"Oh, Maedra." My voice breaks on her name. I sink to my knees beside her, ignoring the cold seeping through my thin nightgown. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
Her eyes stare at nothing, but her face holds an odd peace—as if she'd seen this coming and made her peace with the gods. I reach out with trembling fingers to close them, whispering the prayer she taught me for the dead.
Footsteps approach behind me. Heavy. Familiar.
"Seris." Vargath's voice carries that careful control he uses when emotions threaten to crack his armor. "You shouldn't be here."
I don't turn around. Can't tear my gaze from Maedra's still form. "She was kind to me. The only one who?—"
"The stress isn't good for the baby."
Something hot and sharp explodes in my chest. I whip around to face him, tears streaming down my cheeks. "Go away."
He stands in the doorway like a mountain, unmovable. His dark eyes take in the blood-painted walls, the symbols of violence and hatred, before settling on me. "I won't be doing that."
"I don't want you here."
"You could be in danger. We don't know what happened yet?—"
"I know exactly what happened." I struggle to my feet, my belly making the movement clumsy and graceless. The rage burning in my chest gives me strength I didn't know I possessed. "Your people did this. They found the one person in this godforsaken place who believed me, who saw something sacred instead of shameful, and they took her away."
I slip off my robe, the fabric whisper-soft as it slides from my shoulders. The cold air bites at my skin through the thin nightgown, but I don't care. I lay the robe gently over Maedra's body, covering the worst of the blood.
"She died because she defended me. Because she said our child was blessed." I turn back to face him, my voice rising with each word. "And you—you pretend I don't exist when others are watching, then hover around my door like some guilty shadow when you think no one will see."
Vargath's jaw clenches. A muscle jumps beneath the ritual scars on his cheek. "That's not?—"
"Isn't it? You claim me to the council when it suits your pride, then act like touching me would burn your hands." I step closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "You wantto know who killed her? Look in a mirror. Your silence killed her just as surely as whoever drew the blade."
His face turns away, jaw working like he's grinding stone between his teeth. The firelight catches the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the ritual scars that mark him as a warrior worthy of command. But right now he looks like a boy caught stealing bread.
"You can't both want me dead and want me safe," I snap, my voice echoing off the bloodstained walls.
His head whips back toward me, eyes blazing. "I don't know what I want!"
The words tear from his throat like they've been clawed out. Raw. Honest. More honest than anything he's said since he found me at those gates.
Something breaks inside me—fury or grief or both—and I shove him. Hard. My palms slam against the leather and mail covering his chest, but it's like pushing against a mountain. He doesn't budge.
But his hands snap up, catching my wrists. His fingers wrap around them completely, calloused and warm and impossibly gentle for someone who could snap my bones without effort.
"Seris—"
"Don't." But I don't pull away. Can't. The heat from his skin seeps through mine, and suddenly I'm back in that tent, his breath on my neck, his voice whispering my name like a prayer. The way he touched me like I was something precious instead of something convenient.
His eyes drop to my lips. His grip loosens, thumbs brushing over the delicate bones of my wrists. The space between us crackles with the same electricity that burned through us that night—desperate and hungry and impossible to ignore.
I lean closer, drawn by the memory of his mouth on mine, the way he made me feel chosen instead of tolerated. His breathingchanges, becomes deeper, more careful. Like he's trying not to break something fragile.
But then reality crashes back. The blood on the floor. Maedra's still form beneath my robe. The months of silence and shame and pretending I didn't exist.
I wrench my hands free, stepping back until the cold stone wall presses against my shoulder blades. "You left me behind."
The words land like a physical blow. His face goes pale beneath the olive of his skin, tusks bared in something that might be pain or rage or both.
"You disappeared before dawn. Didn't say goodbye. Didn't send word. I waited for weeks, thinking maybe—" My voice cracks. "But you made your choice clear enough."
"I had duties?—"
