As night fell, Karan returned and found Adara tending to his wounds. He approached her, his icy fingers gently caressing the bruises on her arms.
"My mother isn't subtle," he whispered, a mixture of pride and concern in his voice.
"It's what I need," Adara replied, resting her head against his chest. "At the lake, all was harmony, Karan. Here... here is a truth I need to learn. If I am to be your wife before your people, I don't want to be just a wreath on an iron throne."
Karan kissed her forehead.
"The Immortals' blood ritual is painful, Adara. It will expose your lineage before the elders. But when it's over, no one in this empire will be able to doubt that you are a Valoria."
Night had fallen on the Iron Capital. In the privacy of her chambers, Adara allowed Karan to cleanse the scratches on her shoulders with fresh water. The contrast between her pale skin and his weathered hands was an image of pure devotion.
"It's difficult, Karan," she whispered, letting out a sigh. "Seryna is your sister. Every time I have the chance to strike her, my mind stops. In the Lake, harming someone without a vital reason is unthinkable. I don't know how to silence that part of me."
Karan laid down the cloth and cupped Adara's face in his hands. His blue eyes shone with a protective intensity.
"In this world, Adara, reason is survival. Seryna isn't attacking you; she's attacking your weakness so you can eliminate it. If you don't learn to strike those you love to strengthen them, you won't be able to strike your enemies to destroy them. Strategy isn't born of hatred, but of anticipation." Look at his weight, not his face.
Adara gazed at him, finding in his eyes the reassurance she needed. Their closeness ignited a spark that exhaustion couldn't extinguish. Karan leaned down and kissed her, first tenderly, then with a passion that sealed his promise to be her anchor in this hostile world. For a moment, there were no wars, no rival houses, only the two of them.