Chapter 21
Dax turned his head and looked at Veya properly.
His attention felt different from Rhen’s.
Rhen watched her as though measuring threat, weakness, and the exact amount of force required to bring a room under control.
Dax’s gaze rested upon her with something steadier, something that did not recoil from the shaking aftermath of her transformation, the unfamiliarity of her own skin, or the grief saturating a house she had entered too late to understand.
For a moment, the sounds of the garden seemed to soften around them, leaving only the wind moving through the rosemary, the distant ticking of chimes, and the faint struggle of lantern light against the mist.
“Because you’re here,” he said eventually, his voice losing some of its teasing edge. “And because nobody should wake into a world like this and have Rhen as their only source of guidance.”
Veya’s mouth tightened as though she could not decide whether to laugh or spit.
“He saved me.”
Dax’s expression barely changed, although acceptance moved briefly through his eyes alongside an older, harsher understanding.
“Rhen does nothing without a reason. It may not have been compassion, but something about you made him interfere.”
Veya traced one fingertip along the grain of the bench, using the roughness of the wood to anchor herself.
“You make me sound like a stray he found beside the road.”
“You’re not a stray.” Dax tipped his head as he considered her. “You’re a person who has been dropped into a deeply complicated situation.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“That is comforting.”
“You are also fairly complicated.”
“Better.”
“I never promised comfort,” he said, and a restrained smile touched the corner of his mouth. “I am simply better company than Rhen.”
Veya gave a quiet snort, and the sound surprised her. It was small, genuine, and almost normal, as though laughter were a language she had not spoken in years and was only beginning to remember.
Dax noticed the shift without drawing attention to it.
“Leena would have made room for you,” he said.
Veya’s faint smile disappeared.
Dax did not dramatize the statement or push her to respond. He simply allowed it to remain between them as something he believed completely.
“That was what she did,” he continued. “She made space for people long before they knew how to ask for it.”
Veya looked across the garden toward the stronghold.
“Sule looked as though he wanted to tear the world apart.”
“He does.”
The lightness left Dax’s voice.
“He is still trying to be a father and a king while every part of him feels buried beside her. Norse needs him, the clan needs him, and we are all standing around waiting for him to become functional enough to lead us.”
“That sounds cruel.”
“It is, but the world rarely allows kings to grieve properly.”
Veya’s attention moved toward the high stone walls.
“And Rhen?”
Dax’s jaw tightened briefly.
“Rhen has always survived by turning everything into rules, distance, and violence. Leena’s death did not create that part of him, but it removed the one person capable of reaching through it.”
“Does he always treat people the way he treats me?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly enough to surprise her.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“It means the situation is new to him too. That does not excuse what he did or how he speaks to you.”
Veya stared at him.
Most people offered excuses when they cared about someone. Dax seemed capable of loyalty without pretending Rhen’s actions were harmless.
“He fell apart when she died,” she said.
“He did.”
“Will he again?”
Dax looked toward the stronghold, where dark windows reflected the lanterns burning throughout the grounds.
“Not where anyone can see him. Rhen considers being witnessed another form of vulnerability, and he will not willingly allow it twice.”
Veya rubbed her arms beneath the oversized sweatshirt.
Understanding Rhen’s grief did not weaken her resentment. If anything, it made the conflict harder to contain. She could recognize that he had been broken before entering her room and still hate him for taking her choice.
“I don’t know how to exist here,” she admitted. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself.”
Dax shifted toward her, resting his forearms across his knees while leaving the space between them intact.
“You survive first.”
“And after that?”
“After that, you stop demanding that your mind understand everything in one night. This house will consume you if you force yourself to carry every answer at once.”
Veya studied him skeptically, even as part of her wanted to believe him.
“What happens if I can’t stop thinking?”
“Then I distract you. I am exceptionally talented at it.”
“Are you?”
“Trust me, distraction is an art form, and I am one of its finest practitioners.”
Her laugh returned, sharper and more genuine this time. She shook her head and looked away as though she did not want him to notice how much the absurdity helped.
When she faced him again, his expression had softened around the edges. The charm remained, but it had quieted into something less practiced.
“You do not owe me trust,” he said. “You do not owe anyone in this house that, especially not yet.”
Veya’s amusement faded.
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Rhen is not the only part of this situation you have to face. You have been dropped into the middle of this house, its grief, and every consequence attached to it. The people inside may protect you if you give them reason to trust you, and they will stop you if you become a danger.”
“That sounds reassuring.”
“It was not intended to be reassuring. It was intended to be honest.”
She held his gaze.
“And you?”
“I would rather you had at least one person in the stronghold who speaks to you instead of issuing commands.”
The answer tightened something inside her chest.
Veya no longer trusted kindness. In her human life, it had too often concealed a price or arrived with barbs beneath it. Even now, with her old life gone and her body transformed into something she barely recognized, her instincts searched Dax’s words for the hidden hook.
“I hate him,” she said abruptly.
Dax did not react.
“I hate that Rhen took the decision away from me. I hate that my body responds to the tether as though it belongs to him more than it belongs to me, and I hate that everyone talks about Leena as though she was the heart of this place while I’m the disaster he dragged inside after she died.”
Her voice caught as anger and humiliation tangled together.
Dax did not correct her or offer a comforting lie.
“You are allowed to be angry.”
Veya frowned.
“He took something that should have been yours to choose,” Dax continued. “Understanding why he acted does not mean you have to forgive the decision.”
She stared at him, unsettled by the absence of argument.
“I thought you would defend him.”
“He is my brother. I will defend his life without hesitation, but that does not require me to tell you that losing your choice should not matter.”
Veya looked down at her hands.
The answer was more complicated than blind loyalty and therefore more difficult to dismiss.
“For what it is worth,” Dax said, allowing a little warmth back into his voice, “I believe Leena would have liked you.”
Veya scoffed.
“She never knew me.”
“She liked people who survived without allowing survival to make every decision for them.”
“You have known me for less than a night.”
“And you have already escaped confinement, argued with Rhen, challenged me, and insulted the coffee-drinking habits of most civilized people.”
“I drink coffee properly.”
“You drink punishment from a cup.”
A reluctant smile pulled at her mouth.
Dax returned it.
“You survived everything that happened to you,” he said. “That does not mean you have to be grateful for what you became, but it does mean there is more fight left in you than Rhen expects.”
Veya glanced toward the looming stronghold, and the brief lightness thinned as reality pressed back between them.
Dax rose with a lazy stretch that looked partly genuine and partly performed.
“We should go inside before you decide the cold does not affect you and refuse to admit otherwise.”
He offered his hand without reaching for her.
Veya looked at it.
There was no demand in the gesture and no indication that he would take hold of her if she refused.
After a moment, she placed her hand in his.
His grip was firm and steady as he helped her rise, and the contact did not feel like a restraint. Once she was standing, Dax released her and walked beside her toward the iron gate.
The lanterns flickered behind them as mist drifted across the garden paths.
“So,” Dax said, deliberately returning the conversation to something ordinary, “when you were human, what was your comfort show?”
Veya glanced at him.
“My what?”
“The television program you watched when everything was terrible and you wanted to avoid thinking about your life. This is important information.”
“I’m not answering that.”
“You are absolutely answering it.”
“No.”
“If you tell me you relaxed by watching true-crime documentaries, I will have to reconsider every generous assumption I have made about you.”
A reluctant laugh escaped her.
“Perhaps I watched cooking shows.”
“You did not.”
“How would you know?”
“You drink black coffee without sugar. There is no joy in you.”
Veya shook her head, but the smile remained as they passed through the gate.
For the first time since waking inside the stronghold, something loosened beneath her ribs. It was neither peace nor safety, and she was not foolish enough to mistake it for trust.
It was simply enough space to breathe, even if breathing was now a habit rather than a necessity.