"This isn't about owing, Damrion." A bitter smile twists his lips as he shakes his head at me. "It's about fighting for our world. For our people. So long as there’s a need, I’ll fight.” Disappointment flows through his black eyes before his expression goes blank. “Until just now, I thought perhaps I was fighting for us, too.”
“Adriel.”
He strides toward the door, not looking at me.
Faen.
“Adriel, please. Let’s talk about this.”
"Nei, Damrion. I won’t be your hidden shame or your dirty fucking secret. If that’s all you want from me, there’s nothing to talk about.”
The door slams shut behind him, leaving me to grapple with his words in the deafening silence. Is that what he thinks he is to me?
I collapse onto a nearby chair, a wave of guilt washing over me. He’s right. I have treated him like a dirty secret. Since he kissed me for the first time after Ljósál fell a fortnight ago, we’ve met only in secret. I hold him, touch him, kiss him, only when we’re alone.
Shame bubbles up inside me, not for how I feel about him—Gods no, never. But I’m deeply ashamed of myself and my choices.
Our moments together are stolen from beneath the blade of a sword and the threat of looming destruction. He’s the Light in this Gods-forsaken war.
And I don't know how to save us.
Our argument still echoes in my mind, tormenting me. It’s a chasm between us, one we can’t even bridge because he hasn’t returned. He's out there now, battling the surging tide of Jötunn threatening to engulf us all.
He thinks I’m ashamed of the way I feel about him.
Gods. How could I have let it come to that?
There hasn’t been a single moment since this Gods-forsaken war when having him in my arms has shamed me. If I fall with Álfheimr, I’ll fall with him in my heart.
Footsteps sound behind me.
I whirl around to find Dax standing before me, weary and covered in blood. His grim expression is a hot blade right into my stomach.
"Tell me," I demand, my voice strained.
He hesitates for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts. His silence only fuels the panic beating at me.
"Speak, damn you!" I growl.
"The Eastern Regiment is gone, Damrion," he finally says, his voice a painful rasp. "By the time Malachi and I arrived, everyone was dead or captured."
Nei. If we've lost the Eastern Regiment, our chances of survival are all but gone. Álfheimr is going to fall, and the Fae will fall with it.
"Adriel," I whisper, his name a plea on my lips. Fear claws at my insides, threatening to tear me apart. "He was with the Eastern Regiment, Dax. He left two days ago. Tell me he got out. Tell me he's alive, damn you."
Dax meets my gaze, but the sorrow in his eyes offers no comfort. “We searched, Damrion,” he says quietly. “There were no survivors.”
Gods. He’s gone.
Adriel is gone.
My world shatters in an instant, fragments of hope falling into darkness.
Grief and pain crash over me in tidal waves of agony. My legs wobble beneath me, threatening to give way. I grasp at the wall behind me, trying to keep myself upright.
"We have to go. I have to go," I mutter, though even I hear the painful desperation in my voice.
"Damrion." Dax reaches out, gripping my arm tightly. His touch is both grounding and suffocating.
"Release me, Dax," I growl, a feral edge to my voice that surprises even me. I yank my arm free of his hold.
"Damrion," he repeats, his voice soft. “The Fae are dying. You have to empty the city. You’re the only one left who can issue the order. We can’t lose you, too.”
Nei. I have to go. I have to…
My knees buckle, and I crumble to the floor, my stomach twisting into knots.
Memories of Adriel flood my mind—the way he would growl my name when he kissed me, the sound of his moans when I was deep inside him. The look of disappointment in his eyes when he stormed out.
He never should have been out there. He went because of me.
And because of me, he’s dead.
I lean forward, bile rising in my throat as I choke on Adriel's name. My vision blurs with tears as I vomit. The fucking air feels like it’s trying to suffocate me. The acrid smell of smoke and death clings to everything around me, as if to remind me of everything I’ve lost.
"Damrion," Dax murmurs, concern ringing in his voice as he kneels beside me. "You need to breathe."
But breathing only brings more pain and the crushing weight of guilt. Adriel is dead, and it’s my fault. I was so fucking afraid to love him openly, afraid it would consume me whole and everyone would see what I already knew: I wasn’t worthy of him. He’s always been the best of us. And I’ve been handed everything simply by place of birth.
