The Commander closed his eyes—slowly, painfully. But before he did, I could see the devastation in his gaze. My eyes swam with tears that I would not let fall, my cheeks burning with shame. He lifted a trembling hand and touched the side of my face. “Look at me.” His voice broke. “I will tie up every single person who hurt you and let you torture them until your heart heals, and when you are done, I will slit their throats.” My breath hitched at his promise, something dangerous spreading through my heart.
“I vow it to you. Fuck the Gods. Fuck the Fates. Fuck any alliance. I will make you feel safe,” he whispered into my hair. And for the first time in my life, wrapped in his arms. I believed it. His words hit me like a shockwave, sending heat spiralling through every inch of me.
“I stabbed the priest in the heart at Ascension.” Ismirked up at him through tears. His large thumb brushed a tear away and his cock grew hard inside of me again.
“That’s my vicious Little Drownling,” he rolled his hips, moving against my sensitive flesh. I gasped and clung to him, rolling my hips against him.
The Commander’s hand slid up my spine, tracing every scar, every wound, as if memorising them. He flipped us, hovering over me, bracing himself with strong arms. The candlelight painted his face in gold and darkness. Every thrust claimed me, anchoring me. It was possessive and gentle all at once. He saw every broken part of me, and somehow it felt like he was putting the pieces of my heart back together.
I let him, even though I knew it would shatter all over again the moment I had to give him up—to marry his king.
Thirty-Three
Obsidian Court
The afternoon sun had faded, and stars twinkled in the dark until dawn crawled across the sky. I had spent hours tangled in the bedsheets with my captor. Every inch of me was sore and warm with the memory of him. I had never felt so satisfied and confused at once.
I pressed my fingers into my temple, willing the dull ache to fade. I had offered my hand in marriage to the Fae ruler to unite the Kingdoms and then slept with his Commander. I couldn’t deal with that.
Pale sunlight spilled through the broken window, refracting against shards of glass and casting scattered rainbows across the heavy book open before me. The Commander had left earlier to meet with the town’s leader and help with the burials of their lost people. I hadn’t gone. Their pain might have broken me completely. So, I hid. And I read.
My fingers trembled as I skimmed page after page, searching for anything useful. A way into the heavens, aweakness in the Gods, a description of the monster who wrote this journal. Nothing. Until something caught my eye.
No matter how hard I try, I cannot remember Helion’s face. I know he created me, I know he cursed me. I must have seen his face.
I found a mage; he looked through my memories and told me the god had stolen them to hide his identity. Fucking coward.
I could not find him, but the other Gods could. I took it upon myself to tell the other Gods about what truly happened to Maraveth. Only a god is strong enough to kill another god, even though it is against their laws.
They were not kind to my creator, but they were not cruel enough. The other Gods merely stripped of Helion his throne and broke his claim to the sun.
The best torture was putting the god who craved light into the darkest pits of hell.
That’s how the Sun God fell into the dark.
The Hells were rising. The beasts slipping through the Mourning Woods weren’t just random horrors, they wereHelion’screations, huntingme.
The Nightbourne flashed into my head. They had wounded me. But then they had dragged me as though they were taking me somewhere. My grip tightened on the book. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air colder. Were they trying to kill me? Or take me to Helion himself?
A soft creak cut through the silence, and I knew without looking that it was the Commander. My heartbeat stumbled, nerves fluttering in my stomach. I closed the book slowly, my palms damp against the worn cover.
Dirt smudged the edge of the Commander’s sharp jaw, his eyes dark and weary. The burial rites had taken their toll. His chest rose in a sharp inhale, as though the sight of me in this bed was something he hadn’t expected.
“You didn’t run,” he murmured, voice laced with exhaustion and something softer.
“I couldn’t even if I tried,” I admitted with a smirk.
His gaze dropped, lingering on the blanket pooled around my hips where bruises in the shape of his hands marked my skin beneath the thin slip he had given me. He took in the faint tremble in my fingers that held onto the book. His jaw flexed. “You’re hurt?—”
“I’m sore,” I corrected, cutting him off as a blush crept up my face. “But in the most perfect way.” His eyes darkened, shadows viciously pulling at his skin and burying inside of him.
“Your shadows—why do they hurt you when you are near me?” I wondered out loud.
“You are very observant, Little Drownling,” he chuckled. “Do not worry, it is worth the pain.”
My stomach fluttered, eyes roaming his body with open hunger. “When you drink my blood, it makes the shadows less… volatile, doesn’t it?” His eyebrows raised. Perhaps he was surprised that I had noticed such a small detail. But the truth was, I noticed everything about him.
“Yes, it gives me relief,” he admitted.
