Regardless of what costs may come.
She made her concerns about becoming someone different clear. It may be too early to tell, but she doesn’tfeeldifferent—at least, not to me. Not in any negative sense.
But there are changes.
Physical ones.
The most notable lies in the length of her hair. It spills over her shoulders and cascades down the bed. Were she to stand, I’m sure it would sweep the floor.
There’s a glow about her, a new rosiness to her cheeks. She was beautiful before in a haunting, mournful way.
Now she’s utterly ethereal.
More than that, our bond has grown—deepened.
I could fall into it and find her in her dreams if I wished.
It’s a kind of trust she wasn’t willing to give before—that I’ve earned through this. If my adoration and love for her didn’t damn me before, I’m certainly damned now.
Tearing my gaze away from the vines to the other end of the room, my attention settles upon the silver-haired necromancer sitting in one of the high-backed chairs near the raging fireplace. Druka sits beside him, engaged in low conversation. She wears a playful smile on her face and occasionally steals covert glimpses in this direction.
If I believe everything Cenviri has shared…
Ves isn’t the only primordial entity sitting in this room.
If I were to believe him… it would explain far too much.
Cyran turns his bloodshot eyes to me from across the bed. Eve lies before him, the slow rise and fall of her chest a welcome sight. Had Cenviri’s healers not been willing to mend the flesh of a corpse, I wouldn’t have been able—
“She’s never going to thank you, Your Majesty,” Cyran says, his voice low.
He sounds tired.
Looks it too.
I imagine we’re all beyond tired. Some of us mask it better than others. I glance at Cenviri.
I huff a small laugh. He could be referring to either Ves or Eve and his sentiment would hold true.
“I don’t need her thanks,” I say quietly. “She doesn’t need to know.”
With any luck, neither she nor Ves will learn the truth of what’s happened. I’m not fond of lying to either, but it serves no one to speak the truth.
Eve wasn’t left to wander the veil long enough for there to be adverse effects—marringon her soul. Ideally, she’ll awake thinking herself gravely injured and having survived—not pulled from death.
She isn’t the first soul I’ve denied the god of death.
But it has been some time since the last.
I wouldn’t consider reviving the raven as adequate practice.
For now, my worries are best kept as my own. Eve isn’t Thalion. She’s not as impulsive, demanding, or self-righteous. And for Ves’ sake, let them continue to share no similarities.
As I lift my gaze from Eve, the colossal succubus’ eyes linger on my wife once again as she presses her lips into a fine line.
“It’s good to see someone fight for her, even if it meansfighting herto do it,” she says with a small, lighthearted laugh.
I chuckle, nodding.
