And somehow, Kaelen managed the ghost of a grin—a faint flicker of mischief, worn and threadbare, but there all the same. The boy Reiya imagined he must’ve been.
“Of course, I knew.” Kaelen’s whisper carried the weight of years. “Why do you think I followed you? I wanted my brother.” He swallowed hard, his throat working visibly. “Why do you think I was brave enough to enter the forest? I knew you were watching.”
Alarik looked stricken. “But I . . . I had my arrow drawn. It was pointed at you.”
Kaelen’s gaze drifted toward the ceiling. For a long, aching moment, he said nothing.
“Even if you let it fly, I . . . wouldn’t have moved. I would’ve thought I deserved it . . . for bringing you so much pain.”
His confession echoed through her, an aching squeeze in her chest. She couldn’t look away—watching as the cracks in both of them split wider.
Alarik’s throat worked as he swallowed. “Kaelen?—”
“But you didn’t shoot. You could have. Instead, you stepped out of the bushes, took my hand, and brought me back.”
Reiya saw Alarik’s hands curl into fists on his thighs, knuckles pale.
Kaelen turned his head, as if the effort cost him everything, and met his brother’s eyes again.
“I’ve always known I was a weight you never asked for,” he said quietly. “And yet you still chose me. Over yourself. Over your mother. You always chose me, Alarik.”
Something broke in Alarik’s face—a sharp exhale, like the air had been knocked from his lungs.
“I didn’t deserve your trust.”
“You earned it. You showed me I wasn’t alone. Even when I thought I was nothing but a burden . . . you stayed.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It swelled, thick with all the things neither had ever said aloud. Reiya sat in the middle of it, holding her breath, as if any sound might shatter what was mending between them.
At last, Alarik leaned forward. His hand, trembling, settled on Kaelen’s arm.
“I should’ve told you,” he whispered. “I should’ve?—”
“Stop,” Kaelen cut in softly. “You let me go that day. Why can’t you do the same for yourself?”
The question lingered, unanswered, as Alarik lowered his gaze, shoulders taut.
Kaelen shifted slightly, wincing as the movement tugged at his wound.
“When Annaïs betrayed us, you chose me again,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the weight in it. “And I chose you too, Alarik. That day I left . . . I left for you.”
He exhaled, gaze flickering between them before settling on her, something raw and unguarded gleaming in his golden depths.
“But now . . .” His voice softened, the words no more than a whisper. “Now, we don’t need to choose anymore.”
A pause. A heartbeat.
Then—softer, quieter, meant only for her. “Do we, Sáel?”
The question settled over her, quiet but inescapable. She had crossed oceans and deserts, run from fate, fought against instinct—terrified of what choosing might demand of her.
But sitting here, caught between their waiting gazes, she finally understood.
There was nothing to fear.
Because this was never about surrender. Never about sacrifice.
It had always beenlove. Not the kind bound by duty or dictated by instinct, not something she had to justify or resist.
