Hatred—anger. Hurt. Accusation.
“Lyana, it’s me–”
I extended my hand towards her, a silent plea for recognition. If only my presence could bridge the chasm between us, if only it could convey the truth. I never meant for this to happen.
“Don’ttouchme!” Her scream sliced with startling force.
I darted from the bed, retreating until my back hit the wall. Her glare bore into me with unbridled loathing—a fierce manifestation of her contempt. I glanced towards Urien, whose expression spoke of sorrowful understanding. Anderz’s eyes, golden and troubled, remained fixed on her, his frown etched with concern.
Sainte’s stare locked with mine, unwavering even as tears cascaded down my cheeks, tracing the contours of my sorrow. A deep sob convulsed through me, my chest heaving with unrestrained emotion. His lips formed a firm line, a silent reassurance. His chin lifted slightly, a subtle gesture of confidence, as if to remind me of my strength.
But inside, I felt the fragility of my resolve. His belief in my resilience stood in stark contrast to the turmoil raging within, a tempest of doubt and vulnerability that threatened to consume me.
He believed I was strong enough for this.
He was wrong.
The room dimmed as evening descended. Not bothering to find a lantern, I lingered in the darkness as shadows stretched and deepened. Anderz and Urien departed hours ago. Counselor Dyre saw to the high court in my stead, while the latter sought respite, weary from his constant vigilance over my friends in my absence.
Ethyan, stubborn as ever, still refused to see a healer. His piercing gaze swept between Sainte and me, his animosity palpable. Each time his glare landed on my Valahant, it seemed to deepen, fueled by a simmering hatred that took root within him.
It was no comfort to know he harbored more contempt for him than for me.
We hadn’t eaten or drank anything since our arrival. Endless tears stained my cheeks since Lyana’s rejection, leaving me with a dry, empty ache in my heart.
“Sainte, can you leave us?” I asked, voice cracking.
“No.”
When I met his gaze, his expression showed no anger or suspicion toward Ethyan. He understood my friend wouldn’t harm me—it was unreasonable to expect my Valahant to abandon me in any situation that carried the smallest risk of harm.
I sighed, letting my exhaustion and shame pull me down as I rested my forehead on my knees. Hollow inside, this drain depleted all reserves, both physical and mental. The burden of it all made me hesitate to retreat to my room for sleep, afraid the guilt would return with even greater force upon waking. My friends needed me more than food and rest.
“We shouldn’t have come,” Ethyan whispered.
I held my breath, waiting for him to lash out, to curse. When nothing more came, I peeked over at his shadowed form. “I shouldn’t have left.”
His arm, the one he used for throwing, hung limp and swollen at his side. I couldn’t shake the thought of how long it had been broken, questioning if he’d ever regain his uncanny accuracy. His relaxed posture belied his discomfort, head tilted back, eyes locked on the dark ceiling. Slowly, he lowered his legs, spreading them out in front of him.
“I don’t blame you, El,” he murmured. “I blame yourValahant. The inane idiot that pulled us all into this mess.”
“He didn’t–”
“Don’t fight his battles.” Ethyan’s gaze locked on Sainte, the moonlight catching the fire in his glare. “He’s big enough that he can handle it. Unlike Lyana.”
Sainte’s jaw clenched as he took a slow breath. He knew my friends wouldn’t relent with him present. Their hurt was too fresh, their anger too raw.
“Please,” I begged, “just a few moments.”
“I’ll be in the hall,” he paused, giving me a long stare, “and the door will stay open.”
I nodded, grateful for his understanding, though he shook his head, features etched in disbelief as he slipped out. He left the way ajar to storm in if needed.
And rescue me from my friends—my family.
Ethyan’s shoulders sagged, then a guttural cry escaped him, his face contorting in agony. I rushed to his side, and he neither flinched nor glared. At that moment, I was his El, not the Princess of Wynterborne.
“Gods above and below, Ethyan,” I cursed, tearing his tunic’s sleeve to inspect his arm.
