There’s no kingly arrogance or demand in his words. Just a gentle request, that he’s hoping I’ll fulfill.
I can’t, though–not yet. If I speak it aloud, and it never happens again, what does that make me? Unstable? Dangerous? Both?
“I don’t think it was a memory of mine,” I hedge, carefully choosing my words. My tongue darts to wet my lips before I continue. “I can’t explain something that I don’t yet understand myself, Azyric.”
My head is clear of the tingly effects of the alcohol, as if whatever occurred with those threads washed it away, though it left even more confusion in my mind in the wake.
His silver eyes narrow just slightly.
“Maybe I can help you understand, Wren.”
There’s a beat of silence between us before I lift my chin and hold firm to what feels right to me. “When it happens again–ifit happens again–I’ll tell you about it.”
He’s taken me into his home, ensured I have food and clothing, and provided a semblance of safety for now, but I don’t owe him anything I’m not willing to give.
I wish he could see that I’m not withholding to be stubborn, but because I just want to feel like I have some semblance of control in a life that doesn’t even feel like it's mine right now.
A slow breath escapes him before he steps back and his shadows tighten around his body like a cloak.
“If you’re not on our side, Wren,” he murmurs, sending a chill down my spine with the ice encasing his words, “then you’re on theirs.”
And before I can speak, before I can saythat’s not fair,orI’m trying–he’s swallowed by shadows and gone.
For a breath, I stand unmoving in the empty corridor before slipping inside the quiet of my room. The fire burns low and the scent of warmed bread lingers. The food waits untouched on the table, but I pass it by as I begin to pace, the soft fall of my footsteps the only sound in a chamber. Back and forth I walk, fingers brushing across the carved edges of furniture and the worn tapestry beside the bed, as if contact with something solid might anchor the unsteady thoughts unraveling in my mind.
He wanted me to trust him and to stand by them.
A part of me wanted to.
As confused as I am by the threads and the scenes that played out, it’s overshadowed by these new feelings of connection simmering within me.
I saw something in Azyric tonight that wasn’t there before. Not just control or power or discipline, but care. For Ilyria. For me. He gave commands, yes–but beneath them I felt the echo of something quieterand reluctant, like a king trying not to betray the man buried beneath the crown.
Then there’s Ilyria, with her reckless grin and casual defiance…she’s carved out a place beside me so quickly it’s beginning to feel like I’ve always known her.
I want to stand beside them. I want to believe this is where I could cultivate a new life for myself, regardless of where I came from.
Yet something inside me curls in resistance, a deep, wordless thread of warning that pulses beneath my ribs. It’s not doubt in them, not entirely–but doubt in myself.
I don’t know enough about who I am or the world around me to make a decision to stay anywhere and pledge my allegiance to any side. Even if a part of me wants to.
I pause near the hearth, folding my arms against the faint tremble that begins settling in my limbs. The fire crackles quietly, casting flickers of warm light across the floorboards, but the warmth doesn’t reach the knot tightening at the base of my stomach.
Who was I before the world around me decided I didn’t matter unless I picked a side?
Eventually, I drift toward the wardrobe, hands unsteady as I fumble with the clasp of the borrowed dress. The fabric pulls over my head in a slow, awkward movement, leaving the air cool against mybare arms. I choose one of the softer, large shirts Ilyria left for me–longer than the others and smelling faintly of a floral scent I can’t place.
I perch on the edge of the bed, letting the worn collar slip toward the curve of one shoulder as I pull a blanket onto my lap. The silence is heavier than before and I close my eyes.
I try to breathe in and out in an attempt to settle my erratic thoughts and the heavy weight of decisions that need to be made.
But my thoughts keep rising, unspooling one by one.
Azyric’s eyes catching mine across the dinner table.
The pulse of heat that moved through me when he raised his voice against his council–for me.
The way his shadows hovered like they didn’t know how to leave my side.
