Chapter 18 #2
Val-Theris’s throat worked. “I did consider it,” he admitted.
“And I chose to ignore it, believing I could protect you from any threat that followed.” Val-Theris’s hand lifted as if to reach for her, then stopped, hovering in the air between them before lowering again.
He did not touch without permission. “I am used to choosing,” he said.
“Kings choose. Gods choose. We decide and the world obeys or breaks.”
His gaze held hers with painful steadiness.
“And then you looked at me and asked if what we had was real…and I realized I had been treating you like an outcome.”
Jesenia’s eyes shone now, tears held in place by sheer force.
“What we have is real,” she whispered, as if the words hurt to say. “Or it was. Until you made me feel like…like you’d chosen me because it solved a problem.”
Val-Theris took a slow breath. He stepped back half a pace—not retreating, but giving her space as if space was the only thing he could offer properly.
“I cannot promise you that I will fix Seraveth,” he said. “I cannot promise you the council will ever meet me halfway. I cannot promise you the people will stop whispering.” His eyes softened. “But I can promise you this: I will never again ask you to sacrifice your heart for my war.”
Jesenia stared at him, and something in her expression wavered—like a wall cracking.
“You don’t understand,” she said quietly. “When you offered me marriage like that, it felt like you were asking me to be grateful.”
Val-Theris’s brow furrowed.
“Grateful to be chosen,” she continued, voice trembling now. “Grateful to be pulled out of the mud and placed in your palace. As if I should thank you for giving me a place at your table while my people starve beneath your walls.”
Val-Theris’s face twisted with pain. “I never wanted you to feel that,” he said.
“But I did,” Jesenia replied, and her voice finally broke. “And for a moment, I regretted every moment we spent together—I questioned every conversation, every gaze, every touch—wondering if it was all part of some ulterior motive I was too foolish to see.”
Jesenia wiped at her cheek with the edge of her shawl, but the tears kept coming, quiet and steady.
“I hate your council,” she said, voice raw. “I hate the way they look at me. I hate the way your people spit my name like it’s poison.” Her breath hitched. “But I do not hate you.”
The confession filled the space between them. Val-Theris’s throat tightened. He looked down, as if the emotion might be too much to hold in her gaze.
“Jesenia,” he said softly.
She shook her head once, cutting him off—not cruelly, but because she needed to say it before she lost the courage. “I don’t forgive easily,” she whispered. “We Lunarethians don’t have the luxury of forgiving people who hurt us, because most of the time the people who hurt us don’t stop.”
Val-Theris held still, listening.
“But you,” she continued, voice trembling with something like grief, “you did stop. You came here. You said you were wrong.” She swallowed hard.
“I’ve been waiting for someone powerful to admit that.
Even once. And I don’t know what to do with that,” she admitted.
“Because part of me wants to stay angry. Part of me wants to keep my distance so you can’t hurt me like that again. ”
Val-Theris’s voice was barely audible. “I understand.”
Jesenia let out a slow, shaking breath.
“But another part of me,” she said softly, “remembers the way you looked at me when I stepped through those gates and I saw you standing above the plaza. That moment when our gazes collided and it seemed like you were remembering me from a time that had not happened yet. Like I wasn’t just a foreigner in your city. Like I mattered in some way.”
Val-Theris’s chest rose with a restrained breath.
“You do matter,” he said quietly.
Jesenia nodded once, tears still slipping down her cheeks. “Then don’t ask me to be your solution,” she said. “Ask me to be your partner.”
Val-Theris went utterly still. “If you forgive me,” he said quietly, “I will spend the rest of my life proving that you were not wrong to.”
Jesenia closed her eyes for a long moment. When she opened them, her gaze was still guarded. But softer.
“I forgive you,” she said, but it came out like it was the hardest thing she ever had to say.
Val-Theris’s breath left him like he had been holding it for days.
His hand lifted again—slow, tentative. He waited, eyes searching hers for permission rather than assuming it.
Jesenia did not move away. So he touched her, his fingertips along her cheek where the bruise still lingered, warm and careful as prayer.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Jesenia’s eyes closed briefly under the touch.
“I know,” she whispered back.
Val-Theris leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. His wings shifted, folding slightly around her without fully enclosing—an instinct tempered by restraint to preserve the moment and shield them from eyes that did not deserve to see them.
He moved away slightly to meet her eyes once more, and offered her his hand.
And she took it without hesitation.