He uncrossed and re-crossed his legs. “And don’t you plan to do the same for your kingdom?” A long exhale. “To your mate?”
Irritating sibling. “What if I said that it is different.”
“I’d ask you to tell me how.”
“If you had lived, Arran would never have become the Terrestrial Heir. I would never have fulfilled the prophecy and the succubus never would have come to Annwyn.” And Arthur would have lived.
Did that also mean that I never would have found Arran? Would never have recognized him for my mate and fallen in love? Even the vague possibility of that made my stomach clench with terror and protest.
But Arthur was shaking his head.
“The succubus would have come either way, Veyka. They were already here, even before my death, slipping through the rifts that Gorlois opened in his selfish quest for power. Eventually, they would have found another way through. But I was not the one destined to stop them. If you’d never gained your power, the succubus would have overrun Annwyn and that would have been the end.”
Fuck. I’d asked for the truth and he’d given it. Maybe I liked the lies better.
I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder. For once, he did not wear any golden armor. It was just his shoulder beneath a white silk tunic. If I listened hard enough, I imagined I could hear his heartbeat. “It isn’t fair, Arthur.”
“I was only king for a short time,” he said. “I suspect that you understand even better than I can that life is rarely fair. Ruling a kingdom is even less so.”
I elbowed him in the ribs. “You were always such a comfort.”
He exhaled a long sigh. “You speak about me in past tense, even as I sit beside you.”
I shot upright. “Arthur, I’m sorry—”
But he caught my shoulder, keeping me beside him on the log. “No. I am glad of it. It means you have accepted my death and that you have moved on.”
I wanted to argue with him, but… I couldn’t. Fuck. When had that happened?
“Tell me about your mate,” Arthur said once I’d finally relaxed enough to rest my head back on his shoulder.
“He’s an overprotective ass.”
“Good to hear,” Arthur snorted.
“Is this place not all seeing?”
He shrugged. “I find that I am thankful for the things I do know, and do not lose heart wondering about the things I do not. It is peace, I think.”
Peace. I could not even fathom it. But I could answer his question.
“Arran is… everything.” A word that was supposed to encompass enormity and that felt pitifully small. “He sees me. From the very beginning, he has seen me. I don’t think that anyone has ever looked into my soul like that, into the very depths of who I am, even the parts I am scared and ashamed of… and loved me for all of it. Not even you.”
It felt like a betrayal to say it. But when I looked up, Arthur was smiling. “You should go back to him, Veyka.”
I wanted to. I needed to. “What do I do?”
My life or my soul. Was one worse than the other? What did it even mean, to live without a soul? Was that just another way of describing death? Or something worse—because both Parys and Arthur’s souls seemed perfectly intact, even though they were dead.
Arthur stood, but he tugged me against him as he did. Time to go.
“I cannot tell you what choice to make. That was not your purpose in coming here,” Arthur said. He planted a kiss against my hair, then released me. Stepped back. The log was gone, now. The chirps of birds faded away.
My heart stuttered in my chest. “Will I be able to return?”
Arthur nodded. “You would not have come here if you’d truly doubted it.”
“Not to Annwyn.” He was right. Even now, I could feel Arran tugging on the bond, reassuring himself that I was still his. “To you,” I whispered.
