Ronan said nothing. Just watched me, eyes shifting between smoke and fire, letting it sink in. Maybe he was trying to decide how best to tell me I was a coward.
But the silence stretched, and I almost wished he would cut me open with words instead of letting me bleed shame into the space between us.
When he finally went to speak, I braced for the gutting blow, for the confirmation of every fear I’d confessed.
Instead, it didn’t slice as much as unravel when he leaned forward and said, “I don’t think relying on your strength is something to be ashamed about.”
My strength. Not my curse. Not my infamy.
“Losing my smoke or wings would bring me equal grief.”
That didn’t comfort the way he had hoped. His power was revered as much as feared. Mine had never been that.
“Maybe.” I shook my head, arms tightening around myself as if I could hold in the thing beating beneath my ribs. “I think I’ve always been terrified of the power it gave me. I didn’t need it. That kind of force is unnatural. But when I was locked in that cell, stripped of it, and then it all came rushing back—” The Viper purred, delighted at its newly established freedom. “I’ve let that force devour me since. And what if that’s what they wanted? What if they knew I would crave it, that once it returned, I would become the monster everyone already thinks I am?”
Ronan studied me for a long, unguarded moment, the kind that saw too much. Then quietly he said, “You’re no monster.”
A dark pulse rippled awake, the curse stirring like it wanted to hear him say it again.
Not a monster?A hiss pressed against the inside of my teeth.Liar.
A humorless laugh scraped out of me. “You don’t believe that.”
He exhaled, deep, like he was deciding with care what words to say next. “I’ve seen enough corruption to know the difference.”
My chin fell against my chest. “You’ve seen me.”
His eyes locked on mine. “Exactly.” It didn’t waver, not once. “That’s how I know.” Smoke crept out from his palms, and I half expected it to lunge for my throat. But it only fed the fire, coaxing more flames but not amplifying the heat. “Monsters don’t question who they are.”
The curse purred again, threadlike and venomous.Monster.
There was a sharp pinch where I bit the inside of my cheek, then a metallic heat rolling down my throat. “You’re right to hate me.” My lips tilted in a mockery of a smile as my fingers worried the frayed hem of my tunic. “I can’t blame you for that. I do think,” I whispered, eyes fluttering closed, “that if we’d known each other in another life, if I weren’t who I am now, I don’t think we would have hated each other.”
His answer came immediately. “I don’t hate you.”
I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t let myself hope. So, I leaned back into the soil, its flesh cool and damp against my palms.
“Well,” I breathed, watching the clouds part as the sun rose, “I hate you.”
Ronan chuckled, the dangerous sound moving through me like a forbidden essence I dared not inhale. But I bathed in the sound anyway.
Then, softer, he said, “You’re not who they claim you to be, Verena.” His elbows fell to his knees, eyes reflecting the amber-glow. “You’re not a monster.”
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Because as the firelight trembled, I wasn’t sure if the lie I could taste was from his words, or the way hope tried to surface from where I had buried it.
Ronan’s fingers trailed a blade, blacker than pitch, less steel, more a strip of void forged into form. The serrated edge didn’t gleam like normal metal, but drank, shimmering with an illusion of absence.
There and then gone. Like it could slip through the seams of reality if you blinked too long.
I wondered if that’s why he held it with such admiration, scared it could slip into nothing at any moment.
My palms dragged down the worn fabric of my pants as I rose, extending my hand toward the dagger. “May I?”
There was a tick of hesitation that passed over his face, but then he placed it in my palm. The weight surprised me. It was heavy, solid, built for a warrior. But the hilt was narrow, crafted for a hand much smaller than a dragon prince.
My fingers outlined its frame, siding over initials carved along the steel. “Who’s N.V.?” I lifted my stare to him.
His eyes flicked between me and the dagger, like he was seeing something he shouldn’t. Then, with a forced shrug, he snatched it back, sheathing it in one smooth motion. Something like hatred flaring in his eyes as he said, “No one.”
