8. Weigh it All
~ MELEK ~
I fell into bed and slept again after Yilan left, shying away from the memory of the hurt in her eyes when she told me she loved me, and I kept my mouth shut.
I hadn’t stopped loving her for a moment. But I didn’t trust her. And giving her those words felt like giving her permission to continue to hide things from me.
I also didn’t trust myself not to simply cast my pain at her if I started talking about feelings. So, I had done the best I could, which was to stay silent rather than hurling cruel accusations.
If we ever moved past this, I would owe her an apology for the ugly words I’d spewed when I woke up in this place.
Something about that niggled, but before I could examine it a shadow flickered at the edge of my vision, and I turned my head quickly to see who was appearing—but there was nothing.
My hackles stood up, instincts prickling as I sat up slowly, eyes scanning for any movement, any flicker of a Fetch materializing out of the shadows. Or something worse. But even though I sat silent, barely breathing for several minutes, there was nothing.
What had it been? A curious Fetch just trying to get a look at a Nephilim?
An enemy, making a mistake?
An ally of some kind ?
“Who’s there?” I said quietly, my voice a low husk because of the broken and uncomfortable sleep. But if I had seen someone, they were gone. Or hiding better now. I couldn’t catch even a hint.
And slowly my instincts eased.
Had it been instincts? Or was I just jumpy? I hadn’t slept well. I kept turning this entire situation over in my mind.
Mate.
Crown.
King…
I’d been considering this for hours, but the problem would not let me rest.
As the morning passed into afternoon, I turned those circles over and over again. But always, always the circle looped back to my mate.
The softening in my chest when I thought of her made me growl. I wanted her . But I didn’t want it.
King of the Fetch?
Me?
It was ridiculous.
A small voice in the back of my head whispered, is it?
I was her mate, chosen by God. And she was Queen of her people. By their traditions, she was born to select their King…
But me? A hulking Nephilim without significant royal blood leading the most enigmatic of the nations on the continent into peace with the Nephilim?
My people.
It was either the most perfect of plans, or the most unimaginable clusterfuck.
For a breath, I let myself see the vision… returning to my men, calling them to hear me. The shock alone would silence them when I invited them to peace.
Then reality hit.
I might have laughed if it weren’t so horrific. Imagine the fucking chaos .
Even if Jannus and the others had subdued Zaryndar and the Tuskkarians, even if they weren’t still fighting, the ranks would be a mess as the hierarchy was in flux and everyone fought to find their new place.
I couldn’t lead peace talks with a dead King. But even if the next King came from among the warriors and the Nephilim crowned him while still on the battlefield, it wouldn’t be the end of the process. Eventually, the King—and his heir—would have to be acknowledged in Valgorath.
Did those in Ebonreach even know that Gault was dead?
I mentally scanned through Gault’s “cousins,” analyzing the different royal bloodlines and who might receive the news when it came. Yet I came up short. None of them were strong. Not like Gault.
The Fallen angels hadn’t made new offspring in over three decades. To immortals that probably didn’t seem long. Yet, all those who existed now and could feasibly claim the royal bloodlines were at least two more generations diluted, which made them weaker stock.
Once Gault had killed his half-brother, he had ruled unhindered.
I couldn’t recall any claim to the bloodline heir for the succession… And to my knowledge Gault had never fathered a living child.
Except Gall.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
My heart banged against my ribs, and I began to pace.
Gall was next in line for the throne—if he’d chosen to claim it. But no. No.
Even those who knew Gall’s lineage had been ignoring him since Gault rejected and left him for dead. Most of the Nephilim didn’t know Gall was Gault’s… and even if they did, no one in our society would follow him.
A Nephilim ruler had to be brutal. Had to be strong. Had to be fierce.
No, I reassured myself. There was nothing to worry about for Gall. That was why the Neph were in chaos—because there was no heir. They were fighting because no clear leader already existed to narrow the field.
Yilan’s words came roaring back to me in memory and made my chest tight.
…A true Ruler is both admired and followed willingly! Their people—including their military leaders—serve because they choose to. Your people are following you… and you serve the King, so they do as well. The moment you declared yourself they would abandon him…
Was it true?
And if it was… what could I do ?
Take the crown and then… what? Lead from Theynor? Sit on a throne here and appoint a Governor there?
It would never work. The Nephilim needed a present and strong ruler—they challenged authority too much to be left alone. And I couldn’t lead both nations, even one from afar. They were enemies.
So that left me here, leading a people I didn’t know, but with my mate at my side… with the Nephilim on the border, and when they eventually get their shit together, ready to attack.
And suddenly, everything I held precious would be under threat.
Again.
My belly clenched when I thought of Yilan staring at me, her beautiful, cat-like eyes wide and shining with admiration. Or perhaps her eyes closed, and her mouth open in passion.
I thought of her compassionate heart.
Rule with her and bring her into deeper danger, or reject her, break her heart, but return to my people with a chance at removing the threat…
There were no good options.
I found myself standing at the window looking down, and my unsettled thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a group of people far below, walking in the garden.
My heart leaped. The one at the center was her.
I leaned closer, my breath growing shorter when she turned and looked up, shading her eyes to find my tower—
I stepped back quickly, out of her line of sight, and cursed.
I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be this. I couldn’t…
But I also couldn’t live without her.
With a tormented groan, I stepped back up to the window, grasping the inner sill to keep my hands still… but it didn’t matter.
She had already turned and was continuing on her walk, shoulders slumped, head low. And in the bond, she felt… heavy.
I stared down at her, pleading with her to turn. But she didn’t look up again before she passed out of sight.
And then I ached so badly, I walked away from the window.
Anger simmered in my chest. Here I was, heavy with guilt… but I was not the one who had put us in this impossible, painful place.
That was all on her.