Chapter 28
Xander didn’t say much as Ellaryn stepped into his office. The words from the alley still lingered between them like smoke.
She slumped onto his mattress, peeling off her shirt with slow, deliberate movements, ignoring the way her heart kicked up just knowing he was about to touch her.
Xander exhaled sharply.
“I really am sorry about last night. You’re right—it was careless.” He said, breaking the silence.
Ellaryn shrugged, eyes fixed on the floor. “It’s fine. Let’s just get this over with.”
She kept her jaw set, not wanting him to read her emotions.
“No, it wasn’t fine,” Xander pressed, catching her gaze. “I was a dick, and I’m sorry. You don’t have to pretend with me.” He paused, pointing to his grey shirt. “I’m the idiot here.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to say it,” she murmured, and he chuckled softly.
“I’m sorry too… for what I said,” she added, biting her lip.
“Ah… don’t sweat it. You were mostly right,” he murmured. “I’ve spent so long alone that I stopped noticing the absence. But being with you…” He exhaled softly. “It reminded me how much I’ve missed company… And how much I like yours.”
Heat crept up Ellaryn’s cheeks, and she finally met his gaze. The blue of his eyes had shifted somehow—darker, sharper, more intense than she’d ever seen.
“What did you mean when you said, you’d lost everything?” she asked softly, curiosity threading through her voice.
Xander’s jaw tightened, and for a moment his eyes drifted, caught in some memory that pressed against the air like a weight.
“I’m not really an outsider,” he said finally which made Ellaryn furrow her brows. “I mean, I am to Cinders…but Cinala… Cinala was once my home.”
Shock flashed across her face. “You grew up in Cinala?” she whispered, the words trembling out.
He nodded slowly. “I lied when I told you my name was Xander… My real name is Alexander… Alexander Wolfe.”
Ellaryn let the name roll over her tongue. “Wolfe… like Aurelia and Lionel Wolfe? The old King and Queen of Cinala.” Her mind raced, piecing it together.
“The one and only,” he confirmed, his voice quiet but steady.
Her chest tightened. “But that means…” she breathed, eyes wide. “We all thought you were dead. The King… he killed you. How… how are you even alive?”
Xander’s gaze met hers, steady and unmoving, the weight of his survival—and the story behind it—settling like ash between them.
“I was with my cousins in Relenthia when it happened. I was only twelve.”
Xander’s voice tightened. His gaze dropped to the floor, his jaw clenching as though even after all these years, the memory still had teeth.
“I didn’t understand what had happened at first. Not until my aunt and uncle told me…” He swallowed, fingers tightening around the ring on his hand. “I could never go home.”
Ellaryn remained silent.
His eyes flicked away, glistening with unshed tears.
“Then I learned what the King had done to my parents.” His voice cracked before he cleared his throat. “What he was still doing to my people.”
He drew a slow breath, forcing himself to continue.
“That’s when I knew. I would make it my life’s mission to put an end to him.”
His thumb traced the edge of the ring, over and over.
“I spent years hiding. Training. Surviving. Strengthening my magic, learning how to pierce the wall.” A faint, humourless smile touched his lips. “And then… I did it. I made it through.”
Ellaryn watched him carefully.
“I was supposed to bide my time. Make connections. Learn his weaknesses.” He shook his head. “But then I learned about the advance on Velaviere, and there was no time left to wait.”
His fingers stilled around his ring.
“The King…” He exhaled, his expression hardening. “He was far stronger than I ever imagined. And I knew I couldn’t defeat him alone.”
He looked down at the ring, slowly turning it around his finger.
“Ring or no ring—”
“Which is why you needed me,” Ellaryn breathed, her voice softer than she intended.
Her hand drifted to her chest, pressing lightly against it as though she could somehow steady the frantic beat of her heart.
Xander’s eyes lifted to hers, and he gave a small, wry nod.
Then, all at once, the guilt crashed over her like a rogue wave.
The vision from last night. The one awakened by his fingertips. The King and Queen of Cinala, surrounded by Defiers, awaiting the dark bastard’s unforgiving wrath. She had watched them in their final moments, helpless as the King approached.
But Xander had seen them too.
His parents.
He had watched them about to die.
That was why he had stopped.
“Last night.” Ellaryn dragged her hands down her face, exhaling slowly. “Your parents…”
“It’s okay.” Xander’s voice was quiet.
Ellaryn lowered her hands and looked at him. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, stepping closer.
“Please, don’t apologise.” He said, his eyes holding hers. “You didn’t know. I never told you.”
“Why didn’t you?” She asked, studying him, her brow creasing as she searched his face for an answer.
“Would you have believed me?” he countered. “The whole of Cinders thinks I’m dead.”
The faintest shadow of a smile tugged at his lips, but it never reached his eyes.
Ellaryn’s expression softened. “But you’re not.”
“No.” His gaze dropped for a moment before returning to hers. “I’m not.”
The silence stretched between them, heavy with past losses, unspoken truths, and the tenuous thread of trust that had begun to bind them.
“So you’re not here to just kill the King…” Ellaryn said, her eyes drifting to the floor, tracing the shadows.
“I’m here to take back my city,” Xander replied, lowering himself onto the mattress beside her. His shoulder brushed hers. “So you see… I do care. I’ve spent my life caring.”
Ellaryn let the words settle, and a faint smile tugged at her lips. “You know, I thought you were crazy,” she admitted softly, “turns out… you’ve never been more sane.”
“Well,” he said with a crooked grin, “still a little crazy. But all the best people are.”
She leaned against him, the tension of the past few days easing slightly as she let herself rest, just for a moment, against the one person who understood the weight she carried.
When Xander finally placed his hand on her chest, his eyes held something unfamiliar—something that resembled regret.
“What is it?” Ellaryn asked softly, tilting her head to meet his gaze.
“I just… hate that it hurts you,” he admitted, his voice low and vulnerable. His blue eyes caught hers, bright with a mix of frustration and something warmer, something she almost recognised.
Ellaryn let a small, knowing smile tug at her lips. She could feel the heat from his hand seep into her, pressing against the lingering ache in her chest.
“I wish there was another way,” he whispered, the regret threading through the words.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, resting her own hand atop his. “It will all be worth it in the end.”
Then the pain spread through her like wet ink, dark and relentless, igniting every nerve in her body. The fire roared hotter than ever, an electric current lancing through her veins, making her vision blur. Memories surfaced faster this time, stabbing sharper than the last.
She saw herself in her chambers, younger, asleep, a black fingernail tracing her cheek.
Her stomach twisted sickeningly, but there was no time to process it through the fire burning in her chest. The King touched her skin, fingertips sparking with potential while she slept.
Ellaryn could feel the weight of his touch flare beneath her as if he were there, leaning over her even now.
Her back arched, muscles screaming, her fingers clawing at the sheets until her nails bent under the pressure.
She bit her lip raw, choking back the groan that wanted to escape.
She had to hold on longer this time.
She had to.
Flames roared inside her, a burning tide clawing through every vein, every nerve, scorching her from the inside out.
She pinched her eyes shut, teeth gritted, as her head throbbed like molten steel pressed into her skull.
Smoke filled her lungs—thick, acrid—choking her.
Around her, houses collapsed, people screamed, and streets ran red with blood.
Bodies stacked against walls, broken and twisted, smouldering.
The air was heavy with ash; every breath cut like a blade.
Instinctively, her fingers curled around Xander’s wrist, her nails biting into his skin. He was her anchor—the only thing tethering her to the world outside this inferno. She didn’t tap; she clung. She needed him to hold her, to keep her from falling entirely into the fire.
And then the memories came—faster, sharper, more precise.
The babies. The blood lists.
Every life she had handed over, every scream that should have been hers alone to bear.
The guilt pressed into her chest like iron bands, twisted her insides, and burned along her spine.
She saw each child’s face, small and terrified, felt the King’s hand lift them with a tenderness that made her skin crawl…
before a dagger appeared, glinting inches from a baby’s heart.
Her lungs seized. Her stomach rolled. A metallic taste coated her tongue.
The weight of every choice, every life taken or condemned, hammered through her veins.
The King’s cruelty was meticulous; he had carved lessons into her soul until they festered like poison.
Every act of saving, every moment of hiding, every attempt to protect, had been repaid with new knives in her mind, new chains around her heart.
Her nails dug into Xander’s wrist until she tasted blood. She didn’t scream; the sound was swallowed by the fire inside her. The heat licked at her bones, spreading outward like a living thing consuming her. Every flicker of light became a dagger; every shadow whispered the names of the lost.
And then the image of the baby—the innocent, helpless weight of it—filled her senses, as the dagger crawled closer and closer to its heart.
Her breath caught.