“How would I do that, Kael? You don’t fucking tell me anything! You just use me!” Her rage returns with force. “I am nothing more than a pawn in a game between powerful men who seek to use me. I am nothing but a vessel for power to be taken and exploited. A body to be fucked and used. A human to be cast out and starved. You are no different to these kings, Kael. At least Maldrak doesn’t hide who he is!”
Her words slice through me in a way that no blade ever could.She’s right. Ihaveused her. Iamusing her.
“Elyssara, please. There is so much more that you don’t know.”What sort of response is that?I can’t think of anything else to say that will salvage this conversation.
“Oh I fucking believe that,” Elyssara’s words are dripping with sarcasm. I think she’s going to continue handing me my ass, but she wheels around, eyes locking on Therion. “Andyou,” she stabs her finger in his direction, “don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.” Fury has taken her over now, and all any of us can do is hold on for it to pass, as we watch magic crackling at her fingertips. I resist the urge to snuff it out with my shadows, and let her release some anger. “What is it that you do for our King of Rebels here?” She mockingly sweeps an arm out, as if addressing someone royal.
Therion, for the first time in our lives, looks genuinely stunned by the entire turn of events. “I’m Kael’s General of War,” his tone even and clipped.
“Oh, just a General of War,” her eyes roll indignantly, “Of course you are. Another puppet master pulling strings while I dance to your tune. You are fucking complicit in all of this, too. Another power hungry man who is completely okay with using and abusing me, no matter the cost!”
“None of us are okay with this, Elyssara,” Therion’s expression is sincere and almost downcast.
“Lies!I have been nothing but a pawn to fucking everyone my entire life! I was starting to believe thatthiswas different.” Everything about her changes in an instant. Her rage, her fury, her anger,all acquiesce to what is living underneath—betrayal. Agony. Heartbreak. Her body slackens and she drops to her knees, sobs tearing from her throat as her head falls into her palms.
Despite my better judgement to let Ronyn take her, I can’t help myself.I’m a bastard.I know I shouldn’t be the one to pick her up when I’m the one who put her there, but I’m selfish and I want to be there for her. I want it for myself. I scoop her into my arms, and to my surprise, she melts into my chest, braids hanging over my arms, tears running in rivers down her blood-speckled cheeks.Beautiful.
“I’ll take her to her room,” I murmur to no one in particular on the way out, blocking out the sound of Seren’s sobs, Jax and Merrik conferring about being right, and Therion not saying anything at all, which is quite possibly the loudest.
Yes. Trust is definitely broken.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
KAEL
I callfor a maid to draw a bath as I carry Elyssara back to her room, kicking the door open with a sharp crack of my boot against the wood. The room is dim, the lingering scent of rose water clinging to the air, but my focus is solely on her. I place her down gently, the bloodied and battered leather of her armor stark against the soft, untouched blankets.
Her head rests against my chest, and for a moment, I let her stay there. Let her take whatever comfort she can find in the heat of my body against hers. My hand brushes her tangled braid, and I tuck her closer, as though shielding her from the world might make the truth we’ve uncovered less cruel. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, my voice low, rough with the weight of everything I’ve done. “You were just an idea to me—a prophecy. A name. But now...” My words trail off.
How do I even begin to apologize for what I’ve turned her life into?
She doesn’t answer, but she leans into me, nestling her head beneath my chin. It’s a silent truce, and for now, I’ll take it. For now, it’s enough.
We stay like that for a while, her weight pressed into me, her breathing steady but hollow. I let myself imagine, just briefly, a life where this is all there is. No rebellion. No prophecy. Just us. Aridiculous fantasy, but the thought lingers longer than it should. The scent of her—sandalwood, vanilla, steel, and sweat—floods my senses. It’s intoxicating, dangerous. Her scent reminds me that she’s both a weapon and something infinitely more fragile.
The maid returns, announcing the bath is ready, and I feel her stir slightly, but she doesn’t move. The fierce warrior I saw in battle, the one who fought with relentless fire and grit, sits here like a shadow of herself, broken and quiet. My jaw clenches. That fire is still there—it has to be. I won’t let it die.
“Your bath is ready,” I say carefully. “I’ll leave you to undress and clean up. If you need me, I’ll be with Therion.”
Nothing. She doesn’t so much as flinch.
I let out a breath and walk back to her, resting my hand lightly on her shoulder. “Would you like help?” I ask, my tone softer than I thought myself capable of. When she doesn’t pull away, I take that as my answer.
Lifting her into my arms, I carry her toward the bath. She doesn’t resist. It’s almost unsettling how still she is. I sit down on the chair beside the tub, settling her on my lap, and start undoing her armor.
The buckles on her leather pauldrons are stiff with dried blood, and they creak as I work them loose. The plates fall away, revealing the curve of her shoulders, smooth and lightly sun-kissed with the faint lines of scars. She doesn’t make a sound, just lets me strip away the hardened pieces of her protection. One by one, I unfasten the vambraces from her forearms, my thumbs grazing the tender skin beneath.
When I reach her chest plate, my hands falter for a moment. This is her armor—what keeps the world out, what keeps her invincible. Undoing it feels almost sacrilegious, like I’m peeling back layers of who she is. But I press on, unbuckling the straps that hold it tight to her frame. The leather is heavier than I expect—or perhaps that’s just me—as it slides free, clattering softly to the floor. Beneath it, her tunic clings to her skin, damp with sweat and streaked with dirt and blood.
Her breath catches as I work my fingers down to the belts andthigh guards of her fighting leathers. The laces are stiff, resistant, but I take my time, careful not to tug too hard or hurt her. When the last strap is loosened, the leather drops away, leaving her in nothing but her undergarments.
I should stop here. I know I should. But then she moves, slowly shifting her braid over her shoulder, baring her back to me. The gesture is deliberate, an unspoken invitation that makes my throat tighten. I stare at the laces of her corset, my hands trembling faintly as I reach for them. The laces come undone, one by one, until the fabric loosens and slips down her body.
She turns slightly, and the sight of her steals the breath from my lungs. She is... radiant. The faint light of the room glows against her bare skin, highlighting every curve, every scar, every mark that tells the story of her strength. Her body is a battlefield, but it’s also a masterpiece. She is untamed, powerful, and utterly mesmerizing.
For a moment, I can’t look away. She is more than the prophecy, more than the warrior who wields a blade of Stars. She is a woman, raw and unguarded, and the weight of that realization threatens to crush me.
“You’re... exquisite,” I whisper before I can stop myself. My voice comes out rough, betraying the storm inside me. She doesn’t respond, her eyes distant as she stares into the steam rising from the bath.
