C H A P T E R F O R T Y
She saved me. Instead of saving herself…
C H A P T E R F O R T Y
Olwyn
I finish retching as warm fingers brush over my shoulder, and I jerk upright.
“Olwyn,” Altair pants, looking paler as he passes me the water pouch that was tied to his waist. The shadows have gone, and Altair looks too pale, causing a panic to build in my chest.
I take a swig, swilling the cool water around my mouth before spitting it out. The smell of blood overwhelms my nose as I stare at the bodies. My hands won’t stop trembling, and every breath feels like a battle. I can’t unsee it—the blood, the way the light left their eyes. It was too easy. Far too easy to take a life again.
“We killed them.”
“We did,” he pants, and there is no remorse on his face.
“We killed them all!” He seems to realise my regret.
“A-And I would do it again. Sometimes, Olwyn,” he hisses as he stumbles back. “There are no clean choices. Only survival.”
I drink some more, knowing he’s right but taking the moment to catalogue Altair’s injuries. There are still arrows piercing his skin.
I see him sway again, and I reach out as he stumbles towards me.
“We need to remove the arrows,” I say, barely able to hold him up.
“I… need, Iolas,” he breathes against my hair, his voice hoarse. Altair’s shoulders sag under the pain of his wounds. His breaths are shallow, laboured, and I can feel the cold seeping from his skin, sapping the warmth from the air around us. He’s lost so much blood. The shadows that usually dance at his command are nowhere to be seen.
“We need to move.” The horse is nowhere to be seen. I wrap my arm around his large back as I look around. There is a rocky outcrop a short walk away, perhaps we can hide in there for now, until Altair recovers. “Come on,” I grit my teeth.
“Ol-Olwyn, you need to leave. More could come.”
“I am not leaving you,” I huff with a laugh, though there is no humour here.
His weight is almost too much for me, his body leaning heavily against mine as we stumble forward. His breath is ragged, each exhale a painful reminder of the arrows embedded in his flesh. My muscles burn with the effort of holding him up, but I grit my teeth, refusing to let him fall.
“Y-you… did well.” He must be out of it, because his teeth flash in a boyish smile. A genuine smile that makes him look younger. But the expression doesn’t last long as his eyes dart to my thigh, nostrils flaring. “You’re hurt.”
“Let’s talk about all that back there when you are better,” I reply.
“Olwyn,” his eyes turn serious, though they drift open and closed. “If more come, I-I need you to run.”
“I will not leave you,”
“You must! I’m not importan t? —”
“Don’t say things like that. You are the king.”
“And all my power… still didn’t prevent me from almost losing you today.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I’ve always seen him as invincible, this powerful force of nature. Altair isn’t just any vampire; his bloodline is marked by abilities most could only dream of.
And it isn’t just his shadows; the glamour magic he wields to command respect and dread is something only the most elite of vampire nobility can conjure.
I’ve seen him summon food from another room, a skill that defies nature itself, one I didn’t even know vampires could have. He is a king in every sense of the word, a being of immense power that should never waver. And yet here he is, his voice heavy with vulnerability, his composure cracked, telling me he’s scared of losing me .
And that terrifies me.
“But you didn’t. You and Iolas have taught me well. I’m still here.”
“Even kings have fears.”
“Well, this king needs to save his strength. Come on.” His feet are dragging more as we enter a narrow path that causes my shoulders to brush against the rocks, walking farther into the large rocky outcrop.
“It looks like there’s a cave up ahead,” I say eagerly, breathing hard. “I can remove the arrows there.”
He grunts in response, dragging his feet.
When we enter the darkness, I feel comforted that we are out of sight. The cave is a dark, cool refuge, the air thick with the scent of damp earth. The sound of our footsteps echoes faintly against the stone walls, and I shiver as the coolness of the rock presses against my arm. The light from outside barely reaches us, casting long, eerie shadows across the uneven floor. I lean down and rip out the arrow in Altair’s calf, and he hisses, his fangs showing.
Now I can help him down into a sitting position, he lands on his arse with a thud, leaning forward to show me his back.
Blood saturates his shirt, and the wounds I see through the holes in his shirt are not healing…
But there’s scars I can see too. Ones that have been there for a long time. I push the burning questions to the back of my mind for now, knowing the witch silver is doing its job and weakening him severely whilst they are still in his body.
Most of the arrows haven’t come through the other side, so I’ll just have to rip them out.
“This is going to hurt.” I swallow hard, my hand coming to rest on his shoulder as I brace him.
“It’s fine,” he says, though I can tell it’s through gritted teeth.
I grip the shaft and he groans, I pause.
“D-do it, Olwyn.”
I drop my hands, unsheathing my dagger and undoing my sheath. He says nothing as I hold the leather up in front of his face.
“Bite down on this,” I tell him. If he cries out it could draw attention to our position.
He nods, opening his mouth. I am careful around his fangs as I place the leather between his teeth, knowing that his fangs will likely make holes in the leather.
I exhale deeply, his swirling dark gaze watching me until I move back around him. As I grip the arrow, the metallic scent of blood fills the air, mingling with the dampness of the cave. My hands tremble slightly, and I can feel Altair’s muscles tense under my touch.
“Ready?” I ask.
I take his muffled response as confirmation.
“One, tw o? —”
With a swift, jerking motion, I yank the arrow free. The sound of tearing flesh is sickening.
“Fuck,” he grunts, a word I can distinguish over the leather between his lips.
“Does witch silver leave scars?” I ask, trying to distract him as I move to the other arrow in his back.
He hums, and I feel bad that this beautiful man will now be more scarred because of those men. I wonder if that’s what made the scar on his face. I think of something to take both our minds off it.
“When I was younger, I used to attend an academy where humans and vampires learned together.”
His muscles tense under my hands.
“I don’t remember much... There was an accident. But I remember being treated by my parent’s healer. I was unconscious for a while, and I had a bad wound above my eye. You’ve probably seen the scar. The healer had to use a needle and thread to pull the edges closed. Apparently, I was lucky to survive. What I’m trying to say is… it’s all right to have a scar. They remind us of our journey.”
He grunts as I rip another arrow free, before spitting out the sheath.
“Did you just revisit a painful memory to try and make me feel better?” his chest heaves.
I laugh.
“Yes, I suppose I did.”
He is quiet for a moment. “Do you remember anything else from your time in the academy?”
My head tilts as I throw the arrow to a corner of the cave, making my way to kneel in front of him.
“No,” I say. “I was quite young. The healer said my injury likely erased the memory from my brain. But besides the accident, I remember… the feeling. Being quite happy there.”
A flash of memory appears behind my eyes; the laugh of two young boys, a bossy dark-skinned girl, bright, bright red… but I brush the flicker of memory away.
“Last one,” I nod, gripping the shaft of the arrow in his chest.
“It was fortunate they had shitty aim,” he huffs.
“It was still too close,” I mutter, ripping the last arrow out.
He gasps, the sound pained, his body and head falling forward until his forehead rests against the junction between my neck and shoulder.
I still. I freeze.
“Thank you,” his voice is raw, his breath fanning out through the thin material of my dress.
“It’s all right,” I tell him, brushing back his dark hair. It seems an almost subconscious action.
His head lifts, his skin pale. I frown as I help him lean back against a boulder and he sighs now the arrows are removed, weakly pulling his shirt over his head. I gather the arrows, walking over to dump them by the cave entrance, away from him.
I turn and watch his chest anxiously, waiting to see if his wounds will start to close now that the witch silver is gone. But the blood keeps flowing. My stomach twists with fear. What if it’s too late?
“I removed the witchsilver. Why aren’t they closing?”
“I… need Iolas.”
“Well, unfortunately you’re stuck with me, so tell me what I can do,” I say a bit impatiently.
“I… need blood.”
Blood.
Goosebumps erupt over my entire body.
It could be hours, a day until Iolas finds us.
Will Altair get weaker instead of recovering?
What if more of those men arrive?
My mind cascades into a flurry of irrational and rational thoughts. Possibilities, consequences of various actions.
Out of the corner of my eye, Altair’s brow falls as he watches me, my eyes darting between his feet as I think.
And then I glance up, taking a step forward.
“Stop,” Altair says, his voice authoritative and stronger than it has been since we were attacked.
“Why?”
“B-because…” His voice falters, his eyes squeezing shut as if he can’t bear to look at me. “Because I can see that stubborn look in your eye. And I can’t…” He swallows hard, his voice trembling slightly. “I just can’t. We’ll w-wait for Iolas. Please.”
“We don’t have time. I will not let you die, and if more of those men come, I can’t fight them off on my own.”
“I think… you’d be surprised of what you can do.”
I exhale in frustration, not wanting to talk about the magic I used.
“Let’s be realistic. You need to feed. And I am a perfectly viable, ready-to-eat snack that you can have right now.”
His eyes clench shut.
“I can’t,” he breathes out. “I’ve taken too much from you already.”
That’s the first sign of remorse he’s ever shown for taking me from my home.
“And I’m still here, willing to give a little more.”
“You don’t understand, Olwyn.” His voice drops to a hoarse whisper, his eyes dark and pleading. “If you come any closer, I won’t be able to stop myself. I’ll feed from you... and then, I’ll never be able to let you go.”
His words are a promise. There’s no lie or regret in his gaze for saying them. But he is giving me a choice. I swallow hard, feeling his words settle in my chest like a stone. I can see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between his need, and his desire to protect me. My heart races, my thoughts a whirlwind.
If I step forward, I know what I’m agreeing to. I know the power he holds, the hunger that gnaws at him. He won’t die if I don’t give him this, but he will be weakened if more enemies arrive, and I won’t be able to protect us both. But the image of him, vulnerable and struggling, tightens the knot of anxiety in my stomach.
I can’t bear the thought of anyone harming him because of my hesitation. To have his death on my hands.
Because the idea of him not living… Is abhorrent.
But the idea of giving myself to him, of surrendering to his hunger, terrifies me. I don’t know what to expect.
The silence stretches between us and every instinct screams at me to run, to protect myself. But another part, a deeper, quieter part, urges me to trust him, to believe that he won’t let the darkness consume him completely. Not that I’ve now seen the extent of it, remembering the creature he became when he killed those men.
I take a shaky breath, trying to steady my racing thoughts. I meet his gaze, searching for any sign of reassurance, any hint that this won’t destroy us both.
“Please, Olwyn. I-I need you to be sure,” he whispers, his voice raw with need and restraint. The word hangs in the air, a fragile plea that cuts through my fear like a knife, because he has seen I have made up my mind.
I know what I have to do.
My heart races as I step closer, every instinct screaming at me to stay back, to protect myself. But the sight of Altair’s blood-soaked body, his power slipping away with each passing second, pushes me forward. I can’t let him sit there in pain—not when I’m the only one who can save him right now. The thought of him losing control chills me, but I force it aside, locking eyes with him, my resolve hardening. His eyes darken as I kneel beside him, pulling my hair over one shoulder.
He groans, a sound filled with both longing and agony. “Not there,” his whisper is husky, shaking his head quickly, averting his eyes as if the sight of my exposed neck is too much to bear.
“All right.” My voice trembles slightly as I pull up the sleeve of my shirt, revealing the pale skin of my wrist. I offer it to him, trying to steady my breathing, as his nostrils flare. He nods, his fingers too cool as he gently holds my arm, his touch sending a shiver down my spine.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know if this is going to hurt.” His words are soft, tinged with a sorrow that mirrors the tension coiled in my chest.
“How do others react when you feed from them?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, seeking some semblance of reassurance.
“I’ve… never fed from anyone before.” His two-toned eyes catch mine.
I feel a sudden surge of disbelief. That can’t be true. The ground beneath me seems to dissolve like mist in the morning sun, and a chill runs through me, the gravity of the situation sinking in. This isn’t just a matter of trust; it’s uncharted territory for both of us.
His grip tightens slightly, grounding me. I meet his gaze, finding a flicker of vulnerability that mirrors my own.
“It’s all right,” I breathe, steeling myself for whatever comes next. “I trust you.”
I’m surprised at my own words, more so because… I believe them.
He hesitates for a second before he lowers his head, his lips brushing against my wrist in a small kiss first, with a tenderness that makes my chest clench. The moment stretches into an eternity, filled with the sound of our breathing and the rapid beat of my pulse.
My stomach dips as he opens his mouth, his fangs lengthening before my eyes. Then—a sharp, sudden pain as his fangs pierce my skin, but it only lasts a second.
He waits, inhaling deeply through his nose. He draws a mouthful, and I gasp, the sensation both alien and strangely intimate. He groans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through me, and I can sense his struggle, the effort it takes for him to remain gentle.
The initial pain fades… replaced by a strange warmth that spreads through my veins and grows with each pull of his mouth.
Oh my.
His grip on my arm remains firm yet careful, as if he’s holding onto a lifeline. I can hear his breathing deepen and slow, a low rumble vibrating in his chest as he draws another mouthful. His fangs press deeper, and the chill air sharpens against my flushed skin.
Suddenly the cave melts away. And so does my restraint and fear.
Everything but us.
His teeth and lips against my skin sets me on fire, and I feel a burning throb between my legs. My head falls back as an uncontrollable sound leaves me, and Altair growls against my wrist.
As I move closer, climbing into his lap to straddle him, a part of me is shocked by my own boldness. But the other part—the one that’s been yearning for this connection, this release—drowns out any reservations. It feels like surrender, but to what, I’m not entirely sure. All I know is that in this moment, with his hand on my hip, everything else fades away.
His breath comes in short bursts, fanning across the hot skin of my wrist. My hips roll forward, regardless of a small voice in the back of my mind telling me to exercise restraint.
And Altair freezes.
But I don’t want the feeling to end. Experimentally I roll my hips again, a sigh escaping at the delicious friction.
His lips leave my wrist… and hover just above mine.
“You taste like pure light.” His tongue darts out and licks across his bottom lip. “Tell me I can kiss you, love. Because otherwise I’m going to do something I swore I would never do… and kiss you without your permission.”
I moan. “ Please .”
And he presses his mouth to mine.
If I thought Altair feeding from me felt incredible, it was nothing compared to the feeling of his full lips against mine after doing so.
Some part of my brain screams that this is just the rush from his bite. Shouts that I am once more kissing King Draven.
But I am kissing Altair .
Sunlight seems to burn behind my eyelids as his tongue sweeps across mine. A small lingering taste of copper does nothing to put me off kissing this man. His fingers dig into my hips as he encourages me to grind down.
Oh.
He’s rock hard beneath me, and a thrill runs through me as I feel him respond to my every movement. He smiles against my lips as I do as he wishes, losing myself in the sensations he is tearing out of my body.
His eyes look as wild as I feel as he nips at my bottom lip and I move against him, a grunt rushing out of him as he pulls away, his head rocking back. I don’t miss the opportunity, need and hunger eradicating every ounce of self-preservation as I lean forward and kiss his neck.
“Olwyn,” he snarls, seeming to come to some sense of rationality. His hand rises to wrap in my hair. “Maybe we should stop before I—”
His words cut off with a moan. But stopping feels impossible. Why would I, when this feels so right?
His hard cock is stuck between our bodies, and he drives his hips upwards when I roll my hips again.
Oh…
“Olwyn,” I barely recognise his voice, so throaty and guttural. So out of control. “Fuck, you smell so good. Feel so good.”
“Gods.” The pressure builds, any thoughts of stopping scattering from my brain like dust in the wind as I chase a release.
I bite at his collarbone, and he lets out an animalistic growl that almost ends me.
“Olwyn,” he warns, his hand moving to hold my throat gently.
I lean back, my eyes closing from the pleasure. “Please,” I breathe out, the sound echoing in the almost silent cave. “I nee d? —”
“Fuck,” he grunts, driving his hips upward again and again and, Gods … how hard and thick it feels between my legs.
I need…
I’m going to…
“That’s it. Call out for me, love.”
I cry out his name as waves of ecstasy rip through me, turning me boneless.
He groans deeply, the sound causing my core to clench.
His head falls, his eyes open… and they’re the lightest I have ever seen them. There’s only a thin layer of shadow covering his black iris. And I see the blue of both eyes so clearly.
He takes in my astonished and curious gaze and blinks quickly, the shadows pulling in.
I look him over. Colour has returned to his cheeks.
And then reality hits.
I just grinded on him until I came, and I’m still sitting on his lap.
Oh gods.
My face flames, and his head tilts as he tries to catch my gaze.
“I let that go too far. Did I hurt you?” It’s the softest I have ever heard his voice, and he sounds stronger.
I shake my head, trying not to laugh maniacally. The very opposite of that.
“I think that was more my fault than yours,” I mumble.
“It was the rush,” he explains. “I should have warned you about it.”
I nod, shifting on his lap slightly, and he winces.
Oh gods…
“Did… did I hurt you?”
I try hard not to react to how his cheeks darken. How he looks… embarrassed .
“Not at all,” he bites on his lower lip, as if wondering if he should say his next words. “That’s just… never happened to me before,’ he murmurs, and I see a brief flash of vulnerability in his gaze. He’s always so composed, so in control, but now… now he looks almost as shaken as I feel.
What? Had a woman grind on his lap?
My brows fall in confusion, but I catch the way his eyes dart down to his breeches and back to mine.
Oh.
“Oh.” I scramble off his lap, trying not to trip over his legs. My heart is still racing, and I can’t quite suppress the nervous energy bubbling up inside me. But then I see the way he looks at me—half-amused, half-uncertain—and it’s enough to keep my focus on the moment, rather than the absurdity of the situation.
Altair stands carefully, flexing his hand and sighing in relief as a wisp of shadow appears there. He clears his throat, waving his hand over the front of his breeches, my cheeks heating at him using his magic to clear himself up, and I can’t help as the corners of my lips tug up.
He spots it, and suddenly I am blind to everything else around us. He approaches me, smiling .
His fangs are still long, bu t? they do not bother me.
It’s a startling realization, one that roots me to the spot. There was a time, not long ago, when those very fangs represented everything I feared—violence, control, bloodshed. A reminder of how different we are. Of how dangerous he is. But now, standing here, they are simply a part of him. A part of Altair. Not a threat, not a weapon, just... him.
The man who protected me. The man who fought for me.
He reaches out, taking a hold of my wrist as he lifts it to look at. As Altair examines my wrist, his touch is surprisingly gentle, almost reverent.
“It’s all righ t? —”
My breath hitches as heat floods me once more, his tongue darting out over one of the puncture marks, sealing it closed.
“Oh my.”
His eyes stare at me, shadows swirling excitedly as he repeats the action on the other one, before releasing me.
I don’t deny my arm lingered hopefully in the air for a split second longer than it needed to.
“Thank you, Olwyn,” he bows his head slightly. “Thank you for this gift.”
“Has it helped?” I ask tentatively.
“More than you know.”
I nod.
Gods.
What just happened?
I feel slightly dizzy, and Altair captures my arm as I stumble slightly.
I let him feed from me.
The thought loops through my mind like a curse. What would my parents think if they saw me now?
I try to rid myself of the poisonous thought that I have somehow betrayed them. The parents who lied to me. Who lied to apparently protect me from the one thing they feared most… and I gave it away willingly. I let him use me, and worse, I used him.
But I saved his life.
I glance over at him, seeing if there’s any differences from my apparently magical blood. But he looks the same.
He inhales deeply and darkness surrounds us like an ominous cloud.
I let him feed from me.
My heart races.
And my thoughts begin to spiral. And this is what tips me over the edge.
I allowed him to use me for my magical blood. The one thing my parents said I would be drained for. But Altair stands before me, having only consumed a little, and he’s still in control.
But I used him for his body.
“Olwyn, breathe,” his brows fall. Altair’s grip on my arm is gentle, his eyes searching mine for something—fear, regret... But all I see in his is concern, genuine and raw, as if he’s battling his own demons even as he tries to calm mine.
Tears start to stream down my face, and I clutch at my chest. “I let you feed from me. They lied to me. I can’t— I can’t breathe. I feel like— I’m suffocating.”
Altair gently guides me to sit. “Olwyn, look at me. You’re safe. Focus on me. Just breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
The air feels too thick, like I’m trying to breathe through water. The walls of the cave seem to close in, the shadows flickering like dark flames. Every heartbeat is a drum in my ears, loud and suffocating. But Altairs’ weak shades brush over my skin, distracting me from my panic as they caress and comfort me.
“You were brave. You are so brave. You did this because you care.”
“I used you.” I sob.
“You didn’t use me. I was a willing participant, believe me. And I’m grateful for what you’ve done.”
“They lied,” I cry quietly.
Altair looks heartbroken. “I know, love.”
He continues to guide my breathing, his voice a low, steady rhythm that I cling to like a lifeline. Slowly, the panic begins to ebb, my racing heart settling into a more manageable pace. The darkness surrounding us seems to loosen its grip, the shadows retreating slightly as I focus on his voice.
“That's it, just keep breathing,” Altair murmurs, his hands still resting on my shoulders, grounding me.
The cave is quiet now, save for the sound of our breathing. The silence feels heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts. I glance at Altair, his eyes locked on mine, searching for something—reassurance, perhaps, or maybe just a sign that I’m all right.
“How do you feel?” he asks, his voice soft but tinged with concern.
I hesitate, trying to sort through the tangled mess of emotions inside me. “Better,” I manage to say, though the word feels inadequate. I’m better, but not whole. Not yet.
Altair nods, as if he understands. His hands drops from my shoulders, and the absence of his touch leaves me feeling strangely cold.
“We should check your wounds again,” I suggest, desperate to focus on something other than the gnawing fear in my chest and embarrassment flaming my face.
He doesn’t argue, simply turns around so I can get a better look at the arrow wounds in his back. The blood has slowed significantly but hasn’t stopped.
“Did you feed enough?” I ask, running my fingers around a wound, seeing goosebumps cover the skin of his back.
“I won’t take anymore. I have enough until Iolas gets here.” He says, and there’s a note of finality in his tone, telling me he won’t take any argument from me. Iolas promised to come for us, and I know he’ll hold true to that promise.
“All right,” I reply.
Hours pass and daylight fade s? —the only sound the occasional drip of water from somewhere deeper in the cave. I sit, but my mind is miles away, replaying the events of the past two days, the feeling of his teeth in my skin, the intimacy of the act. I can’t stop myself from glancing at him, wondering if he’s thinking about it too.
Finally, I break the silence. “You said you’ve never fed from anyone before. Was that true?”
He looks up, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he nods, his eyes meeting mine, and he looks tired. “It’s true. I’ve never fed directly from someone before.” His voice is quiet, as if admitting this takes more effort than I’d expected.
I don’t know why, but the thought makes my stomach twist. “Why not?”
He hesitates, as if weighing how much to tell me. “I usually drink donor blood from a goblet. In emergencies… I can feed from other vampires.”
My eyes widen. That explains why he wanted Iolas.
“But feeding is… intimate.”
Just found that out.
“I’ve never wanted to forge that kind of bond with anyone.” His gaze holds mine, and I see a flicker of something in his eyes.
“But you… fed from me,” I say, the words feeling heavier than they should.
“And you are the only person I’d ever want to feed from,” he replies, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as my face warms. “And I’m grateful. More than you know.”
A silence falls between us. I want to ask more, to understand what this means for us, but the day hangs over us both, too heavy to lift right now.
Instead, I lean my head against his shoulder, exhaustion tugging at me. “Do you think they’ll always come for us?”
Altair’s eyes flutter closed, and he sighs, his hand coming to rest on the cave floor beside mine. “No. We’ll put a stop to it. I promise.”
There’s an honesty in his words that makes my chest ache. For all his strength, for all his power, I see the vulnerability there too. I feel too awkward to reply, so I close my eyes for a moment's peace.
I wake what seems like minutes later, but is hours based on the deep darkness outside of the cave. And my heart leaps into my throat, fear gripping me once more as I hear someone.
But then the words become clearer.
“Olwyn! Altair!”
I hear the familiar voice calling out, and relief floods through me.
Iolas.
Altair’s tired eyes open slightly, and he shifts as if to rise, his movements sluggish once more, but I press a hand to his shoulder, holding him back. “Stay still. Iolas will be here soon.”
True to my words, Iolas appears in the entrance to the cave, his figure backlit by the moonlight outside. His eyes scan the scene, taking in Altair’s condition and my dishevelled state. He breathes out in relief, but his voice is calm when he speaks.
“Are you both all right?” he asks, striding forward. He falters for a split second, his eyes widening as his nostrils flare, but he recovers quickly.
“We’re alive,” I reply, glancing at Altair. “But he needs blood, Iolas. The witchsilver… it’s not letting him heal.”
Iolas nods, his expression grim. “We need to get him back to the palace, fast.” He steps closer, his eyes on Altair. “Can you move?”
Altair grunts in response, trying to push himself up. But Iolas doesn’t wait for him to struggle. He moves quickly, lifting Altair with a surprising gentleness for someone so large and powerful.
I stand, feeling my own legs wobble slightly from exhaustion and adrenaline. Iolas catches my arm before I can fall, his grip steadying me. “I can smell your blood, Olwyn. You saved him.”
His words hit me hard, and I have to swallow back the lump in my throat. “I couldn’t just leave him,” I reply, my voice hoarse. “I couldn’t…”
He nods, understanding in his eyes. “You didn’t. And that’s what matters.”
With Altair supported between us, we make our way out of the cave. The night air is cool against my skin, and for a moment, I feel a sense of peace, a calm after the storm. But as I glance at Altair, his eyes closed and his breath shallow, I know that this peace is fragile, temporary.
As we head out of the rocky outcrop and towards where Iolas has secured a new horse, several royal guards mounted nearby, I take one last look back at the cave. The shadows within seem to shift and flicker, as if watching us leave.