39. The Fifth Goddess #3
Her heart aches, and she reaches for him, cupping his face in her hands. “I would come back with you, you know. I would do all of it again,” she says, her voice a whisper. The thought of losing him, of losing them , is unbearable, and she needs him to know that.
A small, pained smile appears on his lips, his eyes flickering with something softer, a hint of relief, perhaps. “I am so glad to hear you say that.”
Her chest tightens, and a teasing smile tugs at her own lips. “Did you ever doubt I would?”
Dorian’s smile falters. “I think it’s going to take a little longer to convince me that you love me the way that I love you. ”
The words sting slightly. She wishes there was a way to let him feel it. How can he not, when she feels it gushes from her like water down a stream?
But he has had many, many years of loving her without her loving him back. It may take him some time to get used to.
We have time, she tells herself. We have so much time…
Without thinking, she leans in, her lips pressing softly against his. It’s slow at first, tender, but soon the kiss deepens, a quiet promise passing between them in the delicate press of their lips.
When they pull apart, Selene rests her forehead against his, her breath coming in soft gasps. “Is that all that worries you?” she asks, her voice a little breathless. “That I won’t come back with you?”
Dorian is quiet for a long moment. “Every time I go back, I’m worried that it will be the last time,” he says quietly, his voice cracking on the confession. “That the goddess’ power isn’t infinite, isn’t forever. Like we’re using something up.”
She tightens her hold on him. “You’re worried it isn’t worth the risk,” she murmurs, her fingers tracing lightly over his skin. “That we need to make this one work and you’ll just have to be in pain forever.”
Dorian nods, his eyes closing for a moment as if to shut out everything but the weight of his own thoughts.
“I don’t know if it will get better. If I knew for certain that it would, I think I’d be fine.
But what if it causes problems down the line, and it’s too late to go back?
What if I don’t get to spend as long as I’d like with you?
To watch our children grow? Or, what if I do, but I’m in pain, and I start to regret it?
I don’t… I don’t want it to change me. Pain…
pain changes people, Selene, when they can’t escape it. Not always for the better.”
Her throat tightens at his words, and she kisses his fingers, pressing them gently to her lips.
“I feel like I would love the shape of you regardless,” she tells him.
“And whatever choice you make, you won’t make it alone, or be alone in it.
” She leans her forehead against his, feeling the warmth of him, the quiet comfort in his presence.
“We will have a future together. Maybe not the one we imagined, but we will have one. ”
His breath catches, and he presses his face into her shoulder. “Thank you, Selene.”
For a moment, silence falls between them. Then, after a long pause, she speaks again, her voice just above a whisper. “If, for whatever reason I can’t come with you…”
Dorian’s eyes snap to hers, a flash of panic cutting through him. “Please, Selene,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “I’d rather not think about—”
“Find me again,” she presses, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. “Don’t let me marry the Duke. Tell me everything like you did before. I have loved you in two lifetimes, Dorian. I could love you in a hundred more. The only bad future for me is one without you. Don’t let me face it.”
Dorian gathers her into his arms, pressing her against him as if to make a promise with his touch. He kisses her forehead. “I promise you,” he whispers, his voice low, “You will never face anything alone again.”
Selene watches him sleep—peacefully, for once. His breaths come slow and steady, the tension finally smoothed from his features. In sleep, he looks almost like himself again. Almost.
She traces the lines of his face with her eyes, memorising the details she already knows by heart. The faint crease between his brows, even in rest. The way his lips part slightly when he exhales. The soft rise and fall of his chest beneath the blankets.
She should feel relieved.
Instead, fear twists in her stomach, cold and unrelenting.
What if this never goes away? What if the poison has damaged something inside him, something that will never fully heal? He is strong—she knows that—but even strength has limits. Could he endure this for the rest of his life? Could she ?
Selene presses a hand over her mouth, willing herself not to tremble.
She wants to believe in the future she promised him, the one she spoke of so certainly. But now, with the words no longer hanging between them, doubt creeps in like a shadow stretching long into the night.
Would she ever be able to make peace with this? With knowing that every time he flinches, every time he struggles to stand, to move, to breathe through the pain— it is because of her?
Her throat tightens.
The Duke poisoned him because of her. Because of the marriage she refused. Because she was foolish enough to believe she could walk away without consequence.
Dorian is suffering because of her.
She curls her hands into fists against the blanket.
She has tried not to think about it too much, not in those exact words. Dorian would never blame her—she knows that—but it does not change the truth. If not for her, he would never have been hurt. He would never have spent days—weeks, really—fighting to keep his body from failing him.
And now, because of her, he might spend the rest of his life like this.
A lump rises in her throat, and she swallows it down.
She should wake him, should shake him from this fragile sleep so she won’t have to sit with these thoughts alone. But he looks so tired . Even now, even in peace, exhaustion clings to him.
So she does the only thing she can do. She leans down, pressing a kiss to his hair, and silently vows: If this is forever, then I will bear it with him. If his pain never fades, then I will share the weight. If I could take it from him, I would. But since I cannot, I will not let him suffer alone.
Selene exhales, long and slow, smoothing a hand down his arm.
For now, at least, he is sleeping. And she will let him rest.