Chapter 23 #2
The tremble in his hand says no. My words would slide off the wall of denial he’s built around Mael, never finding a purchase. And Mael is far too clever to leave behind anything that might seed doubt in Ryker’s mind.
And if I’m being honest… I no longer care to make him see.
I sink back into my chair, my mind is made up. Ryker needs to learn the truth eventually, but not like this. I exhale and shove a strawberry into my mouth as if its sweetness can dull the bitterness rising in my chest.
Ryker steps closer, his voice low, raw. “When I saw those monsters attacking you through Divinity Gazes, I didn’t care about the curse. I didn’t care about the Consul or public opinion. All I could think about was that you were going to die, and I had failed to protect you.”
His hand lifts, hesitating just above my shoulder, his fingers barely a breath away from my skin.
“Touching me won’t decay you,” I say steadily, despite the way the warmth of his presence no longer reaches as deep as it once did. “I’m capable of keeping my magic locked away.”
He exhales, closing his eyes briefly, as though grounding himself. And then, finally, he lets his hand rest against me.
I feel nothing at his touch.
His fingers brush a strand of hair away from my face, and I see the moment his gaze catches on the two red strands that mark my curse.
But there’s no flicker of recognition. No reaction at all. He never even noticed that the second strand appeared.
“I’ve missed you,” he says, his voice heavy with regret. “I should’ve come to you the moment Mael confessed. I should’ve stood up to the Consul and the Church, like a man deserving of you. And I will always blame myself for everything that followed.”
He steps back, slumping into his chair. “I wish I could undo it. To save you. To have you back, not as the Goddess of Decay and Blood’s Champion, but as my future wife. As my best friend.”
These words untangle the last threads of anger. Suddenly, I don’t see the king. I see the boy who climbed the Palace walls just to make me laugh when we were kids. And who's now looking as if he’s been crushed under the weight of his own failures.
There’s shame in his posture, in the way his hands grip his knees too tightly, as though he’s holding himself together. The kind of shame that makes a man look smaller no matter how straight he sits.
But I can tell he’s trying, awkwardly and clumsily, to mend what’s been shattered between us.
Suddenly feeling sad for him, I rise from my chair, steadying my breath, and take a slow step toward him.
“Tell me what I need to do to make you forgive me?” he murmurs, reaching out to take my hand. He guides me down slowly, and I let him numbly.
I kneel before him, his grip firm around mine, as though he’s afraid I might vanish if he lets go. “I’ve dreamed of your face every time I stole a few hours of sleep,” he whispers, lowering his forehead to touch mine.
His arms shift, sliding from my hands to my shoulders, then up to cradle my face. His thumbs brush lightly against my cheeks.
“I was the biggest fool,” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘Please, say you forgive me. Please.”
There’s so much pleading in his eyes, so much raw emotion that my chest aches. And yet, for the first time in years, I see something else.
Desire.
It’s unrestrained, unguarded, a longing he always kept hidden under the watchful eyes of my duenna.
“I forgive you, Ryker,” I say, my voice trembling under the weight of the moment.
His relief is palpable, his shoulders sagging as though the burden he’s carried has finally lifted. Slowly, he leans in, his lips hovering just a breath away from mine.
“You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted,” he murmurs, a quiet confession. And yet—
Kaelzar.
The image strikes, unbidden. His sharp, angular face. The shadows that cling to him like armor. The scent of storm and leather that lingers whenever he’s near.
I force the thought into the dark corners of my mind. This isn’t about him right now, this is about Ryker and me. Our ending, our closure, our... whatever this is.
His lips brush against mine, soft and warm.
The kiss is gentle at first, a hesitant exploration, as though he’s afraid I might pull away.
His hands tighten slightly on my face, grounding me, and for a fleeting moment, I want to let him.
I want to sink into this. I want to pretend nothing bad had ever happened, and it all had been one bad dream.
But I can’t. My pulse doesn’t race, it slows, turns heavy. My fingers twitch against his arms, instinct screaming at me to shove him away.
Ryker’s lips move against mine, and I try to force the connection, try to make myself want it.
But the fire I expect—the spark, the urgency—never comes. Instead, my chest tightens with something dense and immovable, as if the air itself has turned to rock inside me.
My magic stirs uneasily as his hands slide from my cheeks to my neck, then lower, fingertips grazing the fabric of my dress near my collarbone.
The restless stirring in my chest coils tighter. I try to focus on the warmth of his hands, on the familiarity of his presence, but a quiet wrongness presses in at the edges of my awareness, like a thread pulled too taut.
And then I feel it. The weight in my legs. The bend in my spine. The pressure of the stone beneath my knees.
I’m kneeling before him.
The realization strikes like an anvil over my head.
A month ago, I might not have noticed. I would have stayed kneeling for hours if it meant we could share this moment. But now, it’s a reminder of everything I lost. Of everything I vowed to reclaim.
I’m not that girl anymore. I can’t be.
I pull back, breaking the kiss.
Ryker smiles, oblivious to the turmoil twisting inside me. “You’re even better than in my dreams,” he murmurs, his voice filled with reverence. “You’re so popular among the commoners now. Your influence will be invaluable for leveraging the Consul’s approval—”
The words don’t register at first. A dull, ringing silence follows.
The warmth of his hands lingers on my skin, but it feels like an uncomfortable weight now. Then his words finally spear through my mind: Popular. Influence. Leveraging.
Not Raylane. Not his wife. Not the girl he loves.
I rise to my feet abruptly, his hands falling away. “Is that what this is about?” I whisper, my voice is cold. “A way for you to use me?”
The first flicker of panic crosses his face. “Raylane, no. It’s not like that. You’re twisting my words—”
“Am I?” My voice is edged with fury. “Tell me, Ryker, if I weren’t popular, if I had died in that Challenge, what then? Would you have just moved on to someone else?”
Ryker takes a step forward, desperation carved into every line of his face. “Raylane, please,” he says, his voice breaking.
I steel myself and force the tremor from my hands. I will my face into an unreadable mask. I exhale slowly, letting the weight of my words settle before I speak.
“If you want my forgiveness,” I say, “open your eyes.”
I let the words hang between us, final and absolute. Then I turn on my heels and stride toward the door, my magic thrumming with every step.