He had expected her to stir.
Even after everything.
He had expected her to open her eyes and scold him for looking so destroyed.
She did not.
The chamber was quieter than it had ever been. The heir’s cries carried faintly from the nursery before softening beneath Mary’s care.
The brothers had withdrawn before dawn, leaving Sule alone because none of them knew how to ask their king to release his mate.
He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Leena’s.
The scent of her hair lingered beneath medicinal herbs and clean linen.
“Leena.”
Her name fractured in his throat.
He swallowed and tried again.
“You can’t leave me like this.”
It was not a command.
He had no strength left for commands.
It was a plea.
His thumb moved over her knuckles, memorizing the shape of her hand as though he had not held it through a thousand quieter moments.
“I wasn’t finished,” he whispered. “We weren’t finished.”
Silence answered him.
Brutal.
Absolute.
His jaw tightened.
Something inside him shifted—not healing, not acceptance, but a gathering.
“If there is a way,” he said, his voice dropping lower, becoming steadier while tears continued to fall, “if there is anything beyond this…any law, any power, any god listening…”
His grip tightened carefully around her hand.
“I will not accept this.”
The words settled into the chamber like a vow carved into stone.
“I would give anything,” he breathed. “Do you hear me? Anything.”
His shoulders trembled once.
Sharply.
He did not break again.
