Chapter Eleven
Boraleashe
The Realm of Winter
Tir an Amárach ~ The Arctic World
In all of his two thousand and fifty years of age, Boraleashe had never been more enthusiastic to see his kingdom.
He’d returned home countless times, but this time felt different.
Peaceful. The cool air was the first feeling he welcomed, making his way toward the Rownia Reef that led to his home.
His stallion, Frostreign, trotted across the deep blanket of undisturbed snow, waving his long white mane with joy.
During his travels to his realm, Boraleashe had a lot of time to reflect on his decision to leave the Realm of Autumn, to leave Theodor.
It’d been the second hardest, most painful decision he’d ever made.
But it was for the best. He would never be enough to satisfy a titan as extraordinary—as young and virile—as the king of Fhomhair, and Boraleashe had made his peace with that.
The entire journey home, he’d accepted his fate and prayed to the gods for a peaceful journey to the afterlife.
He had his own heiresses to inherit Amárach, and he was ready to make the transition to hand over his territory.
No one, especially his people, would be pleased he’d given up so quickly, but they didn’t understand.
A titan only had his heart and his pride, and with one of those already damaged beyond repair, it left his Boraleashe’s dignity.
He’d lost a fraction of that in Theodor’s chambers when he’d found that same suitor who’d gifted him flowers in front of the entire court, half naked and about to climb into his bed.
Theodor claimed he was turning him down, but would he always turn him down?
And what of the thousands of others vying for a mere smile from the new king before they threw themselves at him?
Boraleashe refused to be the titan known as the old fool who thought himself worthy of a king blessed by the gods.
If he dared marry Theodor, he’d be suspicious anytime he returned home, fearing there’d be another in his bed.
Boraleashe admitted he’d been desperate and full of hope when he’d arrived in Fhomhair, but things had not gone as he’d hoped.
So, instead of begging, he returned home with what little dignity he had left.
Boraleashe didn’t smile at the gleaming iron gates to his land when they opened upon his arrival.
It wasn’t happiness in his spirit, but his soul felt lighter, calmer.
He was home. There was no one in sight for miles; there weren’t hundreds of people lining the pathway welcoming him back as they did Notalus and his husband.
No one threw flowers—or, in his case, snowballs—at his feet in celebration of their lord’s return.
It wasn’t because Boraleashe’s people refused to; it was because he didn’t allow them to anymore.
He wasn’t worthy of their praise. They lived in treacherous conditions… because of him.
He scanned the vast territory and the beauty of the landscape in a different way.
He gazed on with more appreciation and gratitude than ever before, knowing he would only have a couple more days to enjoy it.
It was still early in the day, but the skies were dark and gloomy, the sun shrouded by dense clouds that acted as blockades.
An impenetrable force field. Boraleashe had exhausted himself for many years trying to break it and revive Amárach, but he wasn’t strong enough… not by himself.
Boraleashe was without his court since he’d flown ahead of them while they traveled across the territories on horseback. He’d wanted the time alone to think, to come to terms with his decision… and to stew in privacy over his losses.
Boraleashe had lived a long, mostly content life until he’d begun to ignore his heart. It was a thousand years of him defying love that the curse was then placed upon him.
He’d grown up in the Arctic World when it was at its most prosperous, born into a prestigious lineage of titans that had the humbleness of commoners. His loving mother and father governed their realm with civility and kindness.
Boraleashe thought he’d lived a wonderful life, fighting in numerous epic battles alongside three of the fiercest titans in existence, Notalus, Orestes, and Zepharali Cavalerie. They’d been true harbingers of justice and peace.
If the gods granted him credit for nothing else, he was proud of that.
He whipped his stallion’s reigns left and right, masterfully maneuvering his way through the wide curves of snowdrifts while he thought of the treasure he’d left behind.
Despite his love for the cold, he already missed the warmth of Theodor’s wind and the heat of the king’s breath against his cool skin.
Boraleashe stayed lost in his thoughts, buried under a ton of hurt and regret, using that pain as a shield against the weather.
It was damn near subzero, far cooler than his world should be, and it would only get worse from here.
He remembered a time when the snow was so soft and deep the children used to be able to dive into it headfirst when they played seek-and-find.
They wouldn’t dare attempt to now for fear of cracking their skull.
The loss of the sun because of his curse had turned the once beautiful snowy paradise into a gray ice land.
Boraleashe rounded the Comsevain Mountains, and his home, the Mirador Keep, came into view.
Both of his daughters were there waving from the top of the stairs leading into his residence.
The Keep wasn’t a thirty-story palace like Notalus’, or a sprawling solar-powered fortress like in Zepharali’s Summer Lands.
No, it wasn’t a monstrosity of wealth and abundance, but it was grand.
An ice castle would perhaps be a better name for it.
His home sat atop the Calelow Caverns, which were still rich with minerals and rare stones embedded in the rocks that made up his glass, diamond, and marble palace.
But their resources were getting low and not replenishing as quickly as before, but his death—his atonement—would be the cure to all of that.
The plague on Amárach would be lifted, and his world could begin to heal again.
“Father!” Kallos hollered before she descended the stairs five at a time, her long, toned legs closing the distance between them. “You’re back already?”
With a long, exhausted breath that came out a thick fog, Boraleashe dismounted Frostreign, hitting the hard-packed snow with a thud.
His stablemaster, Mortus, appeared soon after he released the reins and took the horse to be groomed and pampered for the day.
He gave Mortus a nod of thanks and turned just in time for Kallos to fly into his arms. He didn’t have to stoop too low to allow her to kiss his cheek since she was only a few inches shorter than him.
“I have not just returned from war, Kallos.” Boraleashe allowed a tiny lift of the right side of his mouth for his daughter. “At least I know I was missed by someone.”
“You were missed by everyone. The house has been so quiet without all of your grumbling and stomping around here,” she laughed with a full row of perfect white teeth.
Boraleashe would do anything in his power to see that smile and hear her boisterous laugh for another two thousand years.
“I don’t grumble,” he muttered, draping his arm over her shoulders.
“You just did!” She laughed even louder, pointing at Boraleashe’s downturned lips.
“I missed you too, daughter.” He smoothed back a lock of her soft white tresses and kissed her temple. He didn’t know why he’d left in the first place. He should’ve been home spending his last days with the little family he had.
“Sooo,” she sang, her beautiful smile bright enough to be his sun. She was the more optimistic of his two daughters. “When do we get to meet him? Is he coming with his court? I can’t wait to see Gold Reaper! I hear it was kissed by a goddess of weaponry before—”
“Don’t get too excited, sister,” Enosabe, the oldest—by fourteen minutes—grated from where she stood stiffly at the top of the stairs with four of her personal guards waiting behind her. “The Treasure of the Realms will not be coming to Amárach… will he, Father?”
Kallos gazed up at him with tears already flooding her silvery eyes. “Please don’t say that’s—”
Boraleashe nodded, his weary gaze meeting Enosabe’s angry one while his other daughter cried in his arms.
“You can’t leave us. Please,” she sobbed. “There’s still so much you have to teach us.”
The curse was supposed to stop him from feeling, but it only blocked the good ones. Boraleashe could feel all his daughters’ fear and disappointment in him, triggering crushing pressure in his chest.
“If there’s one thing I’ve always taught you from the moment you brightened my doorstep, it was how to rule this kingdom when I’m gone. Kallos.” He came closer. “Let me go and clean up after my trip. I smell like I rode in on a dead boar’s hide.”
She didn’t smile at his weak attempt at humor, a grim expression marring her lovely face.
“Then we will have dinner tonight, and I’ll explain my trip and why I’ve made the decision to—”
“No!” she yelled, anger taking the place of her sorrow. “You’re not even trying. You’re giving up! And it’s disgraceful for a titan not to fight until the end… until the death. No surrender, no retreat. Is that not what you taught us?”
Kallos didn’t wait for him to respond, and Boraleashe didn’t try to say anything more when she stormed off.
She had a right to her reaction, her rage justified.
But he didn’t believe he’d given up. No one understood that he wanted to die with dignity, not groveling at another man’s feet to save him.
Okay, Theodor hadn’t requested Boraleashe stoop that low, but he’d wanted him to put blind faith in him.