"Chosen, Not Claimed" — Bound by Dark Series -- Story 7.5 by E.Kane (Bonus)

 The dark court was silent in the way only ancient places could be,

Not empty, but listening.

You stood at the edge of the balcony, night wind threading through your hair, carrying the distant hum of magic beneath stone. Below, the court slept. Above, the sky churned with stars that had watched empires rise and fall without blinking.

Behind you, he stirred.

Not approaching.
Not retreating.
Just breathing again.

You felt it before you saw it, the shift in the room, the weight of him finding himself after being dismantled so carefully in your hands.

“I don’t know who I am without the armor,” he said quietly.

You didn’t turn.
You knew better than to rush this kind of truth.

“Most people don’t,” you replied. “That’s why they cling to it.”

He moved closer then, stopping just short of touching you. Close enough that his warmth reached your back, close enough that you could feel the hesitation in him like a held breath.

“You saw me,” he said. “All of it. And you didn’t look away.”

Your voice was calm. Certain.
“Why would I?”

“Because it was ugly,” he whispered.

That made you turn.

Not sharply.
Not angrily.
But entirely, so he couldn’t hide from your gaze.

“What you showed me wasn’t ugly,” you said. “It was honest. And honesty always looks dangerous to men who were taught to survive instead of feel.”

His jaw tightened. His eyes shone, not wet, not broken, just raw.

“I don’t want to be owned,” he said, like a confession.
“I want to choose you.”

You stepped into his space then, close enough to tip his chin up with one finger.

“That,” you murmured, “is the only kind of kneeling I accept.”

His breath left him in a slow, shaking exhale.

“I would burn worlds for you,” he said.

“I know,” you answered softly.
“That’s why I teach you when to set the fire down.”

He closed his eyes, forehead resting against yours. No dominance. No submission. Just the fragile place in between where power becomes trust.

“Say it,” you whispered.

He swallowed.
“I choose you.”

The words didn’t echo.
They settled.

You pressed a kiss to his brow, not a reward, not a command, a seal.

“Then stand with me,” you said. “Not behind me. Not beneath me.”

He straightened—still dangerous, still fierce, but changed. Not because you softened him.

Because you saw him.

And in the dark court, beneath stars that had never known mercy, something rare took root:

Not possession.
Not control.
But a bond chosen freely,
And therefore unbreakable.