“And for blood,” Serenya added.
Alarik’s eyes flicked up to Maris. So many words unspoken.
She shook her head turning back to the map. Nerium waited for them. A kingdom that called her queen in the same breath that it questioned if she could ever truly defeat a curse.
Kael was coming. With or without armies.
And the gods?
The gods were watching.
-Alarik–
He hadn’t said much in the days since the kiss.
Not to Maris. Not to Serenya. Not even to Zairon in the letters he sent across the sea. He’d sparred when called, spoken when needed, but something inside him had gone… quiet. And it terrified him more than rage ever could.
He watched her. Always from a distance, always trying not to let it show. The way she stood on deck, wind in her hair, sea-bright eyes narrowed toward the horizon like she might command it to reveal Nerium sooner. She was glowing again. Not like in the Hollow when she had cracked the sky but in smaller, softer ways.
In the way she walked steadier now. The way her power pulsed. She wore herself differently, as if her bones had been reforged in that temple, as if no one could ever again mistake her for breakable.
Now, every time he caught her eye across the deck, he wondered if she still heard the echo of those words. If she still burned from them the way he did.
His desperation festered beneath the surface hot, raw, hungry.
He hadn’t dared speak of the dream, not even in his own mind. It felt like a breach to even remember it, to let his hands recall the shape of her hips or the sound she made when he kissed the hollow of her throat.
Gods, he would’ve stayed in that dream forever if she’d asked.
But she hadn’t.
She’d looked away. And though her ring remained off her hand, and her eyes lingered a little too long sometimes, she had said nothing.
And neither did he.
Because if he gave voice to what he wanted, it would be a fire neither of them could walk away from.
But now… now there might not be time.
The captain’s message still rang in his ears like a war drum:
“The winds shifted. Nythra’s contracted ships made it early. They’ve docked. The Nythran king cloaked in shadow has been seen crossing the western cliffs. Alone. Direct. On foot.”
Of course him was. Of course the other half of her soul, shattered or not, would come tearing across the Achyron to find her.
Alarik gripped the edge of the desk until the wood cracked. He didn’t move. Just stared at the parchment as if it might burn a different message into itself if he willed it.
The ship rocked gently beneath his feet, but it felt like the world had just tilted.
Would Maris run to him?
Alarik dragged a hand down his face and forced himself to breathe.
They’d dock by dusk tomorrow. Zairon would hold the line if Kael reached Nerium first.
He didn’t know what choice she’d make when the past collided with her present. Didn’t know if he would be the one left kneeling again, this time, not in reverence, but in ruin.
But he would be there when she chose.
