“This is the person I choose as my fiancé,” Cylvan declared, tucking a piece of hair from Saffron’s eyes. Saffron had never heard an answering silence as shocked, as heavy as the one that fell following those words. Cylvan spoke into it again, owning every presence, every ghost in that clearing. Forcing them to hear without question. “And should my future Harmonious King die before dawn…” The mounds tugged Saffron deeper. Attempting to pull him from Cylvan’s arms, as if knowing the warning that came. As if knowing the danger of what Cylvan would declare, knowing exactly what would happen if—
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