Lila
The fire had burned low by the time I heard the door open.
I didn’t turn to look. I didn’t need to. Damon’s presence filled the room like a shift in gravity–subtle, but undeniable. The scent of cedar and cold wind followed him in, brushing over my skin like a memory I hadn’t decided whether to miss.
I sat cross–legged at the edge of the hearth, wrapped in another blanket I’d pulled down from the bed. My fingers curled into the wool, my spine straight,
but not stiff.
He didn’t speak right away.
Damon closed the door softly behind him, then crossed the room with quiet steps. No boots today. No crown. No armor. Just a man with too many tities and unfinished business with his marked mate.
He didn’t stop until he stood beside the chair near the fire. His gaze met mine.
Neither of us looked away. And I didn’t rise.
“I thought you’d come sooner,” I said, my voice low and even. “After the hearing. After everything.”
“I didn’t want to rush you,” he replied.
I blinked slowly. “But you claimed me before the entire court.” Silence stretched between us.
“I had to,” he said finally.
“No,” I countered, shifting slightly so I faced him more fully. “You chose to.”
He watched me with that stillness that used to unnerve me. Now, it just made me tired.
“Why?” I asked, the word plain, raw. “Why did you come for me in the cell? Why did you carry me through the palace for everyone to see? Why… did you say my name like that?”
His lips parted, then closed again. He exhaled through his nose.
“I told myself it was strategy,” he said. “At first. That if I protected you, it would protect the throne. That if I kept you close, I could control what the court said about you.”
I didn’t flinch, but something in me recoiled.
He saw it.
“And then,” he added softly, “I found you in that cell.”
His voice changed when he said it–lower, tighter.
“You weren’t breathing right. You didn’t even look at me. They’d broken something I didn’t know I could lose.”
He stepped closer, but didn’t reach for me. His hands stayed at his sides.
“I couldn’t lose you,” he said. “Not again.”
That pulled something from me. Not relief. Not forgiveness. Just breath–shaky and full of something that hurt.
“You’re not supposed to say things like that,” I murmured.
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Chapter 100
He crouched slowly, lowering himself onto the table until he sat near me, bur knees nearly touching
“Why not?”
“Because it’s easier to be angry than it is to believe you meant it.”
Damon was quiet for a long moment. The fire popped behind us, and the scent of pine and ash drifted upward, curling in the warm stillness.
“I didn’t know how to say it before,” he admitted. “I wasn’t supposed to care. I was raised to believe love made kings weak, and then I lost a love I never
deserved.”
I looked down at my hands.
“I’m not sure what I am when I’m with you,” he said. “But I know I don’t want to be anything else.”
A lump rose in my throat. I pressed the blanket tighter around my shoulders and stared at the fire until the colors blurred.
“I’m not ready to forgive you,” I whispered.
He didn’t react. No flinch. No apology. Just a small nod.
“I won’t ask you to.”
We sat in silence for a while, side by side, no longer strangers, but not yet something whole. Not yet. But maybe someday.
The silence between us wasn’t heavy anymore. It was warm. Fragile.
Damon hadn’t moved since I said I wasn’t ready to forgive him. He stayed beside me, grounded. No argument. No pleading. Just presence.
And that was somehow harder to bear than if he had tried to make it right. Begged or demanded.
I turned my head, studied the lines of his profile in the firelight. He looked tired. Not disheveled–he never allowed that–but worn in a way I recognized. Like someone who had finally stopped bracing for the next blow.
My hand twitched under the blanket, half–tempted to reach for him. I didn’t.
Instead, I said softly, “I don’t know what happens next.”
He looked at me then–not as a king. Just a man.
“Then let’s not rush to it.”
For a moment, we just breathed together.
Then he did something that surprised me. He stood slowly and extended a hand toward me. No command in it. No pressure. Just an invitation.
I hesitated. He just waited.
I uncurled my legs and placed my hand in his. His fingers closed around mine, warm and steady, and he helped me to my feet. My knees wobbled slightly -still unsteady–but he adjusted, guiding me with a gentleness I hadn’t known he possessed.
He didn’t speak. He simply rested one hand lightly at my waist, the other cradling mine. My free hand settled against his ches
heart.
There was no music. Just the whisper of fire and our shared breath. But we moved.
or the slow thrum of his
Not perfectly. Not like in the ballroom. Our steps were soft, uncertain. The rhythm was memory–of moonlight and jasmine and the greenhouse.
“I still don’t know what song you heard that night,” he murmured.
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Chapter 100
I smiled faintly, eyes half–lidded. “I think it was this one.”
His breath hitched–just barely. We didn’t speak after that.
His hand at my back held me like a promise he wasn’t expecting an answer for. My palm pressed to his chest as if to remind myself he was real. And for the first time since the trials began, I wasn’t waiting for a blade to fall.
I was just… here. Dancing with the male who’d marked me. With the man who saw me.
I didn’t know if I forgave him. But I knew I wanted this moment.
The mark beneath my robe hummed gently, as if in agreement. Ruby stirred faintly inside me, just a flicker of awareness. A quiet nod.
And then–A knock.
Damon’s steps stilled, his grip tightening just slightly around mine.
Another knock, firmer. He let go of me slowly, eyes not leaving mine. Then Ronan’s voice broke through the door, low and urgent.
“My King. You need to come. Isabella’s been seen inside the palace grounds.”
The warmth between us vanished. Damon straightened, mask slipping back over his face. The air in the room changed–tightened.
I stepped back instinctively, fingers still tingling from where they’d touched his. He looked at the door, then at me–one long glance that said everything.
This isn’t over.
Then he was moving, coat swept over his shoulders like a shadow reclaiming him. The King again. The door opened. His footsteps echoed away. And I stood in the quiet, alone.
A sense of dread pooled in my stomach, and I pulled the blanket closer around me.
Whatever Isabella had returned for, it couldn’t be good.
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