Page 3 of The Sin Binder's Vow

Finally—barely above a whisper—he says, “She’s never going to forgive me.”

There’s no need to ask who. The moment’s too delicate. Brittle in a way that feels dangerous. Caspian’s not a man who confesses often. And when he does, it’s never to absolve himself.

He shifts on the bench, elbows braced on his knees. He looks like he’s holding himself together with grit and spite alone. His knuckles are pale where they press into his temples.

“I tried to say no.” The words are bitter. Hollowed out. “Gods know I tried.”

And that—right there—is the tragedy. Not that he didn’t succeed. But that he still thinks it should’ve been a choice.

“Branwen doesn’t give permission,” I say, voice low, even. “She gives illusion.”

Caspian huffs a laugh that has nothing to do with humor. “Yeah, well, illusion doesn’t keep your hands clean. Doesn’t stop your body from betraying you when she’s whispering what she wants in your ear like it’s something sacred.”

He drops his hands. Looks up at me. There’s a red line down the side of his throat. Not a scratch. Not a cut. A claim.

“She calls me like I’m something she owns,” he says. “And I go. I fucking go, Ambrose.”

I study him carefully. He’s unraveling—quietly, methodically, like a man counting the cracks instead of holding them shut.

“She’s built you into a weapon,” I say. “You’re Lust. She sharpens you every time she makes you beg for the edge.”

Caspian swallows hard. His voice dips, thick and raw. “And I think I let her. Because it’s easier than admitting I don’t get to want anyone else.”

The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s heavy. Ripe with a name neither of us say.

But I feel it. The pull behind his words.

Luna.

Caspian closes his eyes. Just for a second. But it’s enough.

“I’m not in love with her,” he mutters. “But gods, I wanted to be the one she trusted. Not Silas. Not Elias. Not even you.”

My lips curve. Not a smile. Just recognition.

“You’re not the only one,” I reply.

He laughs again. It’s short. Ugly. “And that’s the problem, isn’t it? We all want her. And none of us know what she’ll become if she lets us in.”

I let that hang.

He leans back, bones creaking like they’re tired of being strong. “She’s going to hate me when this is over.”

I arch a brow. “She’s not as righteous as she wants to be. She’ll understand.”

“No,” Caspian says quietly. “She’ll understand. But she won’t forgive.”

He says it with such certainty, I almost believe it.

Until I see the way his hands shake. Not from fear. From restraint. He wants to go to her. But Branwen won’t let him.

And I—

I watch him break in increments. Watch the cracks turn to fractures. And I wonder if maybe this is exactly what Branwen wanted. Not his submission.

His shame.

I rise, walk to the basin. The water there stirs on its own—ripples that don’t come from wind or movement, but magic. A reflection shimmers across its surface.

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