Chapter 12 Senna
SENNA
I'm trembling so hard I can feel my teeth chattering, but I can't stop. Can't make my body obey even the simplest command to be still.
Lorenth's arms are solid around me, warm despite the cold morning air, and I press my face harder into his chest because I don't know what else to do. His heartbeat thuds steady beneath my ear, counterpoint to my own ragged breathing.
He saved me.
The thought loops through my mind on repeat, disbelieving. He came back. He found me. And when Darian—
My split lip throbs, a sharp reminder of what happened this morning. How Darian's face twisted with fury when I tried to leave for the stable, his accusation ringing through the small rooms above the shop.
"Sneaking off to see him, are you? That godsdamn xaphan?"
I'd tried to tell him I was only going to help Mira with Ash. That Lorenth was surely gone by now, back to the city where he belonged. But Darian didn't believe me. He never believes me.
This is the first time I haven't been telling the truth.
His hand had come down fast, catching me across the face before I could flinch away.
And then Lorenth was there.
I curl my fingers tighter into his tunic, feeling the rough fabric beneath my palms. Real. Solid. Not some desperate fantasy I conjured to escape the nightmare my life has become.
"Where are we going?" My voice comes out small, muffled against his coat.
"Somewhere we can talk." His tone is controlled, but I can hear the fury simmering beneath it. Feel it in the tension of his muscles, the way his wings shift restlessly against his back. "Somewhere private."
The forest swallows us as he strides through the trees, boots crunching over fallen leaves and twigs. I risk a glance up at his face—all sharp angles and fierce concentration, jaw clenched so tight I wonder if his teeth ache.
He's furious.
But not at me.
The distinction matters. With Darian, I can never tell when the rage will turn my direction. What small thing I'll do to set him off. But with Lorenth... even as angry as he clearly is, I'm not afraid.
I should be. Should be terrified of what he might do, of the power coiled in his frame and the violence I just witnessed. But all I feel is safe.
Which is ridiculous. Insane. I barely know him.
Except that's not true, is it? The bond—whatever Serai called it at the Masquerade—knows him. My soul reaches for his the same way it did that night under the lanterns, desperate and yearning and so damn tired of being alone.
Lorenth slows as we reach a small clearing, sunlight filtering through the canopy overhead to dapple the forest floor. He sets me down carefully, keeping his hands on my waist until my feet are steady beneath me.
Then he cups my face, tilting my chin up so I have no choice but to meet his gaze.
Those storm-blue eyes blaze with an anger so fierce it steals my breath. But his touch is gentle, thumbs brushing carefully over my cheekbones like he's afraid I'll shatter. Heat flares under his hand and I feel my bruised cheek from yesterday healing from his magic.
"You cannot go back to him."
Not a question. A statement. Final and absolute.
I open my mouth to argue, to explain why it's not that simple, but he keeps going.
"This marriage you have—it doesn't mean anything. Not when we're meant to be together. Not when I can feel your soul calling to mine and every godsdamn instinct I have is screaming at me to keep you safe. Not when he treats you like that."
The words knock the air from my lungs. I want to believe him. Gods, I want to believe him so badly it hurts.
But hope is dangerous. Hope gets you hurt.
"Marriage," I hear myself say, and a bitter laugh escapes me. "What I have with Darian is a disgrace to that word."
His brow furrows slightly, confusion flickering across his expression.
The laughter turns harsher, edged with something that tastes like acid. "That's not a marriage. That's ownership. He treats me like a whipped animal—something to use when it suits him and beat when it doesn't."
The words spill out before I can stop them, ugly and raw and true. Maybe because I want Lorenth to know why I did what I did, that I don't feel guilty about what happened between us.
Lorenth's expression goes stormy, the gold rings around his pupils flaring bright. His hands tighten fractionally on my face, and for half a second I tense, old instincts kicking in.
But he doesn't hurt me. Just holds me there, his gaze boring into mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
"You're not going back to that man." Each word is precise, controlled, but vibrating with barely leashed fury. "You're coming with me."
My heart does something complicated in my chest—a wild flutter that feels dangerously close to hope.
"I can't," I whisper, even though every part of me is screaming yes. "He'll come after me. He'll hurt you. Hurt Mira." Well, not her. She would slit his throat for trying. "Hurt anyone who tries to help me. And it'll only make things worse when he drags me back—"
"I don't care if that piece of shit manages to pull the sun from the fucking sky." Lorenth's voice drops lower, rougher. "I'm not leaving you with him."
"You don't understand—"
"Then make me understand." His thumbs brush over my cheeks again, infinitely careful despite the storm raging in his eyes. "Do you love him?"
"No." The word bursts out of me, vehement and immediate. "Gods, no. I was sold to him. By my uncle, after my parents died. Sold like livestock to settle a debt."
Saying it out loud makes it real in a way it hasn't been before. Makes the humiliation and rage and helplessness crash over me fresh.
"Darian wanted a wife who wouldn't talk back. Who'd keep his house and warm his bed and never ask for anything in return. My uncle wanted his debts forgiven. So they made a deal and I—" My voice cracks. "I didn't get a choice.
"It's not real," I finish, barely a whisper. "None of it is real."
Something shifts in Lorenth's expression—fury giving way to something fiercer, more possessive. His hands slide from my face to my shoulders, then down to my waist as he scoops me back into his arms in one smooth motion.
"Then I'm not letting you go."
Before I can process what's happening, his wings flare wide—massive and gray-blue with that cobalt iridescence catching the light—and he launches us into the air.
I gasp, my arms flying around his neck as the ground drops away beneath us. Wind whips my hair back from my face, cold and sharp and exhilarating.
"Lorenth—"
"Hold on to me."
I don't have a choice. My fingers dig into his shoulders as he rises higher, trees becoming a blur of green and brown below. My stomach lurches, caught somewhere between terror and a wild, unexpected thrill.
I've never flown before. Never been more than a few feet off the ground. And now the whole world is spread out beneath me, vast and beautiful and terrifying.
"Where are you taking me?" I manage, my voice shaking.
"Home." He adjusts his grip, pulling me closer against his chest. "My home. You'll be safe there."
Safe. The word sounds foreign in his mouth, like a language I've forgotten how to speak.
"This is kidnapping," I point out, but it comes out weaker than I intend. Because the truth is, I'm not fighting him. Not really.
"If that's what it takes to keep you safe, then yes." His tone leaves no room for argument. "I'll do whatever I have to. Call it what you want."
I don't argue. Mostly because I don't want to. I want this. Want him.
So I cling to him as he flies fast and hard for hours, holding me close, his magic seeping into my skin and keeping me warm. My skin stops throbbing and I realize he's healing me, too.
The city appears on the horizon, gleaming spires rising against the pale sky. New Solas. I've seen it from a distance before, but never like this—from above, with the whole sprawling expanse of it visible at once.
It's beautiful. Intimidating. Nothing like the small village I've spent the last few years trapped in.
"He'll find me," I say quietly. "Darian will come looking."
"Let him."
The confidence in those two words should reassure me. Instead, it makes my pulse spike with anxiety.
Because this is a bad idea. A terrible, reckless idea that's going to end in disaster.
Darian won't just let me go. He'll hunt me down, drag me back, make me suffer for the humiliation of leaving. And Lorenth—gods, Lorenth has no idea what he's getting into. What kind of man Darian is when his pride is wounded.
But even as the rational part of my brain screams warnings, another part—deeper, more primal—sings with relief.
Because I'm free.
For the first time in years, I'm actually free.
Lorenth descends toward a quieter residential quarter, away from the glittering chaos of the main city. The townhouse he lands in front of is two stories, modest compared to some of the grander buildings, but well-kept. Inviting.
He sets me down carefully on the front step, steadying me when my legs threaten to buckle.
"This is your home?" I ask, staring up at the door.
"Yes." He produces a key from his pocket, unlocking it with practiced ease. "You'll be safe here. I promise."
Safe. There's that word again.
I want to believe him. Want to trust that this isn't just postponing the inevitable. But fear has lived in my bones for so long I don't know how to let it go.
Lorenth pushes the door open, gesturing for me to go ahead.
I hesitate on the threshold, looking back at him. At the fierce determination in his storm-blue eyes, the set of his jaw, the protective way he hovers close like he's ready to catch me if I fall.
"Why are you doing this?" The question slips out before I can stop it. "You don't owe me anything."
His expression softens, just slightly. "Because I have spent two weeks searching for you, Senna. And I won't let you go again."
The possessiveness in his tone should probably alarm me. Should send up warning flags that I'm trading one cage for another.
But it doesn't.
Because unlike Darian, Lorenth isn't trying to own me. He's trying to protect me.
And gods help me, I want to let him.
I step inside, crossing into the warmth of his home. The door clicks shut behind us, and something in my chest loosens—just a fraction.
I'm still scared. Still certain this is going to end badly.
But for the first time in years, I'm also excited.
Because maybe—just maybe—I don't have to go back.