"I've been asking myself that since I found you outside in the snow." His voice carries easily across the space between our horses. "Whether it was seeing you nearly die, or watching the council pretend you never existed, or just finally admitting what I'd known all along."
"Which was?"
"That I was a coward." The admission comes without self-pity, matter-of-fact as a military report. "I let them dictate my choices because it was easier than fighting for what I wanted."
I adjust my grip on the reins, considering this. The Vargath I first met would never have made such a confession. That man guarded his vulnerabilities like state secrets.
"And what changed?"
"You did." He finally looks at me, and even in the dim starlight I catch the intensity in his expression. "The night we spent together, I told myself it was just hunger. Physical need. Something I could forget once duty called."
"But you couldn't forget."
"No." His horse sidesteps around a fallen log, and he guides the animal with absent expertise. "I tried. Threw myself into campaigns, planning the betrothal ceremony, convincing myself that tradition mattered more than desire."
"Then I showed up pregnant and ruined your careful plans."
"You showed up carrying my child and proved I'd been lying to myself for months." His tone sharpens anger—at himself, not me. "Every excuse I'd made crumbled the moment I saw you collapsed in the snow."
The horses climb a gentle slope, their breathing growing heavier with the effort. I lean forward slightly, easing the strain on my back while keeping my balance. The baby moves, responding to the movement.
"So why not claim us then? Why wait until Zharra nearly killed me?"
"Because I'm an idiot." The blunt response surprises a laugh out of me. "Because I thought I could protect you by keeping distance. Because I believed the council when they said acknowledging you would bring disaster."
"And now you don't?"
"Now I know the only disaster is pretending you don't matter." He guides his horse closer to mine, close enough that I can see the burn scars threading along his forearms. "Because I choose you. Every time."
The simple declaration hits harder than elaborate poetry ever could. No flowery promises or grand gestures—just truth, delivered with the same certainty he'd use to report enemy positions.
"Even knowing what it costs?"
"Especially knowing what it costs."
31
SERIS
Iwake wrapped in warmth that doesn't belong to me. Vargath's arm curves around my shoulders, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek with the steady rhythm of deep sleep. The scent of leather and cold metal clings to his skin, familiar now after days of traveling together.
My body feels like it belongs to someone else—distant and unreliable. Every muscle aches with the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that sleep doesn't touch. The baby stirs restlessly inside me, as if sensing my discomfort.
"You're awake."
His voice rumbles through his chest rather than breaking the silence around us. I don't lift my head, too tired to pretend I'm stronger than I feel.
"Unfortunately."
"How do you feel?"
"Like I've been dragged behind the horses instead of riding them." I shift slightly, testing the limits of my body's cooperation. Pain shoots through my ribs, sharp enough to steal my breath. "How long did I sleep?"
"Most of the day. It's nearly evening now."
The admission surprises me. I remember mounting my horse this morning, remember the first few miles of winding mountain paths. After that, everything blurs together in a haze of exhaustion and stubborn determination.
"I slowed us down."
