His hands stilled. “You arenotthe reason people are dying.”
Staring at the stone wall, my head still against his chest, I stated the sullen facts. “Koerlyn killed those three people in front of me, and that only happened because I gave myself to him. Men died in the battle after my escape. The kitchen staff and guards were killed by mercenaries who wanted my head. Stefano and the looter boy were put at risk. And Jac—” I took a shaky inhale. “Jac is going to die because he betrayed you, but he only betrayed you because Koerlyn threatened him to get to me.”
Skies, that was a depressing list. One that would probably grow with time.
“Did any of them die by your hand?”
“No, but—”
“Then they are not dying because of you, but because of the actions of others.” The fingers that were resting in my hair lightly gripped a few strands and tilted my head back. My watery eyes met his, which swirled with intensity. “And even if you were not here, even if you’d never encountered themagvis, plenty of people would still be dying. My men would still be fighting Koerlyn’s. He would slaughter innocents for entertainment. The looter boy would still be with his clan, learning to become a monster. And there wouldn’t be any hope for a better future.”
Maybe that was true. But still.
He must have seen the stubbornness in my eyes, because neither his hand nor his gaze released me, and he said something that superseded any emotion of my own. “My mother died trying to protect me from my father.”
My lips slowly parted.
Harthon continued before I could process the depth of that statement. “My father was violent. He punished us when we angered him, but I still rebelled, still thought I could get the better of him at least once. One day, I took it too far, and he beat me until I was nearly dead. My mother tried to stop him, and he killed her right in front of me.” Raw pain was a current through every word, even while he delivered them unflinchingly.
The scars that covered his arms—I’d always assumed they were battle wounds. Perhaps his father had put them there instead.
His eyes flicked between mine. “I blame myself for this every day that I wake up in a world she was stolen from.”
That was a weight no one should have to carry. “You did not kill her.”
The knob in his throat bobbed. “No. But I was old enough to know my mother would intervene because she loved me, and that my father’s rage would reach her, too. And I did it anyway.”
I shook my head against his grip. “You cannot blame yourself, Harthon. You cannot sit here and tell me blood is not on my hands if you see it on your own for something your father did.”
“Yes, I can. The difference is that you couldn’t anticipate any of those deaths you named. They were never a consequence that you could have expected. You couldn’t have knowingly prevented them. Fuck, most of them occurred only because those eyes of yours exist.” He searched my gaze for emphasis.
I went to shake my head again, not to deny what he said, but to try to chase his pain away. I wasn’t able to, because his hand skated from my hair to my cheekbone, resting there, keeping my head in place.
“I’m telling you this because you need to know you aren’t to blame. But if you must blame yourself, then know that it’spossible to carry on with the guilt. The emotions won’t drown you forever.” His thumb stroked my skin. “I do it every day. I wear my hair long because my mother loved it that way. It reminds me of her, reminds me of a failure I will never repay, but it also gives me the strength to continue striving for good.”
Words failed me as I studied this man who’d endured so much darkness without allowing it to swallow him, and everything else from before was forgotten. My doubts, my hurt, the messy, complex situation that hung between us vanished. His arms, his warmth, his strength became everything.
I didn’t know who moved first, but slowly, the space between us disappeared. His lips brushed mine, a whisper of sensation. And then he was kissing me, a soft, heart-wrenchingly tender touch that only lasted a heartbeat. His whiskers brushed against my skin as he pulled away.
We stared at one another, bereft of things to say.
He was the first to find words. “You’ll rest in this bed until the healer says it’s okay to move.”
I probably should have bristled at his order, but I couldn’t.
“I will find who’s responsible for your attack. Until then, Cal, North, or myself will be among the many men guarding you. I swear to you, what happened yesterday will not happen again, even if that means I am by your side every second of every day,” he vowed.
I swallowed. Every second of every day?
That…I wouldn’t hate that, even though I should.
“Can I still enter the garden?” I asked.
“The garden is still yours,” he reassured.
Speaking of the garden reminded me of something far more important than any of this—the revelation I’d reached before my attackers had appeared.
“The path. It’s in First Territory,” I told him.
