The Varethian gates blur as I race through them, a dizzying whirl of blackened iron, the shouts of guards lost beneath the roar of hooves and the wind in my ears. I don't look back. Let them chase me. Let them try to stop me.

  Nothing will.

  The horse thunders through the streets, scattering pedestrians left and right. Lanterns swing wildly from their hooks, casting fleeting shadows on my tear-streaked face as I barrel past. My cloak flares out behind me, a storm of desperation and confusion in my wake.

  The palace looms ahead, tall and cold, its walls as imposing as the reality waiting for me inside. I don't hesitate.

  The gates creak open just in time, and I charge through, hooves striking the polished stone of the grand hall. Servants scream, a vase crashes to the ground, and somewhere, a guard shouts after me. But none of it matters.

  I don't stop.

  Not until the throne room doors swing open.

  And there he is.

  He stands at the foot of the dais, his eyes wide, his mouth parted in shock. He's dressed in mourning black, silver embroidery trailing across his chest like constellations in the night sky. A crown—the one he clearly doesn't want—sits discarded on the table beside him.

  He doesn't move.

  Neither do I.

  I sit tall in the saddle, chest heaving, cheeks wet with tears. My hair sticks to my temples, my hands white-knuckled on the reins. I look at him like I've been chasing this moment for a thousand lifetimes.

  "You," I choke out, my voice breaking. "You could've just told me."

  He inhales sharply, his chest rising with the kind of pain that makes my heart twist. I see it—the tremor in his fingers, the way he struggles to keep it together.

  I wipe my face with the back of my hand, trying to mask the shaking, but the frustration clings to me, raw and relentless. "It would've saved Finn the trouble."

  His mouth parts, but no words come. The pain in his eyes is impossible to hide. But still, he says nothing.

  "You let me go," I whisper, barely a breath. "You handed me that book--that letter--like it was a farewell. And I—I actually thought you meant it."

  His jaw clenches, but his voice is soft, too soft. "It wasn't meant to be goodbye."

  "Then what was it?" I ask, my voice rising, hands flinging wide in a desperate plea for answers. "What was I supposed to think? You handed me something full of love and longing, and never once told me it was yours."

  "I didn't think I had the right," he says, almost to himself, as if the words wound him.

  I stare at him, breath catching in my throat. "You didn't think—?" I cross the space between us in three quick steps, my fingers digging into his chest, desperate to feel, to make sure he's real. "You didn't think you had the right, so you just let me believe none of it was real, up until the last second?"

  He looks down at my hand, the spot where I've pressed into his chest, like it might burn him. "It was real."

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  I let out a shaky sob, pushing against him—not to hurt him, but to make sure I'm not dreaming. "Then why didn't you stop me?"

  "I wanted to beg you to stay," he says, his voice raw. "But that wouldn't have been fair. Not when you deserve the choice. Not when you've never had one."

  My heart pounds painfully in my chest. I can barely catch my breath.

  "I would've stayed," I whisper, my voice breaking. "You could've just asked."

  "I wanted to," he breathes, his words a confession, each one cutting deeper. "Every time I looked at you...I stood outside your door every night, trying to find the courage to knock. I wanted to tell you it wasn't just duty, that it wasn't a lie or a debt."

  I search his eyes, each breath trembling with something too big to name.

  "Then why didn't you?" I demand, my voice cracking, the silence between us unbearable.

  He stares at me like I'm the only thing holding him together. "Because I didn't want to be the reason you stayed. I wanted you to choose it. Choose me. Not out of guilt or obligation. But because you wanted to."

  I close the distance between us in three steps until there's nothing but the moments we've lost to silence between us.

  "I choose you, I choose this," I say, my voice shaking but sure, each word a promise. "I've never chosen anything in my life until now," I continue, my heart racing. "And it's you, Caelen, it will always be you."

  His true name, the name he's hidden from me--from everyone--hangs in the air, soft and sacred.

  Binding.

  He doesn't touch me. Not yet. His hands are clenched at his sides like he's still holding himself back, even now. His eyes are red-rimmed, the mask finally shattering, leaving him exposed.

  His gaze drifts over me like he's memorizing something he knows he'll lose. When he speaks, his voice is quiet—raw with things he's never said out loud.

  "I kept trying to make sense of it. Of you. Of what this was."

  He shakes his head once, like he's still failing to find the words.

  "I've been a soldier, a shadow, a weapon. I've lived under borrowed names. Worn loyalty like armor, silence like a second skin. I know how to follow orders. I know how to disappear. But I never knew what to do with you."

  He steps closer, gaze steady now.

  "I didn't plan any of this. And I sure as hell didn't deserve it. But no matter how far we got from where we started..."

  His voice drops even more, barely a breath.

  "I was yours. Before I even understood what that meant. And I think I always will be."

  "Then show me," I whisper, stepping closer. "Don't just look at me like that. Show me."

  His hands reach for me, slowly, reverently. One finds my face, the other curls around my neck, as though he's afraid to let go. Our foreheads touch, and for a moment, the rest of the world falls away. "If I kiss you," he says hoarsely, "I won't be able to stop."

  I pull him closer, my fingers curling into the collar of his tunic. "Then don't."

  He kisses me like we've both finally made the choice—like every path we've taken, every scar and silence, was always leading here. It's slow, aching, trembling with everything we've lost and everything we still might build. A quiet kind of certainty. A vow without words.

  For a moment, I let myself believe we've earned this—that love can survive war, and trust can rise from ash.

  But even as his lips find mine again, even as his hands cradle my face like I'm something sacred, the fire inside me doesn't fade. It simmers just beneath my skin, woven through the cracks of my broken heart. The betrayal isn't gone—maybe it never will be. And as much as I want him, as much as I feel drawn to him, I won't forget.

  I won't forgive my mother either.

  I can't.

  Because I remember now, what she did. What she gave away. What she never even asked me to choose.

  I pull back just enough to look into his eyes, breath still trembling.

  "You said the debt was forgiven," I whisper.

  Rael's gaze doesn't waver. "It is."

  My fingers tighten around his. "I don't want it to be."

  He says nothing--but I see it in his eyes: the storm rising, the quiet understanding.

  "I want her to pay for what she did," I say, each word slow and burning. "I want her to feel what she made me feel—powerless. Alone. Like I was nothing more than a coin to be spent."

  Rael cups my face, tilting it toward his. His voice is low, rough with promise. "Then she'll pay."

  A silence settles—sharp and sacred.

  "She sent a daughter to be a sacrifice," I whisper, the truth trembling through me. "But I won't die for her sins."

  I take his hand and place it over my heart.

  His answer is quiet, but it lands like thunder. "Then be the storm she never saw coming."

  And when he kisses me this time, it isn't forgiveness I taste--

  It's the beginning of a reckoning.