Chapter 58
Icould hear every ragged breath rattling in Darian’s chest, feel the fever pulsing off him in waves as he drifted in and out of consciousness.
His wounds were shallow—but that didn’t matter.
Not when the infection was ravaging him from the inside.
Not with that cursed collar choking off his magic. Without a healer, his body was losing.
So was Fenric’s.
His wounds weren’t closing. Still bleeding days later. No matter what we did.
I didn’t stop moving.
Lincatheron was at Darian’s side now, he cradled his head with trembling care while Varyth pressed a cool cloth to his skin. They rarely spoke.
Brynelle and Shaelith had taken first watch. Now they were curled against the far wall, huddled in a sleep that wasn’t rest. Brynelle’s arm was wrapped around Shaelith like she could hold her together. Shaelith didn’t even stir.
I tore another strip of fabric. Drenched it. Pressed it to Fenric’s side, where the blood kept coming. My hands were slick. My arms shook.
Cindrissian was beside me. His hands over mine, helping me hold the fabric tight against the deep gash across Fenric’s ribs. His touch was steady where mine had begun to shake, his presence a silent anchor in the chaos.
I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t afford to. Not with the blood still welling, not with the uselessness that clawed at my throat.
I needed Darian to live. I needed Fenric to stop bleeding. I needed one gods-damned win.
Instead, the fucking guards came.
They tore me away. Tore Varyth away.
The first time we’d been taken together. That meant nothing good.
Xyliria sat at the head of the room, her legs crossed, watching us like a cat lounging in the sun.
“I hear you’re in need of a healer.”
I didn’t answer.
Varyth stayed silent too. But his presence was loud beside me, the coiled rage, the way his breath was too controlled, his fingers curling into fists.
“How rude,” Xyliria mused. “I’m offering assistance, and you don’t even say thank you?”
Still, we did not speak.
“I’m also aware,” she purred with satisfaction. “That my husband has been playing with a new toy.”
My chest tightened.
I turned my head—
And met Ashterion’s cold, midnight-blue stare. Something jagged stirred beneath his mask. He looked paler than usual. As if whatever was wrong lingered in his veins.
But his lips curved into a slow, cruel smirk. “Humans are such a rarity,” he said, as if discussing a fascinating relic. “I was curious.”
A pit of ice formed in my stomach.
I locked my spine straight. Refused to react.
Xyliria’s grin sharpened. She had been waiting for this.
“Given my husband’s… affinity for you,” she drawled, stretching like this conversation bored her. “I have an offer.”
The room thinned around me.
“One night a week in his chambers,” Xyliria said, light and careless. “And I’ll ensure healers treat any injuries that might otherwise be fatal.”
The noise that ripped from Varyth was pure, undiluted fury.
A roar so violent it rattled through the stone walls, shook the air around us. He lunged, his entire body straining against the guards holding him back.
Varyth’s power leaked through the collar, a dark, crackling pressure that coiled through the room—a storm ready to swallow everything whole. It didn’t free him, didn’t help him. But it made the air impossible to breathe.
“I will fucking kill you.” The words were a snarl, a promise, his eyes locked onto Xyliria, and I knew he was already tearing her apart in his mind.
The guards fought to hold him back, struggling, their grips slipping as his rage flooded the room.
Ashterion only smirked.
Xyliria sighed, all mock disappointment as she tapped a bored finger against her lips. “So dramatic, Varyth. But I wasn’t talking to you.”
She turned to me. “Well? Do you accept?”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” The guards struggled harder to hold Varyth back as he thrashed against them. “Don’t you fucking dare, Isara—”
But I ignored him.
Because all I could hear was Darian and Fenric.
Darian’s gasps back in the cell as he burned alive under the fever, with wounds that refused to heal. Darian, who had never stopped protecting me.
And Fenric. Who had pretended to be a fairytale for my children. Who was bleeding out slowly in the corner of that cursed cell, because I hadn’t been strong enough.
One night a week. For a life.
“I accept.”
Varyth’s head turned, his gaze burning into mine, his chest heaving, his entire body vibrating with fury. Then, he turned back to Ashterion.
“If you so much as touch her,” Varyth’s voice was lethal, endless. “I will rip your fucking heart out.”
Ashterion’s smirk deepened. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he tilted his head, considering Varyth’s words as though they were a mild inconvenience rather than a deadly promise.
“You’re adorable when you’re angry.” Ashterion cocked his head to one side. “Though, it’s a little rich for you to be so possessive.”
Varyth snarled.
But Ashterion turned to Xyliria.
“Thank you.” The tiniest, briefest tremor shook his fingers before he raised his hand, brushing his knuckles down Xyliria’s cheek. “For the gift.”
Xyliria waved a dismissive hand, utterly disinterested in the carnage she had set in motion.