Chapter 16
MIHALIS
The first day without her feels like someone carved out my lungs with a rusty blade.
I sit in my office, staring at the ledgers spread across the desk where she writhed beneath me just hours ago.
The numbers blur together, meaningless scratches of ink that might as well be written in a language I've never learned.
Every few minutes, my eyes drift to the spot where she stood before I lost all control, where she goaded me into admitting what I wanted.
Everything. I told her I wanted everything, and she gave it to me. Then she ran.
The smart thing would be to go after her. Track her down, drag her back, complete this damned bond before it kills us both. But I promised her space when she needed it. Promised her choice, even when every instinct in my body screams at me to hunt her down and never let her go again.
So I let her run. And now I'm paying the price.
By the second day, my hands shake when I try to pour Amerinth.
The bottle slips from my fingers twice before I give up entirely, leaving the purple liquid to stain the papers scattered across my desk.
The accounts for Vestige can burn for all I care.
Numbers mean nothing when my chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself.
Thera finds me hunched over the desk, head buried in my hands, trying to will away the nausea that's been my constant companion since Heidi walked out that door.
"You look like death warmed over." She sets down a tray of food I know I won't touch. "When's the last time you ate?"
"Not hungry." My voice comes out as a croak. Even speaking feels like dragging glass up my throat.
"Bullshit." The tray clatters as she slams it down harder. "You're wasting away to nothing. Ilyra's been asking if you're ill, Varos keeps checking if you need a healer, and Irida—"
"Don't." The word rips from me with enough force to make her step back. "Don't tell me what my daughter thinks."
Because I know what Irida thinks. I can see it in the way she watches me with those wide golden eyes, the same eyes I see in the mirror every morning. She knows something's wrong with her father, knows I'm breaking apart piece by piece, but she's too young to understand why.
Too young to understand that I've gone and fallen in love with a human thief who wants nothing to do with the cage I've built around my life.
Thera's expression softens, but her voice stays sharp. "She's asking for Heidi. Every day. Where is she, when is she coming back, can we visit her. What am I supposed to tell a six-year-old when her father looks ready to keel over from grief?"
Knowing that makes this hurt so much more.
Because I might miss Heidi, but I have never denied Irida anything.
And Irida loved Heidi almost from the moment she met her.
Saw something in that fierce, guarded woman that made her want to claim her as family.
The same thing I saw, I suppose. The same thing that made me willing to tear down every wall I've built to keep the world at bay.
"Tell her..." I start, then stop. What can I tell her? That the woman who played tea parties and braided her hair and made her laugh until her wings fluttered with joy is gone? That I drove her away by wanting too much, too fast?
That I love them both so goddamn much it's killing me?
"Tell her Heidi needed some time away," I finally manage. "That sometimes adults need space to think."
Thera makes a disgusted sound. "And how long are you planning to give her? Until you collapse? Until Irida has to watch her father waste away because he's too stubborn to fight for what he wants?"
"She doesn't want—" The words die in my throat because I can't finish that lie. Not even to myself.
Heidi wanted me. I felt it in every desperate sound she made, every arch of her back against my hands. Felt it in the way she surrendered completely, gave me her throat and trusted me not to break her. She wanted me just as much as I wanted her.
But wanting isn't enough. Not when she's spent her whole life learning that wanting leads to pain, that trusting someone means giving them the power to destroy you.
By the third day, I can barely stand upright. The bones in my body feel like they're made of lead, dragging me down with every step. My magic, usually as natural as breathing, sputters and dies when I try to call it. Even the simplest flame refuses to answer my summons.
I'm sitting in the library, pretending to read while actually just staring at the same page for the past hour, when Irida finds me.
She climbs onto my lap without invitation, her small body warm and solid against my chest. Her wings rustle as she settles, the black feathers with their gold tips catching the lamplight.
"Dad, you're cold." She presses her tiny hands to my cheeks, and I can see the worry in her eyes. "Are you sick?"
"Just tired, little flame." The endearment comes out hoarse. Even talking to my daughter feels like lifting mountains.
She studies my face with the serious expression she gets when she's trying to figure out something complicated. "Is it because Heidi went away?"
The question drives straight through my chest like a blade. I close my eyes, trying to find words that won't break either of us.
"Dad misses her," I admit. Because I can't lie to Irida. Won't add that to the list of ways I'm failing as her father.
"Me too." Her voice is small, uncertain. "She said she'd help me make fire flowers for you. She said she'd braid my hair like the princesses in the stories."
Fuck. The word echoes through my head as I pull Irida closer, burying my face in her soft curls. She smells like sunshine and the cookies Thera sneaks her after dinner, like innocence and trust and everything good in my world.
Everything I'm apparently willing to sacrifice on the altar of my own misery.
"Can you make sparkles?" Irida pulls back to look at me hopefully. "Pretty ones? With lots of colors?"
I try. Gods help me, I try to summon even the smallest flame for my daughter. But my magic feels distant, muffled, like trying to grasp smoke with my bare hands. The most I can manage is a weak flicker that dies before it fully forms.
Irida's face falls. "Dad?"
The fear in her voice nearly breaks me completely. She's never seen me unable to call fire before. Never seen me weak or sick or anything less than the invincible father she believes me to be.
"I'm all right," I lie, smoothing her hair back from her face. "Just need some rest."
But we both know that's not true. She can feel the wrongness in me just like I can feel it in myself. The bond with Heidi isn't just magical—it's carved itself into the very fabric of who I am. And without her, I'm coming apart at the seams.
That night, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling and catalog all the ways I'm dying.
The physical symptoms are the easiest to identify. Nausea that makes food taste like ash. Trembling hands that can't hold a cup steady. Bones that ache like I've been beaten. A constant chill that no amount of blankets can touch.
But the emotional damage cuts deeper. Everything reminds me of her.
The way she'd curl up in the chair by my fireplace, bare feet tucked beneath her, hair catching the light as she read.
The sound of her laughter echoing through the halls when Irida said something particularly precocious.
The fierce way she'd defend herself during our arguments, never backing down even when I towered over her with wings spread wide.
The way she looked at me sometimes when she thought I wasn't paying attention. Like I was something precious. Something worth keeping.
I roll over, pressing my face into the pillow, and try to convince myself this is just the bond talking. That these feelings are nothing more than magical compulsion, a trick of fate that's forcing us together against our will.
But I know that's a lie. Have known it for weeks.
Because even if the bond disappeared tomorrow, even if some miracle freed us both from its pull, I'd still want her. Would still crave the sound of her voice, the challenge in her eyes, the way she makes me feel like more than just a weapon barely contained in flesh.
She makes me feel alive. Makes me want to be better than the cold, controlled monster I've spent years becoming.
And now she's gone, and I'm learning that love—real love, the kind that carves itself into your soul—doesn't give a fuck about magic or bonds or the reasons two people shouldn't be together.
It just is. Painful and beautiful and absolutely fucking devastating.
By the fourth day, I can't even pretend to function. Thera finds me slumped in my chair, head spinning from the simple act of standing up too fast. She takes one look at my face and makes a sound like she's been punched.
"That's it. I'm calling Jelle."
"No." The word is too broken. "There's nothing she can do to heal me."
"This isn't about healing, you stubborn ass. This is about the bond that's killing you because you're too proud to go get your woman back."
Your woman. Because that's what she is, isn't it? Mine. In every way that matters, in every way that counts. The bond just made it official, gave name to something that was already growing between us.
Something I let slip through my fingers because I was too afraid to hold on tight enough.
"She doesn't want to come back," I say, and the admission tastes like blood.
Thera snorts. "You're an idiot. That girl was happier here in a few short weeks than most people are in a lifetime. She loves Irida, loves this house, loves—"
"Don't." I can't hear it. Can't bear to have hope when hope is the most dangerous thing of all.
But Thera's not done. "She loves you, you blind fool.
Anyone with eyes could see it. The way she looked at you when you'd come home from the club, like you hung the stars.
The way she'd find excuses to bring you coffee when you were working.
The way she'd watch you with Irida like she was memorizing every moment. "
My chest tightens painfully. "Then why did she run?"
"Because she's terrified." Thera's voice gentles slightly.
"That girl's been hurt, Mihalis. Badly. And you—" She gestures at me, taking in my massive frame, my wings, the power that radiates from me even when I'm weak as a newborn.
"You're everything she's learned to fear.
Strength. Control. The ability to cage her if you choose. "
The words hit their mark with devastating accuracy.
Because that's exactly what I did, isn't it?
The moment I brought her home, I locked her in a room.
Made her a prisoner in gilded chains, told myself it was for her own good while ignoring what it must have felt like to someone who's spent her whole life fighting against being owned.
"So what do I do?" The question comes out broken, desperate.
Thera's smile is sharp as a blade. "You stop being a coward and go get her back. You show her that choosing you doesn't mean losing herself. That loving you doesn't mean becoming your prisoner."
She pauses, studying my face with the expression of someone who's watched me grow up, who remembers when I was young and stupid and thought I knew everything about the world.
"And you do it before this bond kills you both. Because I'll be damned if I watch Irida lose another parent to pride and fear."
The threat in her voice is real. Thera would drag me bodily to Heidi's door if she had to, propriety and my dignity be damned.
But as I sit there, struggling to draw breath that doesn't taste like ash, I realize I don't care about dignity anymore. Don't care about pride or appearances or maintaining the careful control that's defined my life for so many years.
I care about the woman who makes my daughter laugh. Who challenges me at every turn, who isn't afraid to call me on my bullshit even when I'm radiating enough menace to send grown xaphan running.
I care about Heidi. And if there's even a chance—even the smallest possibility—that she might feel the same way...
Then I need to stop being a coward and fight for what I want.
For everything I want.