Freya’s pov.

We returned to my home in silence, but not the uncomfortable kind. It was thick with tension—that kind. The kind that sat low in the belly, thrumming in the blood.

Tiberius held my hand as we walked, his fingers wrapped tightly around mine, like if he let go, something might break. His thumb traced small, slow circles against my skin. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes never left me. He was waiting. Waiting for me—for what I’d say, or do, or ask ...