15. Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MORTE
W here Az went, I don’t know. For hours, he’s been gone. When he finally returned, he just melted back into the camp like a shadow slipping across the snow.
The blizzard began not long after his disappearance, and it hasn’t let up since. The wind screams through the trees, carrying razor-sharp flecks of ice that sting against exposed skin. The snow falls so densely it blurs the edges of the camp, creating a suffocating coat of white that smothers everything. Soldiers huddle around their fires, cloaked in furs and misery, their breath forming pale clouds that vanish almost as quickly as they appear.
The camp itself looks more like a battlefield than a resting point—tents flap violently in the gale, their stakes barely holding against the onslaught. Frost creeps up the edges of the canvas like skeletal fingers, glassy whenever the firelight manages to reach them.
I sit near the edge of the largest fire, forced to blend into the circle of soldiers as if I belong. My back aches from sitting on the frozen ground, my legs cramping beneath the weight of exhaustion. My hands rest stiffly in my lap, the frost biting at my fingertips even through the thin gloves I was given. The untouched plate in front of me has gone completely cold, the food a congealed, greasy mess I can’t bring myself to look at, let alone eat.
The stink of charred meat clogs the air, thick and cloying, mingling with the sour tang of unwashed bodies and the coppery undertone of old blood. My stomach churns. The murmurs of the soldiers around me are a low, unending drone, punctuated by the scrape of metal utensils against tin plates. Somewhere deeper in the camp, a soldier laughs, the sound jarring against the harsh storm.
And Az? He sits on the opposite side of the fire, his posture unnervingly casual. He picks at the food on his plate, movements slow, as if the howling blizzard and the growing tension around him mean nothing.
I glare at him across the fire, the heat of my anger barely enough to combat the cold that seeps into my bones. Where the hell has he been? The question burns at the forefront of my mind, but I don’t dare ask it aloud. Not here, not surrounded by men who’d probably take great pleasure in watching me break.
Valtorious lounges near Az, eyeing me over the top of his tin cup, his lips twisted into a smile that makes my stomach churn. He takes another swig, smirking at whatever sick game he thinks he’s winning.
A soldier passes by, nudging me out of my trance, and I blink, my vision blurring for a moment. I’m met with pity in the eyes of the men around me—pity for the woman they think is broken, for the fool who thought she mattered to the king’s prodigal son. My chest tightens, and for a second, I think I might shatter right here, spill all my grief and sorrow into the snow at their feet.
Valtorious’s attention shifts to Az, that cruel smile still in place, but now there's a challenge in his eyes. “Azazel,” he drawls, voice slick with mockery, “why don’t you come closer? Bring her over. Let’s see if she’s learned her place yet.”
My stomach revolts, icy and nauseating, as the words hit me. My throat tightens, breath hitching in panic. It’s not the threat in his voice, but the anticipation in it.
Az rises, the movement slow, steady. He crosses the distance between us in a handful of strides, each step substantial. He reaches down and grips my arm, pulling me to my feet with a roughness that scrapes against the last of my composure.
I yank my arm free and meet his eyes, hoping—praying—to find something there that tells me this is a lie. But his stare is cold, shuttered, like the flames of his love have burned out, leaving nothing but ash and smoke in their wake as he recaptures me. His fingers dig into my flesh, not like a lover, but like a jailer.
Az's face remains impassive, but there’s a flash, a tiny crack, something so quick it could be imagined. My pulse hammers in my ears, drowning out all logic. I’m desperate for him to show some sign that he’s still the man who once whispered to me in the dark. That the love we shared wasn’t some sick joke.
“I don’t think she’s quite broken in yet.” Roth appears over the king’s shoulder, his eyes lustrous with cruel delight. “Perhaps a demonstration is in order.”
Az stiffens, just a fraction, and his eyes narrow ever so slightly. “What do you mean?” His voice, calm, detached—too detached—like he’s discussing a strategy in a war council.
The king’s smile spreads wider, revealing teeth that shine too white in the dusk before he glances back at Roth. “I’ve heard rumors. That my son is growing too soft. That she still means something to him.” He pauses, relishing every word as he turns back to Az. “Prove them wrong.”
He turns to the nearest guard, a hulking fae with a twisted smirk. “You, take her for the night. Let’s see if Azazel has truly mastered his emotions.”
My world shatters. A scream claws at the back of my throat, but I swallow it down, my vision narrowing until all I see is Az. My Az. The man who’d kissed and made love to me like he couldn’t live without me, now standing there like a statue.
Az’s head tilts ever so slightly, calculating, cold. And then he nods. He fucking nods.
“Do as you will.” His voice is void of any emotion, any trace of feeling .
The guard steps forward, leering, and I stumble back, my hands shaking as I raise them, instinctively summoning the fire that won’t come. My heart tears itself apart, piece by piece. Az isn’t stopping them. He isn’t fighting for me.
I scream his name, desperation ripping out of me in a wail that I can’t control. “Az, don’t do this! You love me! You said you loved me!” The words tumble out, wild and raw, the last tattered threads of my soul unraveling in the cold.
Shame follows in their wake, a searing flush climbing my cheeks as I hear the desperate edge in my voice, the way it trembles and shatters like glass. I hate myself for it, for sounding so weak, so vulnerable in front of them. But even as the thought takes root, guilt spears through it, pungent and immediate.
None of this is my fault.
The vile men who leer at me, who make this nightmare possible—they’re the ones who deserve my hatred, my fury. And yet, my heart doesn’t stop fracturing, crumbling with every beat as I look at Az, hoping—praying—for any sign of the man I thought I knew.
I curl my fingers into my shirt, breath hitching as a sob swells in my throat. But I refuse to let it out—not here, not in front of them.
He doesn’t even blink. He stands there, face devoid of anything but a mask I can’t break.
The guard reaches for me, his filthy hands inches away, and something inside me snaps. Rage explodes through my veins like wildfire, and I lunge at him, teeth bared like an animal ready to bite and tear. I won’t go down without a fight. Not like this. Not when everything we had is at stake.
Az moves then, faster than a breath, grabbing the guard by the wrist before he can touch me. His grip tightens, bone cracking under his fingers. “I changed my mind.” His words low and steady, spiked with an underlying menace that only I seem to hear. “No one touches her but me.”
The guard yelps, stumbling back, clutching his mangled wrist, and King Valtorious watches the scene unfold, a dark amusement dancing in his eyes. “Is that defiance I hear, son?” His tone sharpens to a razor's edge. “You’re still weak, aren’t you? After all these years.”
Az releases the guard with a shove, never breaking stride as he turns back to his father, his voice flat. “You misunderstand me, Father. She’s mine to break, not theirs.”
The words slam into me, robbing me of breath. It’s like drowning in cold water, struggling for the surface, only to find it’s just a thin sheet of ice that you can't break through. I stagger back, shaking so hard my teeth clatter, my eyes locked on the face of the man I love.
Valtorious's laughter cuts through the moment, a bark of twisted glee that echoes off the nearby cliffs. “Good, my son. Very good. That’s what I wanted to hear.”
Az finally looks at me, but whatever I hope to find in his eyes isn’t there. Just emptiness, a void, like the hollow pit growing inside me.
“Set up a larger tent,” Az orders the guard coldly, and without waiting for a response, he grabs my arm, yanking me to his side like a possession he’s reluctant to claim but refuses to lose. His grip burns, more chains than comfort, binding me in a way that hurts worse than any blade could.
The guard shouts across camp, and servants jump up, racing to do as they’re told, as fast as they can while their legs are docked.
The fire of my anger flares again, but it’s smothered by the agony of realizing that the man I thought would cross hell and back for me has already crossed over to the other side—and left me behind.
He drags me across the camp, weaving between the fires and clusters of soldiers who stop to watch, their gazes full of amusement or indifference as I catch servants scrambling to erect a tent on top of the hill. My feet stumble over uneven ground, the frozen dirt biting through the thin soles of my boots. He pulls me toward the farthest edge of the encampment, where the shadows deepen, and the skeletal outlines of tents are visible through the blizzard.
With a sharp tug, he stops outside the partially erected tent, the canvas flapping violently in the wind as the servants work to put it together. I steady myself, and he releases me without a word, like I’m something to be discarded .
But before I can respond, before I can even draw breath to scream all the words that stick in my throat like thorns, he turns back to stalk towards his father, leaving me alone, drowning in the wreckage of what we once had.