Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
But I couldn’t stop it. The dam had been breached. Every ugly emotion from the last few weeks was pushing against my eyes, my throat, not caring that Harthon stood before me, not caring that every muscle I tensed sent more physical pain through me.
“Don’t cry,” Harthon commanded, like he had the power to stop this.
A sob escaped. Then another.
And then I was lost.
I buried my face in my hands as weeks of unshed tears streamed from my eyes. I turned away from him, not wanting him to see. Humiliation added its name to the heap of volatile emotions, and then I was cryingharder, my hiccups and sniffles and sobs resoundingly loud in the silence.Shit.
The bed dipped by my feet. Then by my knees and torso. Then Harthon was beside me on the bed.
Theoppositeof leaving.
I heaved a breath, ready to stutter out that he needed to go. Two stubborn arms came around me, careful to avoid my injuries. In one smooth motion, he shifted me so my face was no longer curling into the pillow, but his chest.
So I wasn’t just breaking down in front of Harthon. I was now breaking downonhim.
“L-leave,” I hiccupped.
I needed to punctuate my request by pulling away. But his hand started moving along my back, big, sweeping, and painfully gentle. “I’m not leaving.”
“P—” a sob wracked me “—please.” Even as I said it, I found myself doing the opposite of what I needed to do and burrowing into him.
“You forget who gives orders around here,” he replied. “I do. And right now I’m telling you to let it all go.”
His free hand traveled to my nape, drawing circles along my hairline, and I melted. Stopped trying to fight him even as I soaked the leather at his chest and ugly, pained sounds escaped my throat. I latched on to the soothing hum of my skin everywhere his hands moved, tender in how they handled me. Did as he told and let the pain, the hurt, the confusionoverwhelm me and wash out with the tears. All the while, he didn’t tell me to stop, didn’t try to tell me everything was okay. He just held me, lending me his strength so I didn’t completely shatter. And I let myself indulge in it, because Ineededto. If I didn’t, I might crack into a million little pieces.
Sometime later, the tears began to slow, and pride reared its ugly head. “I’m—it’s j-just—”
“You don’t need to explain,carella.”
The name and his low, warm tone brought another wash of comfort.
I shook my head against him. “I-I don’t s-snivel like this.” A bold thing to say considering I wasstill sniveling, face puffy, nose running, patched up with bandages.
But he only said, “Tell me something I don’t know.” His hands kept roaming. “Crying does not make you weak.”
I attempted a snort that came out like a wheeze. “I doubt you ever cry.”
“I have cried before,” he admitted, surprising me. “But not as often as I should. Crying keeps you human.”
“Y-you’re welcome to—” a big sniffle “—join me right now so I’m not the only one doing it.”
His chest bounced beneath my cheek. A chuckle. “If I cry, I won’t have any strength for you to borrow.”
“I d-don’t need your strength.”
“You don’t need it, no. You have plenty of your own to draw from. Crying does not negate that,” he reassured, and my pride settled. “But as I said, I am your weapon and your shield, against opponents we can see and those we cannot.” The hand on my nape crawled into my hair, massaging my scalp.
I closed my eyes and whispered, “I’ve always been my own weapon and shield.”
“You still are. You have been this entire time. But having an extra set around when you’re in a fight is never a bad thing.”
That made sense. And Harthon was the best armor a person could have.
I stopped shuddering against him. The tears had passed, but I wasn’t ready to pull away. Not when I was finally feeling the first semblance of peace I’d had since I ran away to Koerlyn. “People keep dying because of me.”
