Chapter 52 Share Your Trauma
(It’s Called Emotional Availability, Apparently)
Kazimir
I could breathe again. Barely. The shadows retreated as I descended to the training room, responding to my will instead of fighting it. Vex had given me clarity, at least. A direction.
Now I just had to not fuck it up.
“This is your fault.” I stormed in to find Arabella in the center of the space, magic crackling between her hands.
Perhaps it wasn’t the best opening, but I was still feeling raw and irritated.
She whirled on me, and the look in her eyes could have melted steel. “Excuse me?”
“We agreed to collect the bloodlines.” I gestured wildly back toward the chaos I’d escaped. “Just the bloodlines. Not their entire extended families, household staff, and rooster.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Light and shadow swirled around her fingers in a display that was both beautiful and terrifying.
Her hair was pulled back in a messy braid, sweat glistening on her skin.
“Should I have left the children behind? Maybe with a nice note for Auremar explaining where their parents or aunts and uncles went?”
The magic between her hands pulsed brighter, and I realized this might not be the ideal moment to discuss our houseguest situation. I’d save that particular argument for when my wife wasn’t actively channeling enough power to drop Skyspire into the swamp.
“What are you doing?” I asked instead, moving closer despite the danger.
“Practicing.” She turned back to the far wall, where a portal shimmered. The edges were ragged, unstable, but that she was creating them at all was impressive. “I barely formed that portal that saved me from Zaraiah.”
“And yet you did.” My voice was hoarse. Part pride, part fury that she’d been in that position at all.
I wanted to delay the moment I’d come down here for, so I leaned against the wall, content to watch Arabella work.
Each failed attempt brought a furrow to her brow that I wanted to smooth away with my thumb.
Each success made her eyes light up in a way that sent heat straight to my cock.
Soon, most of the tightness in my chest had eased.
The air around her rippled as she gathered her magic. Light and shadow twined around her arms. She thrust her hands forward, tearing a hole in the fabric of space. The portal stabilized, edges smoothing into a perfect circle that revealed the gardens outside.
“Fuck me,” I breathed.
She glanced over her shoulder, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. “Maybe later, if you ask nicely.”
Look at her, the Shadow King whispered, his presence sliding through my mind. All that power, just begging to be claimed. We could take her right here, bend her over that table and—
I slammed mental walls between us so hard my vision blacked out for a moment. When it cleared, Arabella was watching me with concern.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.” I took a deep breath. “Just… the runes are acting up.”
She studied me for a long moment, and I wondered if she could sense the darkness coiling through my thoughts. If she knew how hard I fought every day to keep the Shadow King’s influence at bay. How much harder it had become since learning the truth.
“Take a break,” I said, grabbing a water flask from the supply shelf. “We need to talk.”
The concern in her eyes deepened, but she nodded, dismissing the magic with a gesture. We settled on a bench along the wall.
“What is it?” she asked, accepting the water I offered.
I’d rehearsed this conversation a dozen times—first on the Sky Serpent when she’d described those robes, then every day since. None of the versions had gone well. I chose my words carefully, but there was no gentle way to deliver this particular blow.
“When you told me about the sorceress you remembered,” I began, “the one in gray robes with red stitching—I recognized the description.”
Arabella went very still. “You did? Who?”
“My mother,” I rasped. “Amaryska wore robes like that. It’s her signature—gray with red stitching that looks like veins of blood. I should have told you then, but I…” I trailed off.
I could see her mind working, processing. “I thought your mother disappeared after you killed your father.”
“So did I.”
“Then that means—” The flask slipped from Arabella’s fingers, clattering to the floor. Water spilled across the stone. Her face had gone pale, eyes wide with shock.
“Yes.” I reached for her hand, half expecting her to pull away. She didn’t. “I believe my mother killed yours. I should have told you.”
Arabella’s grip tightened painfully on mine, her nails digging into my skin. I welcomed the pain. It was infinitely preferable to the hollow look in her eyes. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because I’m a fucking coward when it comes to you.” The admission burned. “Because telling you would make it real, and I wasn’t ready to face what that meant. For us. For everything.”
The silence stretched between us, heavy with all the things I still wasn’t saying. The Shadow King whispered encouragement to take control of the conversation, to make her understand, to force her compliance—
I forced the voice down. “I saw her.”
Arabella’s gaze found mine.
The words tumbled out. “In Valmont, when I was collecting the bloodlines. Amaryska was there, wearing those exact robes. Working with Auremar’s mages. Has been for who knows how long.”
I waited for the explosion. For the rage, the accusations, the perfectly justified fury. Instead, Arabella turned on the bench to face me fully, her eyes searching mine. “How do you feel about seeing her?”
The question caught me completely off guard. “What?”
“Your mother.” She loosened her hold on my hand but didn’t let go completely. “How do you feel?”
I stared at our joined hands, trying to process her reaction. She should be screaming at me, demanding to know why I hadn’t already told her, why I hadn’t killed Amaryska on sight. Instead, Arabella was worried about me?
“I don’t understand,” I admitted.
“What’s not to understand?” She put her other hand on my arm, over my runes. “You just found out your mother is alive. That can’t be easy.”
“She murdered your mother.”
“Yes.” Her voice hardened slightly. “And I want her dead for it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t also care about what this means for you.”
Something cracked inside my chest. This woman, this impossible, infuriating, magnificent woman, was putting my feelings above her own need for vengeance. I didn’t deserve her. The Shadow King whispered a protest, but I shoved him down even further.
“I don’t know how I feel,” I said honestly. “Angry. Betrayed. Not surprised, which might be the worst part.”
She leaned against my shoulder, and I breathed in the scent of her magic and sweat. “Tell me everything.”
I did. I told her about following Amaryska through Valmont, watching as she discovered the empty houses where heroic bloodlines had lived. About her appearance on the rooftop.
“I tried to kill her,” I said quietly. “She escaped through a portal before I could finish it.”
“Is she very powerful?” Arabella asked quietly.
I understood what she was really asking. How did the Dark Lord let his own mother escape?
The old me would have deflected. Made a joke about tactical retreats or blamed the portal’s speed. But something about the way Arabella looked at me, without judgment or accusation, made the walls crumble.
“Yes,” I said. “But that’s not why she got away.”
Arabella waited, her hand still warm in mine. Not pushing. Just present.
“When I saw her, I—” The words stuck in my throat. I forced them out anyway. “My body stopped working the way it should. My hands were shaking. The shadows wouldn’t obey properly. I kept—”
I cut myself off, but Arabella squeezed my hand. Encouraging without demanding.
“I kept seeing myself as a child,” I admitted, the confession scraping my throat raw. “Hearing her footsteps on the stairs. I was thirty-three years old, standing on that rooftop, and all I could think about was being seven and trying to be quiet enough that she’d forget I existed.”
The shame burned hot, and I couldn’t even look at Arabella. I waited for her to pull away. To see me as weak and broken.
Instead, she shifted closer, her free hand coming up to rest against my chest. Right over my heart.
“That’s not weakness,” she said firmly. “That’s trauma.”
“I’m the Dark Lord. I shouldn’t—”
“You’re also human, Kaz.” Her eyes met mine, fierce and unwavering. “Your mother abused you when you were a child. Of course your body remembered. Of course you froze.”
The knot in my chest unraveled, leaving something raw but strangely lighter in its wake. “It felt pathetic,” I continued quietly. “Standing there, shaking like a child while she escaped.”
Arabella’s thumb traced small circles over my sternum. “You’re allowed to be human with me, you know. You don’t have to be the Dark Lord every second.”
The relief that washed through me was so intense it was almost painful. Like lancing a wound I hadn’t known was infected.
“I’ve never told anyone that before,” I admitted. “About being afraid.”
“Thank you.” She leaned her forehead against my shoulder. “For telling me now.”
And somehow, impossibly, it did feel good to say it aloud. To let someone see the parts of me I’d kept locked away. To trust that Arabella wouldn’t use my vulnerability as a weapon.
The Shadow King whispered warnings, but for once, I barely heard them over the sound of my own heartbeat slowing to match Arabella’s.
“This is new territory for me,” I said, my voice rough. “Being this… open. I’m not sure I’m doing it right.”
“There’s no ‘right’ way.” Arabella pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. “Just honest. And you’re being honest with me. That’s enough.”
She was quiet for a moment, then let her hand drop from my chest to my thigh, not in a sensual way, just reassuring. “Where is she now?”
“Likely back at Sunspire Palace, with Auremar.”
Arabella huffed in frustration. “Of course. Because why wouldn’t the woman who murdered my mother be hiding in the one place we can’t easily reach?”
I could have pointed out the irony—her own father still rotted in our dungeons because she couldn’t decide what to do with him. Of the two of us, I was the one who’d killed a parent. I understood the weight of that decision in ways she couldn’t yet comprehend.
“There’s more,” I said instead. “When we fought, she admitted to orchestrating my betrayal. The demon, all of it—it was her plan.”
Arabella’s hand tightened on mine hard enough to hurt. “Oh Kaz.”
“She said I’d grown too powerful. That I’d exceeded my purpose.” The words tasted bitter.
“Fucking bitch.” The vehemence in her voice made more warmth bloom in my chest.
“I believe she’s helping him directly with the Shadow King’s prison. The ley lines, the bloodline sacrifices—it all points to the prison. Amaryska’s been obsessed with ancient magic since before I was born. If anyone could help Auremar tap into the Shadow King’s power, it would be her.”
“But why?” Arabella shook her head. “What does she gain from it?”
I scowled. “It’s always been about power with her. She traded her soul for it once before. This would just be another bargain.”
Arabella leaned into me again. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close as she processed everything I’d told her. Her body was tense, coiled like a spring ready to release. “Do you think that’s why she came after me? Because I’d seen her in the palace?”
I sighed. “That’s my theory, yes.”
We were silent awhile, sitting with our own thoughts.
“I want her dead,” Arabella said finally, her voice muffled against my shirt.
So bloodthirsty, the voice purred. She’ll make a perfect queen for us.
I tightened my grip on her, as much to ground myself as to comfort her. “Amaryska will pay for what she’s done. To both of us.”
Arabella nodded. She sat up, straightening her shoulders. “What’s our next move?”
“We need to speak with the Alchemist,” I said. “To figure out exactly what to do with the bloodlines we’ve gathered.”
A corner of her mouth lifted. “I guess it’s a good thing you kept them as an overnight guest. I only hope they’ll feel like cooperating after this.”
My runes began burning beneath Arabella’s hand. “They want the Shadow King contained as much as we do. But if not, I’ll make them see reason.” I hesitated, then added, “There’s something else you should know. About the prison.”
Arabella’s expression tightened. “What about it?”
I opened my mouth to tell her the truth—that I was part Shadow King, that the ancient darkness Auremar sought to harness was a part of me. That I’d been fighting it since the ritual at the Spire, trying to keep it contained.
She’ll never understand. She’ll turn against you.
I sighed heavily. Arabella had just learned that my mother murdered hers. Adding the revelation that I was harboring an ancient evil might be more than even our tenuous relationship could bear.
“They got to as many heroes as we did,” I said instead. “Auremar and my mother could be sacrificing them right now, weakening what little hold the prison has on the Shadow King.”
She nodded, resolution hardening her features. “Then we’d better get moving.”
I watched her, this woman who had entered my life as a pawn and become something I couldn’t bear to lose. Despite everything—the betrayals, the secrets, the darkness that threatened to consume us both—she was still here. Still fighting.
She’ll be magnificent when she breaks, the voice whispered.
I silenced it with a thought. Arabella wouldn’t break. Neither would I.