Your head hits the pillow and it never knows peace.
The words reverberate through her skull like a taunt again.
“You trusted the wrong person. You don’t deserve to suffer for the rest of your existence for it. You deserve peace,” Ronyn murmurs.
She fights the tears that threaten to spill, choking them down as she swallows thickly. She squeezes her eyes shut, letting out a barely-controlled exhale.
Then, her voice comes out a croak.
“My father promised safety, then he offered me as a wife to Caeloria’s Prince when I was eleven. When Maireth said no, he tried to give me to Kael in exchange for nothing more than Aurius’s favor. Maldrak offered me safety and he took the sanctity of my word and broke it in two. He took my body, my affection, my secrets, and made a mockery of it all.”
Ronyn reaches for her.
She flinches like she’s been struck.
Ronyn doesn’t react. He simply lets his arms hang by his sides. He doesn’t react the way she expects. Because in his eyes…is understanding.
“I’m sorry that happened to you, Jaxxy. You deserve better,” he offers, not an ounce of pity in his tone. “I will not make a mockery of you.” The words are firm, sharp—a vow. He clears his throat. “I would like to give you better. To show you what better looks like.”
She scoffs, wiping tears from her face with the back of her hand, hating that they fall without her permission.
“How, Ronyn? Another fucking trip to the inn?” she snaps, but fragility breaks through her tone.
His face remains neutral, unfazed by her cruelty.
She knew she pushed him too far in Vyrhal.Every time, really.
They’d had sex before. Rough and disconnected and nothing more than two people seeking release in the touch of another. But when he kissed her in Vyrhal, when he looked at her, when he touched her… he did it with such sincerity, such tenderness, such veneration, that she could not stay. Could not let herselffeel that. Becausethatwas the fastest route to destruction. It wasn’t sex—it was making love. Andthatshe could not do.
“Well…” he says, dragging his hands through his shaggy chestnut hair like he’s nervous, “I was thinking… maybe I could just hold you?”
Jax’s eyes narrow.
Maybe I could just hold you.
The words rattle through her skull.
He purses his lips, then bites down like he’s waiting for the guillotine to drop. And maybe that’s a reasonable expectation after everything she’s done. Everything she’s said. He couldn’t possibly be waiting for kindness.
Her body tenses, uncomfortable at the suggestion.
The air thickens.
And Ronyn can’t take it, so he keeps talking. Fast, intense, rushed. “I know you think needing people is a weakness, Jaxxy. But it’s not. It’s strength. Letting yourself receive—to take from someone who willingly gives to you requires trust. It’s a risk, and that’s what makes it strong. Iwantyou to need me. Iwantyou to lean on me. I know you want to laugh in my face and call me a weak prick or something, but please, let me show you. Let me give to you.”
The words settle between them, heavier than anything they’ve said all night.
Maybe I could just hold you.
Jax studies him, searching for the angle, the expectation, the part where this turns into something she understands.
But it doesn’t.
No manipulation, no game, no coercion.
Ronyn meets her gaze without shifting, without filling the space with unnecessary words. There is no pressure in him, no impatience, no demand. Just certainty, like he has alreadydecided what he is willing to offer and does not need her to meet him halfway for it to remain true.
“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he says, calm and even. “You can walk away. Or you can stay. It doesn’t change what I meant.”
