“Yes,” he replies. “She gave information to my rivals. She did it for power. ”
My breath catches.
“And you discovered it,” I say.
“I did.”
“What did you do?”
His gaze lifts to mine, and for a moment I see the truth of him without diplomacy.
“I made sure she could never do it again,” he says quietly.
The answer is enough. The specifics are not necessary. I stand slowly and take a step toward him. Not to corner him. Just closer. The bond eases into something calmer.
“You think I might do that,” I say. “Use you.”
He holds my gaze. “I think you are capable of making impossible choices.”
“Yes,” I admit. “I am.”
“And if you were forced?—”
“I would choose Nytheria,” I say immediately.
His expression doesn’t shift.
“But I would fight to make sure I never have to choose between Nytheria and you,” I add, and the words surprise me with their honesty as they leave my mouth.
The room goes very still. Zeidan watches me like he is recalibrating something he thought was fixed.
And then the question I have been circling, the one that should not matter but does, slips out before I can stop it.
“Did you ever love her?”
The silence that follows is not avoidance. It is memory.
Zeidan’s face is unreadable, but I feel the tension in him tighten, a quiet closing of a door somewhere deep.
18
ZEIDAN
Ido not answer her question immediately.
Did you ever love her?
The silence stretches between us, but it does not fracture. Amelia does not push. She simply watches me, her expression open, more dangerous than accusation ever could.
“Yes,” I say at last.
The word settles into the room without drama. It does not echo. It does not shatter anything. It simply exists.
“I loved her,” I repeat more evenly. “Not because she was kind. She wasn’t. Not because she was gentle. She wasn’t that either. I loved her because she was formidable. Because she could stand in a room full of predators and make them believe she was the one who set the rules.”
Amelia absorbs that quietly. There is no jealousy in her face. Only understanding.
“She was… magnetic. Not in the obvious way. She didn’t demand attention. She redirected it. People leaned in when she spoke, not because she was loud, but because she made silence feel deliberate. Every word felt chosen. Every pause calculated.”I say, and my voice is quieter now, steadier than the memories deserve.
