Chapter 30 #2
Mallen stares at the water like it might answer for him. “It started the night you came of age and the Reaping began. It burned through me. Like a brand. Your darkness, your magic—it needed somewhere to go. You didn’t know how to contain it. So it found me.”
I look down. Hazel eyes in the water’s reflection. Innocent, almost. A girl with a soft mouth and unlined skin. She doesn’t look like she could devour worlds.
But she could.
She has.
And she wears that ruin like a ribbon—threaded through her, binding the girl she was to the woman she’s becoming.
Mallen’s voice is hoarse. “You were never meant to carry it alone. But the gods…they didn’t give you a choice. They didn’t give me one either.”
He’s been doing this for years. Letting it fill him. Letting it burn. Alone.
“You never told me.”
He nods, solemn. “Do you see why? I didn’t want to shackle you, or your heart. I wanted you to have a choice I never had. To run. To love. And to be able to say yes with joy, not guilt.”
And now I see the impossibility of it. The line he walked alone. He let me hate him. Let me think he was keeping secrets to control me—because the truth would’ve chained me more than any lie ever could.
“I couldn’t tell you. You’d have broken yourself trying to fix it. Or worse—you’d have stayed with me out of obligation.”
“What is the truth, Mallen?”
“The truth is simpler than the stories men tell,” he says.
“The gods asked for one thing only. Your choice. Quiet. Free. Your father refused it. He broke faith and built the Reaping to drown your choice in blood. He ordered trials that could not be won, paid for traps that did not spare, sent word to Larksbind that only the condemned should come so their hope would wither. He meant to starve you of hope until you reached twenty-five and the bargain returned the power to him. He never expected them to send Darian, and when they did, he hunted for leverage. Every death has served his theater. None of it served you.”
“He chose me as the pretty answer from Starsfall. A contingency. He thought I could be held. For a while, he thought I was like him. I swear I didn’t know at first. I learned the truth of it years ago and moved what I could.
I built walls around your choice and taught you to stand.
Not to steer you to me, but to guard. Because your choice is all that’s ever mattered. ”
The room tilts. I see the shape of it at last. The gods wanted a single act of will. My father made a spectacle to steal it. All the banners and bells and trials were theft. Only one thing was ever meant to matter. My yes. My no. My choice.
His fingers brush mine, tentative. “I’d rather die than have your heart bound to me in chains.”
My throat closes. “What did it cost you?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drops to our joined hands like he’s reading a memory.
“Everything,” he says finally. “My gift…whatever it once was—it’s gone. Burned hollow to make room for yours. There’s nothing left in me but the shape of you.”
I reel. How hadn’t I seen it? How had I missed this sacrificial kind of love, this unspoken ruin? My vision blurs.
“All this time, I thought you were hiding yourself. But you were hiding me.”
“You were never meant to carry it alone,” he repeats. “So I did.”
“And I never saw,” I whisper. “I looked at you and I never saw.”
“I didn’t want you to.”
I cover his hand with mine, holding it tightly. “And now?”
“Now?” He lifts his eyes, and they blaze. “Now I want to be seen. If you choose me…I want it to be real.”
“I don’t deserve—”
“You deserve everything.” His grip tightens. “Even if it kills me.”
I stare at him, blinking back tears. “You don’t hate me?”
He laughs, low and disbelieving. “You think love and sacrifice don’t walk hand in hand?” He draws my fingers to his mouth and presses them to his lips. “I’d carry your darkness a thousand times over. It was never a burden. Not for you.”
I want to believe him. No—worse. I do believe him. That’s what terrifies me.
“I’ll never buy your affection,” he says softly. “I mean it. I won’t use pain to bind you. I won’t weaponize your guilt.”
His mouth finds my temple.
“Nor will I let you shrink from what you are.”
A beat of silence—two, three—long enough to feel his heart against mine, erratic and echoing. Then—
“Darian doesn’t understand, not entirely,” he adds. “He pieced together fragments and mistook them for truth. That is why he wouldn’t stop: he believed he was saving you. A man convinced he is right when he isn’t is the most dangerous kind.”
Mallen leans forward and traces a finger along my collarbone. My breath shudders out. His touch is reverent, but it lights a fire under my skin.
His gaze dips. His eyes burn. He sees my arousal—acknowledges it—and still waits.
“We should get out,” he murmurs.
He washes his hair and then helps me from the water. His hands are gentle, wrapping me in a towel before tending to himself. I watch him dress—beautiful and solemn and wounded—and wonder how I ever thought I could live without him.
The servant girl enters, trembling. She braids my hair with shaking fingers while I sit still and let her work. In the mirror, Mallen’s reflection glowers. I shoot him a look—stop—but he only sighs and stokes the fire like it might save him.
The girl bolts the second she’s done. Mallen yells after her to bring food. I bury my face in my hands.
“You scare people,” I mutter.
He shrugs. “Good. It keeps them from stealing you.”
I snort. “You think you own me?”
“No. But I think you chose me. And I won’t let you forget it.”
He opens his arms. I go. He gathers me like a vow, his mouth finding my neck in slow benediction, each kiss scattering thought like ash.
Food arrives. Mallen thanks the servants this time, though he doesn’t release me. I eat like I’ve been starved. He watches me with quiet amusement, and then eats too.
For a moment, it’s ordinary. As if we haven’t broken each other. As if the world isn’t ending.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering. His mouth ghosts across my skin—cheek, jaw, lips. The kiss is firmer this time. Rougher. A kind of desperation laced through it, like it’s cost him everything to hold back, and he’s finally stopped counting the price.
“Are you sure?” he breathes.
I nod. “Yes.”
He studies me, as if something inside him breaks open. Or maybe it fuses at last: the part that feared, the part that waited, the part that never stopped wanting.
“I’ll never lie to you again,” he says. “Even if it destroys me. Even if you turn away. I won’t pretend I’m not jealous, or ruthless, or even that I’m a good man. But I am a man who’ll love you without restraint, without end. I won’t spare you my truth—and I won’t ask you to spare me yours.”
My heart lurches. “No more lies.”
His gaze darkens. His hands twitch like he wants to touch me—wants to take—but he waits.
He’s waited years. What’s a few minutes more?
“Not even silent ones,” he replies.
I reach up and run my thumb over his lower lip. He exhales sharply. His desire is barely leashed.
I climb into his lap. His hands close around my thighs, reverent and possessive. His breath hitches like he’s swallowing fire.
“From either of us,” I say.
And then I kiss him.
Like it’s the first time.
Like it’s the only time.
Because maybe it is.