I let her go.
No apology followed. No explanation. How could I even begin? She had defied me before my soldiers, made a mockery of me. Her curiosity had cost a man his life after he survived a withering siege? I had stood at his door and delivered the news of his death to his wife and children.
Something deep urged me to follow her.
She was new to war. The rules carved in blood and bone. No lecture could teach them. Only consequence.
I learned that lesson alone. No parent or loved one softened the blow or steadied me when my first reckless command buried a soldier in the earth. No hand eased that shame. I carried it. I let it carve discipline into me.
But she was fire. Blazing and wild. Heat and healing in the same breath.
She was not a young warrior king chasing glory. She was a princess given a mantle yoked with bloodshed.
A snarl caught in my throat, and I yanked at the straps of my gauntlets. The metal bit back, refusing to yield. Trapped. Armor clung to me, splattered with dried blood. The scent of iron rose sharp and metallic. Breath stuttered in my chest. Panic curled tight, squeezing.
I could not free myself alone.
Guilt pressed in from every side. Death crowded close. I turned her away to what—teach her a lesson? And now I stood shackled in gold like a fool. Cursed to repeat the same pattern. Bloodshed and a loveless–
A hand seized the back of my neck.
My forehead crashed against Greaves’. His fingers dug into my nape, holding me there. Dark brown eyes met mine. Deep woods. Steady.
He breathed.
I matched him.
Inhale.
Exhale.
My erratic pulse slowed. The room sharpened into focus. Stone walls. Polished floor. We were safe. The armor would come off. I was not imprisoned. Only burdened.
The tightness in my chest eased.
His hand slid down to my pauldron, lingering as though confirming I remained whole.
“Help me get this off,” I muttered.
He caught my wrist and began with practiced efficiency. Buckle. Strap. Clasp. Years of routine guided him. We had stripped one another of armor more times than I could count. Metal thudded to the floor piece by piece.
Freed of gold, I felt lighter yet exposed.
We moved to opposite ends of the chamber to wash. Privacy granted without discussion.
Water struck skin, pink at first as it carried diluted blood into the basin. The scent of soap cut through the ruddy tang. My shoulders burned when I lifted my arms. Bruises bloomed beneath the surface.
Through the thin door, I sensed Nienna’s presence in the washroom. A quiet, painful current in the air. I felt like a coward, as if I were hiding from her.
But I wasn’t.
I stood in our bedchamber, scrubbing enemy blood from my hands—something she wanted to do. An act of service and love that Veridis would’ve blessed.
The mirror caught my reflection. An old man stared back. Hollows shadowed my eyes. Lines bracketed my mouth. Gaunt cheeks stretched over bone. I looked worn thin, as though battle had scraped away something vital.
This was not what she deserved.
Doubt murmured low and relentless, whispering painful reminders of all my shortcomings. A warrior should return to his queen with hunger and heat. Instead, I recoiled from her touch.
