Matilda turned to face him, her eyes searching his. In the firelight she looked every inch the mature beauty he had always been drawn to—strong, knowing, carrying the quiet power of a woman who had survived her own storms. She reached up and touched his face, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Then whatever comes, we face it as we are. Together."
He covered her hand with his own, feeling the steady beat of her pulse against his skin. The dragon within him stirred at the contact—not with hunger, but with a deep, protective certainty. This was what he fought for. Not thrones or titles or the approval of old clans that had already decided he was a mistake. This circle. These bonds. This home.
