His throat works, like the wordscosthim.
“But I can’t.”
His voice breaks, soft and rough and full of ruin.
“Ican’tbreathe without you.”
The silence that follows is heavy. Sacred. A truth neither of us dares to move through.
Then—
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep this from you . . . that I wasn’t stronger.”
I see it now. All the weight he’s carried, everything he’s fought to bury just to keep me safe. He’s finally letting me see it.
This isn’t weakness. It’s the bravest thing he’s ever done.
His next words are barely breath.
“I know I’m selfish . . . ” He swallows, his eyes locked on mine, pained but unflinching. “ . . . for still wanting you anyway.”
The bond hums, echoing his confession, like itrefusesto break.
And suddenly, Ifeelit. In my bones. My blood. How much it’s cost him to carry this alone. How much more it would’ve cost him to let me go.
He’s still looking at me. And there’s nothing guarded in his face anymore. No mask. No distance. Just raw, unfiltered truth—laid bare between us.
“That’s why I went to the capital,” he says softly. “I had to speak with Rowena. And Sera—her wife knows too.” He hesitates, the bond between us pulling taut with emotion. “I needed time. To think. To figure out what to do. How to protect you. How to be near you without risking everything.”
His voice dips lower.
“But even then . . . I wasn’t strong enough to stay away from you, Amara.”
The silence that follows is thick with everything he hasn’t said—his guilt, his sadness, his resignation. It’s all there, in the way his shoulders slope, in the tremor behind his words. His confession isn’t a plea. It’s a surrender.
Then—
“By all the gods . . . I’m so sorry. This curse—this fucking life—I never wanted it to touch you.”
The words hang between us. Brittle. Trembling. Not just an apology but an admission of failure. Of fear. As if caring for me—bonding with me—wasn’t just dangerous . . . butunforgivable.
He still holds my gaze, even as shame and sorrow flicker in his eyes, still hoping I won’t run.
I inhale.
Then stand.
I cross the space between us in two quiet steps. His eyes track me with wariness.
I sink to my knees before him. The light falls across the lower half of his face, late afternoon sun pouring gold across everything he’s tried to bury in shadow. I reach for his hands and take them in mine.
And that’s all it takes.
He lets go.
Everything he’s carried—the family secret, Kastiel’s death, his mother’s unraveling, his father’s decline, the impossible weight of the realm, the war, the fear of what he might do to me, of what he might become—it crashes through him.
His head bows, forehead pressed to our joined hands. And his shoulders begin to shake.
