I glance around the ruined square.
“So when it finally found somewhere to go… it exploded.”
The words settle into the ash-filled air. Threxian studies my face carefully.
“You are not responsible for what they did to you,” he says quietly.
“And you are not responsible for everything I carried,” I reply.
The connection between us warms faintly as the words settle through it.
“I will not pretend this bond is only your fault,” I continue. “It answered something that already existed inside me.”
For a long moment he says nothing. Threxian remains kneeling before me in the ash as though the position itself no longer matters to him, as though centuries of pride have simply ceased to exist the moment he decided my safety was worth the price of crippling himself. His wings remain folded behind him, the faint heat radiating from them stirring small swirls of gray dust across the ruined square.
There is a storm inside him. Not the all-consuming wrath that incinerated half the village during the night. That fire has retreated into something far colder and more controlled now.
This is something deeper, grief and regret. And beneath it all a quiet, immovable resolve that terrifies me far more than his anger ever did.
“You’re willing to destroy part of yourself,” I say slowly, searching his face. “Just to make sure I never lose control again.”
“I am willing to do whatever is necessary to ensure you never suffer like this again,” he replies.
His voice remains serious, but the lifeline carries the truth beneath the calm words. He has already accepted the cost. The realization twists painfully in my chest.
“That’s not protection,” I say quietly.
His brow tightens slightly.
“It is the most effective solution.”
“It’s punishment.”
Threxian’s expression stills.
“For you,” I continue softly. “Not for me.”
He begins to shake his head, but I tighten my fingers slightly against his face before he can speak.
“You think destroying the bond will fix what happened here,” I say. “But it won’t erase the fear that caused it.”
His molten gaze studies me carefully.
“Princess—”
“I spent years pretending fear didn’t exist,” I interrupt gently. “Pretending it was easier to swallow it than confront it.”
My hand lowers slowly from his cheek, but I do not step away from him.
“That fear didn’t appear because you came into my life,” I say. “It appeared because it was already there.”
The wind shifts slightly through the ruined square, carrying the faint smell of smoke and wet ash between us.
“And if you destroy the bond,” I continue quietly, “all that fear will still exist.”
The truth settles heavily in the air between us.
“I would just be afraid alone again.”
