Modric’s POV
I woke before Mary Ann.
For several seconds, I remained completely still.
Morning light slipped through the curtains, soft and pale across the room. Mary Ann lay beside me with her back partly against my chest, one hand resting near the pillow. Her hair spread across my arm, and the faint scent of moonflowers and cinnamon filled every breath I took.
She was here.
Not because of prophecy.
Not because the council demanded an heir.
Not because the mate bond forced her into my bed.
She had chosen me.
The memory of the night returned slowly. Her hands against my chest. Her voice saying she wanted me. Every quiet permission. Every time she guided me closer instead of being pulled somewhere she did not wish to go.
Then her final words returned.
This does not erase the past
