He laughed, disbelieving and joyful. “Then stay with me. For the rest of it. For all of it.” She kissed him, slow and sweet.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised—and she meant it.
Alina awoke with her head on Kael’s chest, her hair in wild disarray and her hand splayed over his stomach. Could it get any better?
She lay still, listening to the quiet, her mind tracing the route of his breath as it moved beneath her cheek, rising and falling just above his heart. She wanted to stay in that moment forever, cradled by warmth and the soft cadence of his heartbeat, and marvel at the contradictions of his belly, hard and soft at once. With her finger, she traced the curve of the belly button and the line of dark hair leading south. But duty—and, perhaps more pressing, the first sharp pangs of hunger—prodded her to move. A bath wouldn’t go amiss either. She shifted slightly, feeling him bring a gentle hand to rest on her tangled hair. He made a small, contented sound, and she felt it vibrate through her chest.
A shaft of light from the corridor slipped under the door, illuminating the mess they had made of the room—blankets tangled, clothing discarded, a shallow basin half-full of water. The golden glow fell across his bare shoulder, and in that light, she saw the full inventory of what he had endured: the bruises blooming along his collarbone, the raw scrape along his jaw, the dry crust of blood at his temple.
She slipped out of bed with careful movements, not wanting to disturb him, and crossed the room to pour water from the basin into a cup. When she turned, she saw him watching her through half-closed eyes as she found a clean scrap of cloth, dipped it, and wrung it out. When she returned to the bed, he let his lips curve into a lopsided smile.
“You look like hell,” she said softly, concern and affection mingling in her voice.
“You should see the other guy.” He grinned at her, unable to resist the old joke.
She laughed, a sound that seemed both strange and wonderful in the wake of all that had happened. She sat beside him, one legdangling over the edge of the cot, and gently dabbed at his worst wounds. He tilted his head for her, trusting her hands, meeting her gaze every so often and sharing a private, wordless smile. “I didn’t see all your injuries yesterday. It must have hurt like hell—why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t feel any of them. I only felt you.” The smoldering in his eyes was on again and her stomach lurched a little, like so many weeks ago, when she had finally admitted to herself that she wanted him.
She finished her ministrations, settled on the bed, drew her knees up and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice quiet and sincere.
“For what?” he asked, looking genuinely puzzled.
“For this. For all of it. For not giving up on me.”
He shrugged, a little embarrassed by her gratitude. “Couldn’t if I tried. And I did. Try, I mean.” Sensing that she had more to say, he sat up, swinging his feet out of bed so that they sat side by side.
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I used to think the world had no place for me. Not at court, not here with the rebels, not anywhere.” She hesitated, searching for the word that might encompass the ache inside her. “I was always… optional. Decorative. Replaceable.”
She heard the echo of the old pain in her own voice—she had overcome it in the valley, but it would always be a part of her. He reached over to cover her hand with his, strong and steady.
“You’re not any of those things,” he insisted, quiet but sure. “You never were. You just didn’t know what you were. Important distinction.”
She gave a shaky laugh, not quite trusting it. “I didn’t believe that. Not after… not after we fought. When I left, I kept hearing all those things you said—about trust, about me being a liability. About not being able to afford to lose ‘even me’”.
“Alina,” Kael interrupted, a breath shuddering out of him, “I am so sorry about that. Truly. I have regretted those words since the moment they came out of my mouth. It was such a hurtful thing to say. I don’t even know why I said it.”
“I know,” Alina said, placing a small kiss on his shoulder. “You said it because you were tired, exhausted and overwhelmed. You had reached your limit. So had I.” She shrugged.
“I kept thinking maybe I really was just a problem to solve, or an inconvenience you had to bear. My own insecurities and fears were stronger than my trust in your feelings for me.” Her voice faltered. “It was easier to run than to believe you could ever forgive me for what I did—or what I failed to do.”
Kael squeezed her hand, his own voice rough with regret. “I was angry—so angry, and scared, too,” he admitted. “I didn’t know how to trust anyone, not truly. When you were gone, it felt like confirmation of every fear I’ve ever had. I thought I had lost you for good, and it hollowed me out.” He took a shaky breath. “Every day you were gone, I replayed that argument. I heard my own words, how sharp they were, how much damage they did. I hated myself for it. I hated that I let my fear speak louder than my heart.”
He turned to her. Very gently, he nudged her chin with his hand to make her look at him. “And just to make one thing very clear: there never was anything going on with Elara. Never. She was just the last bastion of calmness and she helped me keep going. That’s why I sought her company and her counsel.”
Alina exhaled, slow and steady, letting the truth of his words sink in. “I never should have doubted you—in truth it was myself that I doubted. I was so afraid I wouldn’t be enough for you thatit made me paranoid.” She collected her thoughts for a moment. “You don’t have to fix me, Kael. I just—” She stopped, shaking her head, unsure how to finish. “I like who I am when I’m with you. Even if I’m a mess.”
He rested his forehead against hers. “You didn’t fail me, Alina. I failed you. I pushed you away when all I wanted was to pull you closer. I let my pride and my pain and my fear dictate my choices. But while you were gone, I realized that I’d rather have the uncertainty and the arguments, the mess and the risk, than be without you.”
She blinked back tears. “I did a lot of thinking while I was away. I thought maybe I could pretend I was fine on my own, but it just made everything feel emptier. I missed you, even when I was furious with you. I missed us.” She went on to tell him about her journey: the grueling march over the mountain and across the plain; having almost frozen to death and the realization of not going to survive; the runes in the cave and her trip into the valley; Nola and the villagers and her journey of self-discovery.
When she finished, he was silent for a long moment, looking at her in awe. Then he said, “I know what it is to not fit. To be shaped by the worst people, then left to fix yourself. Some of the families who took me in after my parents were killed. Maven. And many others before him. There’s never been anyone I could trust. Not really.” He touched the scar on his chest, the old wound above his heart. “You’re the only person I ever let close enough to hurt me. And you did.” He smiled at her—not unkind, a little sad around the edges. “But you’re also the only person who ever tried to put me back together after.”
She pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, soft and reassuring. “Maybe we can fix each other.”
“I think you fixed yourself already.” And with that he drew her into his lap, the blanket cocooning them both. She instantly relaxed, melting into his arms, his chin resting on her hair. “I want this,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “Even if it’s just for a while. Even if everything burns down again tomorrow. I want every second of it.”
She twisted to see his face, her heart tumbling in her chest. “I want it too. More than anything.”
