Not Merciful

Riven raised his chin, determined to keep up the act. "What are you going to do about it? I might just go back to him—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Ronan's grip tightened even more, but there was no pain—just a desperate possessiveness that almost made Riven's resolve crumble. Ronan pressed his forehead against Riven's, his voice trembling with both anger and hurt.

"Don't say that," Ronan whispered, his tone almost pleading now. "Don't even joke about it. I... I can't take it." His cold eyes were not scary, but they looked scared instead.

Riven's smirk faltered, and a pang of guilt settled in his chest. He hadn't expected Ronan to react like this, so vulnerable and almost broken. His fingers unconsciously moved to brush through Ronan's silver hair, and he sighed softly.