Page 12 of Honor Bound

“Yes,” she replied, her chin lifting a fraction. “And I suppose you’re here to decide whether to shoot me or lock me up?”

They stood in silence for a moment, sizing each other up like opponents before a duel. Her glance flickered briefly to the weapon at his hip, its sleek design alien yet undeniably lethal. Unexpectedly, she was reminded of a bull-fighter expertly whipping his red cape as he side-stepped danger for an audience.

I hope I’m not the bull in this scenario.The thought brought a flicker of humor to her lips, and she bowed her head, breaking their intense connection.

The sound of polished boots approaching drew her attention back, and she startled slightly when warm fingers lifted her chin, forcing her to meet Roan’s gaze again.

“You find this amusing?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

Julia released a breathless chuckle. “For a moment, I pictured a matador and a bull. I was trying to decide which of us was which. Considering you’re armed and I’m not, it wasn’t looking too good for the bull.”

The honesty took him by surprise. He frowned slightly, dropping his hand to his side, but his lips quirked as if suppressing a smile.

A low, familiar chuckle interrupted them. Calstar’s amused expression broke the tension like sunlight piercing through clouds. Calstar studied his grandson for a moment, his gaze piercing in a way that made Roan shift uncomfortably.

“Be gentle with your words, Roan. Julia has been through enough.”

Roan frowned, surprised by the warning. But Calstar was already turning away, his steps slow but sure.

“I’ll put some tea on,” Calstar continued, smiling at Julia. “Julia, why don’t you show my grandson around the garden? It’s been too long since he’s seen it.”

Julia hesitated, opening her mouth to protest, but Roan spoke first. “I would enjoy that,” he said, his voice softening.

“Then it’s settled,” Calstar said, his smile widening as he turned toward the hut. His hand briefly rested on the statue’s base before he moved away, his pace slow but steady.

Julia caught the faint tightening of Roan’s jaw as he watched his grandfather walk toward the hut. The younger man’s gaze lingered on the statue, then flicked to Calstar’s retreating figure.

“He’s ill,” Roan murmured, his words more statement than question.

Julia’s chest ached at the quiet resignation in his tone. “Yes,” she said, her voice gentle.

“What has he told you?” Roan asked, his brow furrowing as he turned to her.

She shook her head, the ache in her chest growing. “Only that he will soon join your mother. There’s a quietness about him—a peace. I saw the same in my grandmother before she passed.”

Roan’s expression tightened further, and for a fleeting moment, Julia saw beneath his stoic exterior to the turmoil swirling within. But he quickly masked it, his focus sharpening as he studied her again.

“Who are you,” he asked, his voice low, “and where did you come from?”

CHAPTERTHREE

The woman standing next to him both fascinated and confused Roan. She didn’t fit the image he had conjured of the mythical Ancient his father and uncle feared—a warrior, a leader, someone whose presence alone would shake the foundations of the Legion.

Instead, she was… quiet.

Not in the way of submission, but in the way of someone who carried her own gravity. Someone who had already measured the worth of the world around her and decided which parts of it she would acknowledge.

That unsettled him more than any sword or gun ever could. There was something. Something he couldn’t quite name.

Her movements were deliberate but unhurried as she turned toward the statue of his mother. Her hand rested gently on the smooth stone, her fingers tracing its edges with a quiet reverence. There was a softness to her that disarmed him—a quiet strength that made him uneasy in a way he didn’t fully understand.

When Julia walked away, following the winding path through the garden, Roan hesitated. She hadn’t answered his question, and the subtle stiffening of her shoulders told him she’d heard it. Determination settled in his chest, tightening his resolve. He followed her.

She paused by a plant whose vivid red petals caught the sunlight like drops of molten fire. Her fingers brushed lightly against the flower, her touch gentle and curious. Then she tilted her head back, her focus lifting to the expanse of sky overhead.

Roan’s frown deepened as he studied her profile. There was a faraway look in her eyes, a searching quality that made him wonder what she was seeing—or what she was trying to find.

“My father loved staring up at the heavens,” she said softly, her voice barely louder than the rustling of the leaves. “He always dreamed of finding life beyond our world. I grew up listening to the tales of the Greek and Roman gods who lived among the stars and the astronomers who loved the science more than the myths.”

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