Lila
I woke to the sound of my heartbeat in my ears, too loud in the quiet room. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was.
The ceiling above me blurred and shimmered, the beams twisting in and out of focus like they were underwater. My throat was dry. My skin too warm.
I blinked slowly, once, twice, and felt the weight of the world settle back on my chest. I didn’t remember falling asleep. Or waking up. Or setting the teacup on the table beside me, where it now sat untouched, a curl of steam long gone.
I’d been moved to a more private corner after the healers deemed me stable. Which was generous. I felt like glass that had been set upright but not glued back together.
There was a tightness in my chest that hadn’t left since the rogue whispered my real name before dying.
Ruby stirred, faint and alert. Someone is coming.
I tensed on instinct, hand moving an inch toward the dull–bladed knife tucked under my pillow. I wasn’t supposed to have it, but no one had tried very hard to stop me. Maybe they understood. Maybe they were just afraid.
The door eased open softly and a familiar scent different than Damon’s, less grounding, more like trouble waiting to happen.
“Asher,” I said without looking up.
He let out a soft exhale. “You really are impossible to sneak up on.”
There was something brittle in his voice. Not weakness. Just strain, carefully hidden beneath charm. I turned my head slowly, careful not to shift too much. My ribs still hated me.
“Maybe you’re just impossible to ignore.”
He smiled at that. A quiet, tired thing. In his hands, he carried a ceramic mug, pale gray and steaming. “Thought you might want something warm.”
My brows lifted. “You bring tea to all your near–corpses?”
“Only the interesting ones,” he said lightly, crossing the room and setting the mug beside mine. “You look like shit, by the way.”
“Flatterer.” I leaned back, suppressing a wince. “If you’re here to mock the bruises, take a number.”
His smile slipped a little. “I’m not.”
His voice had changed. No longer teasing. It held something raw now. I wasn’t used to Asher sounding so shaken.
For a moment, we just looked at each other. His coat was unfastened, the sleeves pushed up. And that expression on his face seemed like he wanted to say something but was still choosing how.
“I didn’t know,” he said suddenly.
I blinked. “Didn’t know what?”
“That you’d been reassigned. That you were going to the border.” He leaned against the end of the infirmary bed, arms crossed. “I thought it was Nora. That’s who the council approved last–minute. The documents I saw-” He shook his head. “Someone changed it.”
I stared at him. “So it wasn’t a trial?”
“No. Gods, no. It was supposed to be a diplomacy post. Light interaction, a day’s ride. Nothing near the rogue line.” He paused. “When Damon found out, I’d never seen him like that.”
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Chapter 82
I swallowed the light knot building in my throat. “So who did it?”
He didn’t answer right away. “My guess? Council vote was forged. Slipped through during the rotations. Damon’s signature was copied.“
“Why me?” I asked, quieter now.
He looked at me like he wanted to give me a better answer. Then finally: “Because you’re visible enough to watch, but viderable enough to target, Someone wanted you gone, Lila.”
He used my real name. Not as a weapon, just a fact. Now that Damon knew, I suppose it didn’t matter.
I looked down at my hands in my lap, bruised and healing. I wanted to scream. To run. To tear apart the room. Instead, facked, “And you?”
He blinked, “What about me?”
“Were you part of it?”
He didn’t get defensive. Just shook his head once. “No.”
And I believed him. But that only made the silence between us louder.
Asher shifted his weight against the edge of the infirmary bed, his arms still folded but his posture softer now. Less like a wall and more like a windon, just barely cracked open.
“Seeing you like this…” he said after a long pause, “I don’t think I like it.”
I didn’t respond right away. My throat felt thick, like the words I wanted were stuck somewhere between anger and exhaustion.
He gestured vaguely at me with a nod, at the bruises I couldn’t hide. “You’ve always been sharp. Resilient. Honestly, it’s wonderfully irritating.”
“Is that a complement?”
“I’m being serious.” The sincerity in his voice made me look up. And when I did, I saw something I hadn’t expected.
Fear. Not for himself. For me.
“I keep replaying that night,” he went on, his voice low. “Trying to figure out when I could’ve stopped it. When I should’ve asked more questions, broken more bones. If…”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said, sharper than I meant to. I pulled the blanket tighter around me. “You didn’t sign off on it. You didn’t send me there.”
“No. But I didn’t know it was happening either. And that is not acceptable.”
That landed with a thud between us.
He looked like he wanted to reach for me but didn’t. Instead, he bent down, picked up the cup he’d brought me, and held it out.
I hesitated, then took it. The tea was still warm. Barely.
“I’m glad you made it out alive,” he said softly.
“I almost didn’t.”
His jaw tightened.
The fire in the corner crackled, as if the room needed a sound other than silence. I sipped the tea. It tasted of orange peel and almonds, but not quite
sweet.
“I’m tired,” I said, more to myself than him. “Of always being someone else’s move.”
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Chapter 82
Asher nodded slowly. “Then stop playing their game.” His eyes met mine, “Play your own.”
For a moment, we just existed in that shared space–the kind that only happens after something breaks and both people are trying to figure out what’s
left.
“You’re good at the game,” I said carefully.
He gave a crooked smile. “Occupational hazard.”
“But this?” I asked. “Coming here. Saying all this. What’s the endgame there?”
The question hung there. I needed him to answer. Needed something to be true.
Asher’s smile faltered. “Lila… I’m not Damon. I don’t promise safety or crowns or poetry.”
“I’m not asking for poetry.”
“Good,” he said, standing straighter. “Because I’m terrible at it. Utterly rubbish.”
He started to turn away, but something held him in place. His hand grazed the back of the chair beside me, fingertips tapping once, then stilling
“I’m glad you’re still here,” he said without looking at me.
I didn’t say anything. But I didn’t look away.
He moved toward the door, paused with his hand on the frame. “For what it’s worth, you are… uniquely you. Not a substitute for anyone else.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
Asher turned back just enough to meet my eyes. And for a second–just one–he looked like he might say more.
But then he nodded once and left.
The door shut behind him, and I sat in the silence, still cradling the tea, and stared at the dying fire wondering what game Asher was really playing.
AD
