Chapter 62 The Dance
The Dance
Itake Colsar's hand and we move into the dance, the music drawing us forward before anything else can be said.
"You have been gone," he says. No softness in it.
"Yes," I answer.
He watches me, something held too tightly behind his composure. "You left the palace."
"Yes."
"Asharin—"
"We do not need to do this here," I say evenly. "Not in front of your court."
His hand tightens around mine. "I have been looking for you all day," he says, his voice low and controlled in a way that only pulls tighter the longer he holds it.
"I am aware."
Something moves through his expression. "You are aware."
"You are very thorough when something requires your attention," I say.
A brief reaction crosses his face and disappears just as quickly.
Before I can say anything further his hand comes to my waist and he pulls me closer than the dance requires, his mouth finding mine with a force that has nothing to do with the music or the room around us.
The change is immediate. Conversations falter. Attention turns. I feel it gather before I see it.
I pull back, my hand pressing lightly against his chest. "Do not do that here."
"Why not?" he asks.
"Because you are king," I say quietly, my voice even despite the eyes now fixed on us. "And I will not have you made into something for them to watch. But I will not hesitate to embarrass you if you touch me like that again without asking."
Something moves through his expression. "Since when do I need permission to touch you?"
I hold his eyes and say nothing.
The silence stretches between us, filled with everything I choose not to say in this room.
"Asharin," he says again, lower now, the control wearing thin at the edges. "Where were you?"
"Out."
"With whom?"
"That is not your concern."
His jaw tightens. "It became my concern the moment you disappeared."
"And yet," I say, "you seem to have survived the day."
The music continues around us while we remain caught inside it, neither of us moving with it anymore.
"You do not get to ignore me for weeks," I continue, "and then expect me to wait quietly until you notice."
A brittle breath leaves me before I can stop it, and once it does the rest comes with it, quieter than I intend but no less certain.
"I was naive," I say. "I thought I had found my happy ending.
My perfect family. A man who loved us and stood with me in it.
" His expression tightens as I speak but I do not stop.
"I truly believed we were aligned. That we wanted the same things.
That we would move through this together. "
The distance between us feels smaller now, the room still moving while we remain fixed.
"But we are not."
Something changes in his face, something more immediate than the controlled irritation of a moment ago.
"I am leaving for Veynar," I say.
He goes completely still. "What?"
"You are needed here. That is clear. I am not going to stand beside you while you divide your attention between me and a kingdom that will always take more."
His hand shifts at my back, pulling me closer. "You are not something I divide."
"That is not how it feels."
His eyes hold mine. "You do not get to disappear for an entire day and then decide what this is."
“And you do not get to leave me alone like that and expect me to stay.” The words sit between us, unsparing and unsoftened. Neither of us moves.
Then he exhales, the restraint in him pulling tight one final time before something simply stops holding. "Come with me," he says. "The ball runs through dawn. We have time."
"The Sovereign will expect—"
"I do not care what he expects."
No hesitation in it. His hand closes around mine, firmer now, leaving no room for argument, and he turns and pulls me from the dance floor without another word.
He does not slow until the doors close behind us.
The sound of the ballroom cuts off at once, replaced by a quiet that feels heavier for what it follows.
The map room holds its usual order, the long table spread with parchment and ink, borders drawn and redrawn across its surface as though the world itself can be contained there if someone works hard enough at it.
Colsar releases my hand only long enough to turn the lock.
I watch him without speaking.
When he faces me again the anger that had been driving him through the corridors has not vanished but it has shifted into something tighter, more controlled. "I fucked up," he says. The words are direct and unsoftened.
I say nothing.
He exhales once, then continues. "And I am going to tell you the truth of everything. Two truths. And then I am going to give you the apology you deserve."
I remain where I am, my attention fixed on him.
"Do you remember General Rorin?" he asks.
"Yes."
"He is the one who brought me the message that you were struggling at Rathmor," Colsar says. "After he gave me the news, I left to find you and he took over leading the unit. They were to finish handling the undead in the high pass, then return to Veynar."
His voice remains even but there is something in it now that was not there before, something pressing against the edges of what he is holding together.
"I do not understand what you are getting at," I say.
He draws in a breath, slower this time. "Asharin." My name comes out differently now, heavier than it had in the ballroom. "They never made it back."
The words hold in the air between us, quiet and complete.
Colsar does not look away. "They did not return," he continues, more quietly. "Not Rorin. Not the men I left with him. The force that moved through that pass was larger than we anticipated, and it did not stop there."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean they are trapped in the high pass."
The words take a moment to become something I can fully hold, and when they do I feel it immediately, a tightening low in my stomach that does not ease.
"They are still here?" I ask. "In Shalvar? In the freezing cold of the mountains?"
Colsar looks away. "Yes."
The answer is quiet but it carries more weight than anything he has said so far. Neither of us speaks. The map behind him stretches across the table, the high pass marked in careful lines that suddenly feel less like ink and more like something living and unresolved.
“I only found out when I got here," he says. "The moment I did, I made the decision. I would bring them back. They come home with us to Veynar. I will not leave them behind."
“So why have you not gotten them yet?” I murmur. "You have the firebirds."
"It is too close to the other warded sectors," he replies. "If I use them there I risk disturbing the wards. If one weakens, even slightly, it opens a path. I am not willing to gamble with that."
"Then send men to retrieve them."
"I can," he says, "but the only way out of the high pass is through our wards. The moment we open them, even for a controlled passage, the undead will follow. It would not be a trickle. It would be a rush straight into Shalvar."
A chill moves through me. "So what do you do?"
"It took time," he says. "More than I wanted. But I built a tunnel beneath the pass. If we can get word to them they can move through it and bypass the wards. Once they are through we seal the entrance before anything can follow."
"And where does it open?"
"At the Yarkavay."
"What is that?"
"An infirmary," he says. "For beasts who cannot defend themselves."
I hold that for a moment, the image forming without effort.
"So you needed builders. Reinforcements. A way to move the wounded. Money to fund it," I say.
"Yes."
"And all of that has taken everything from you."
He does not deny it.
"And you have been doing this while—" I stop myself, but the rest does not need to be spoken.
"While you were recovering," he finishes. "While the children needed me. While Veynar still sat unresolved behind us."
"You should have told me," I say.
"I know."
"You should have let me stand in it with you."
For a moment he simply looks at me, and then something in him gives. “You are right, I should have told you," he says again, quieter now.
"Yes," I answer.
"And I should have been there," he adds.
"Yes."
"I thought I could handle it," he says finally.
I let out a breath, slow and controlled, the tension still there but looser than before. “You have been handling everything alone," I say. "And I have been right here.”
His jaw tightens. "You had already given everything," he says. "I was not going to ask for more."
"That was not your decision to make."
“You are right.”
The silence between us stretches, heavier now, filled with everything that has not been said until this moment.
"I cannot leave without them," he says. "They do not deserve that. And more than that—" he stops, something tightening in his expression before he forces it back. "Ari is a siakar. He will inherit this. What do I give him if I leave those men to die? What does that make me?"
He exhales, slower now, but the strain remains. "What would I tell my son?"
Something inside me gives at that, immediate and involuntary, and I hold it where it is. Outside the room the palace continues as it always does, the world moving forward whether we are ready for it or not.
Inside it, for the first time since we stepped off the dance floor, we are standing in the same place.