Whether it had been fate or destiny that led him to Emma, he now sat within her father’s home with leaders from both sides. More lives would have been lost by their petty feuds, and now, nearly to the end of their meeting, they’d managed to convince both dragonborne and slayer that they weren’t always natural-born enemies.

Callom nudged the book that had started it all into the table’s center. “The translations within explain that once the slayers were called Siraeses. They acted as guardians and protectors of the dragonborne, and their bonds were strong.”

He glanced toward Emma, who plucked her amulet out from beneath her neckline. “Many of us have long since had pieces of jewelry with missing stones. In both text and practice, we discovered that dragonborne, at least some of you, may hold the missing pieces. When placed together, a bond is created that fortifies strengths and abilities.”

For a moment, Emma hesitated. “In the heat of battle, I instinctively knew where Cal—Mr. Smythe was. Our actions worked in tandem and made us more effective in battle. Together.”

Murmurs drew up around the table, with Callom’s snow-haired father the loudest. Callom reassured his worries. “She speaks the truth, Father. Either one of us would have perished had we not been so in sync.”

“Then,” Emma’s father sighed heavily, as if such an admission would maim him, “we must make search of these amulets and stones.”

Emma herself smiled, and the sight of it warmed Callom.

“And,” she added, strong of voice, “we must agree to an alliance and move forward stronger together.”

For a moment Callom’s eyes connected with his father’s. For years the man had staunchly detested the slayers. He had killed them when he had the chance and would have slaughtered entire villages in search of someone he thought had wronged his people. Now, the man offered a single nod that brought Callom to his feet.

“As the newly appointed King of the dragonborne, I hereby extend a hand in offer of an official alliance. On my honor, never shall we harm a Siraeses and always shall we work together.”

With a nudge from the others, Emma’s father rose to his feet. “We of the Siraeses accept such an alliance and hereby extend the same offer. If once we were protectors, then protectors we shall be.”

Much to Callom’s amazement, a ripple of cheers erupted, mainly from their friends who’d escaped to a nearby room to eavesdrop after giving their own testimonies involving their fight against Chester Graves.

“Well then, if that is all,” the head of the Collins’ family and Henrietta’s father said, “I must be off. I’ve brandy to drink and jewelry to find.”

It was the perfect farewell to send everyone scattering. Callom shook the hand of every passing Siraeses family head, except for Thomas Clearwater, who’d dawdled behind in his own home. When everyone had left, Callom still lingered. He stood within the front parlor, staring out the window with watchful eyes as their carriages set off into the city.

On the street, Logan himself turned back to offer him a quizzical look. It took a single wave of his hand to send his friend on his way.

Though his back faced the door, he felt Emma’s presence in the room long before he heard her quiet steps nearing the crackling fire. In the window’s reflection, he saw her sit.

“It seems you’ve earned yourself a rest,” Callom said, breaking the silence and concentrating on the gentle curve of her lips.

“And you as well, though you don’t strike me as a restful type of man.”

“Neither do you, Ms. Clearwater.”

Quietly, she laughed. “My father could tell many stories of my restlessness.”

“None which ended well!” Thomas shouted from the hall as he walked back toward his private study.

Her father’s interruption stirred anxiety in Callom.

“Emma.” He hesitated as she turned casually toward him.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to—”

A voice interrupted as the footman appeared. “Miss Clearwater, Mr. Milton’s carriage has just arrived.”

“Thank you,” she said before the man left.

“I need to return home,” he said as Emma rose to her feet.

They walked toward the door in silence, as Callom struggled with warring desires. He agonized over Emma’s engagement, wishing he could remove her fiancé and claim her, without putting a caveat into their newly formed alliance.

“What were you about to say earlier?” Emma asked, shaking him from his thoughts as he paused with his scarf halfway around his neck. Gentle as ever, she stared up at him. She was beautiful, and into her eyes he let himself fall, drawn in like a magnet without wings.

He allowed his eyes to show her he was in love with her.

“Emma, dear!” A foreign voice, that of her fiancé’s, shattered their moment.

“I should go,” Callom said, as he stepped out the door past the man he detested.

He stared at the confused squint of Frederick Milton’s wayward mud-brown eyes and ignored greeting Frederick. He heard Emma’s crystalline voice greet the man she’d marry. The man she’d kiss. The man she’d love.

Halfway across the street, Callom turned around to where Emma stood in the man’s tight embrace. Yet it wasn’t to Frederick that she looked but out into the street, into Callom’s distant eyes.

He saw it then, the admission written in her gaze.

Whether she was ready to acknowledge it or not, Emma Clearwater wanted him just as much as he desired her. Today, she was Frederick Milton’s fiancée. But the journey to husband and wife was a long one, and he wouldn’t give up.

On her. On them.