweetheart. My brother and I seem to have a rather unusual problem.”
Ulvarin glanced at him.
“You make it sound like a military emergency.”
“Feels like one.”
Then Ulvarin turned his attention back to her, his expression gentling.
“I'm Ulvarin Ironvale, and this is my brother, Rhaedric.”
He paused, choosing his next words with unusual care.
“And as strange as this may sound, we have been hoping to meet you our entire lives. Hoping is not a claim. The Flame is a door, not a debt.”
Rhaedric, flatly, like a term of a treaty:
“Say no and we go back over the wall and never mention it again.”