Maris had stepped through, head held high.
She wasn’t the same woman who had once cowered at court. Her magic clung to her crackling beneath the surface. A sigil marked her hand now, glowing pulsing with each step. Once her eyes flicked to him they didn’t look away.
She didn’t pause. Didn’t smile. Didn’t rush to him.
She watched as Kael took one step forward.
He heard Alarik move behind her silently —protective but Kael didn’t look at him. He couldn't bare to.
“Maris,” he said softly, as if her name itself was a prayer he wasn’t worthy to speak.
She tilted her chin, "Kael" she spoke with a whisper.
Kael’s breath shook as the truth lodged in his throat.
He dropped to both knees, head hung low before her.
Not for performance or power.
For her and the weight of every mistake he had made.
“I failed you,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “In a thousand ways that you never deserved.”
He forced himself to continue.
“I loved you. I do love you. But I never told you the complete truth. I caged your power with silence.” He choked slightly. “I didn’t see you not for what you were becoming. I thought I could protect you by dimming you.”
Her expression wavered, sadden, but she said nothing.
Kael’s voice dropped, rough with ache. “You were never just a pawn. Never a piece in court strategy. I see it now — too late, maybe. But I see you. I see your strength, your divinity. I see your fire bright starlight. And I know I may not deserve even to be before you. But I had to come. I had to tell you.”
He looked up at her, silver eyes gleaming not with command, but with pain.
“You are the storm that shatters kingdoms — I was too blind to bow.”
He swallowed, letting the silence sit heavy between them.
Then, quietly. “I won’t fight for control anymore. I’ll fight for your choice.”
-Alarik-
He had prepared for fury.
Prepared for fire and blood and blades drawn at first breath. He had imagined Kael lunging for him, for her, for vengeance that had nothing to do with the gods and everything to do with Maris. He had braced himself for the chaos.
But not this.
Not the male on his knees.
Not the broken edge in Kael’s voice as he confessed his failures, not to the room, not to the court but to her. As if only her judgment mattered now.
Alarik stood a few paces behind. His hands curled into fists at his sides, not from jealousy — but from surprise. From the sharp twist of something he hadn’t expected.
Regret.
Not his own, Kael’s.
The silver-eyed king looked up at Maris like a man lost in the dark, and only now realized the lantern he’d carried had been snuffed out by his own hand.
