19. Chapter 19 #2
But I couldn't do that to her.
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the air into my lungs. I had to lock the male away. I had to be the CrownForged. If I didn't figure this out, we were dead.
I reached out and brushed my thumb through the ash on the furs. It was still hot.
She sat up and drew her knees to her chest. Watched me with those knowing, clear eyes.
I turned the breastplate toward her. Let her see the hole punched clean through the center. "That wasn't failure. That was obliteration. And we were barely getting started. We didn't even fully let go, and it couldn't contain what we—"
I stopped.
What we are. What we become when we stop fighting it.
"That's the prophecy," Amaria said quietly. "Isn't it."
Not a question.
I looked at her. At the fae I'd been starving for. The fae I would die for—was going to die for, if we ever stopped running from the inevitable.
"Full sacrifice means... that." I gestured at the ruined armor. "Times a thousand. Our souls merging so completely that the Veil can use the energy to reweave itself."
"And we don't survive it."
"No."
The word hung in the air. Final. Unarguable.
She was quiet for a long moment. Then: "So every time we touch—"
"We're practicing for the end." I laughed mechanically. "Every kiss is a rehearsal for our own destruction."
"That's not funny."
"I know."
I watched her gaze drop to the blackened steel on the furs, tracing the violent edges of what we couldn't have.
"So the 'no touching' rule," she said slowly. "It's not just about starving your father of power."
"No."
"We're staying apart to stay alive."
"Yes," I replied.
She reached out and skimmed her fingers over the ashes on the furs, letting it blacken her fingertips.
"For how long?" she asked. "How long do we stay alive? Until we've found a way to cheat the prophecy? Until we've solved the unsolvable?" A bitter edge crept into her voice. "Until we've had enough of each other? Is that even possible?"
I closed my eyes. Is it possible to have enough of her?
I thought about her laugh. The way she fought. The way she'd looked at me in the tunnels, all defiance and fire. The way her mouth had felt under mine, finally, before the universe ripped it away.
A thousand years wouldn't be enough. A thousand lifetimes.
"No," I said. "It's not possible."
"Then what's the point?" Her voice cracked. "Why are we torturing ourselves with distance if the ending is the same? Why not just—"
"Because I'm not ready."
The words came out raw. Unplanned. I hadn't meant to say them.
She stared at me.
"I'm not afraid of dying, Amaria." I made myself hold her gaze. Made myself tell the truth, even though it scraped me hollow. "I've been ready to die since I was old enough to hold a blade. Death isn't the enemy."
"Then what is?"
I closed my eyes. Say it. She deserves to know.
"I'm afraid of dying before I've had enough of you." My voice cracked on the last word. "I'm afraid of going to the Veil with my hands still empty. With your taste still on my mouth from one kiss when I should have had thousands. I'm afraid of dying hungry."
She caught her lower lip between her teeth and held her breath.
"So yes," I continued, the words spilling out now, unstoppable. "We stay apart. We starve. We endure the torture of ten feet. Not because I think we can cheat the prophecy—we can't. Not because I think we'll find another way—we won't."
"Then why?"
I looked at her. Let her see everything—the want, the grief, the resignation, the desperate, clawing hope that maybe, maybe, we could stretch this borrowed time long enough to make it count.
"Because I want to choose the moment," I said quietly. "I want us to walk into that ending with our eyes open. Together. Not because we lost control in a moment of weakness, but because we decided—both of us—that it was time."
Tears tracked down her cheeks. She didn't wipe them away.
"I want to die with you," I said. "Not before you. Not after. With you. When we're ready. When we've had every second we can steal."
She laughed—then sobbed. "That's the most romantic death pact I've ever heard."
"I'll do better. Give me time."
"Time." She shook her head. "That's all we're buying, isn't it? Time."
"Yes."
"And when we run out?"
I held her gaze across the ten feet that felt like ten thousand miles.
"Then we stop running. And we let the prophecy have what it's owed.
" I paused. "But until then—until that moment—I'm going to want you from a distance.
I'm going to memorize every detail of you.
I'm going to catalogue every sound you make, every expression, every breath.
I'm going to make myself a library of you, Little Fox.
So that when we finally let go, I'll have something to hold onto in the dark. "
She was crying openly now. So was I, I realized. When had that started?
She wiped her face with the back of her hand. Steadied herself. Looked at me with those fierce, furious, beautiful eyes.
"Then we make it count," she said. "Every second. Every look. Every word we're allowed to say from opposite sides of the room. We make it mean something."
"We will."
"Promise me."
I pressed my hand to my chest. To the scar that bound us.
"I promise," I said. "When we die, it will be on our terms. Together. Ready." I let the vow settle into my bones. "And until then, I will love you from ten feet away with everything I have."
She nodded. Wiped her eyes again.
"Okay," she breathed. "Okay."
We sat there on opposite sides of the ruined armor, its metal cooling between us like a prophecy made manifest.
The ending was written. We both knew it now.
But the story between here and there?
That was still ours to tell.