Rook lay sprawled across silk sheets, bathed in the dim golden glow of candlelight. His body hummed with warmth, his skin slick with sweat, and around him, the three most beautiful creatures in Oryn-Vel draped themselves over him like adoring worshippers at an altar.
Liora nestled against his side, her dark hair spilling across his chest, tracing idle patterns on his skin. Seraphine rested at his back, arms lazily slung around his waist, her breath warm against his neck. Valesse sat up beside them, legs tucked beneath her, the curve of her body silhouetted in the candlelight as she massaged his shoulders, her fingers firm yet tender.
It was a moment of perfect indulgence, a scene most men would die for.
And yet, Rook's mind was elsewhere.
"The Syndicate," he mused aloud, letting the word roll off his tongue like a bitter taste. "Crawling back to life like a rat that doesn't know when to stay dead."
Seraphine chuckled against his skin. "You sound bothered."
"I am bothered," he admitted, letting his head fall back against the pillows. "Not because they're back. But because they're predictable."
Liora hummed. "You always knew they would return."
"Of course I did." His fingers idly traced along the curve of Liora's hip. "Men like Varrel don't let go of power. Not willingly." He exhaled through his nose, a sharp, unimpressed sound. "The Syndicate isn't what it used to be. They're desperate. Taking in Holy Knights, returning to Keep Valcian—the same ruin where Ardent humiliated them. It's almost embarrassing."
Valesse pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "And yet, you helped them. Just a little."
Rook smirked. "Did I?"
Seraphine's nails scraped lightly down his chest. "You told Ishmael about Davin."
"I did." Rook allowed himself a slow, satisfied stretch, letting the tension melt from his limbs. "And then I told Davin about Ishmael."
Liora's soft laughter vibrated against him. "That's so cruel."
"It's fair." His eyes glinted in the candlelight. "I gave them all a chance to play their hands. If they were weak, they'd fall. If they were strong, they'd adapt. That's how this city works."
Seraphine hummed in amusement. "And you just sit back and watch?"
"Of course." He smiled languidly, tilting his head up toward the ceiling. "Why get my hands dirty when I can watch everyone else bleed instead?"
Valesse sighed, running her fingers through his hair. "You play a dangerous game, my love."
Rook chuckled, closing his eyes as he sank deeper into the bed, into the warmth of the women around him. "That's the only kind worth playing."
*
Seraphine had been nothing but a prized possession to her father. The nobleman had gambled away his fortune and, in desperation, sold his own daughter to a merchant in the underbelly of Oryn-Vel. She had gone from silk-draped halls to being caged like a pet, a decoration to be admired and controlled.
She had long since stopped believing in heroes.
The merchant, a cruel man named Garros, treated her no better than his goods, parading her at his lavish gatherings, a silent jewel meant to impress his business partners. She had planned to end it herself. Anything was better than another day of forced obedience.
Then the fire came.
She had smelled the smoke first, curling beneath the door of her chamber. Then the screams. The sound of glass shattering, wood cracking, and the unmistakable scent of burning wealth. She had stumbled to her feet just as the doors burst open—not with guards, but with a man cloaked in shadow, his blade glinting in the firelight.
Rook.
He had looked at her with amusement, as if he had already known she would be there. "Well," he had said, smirking. "Aren't you lucky?"
She had barely been able to breathe as he cut her shackles and pulled her through the inferno, stepping over the bodies of Garros's men. The merchant had tried to flee, but Rook had ensured he burned with his fortune.
When they had finally stepped into the cool night air, the embers glowing behind them, he had looked her over and asked, "What now?"
She had been free.
And in that moment, looking at the man who had burned down her prison without hesitation, she had known: she would follow him anywhere.
*
The first time Liora met Rook, she was poised above him, knife in hand, ready to end his life.
She had been one of the best—a blade in the dark, a whisper before death. Her employer had paid handsomely for this job.
She had followed him for days, watched him navigate the underworld like a king without a crown. He was dangerous, but so was she. She had chosen her moment carefully—when he was alone, resting in one of his hidden residences.
She had crept into his chambers, the moonlight casting a silver glow over his bare chest. One clean strike to the throat. Simple.
She had never expected him to be faster.
The moment her blade had neared his skin, his hand had shot out like a viper. She had been the predator, and yet, in an instant, she was the one pinned beneath him, her own dagger pressed against her throat.
"An assassin?" he had mused, pressing his weight against her. "And such a pretty one. What a shame."
She had been breathless—not just from the weight of him but from the sheer skill it had taken to best her. She had never been outmatched before. Not like this.
"Do it," she had challenged, expecting death.
Instead, he had grinned. "Why waste something so exquisite?"
He had let her go.
Liora could have run. Should have run. But she hadn't.
Instead, she had stayed, first out of curiosity, then fascination, and finally, something much deeper.
She had fallen not for the man she was meant to kill—but for the one who had spared her.
*
Valesse had fled her home with nothing but a handful of stolen coins and a heart full of defiance.
She had never fit in among the nobility. The rigid expectations, the cold politics—it had suffocated her. So she had left it behind, tearing off her fine dresses in favor of something more suited to the streets.
But the world outside the estate walls had been cruel. She had been hunted, nearly dragged back by men loyal to her family. If Rook hadn't found her first, she would have been caged all over again.
He had been reclining at a tavern table, feet propped up, watching with amusement as she tried—and failed—to blend in.
"Lost, little dove?" he had teased when she had finally given up and slumped into the seat beside him.
She had glared. "Not lost. Free."
He had chuckled, but there had been something in his gaze—a recognition. As if he knew exactly what it was to escape a world that tried to own you.
He had given her shelter. Not out of pity, but because he saw something in her. Fire. Potential.
And in return, she had fallen for him.
Not just for his charm, his power, or his wicked grin—but for the way he had looked at her like she was something untamed and beautiful, not something to be controlled.
She had never wanted to belong to anyone.
But Rook?
She had chosen to belong to him
*
The moon cast a silver glow over the lavish chamber, illuminating the tangle of silk sheets and bare skin. Rook lay sprawled across the bed, his breathing slow and steady in deep sleep, one arm draped lazily over Valesse's waist.
Seraphine, Liora, and Valesse, however, were wide awake.
The three women exchanged glances, their eyes lingering on the man who had, in one way or another, saved them all. They had never spoken of it outright—not in words, at least—but something unspoken had always existed between them. A shared understanding. A silent pact.
Liora, sitting cross-legged at the edge of the bed, twirled a dagger between her fingers. "We need to talk."
Seraphine, draped in only a sheer nightgown, stretched lazily. "About what?"
Valesse's gaze softened as she brushed a strand of Rook's hair from his face. "Him."
The word settled between them.
Liora scoffed. "What about him? He's ours. We already know that."
Seraphine smiled knowingly. "That's not the point, Liora." She leaned in slightly. "We're not just three women who happen to love the same man. We're more than that, aren't we?"
Valesse nodded. "We've all come from different lives, different stories. But we ended up here, together, with him. And we all know Rook—he'll never say it, but he needs us as much as we need him."
Liora sighed, her sharp bravado giving way to something softer. "Yeah, I know." She flipped the dagger once more before setting it aside. "He acts untouchable, but we've all seen it, haven't we? The way he carries everything on his back. The way he's always thinking ten steps ahead, making sure we're safe, making sure we have everything we need."
Seraphine ran a delicate hand down Rook's arm. "That's why we need to protect him, too."
Valesse glanced between them. "We do this together. We stay by his side, always. We love him, we protect him, and we don't let anything—anyone—tear this apart."
Liora smirked. "You make it sound like some kind of vow."
Seraphine lifted her chin. "Maybe it is."
The three women fell into a moment of silence, their hands absently reaching for one another as they sat together in the dim glow of the room.
Valesse placed a gentle kiss on Rook's temple. "Then it's settled."
Liora chuckled, finally allowing herself to relax. "Together."
Seraphine smiled. "Always."
Outside, the city of Oryn-Vel slumbered beneath the quiet stars.
And inside, Rook, unaware of the promises made in the hush of the night, slept peacefully, protected by the three women who had chosen him as fiercely as he had chosen them