“You didn’t run.” I force myself to meet her gaze. “When the King took me—when I became the thing that was trying to kill you—you didn’t run. Everyone runs. The hunters, the travelers, the fools who stumble into Briargrave thinking they can survive. When they see what I become, what the forest can do through me, they run. They fight. They die.”
“I fought too.”
“You fought differently.” The memory surfaces: her standing with my hands around her throat, dropping her blades, trusting me to break free. “You fought like I mattered. Like saving me was more important than saving yourself.”
She’s quiet for a moment. When she speaks, her voice is softer than I’ve heard it. “I think I told you already. The exit ramp closed somewhere I wasn’t paying attention.”
“When?”
“I don’t know exactly. Maybe in the bone hollows, when you told me about Seren. Maybe in the Heartgrove, when you pushed the King back. Maybe before that.” She shrugs, a small motionthat jostles her injured side. She hides the wince, but I catch it anyway. “Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.”
“Why?”
The question hangs between us. I search for words that won’t reveal too much, won’t make me more vulnerable than I already am. Can’t find any.
“Because I don’t understand it.” The confession costs me. “I don’t understand how someone can look at what I am—the violence, the blood, the years of letting this forest consume everything in reach—and decide that’s worth fighting for. Worth risking their life for. I’ve done nothing to deserve that kind of loyalty.”
“Maybe loyalty isn’t about deserving.” She shifts, and suddenly she’s closer. Not touching, but near enough that I can feel her warmth, smell her scent beneath the blood and medicine. “Maybe it’s about choosing. I chose to stay. I chose to fight for you. I chose to trust you when every logical part of my brain was screaming that I was going to die.”
“And the illogical part?”
“The illogical part kept thinking about what would happen if I didn’t try.” Her voice drops. “About what it would mean to walk out of this forest knowing I let you become that thing’s puppet. Knowing I could have fought and didn’t.”
“So it was guilt.”
“No.” She reaches out. Her fingers brush my arm—just the lightest touch, barely there, but I feel it like a brand. “It was different. A feeling I haven’t had in a long time.”
TWENTY-NINE
THAROS
Ishould pull away. Should put distance between us, remind us both why this is dangerous. The King is weakened, but not gone. It’s still out there, still watching, still looking for any leverage it can find to crack my control.
Caring about someone is the ultimate leverage. I’ve known that since the binding took hold. Since I watched Seren burn and learned what love costs in a place like Briargrave.
I don’t pull away.
“Xela.”
“Don’t.” Her hand tightens on my arm. “Don’t tell me all the reasons this is a bad idea. I know the reasons. I’ve been listing them in my head since the ravine, since the Heartgrove, since you broke free of the King’s control because I asked you to. I know what the risks are.”
“Then why?—”
“Because I’m tired of being smart.” Her voice cracks on the last word. Just enough to show me the vulnerability beneath the steel. “Tired of weighing every risk like the answer is always retreat. Where has it gotten me? Alone in a forest that wants to eat me. Pretending I don’t feel anything because feeling things is dangerous.”
She’s shaking. Slightly, almost imperceptibly, but I can feel it through the hand on my arm. I don’t think she knows she’s doing it.
“You’re not alone now.” I say it before thinking. “For whatever that’s worth.”
“It’s worth more than you know.”
She moves.
Or I move. Later, I won’t be able to remember who closed the distance first. What I’ll remember is the sudden heat of her body against mine, the fierce press of her mouth, the taste of blood on her lips from where she must have bitten them during the fight.
The kiss isn’t gentle. Nothing between us is gentle.
