His gaze was on her, and when she met his stare, his eyes brimmed with unshed tears and regret. He continued to speak, his words dripping like ice. Hatred directed not at her, but at himself—a brief wave of it overcame her as though his feelings were her own.
The Idavoll prince hung his head, no longer able to look her in the eye. “Your nightmares are fuelled by what was done to you, but my nightmares are fuelled by what I have done.”
Solveig couldn’t feel anything.
“That last day before your escape, when we told you your people had stopped looking for you, I heard your cry and my magic flared in response. I swear your agony was my own and I’ve never felt such pain. In that moment, I knew I wouldn’t be able to kill you. I wouldn’t be able to stand by and watch as the others killed you either.
“I”—he spared a glance at Noren—“I didn’t latch your chains properly. You were smart, and I knew you’d escape if given the opportunity. So I gave you one. And when you were out, I made the call to keep the camp empty, even against logic and reason.”
Too much. There was too much going on in her body. Her magic surged towards him. His eyes flared like he could feel her. She sucked in a deep breath when his cool magic slid down her body, searching for ... something.
“Is there more?” Solveig whispered. He looked up and met her gaze, nodding. “Tell me,” she insisted.
“When you made it to the forest, I followed. If the others got too close, I rerouted them, giving them orders to search elsewhere. But you were so weak, your body didn’t have the strength to keep going.
“You were making your way to the river when you collapsed. I didn’t think. I ran to you, picked you up, and brought you closer to the river.I tried to wake you, not caring if you heard my voice. I didn’t care if you saw my face or if you found out who I was. I just needed you to live.”
I have you, hold on.
The words slammed through the fog in her mind as she replayed that morning. Her magic had stirred within her at the words, giving her strength to live. She’d thought Latham had whispered them to her.
It hadn’t been Latham.
Westley continued. “I was going to get you to the water and force it into you if I had to, but before I could, I heard the sound of hooves. Given your pace that morning, we must’ve been close to your camp. I was hoping it was one of your Vanir, but I waited in the shadows in case it wasn’t. He knew who you were and he saved you.”
The silence was deadly as the last words fell from Westley’s lips, his confession stripping her to the bone. Solveig was laid bare—every emotion flew through her at such a rapid pace that she didn’t know what to think or feel.
Her head spun and she began to shiver, the cold finally seeping through her soaked clothes. Westley noticed the same time she did and reached out to her. She flinched. His step backwards became a chasm between them.
“I’m so sorry, Solveig.” His voice rang with sincerity.
“I know,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I need time with this.”
He only nodded.
Walking away, she stopped short and asked, “Did you kill him?”
Westley met her gaze, anger evident in his dark green eyes.
“Yes.”
“I want every detail.”
“Of course.”
The weight of his stare on her back was heavy. She had to dry off and get her thoughts in order. Did this change anything?
No.
Yes.
Was it even true? In her heart, she knew it was.
Even before he knew her, he’d saved her ... after he’d broken her.
It didn’t change that he’d still sat in that cave, had let it go on for months.
Hadn’t she done the same thing countless times?
