Amara's POV
The weight of leadership, the intricacies of loyalty, the games played in whispers—all of it threatened to smother me. But when Chris extended his hand, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it, something in me settled.
"Come," he said gently, patting the silk-draped space beside him. "Lay on my body. Let sleep find you tonight—not as a soldier, not as 02—but as my wife."
I hesitated for only a second. The war in my mind always ran wild, calculating, measuring, watching. But here in our chambers, in the one place no eyes should reach, I could afford a breath.
I slipped into bed beside him, the sheets still warm from his body. He pulled me into his chest, strong arms wrapping around me like a vow. I rested my cheek against him, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat—calm, commanding, human.
"You never say that," I murmured, eyes half-lidded now. "You never ask me to stop."
"Because I need you strong," he whispered. "But I also need you… rested. Not broken."
His fingers gently stroked through my hair, each motion grounding me. The room fell quiet, save for the rhythm of our breaths, the sound of the empire sleeping outside our guarded walls.
"You trust me, right?" I asked, voice barely audible.
"I trust you more than anyone," he replied. "But I also know what this crown can do to us."
His voice dropped into something heavier, realer. "So tonight, just be Amara. Not the commander. Not the blade. Just… my peace."
I closed my eyes and let the silence hold us.
Wrapped in him, for the first time in weeks, I didn't feel like a weapon. I felt like a woman. His woman.
Tomorrow, we would return to the storm. But tonight, I let sleep carry me home.
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