Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
There’s a shift in Dathanor that I can’t ignore now that I’ve stepped back into it for the second time today.
It’s not visible in any one place, not something you can point at and name, but it sits under everything like a fault line that hasn’t settled.
People are moving, working, rebuilding what was broken, but the rhythm is off.
It’s too deliberate. Like every action is being measured against what might come next.
Caly leaving sits heavy in my chest as I move through it. That conversation replays whether I want it to or not. The way he stood there, already gone before he took a single step. How he didn’t tell anyone else. The way he trusted me to carry it.
Yeah. That’s going to go down well.
I scrub a hand over my face, exhaling slowly as I weave through the settlement, stepping around stacked supplies and half-finished repairs. The air still carries that faint metallic tang from yesterday, smoke woven stubbornly into stone and timber like a reminder no one’s trying to scrub out.
We lost people. That doesn’t disappear overnight.
I roll my shoulders out of habit, testing for pain that doesn’t come, still not used to healing so quickly.
A few of the rebels glance my way as I pass, but it’s different now. There’s no suspicion or quiet assessment. There’s recognition instead, and acceptance. Maybe even respect, which still feels a bit surreal if I think about it too long.
We fought together. Inevitably, that changes things.
But I don’t slow, as I’ve got something I need to deal with. Two things, actually. One of them being the fact that Caly just walked out of here without telling anyone.
The other—
I feel him before I see him.
Varek.
The bond pulls in a steady and constant rhythm, like a line drawn between us that I don’t even think about following anymore.
I head straight for him, because yeah, I should probably start with telling him someone just left.
Before everything else inevitably goes to shit.
He stands with Kael and Shanae, posture locked into something that doesn’t belong to the male I had in my arms this morning. This is Varek the commander. The one who holds a rebellion together with sheer force of will and expects others to follow.
It’s not a mask. It’s just… another part of him.
And now…
Now I see all of it.
The shift in him is subtle but absolute. Shoulders squared. Voice low and controlled. Every movement deliberate. There’s no softness here. No hesitation. No trace of the mate who held me like I mattered more than anything else in the world just a few hours ago.
Except, his attention flickers. Just once. To me.
The bond hums in recognition and relief. Warmth sits low and steady in my chest.
“Pax.”
My name cuts through whatever he was saying. I close the distance between us, slower than instinct demands, because I’ve learned that with Varek, these moments matter. The ones in between everything else, when it’s just us, even when we’re surrounded by everyone.
“You look like you’re about to start another war,” I say, keeping it light because if I don’t, I’ll feel everything all at once, and I’m not sure I’ve got time for that right now.
“I am attempting to prevent one,” he replies.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Good luck with that.”
That earns me the faintest shift at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. But close enough that I feel it.
Kael glances between us, something knowing shimmering in his expression before he looks away, deliberately giving us space without making it obvious. Shanae does the same, already turning back to whatever task she was focused on.
Silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable, just… full. There’s too much sitting under the surface for it to be anything else.
“I need to tell you something,” he says.
That gets my full attention, since I’m pretty sure that’s meant to be my line. “Okay.”
“If you had gone through that rift…” He hesitates. The words hang there for half a second, and I feel the rest of them before he says it. The bond tightens, not painfully, but with something heavy enough to make my chest constrict.
“…I would not have survived it.”
“What?” The word comes out snappier than I intend.
“I would have lived,” he clarifies, calm in a way that makes it worse. “For a time.”
My pulse spikes, emotion—deep and instinctive—reacting before I can think it through. “Varek—”
“You are not external to me,” he continues, gaze locked to mine. “Not anymore. The bond is not simply connection. It is integration.”
I stare at him. Because I knew. Some part of me knew. But hearing it like this—clear, undeniable—drags it into something real.
“If you had left,” he says, quieter now, “the absence would have broken something vital. I would not have recovered from that loss.”
The honesty in it is brutal.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. Maybe I should be asking why he’s telling me this here and now, but this is Varek, and I can only imagine the strain of him not sharing the full truth with me had on him.
His expression shifts—just slightly. “Because it would have influenced your decision.”
Yeah. Yeah, it would have.
I drag a hand through my hair, trying to ground myself around the weight of it. “You should’ve told me.”
“No. I would not have kept you through fear.”
His words hit hard, because he could have easily. And he didn’t.
“I chose you,” I say, stepping closer, needing him to hear it properly.
“Not because I had to. Not because I didn’t have a choice.
I saw that rift, Varek. I saw home.” My voice drops, steadier now, despite the hurt in my chest. I could have lost him forever.
He could have died. I push the pain away, focusing on him and this moment. On us. “And I still stayed.”
His breath catches. It’s only slight but the bond carries it straight through me.
“I chose you,” I repeat, more determined now.
The bond surges, feeling steady and right.
His hand rises slowly, deliberately, settling against the side of my neck. “Then we choose this,” he says.
I lean into it without thinking, my forehead brushing his chin. “Yeah,” I murmur. “We do.”
For a moment, everything narrows.
No rebellion or queen. No rifts tearing holes through worlds.
Just this.
Just him.
Just us.
The interruption comes fast enough to feel inevitable.
“Varek—” A runner skids to a stop nearby, breath uneven, eyes wide in a way that immediately sets something off in my gut.
Varek straightens instantly, his hand dropping as command snaps back into place like armour locking over skin. “What is it?”
“Movement,” the runner says. “Outer perimeter. Not hostile—”
Varek’s gaze snaps to his. “Then why report it like this?”
“Because…” The runner hesitates, swallowing hard. “You need to see it.”
Bloody hell, that’s never a good sign.
Varek doesn’t waste another second. “Show me.”
We move immediately, the shift from stillness to motion seamless and fast. I fall into step beside him without thinking, the bond pulling in a way that feels instinctive now, like we’re meant to move together.
The settlement changes as we pass through it—voices are lowered, movement slows, and attention shifts.
Word spreads fast here. Too fast.
By the time we reach the outer boundary, Kael is already there. So is Aelith. That alone is enough to make my chest ache.
He doesn’t look injured anymore—not physically. But he doesn’t look whole either. There’s something off in the way he stands. Too still. Too focused. Like he’s already seen whatever we’re about to walk into.
“What is it?” Varek asks.
Aelith doesn’t answer. He’s staring into the distance like he’s seen a ghost.
A figure steps out of the tree line.
At first, it’s only motion where there shouldn’t be any, a shape separating itself from the strange, twisted growth beyond Dathanor’s edge.
Then he comes fully into view, and the whole clearing seems to draw closer around him.
He’s not rushing or skulking. He’s not even moving like prey or invader.
He walks with the unhurried certainty of someone who’s never had to ask permission to enter a room in his life.
Even from this distance, there’s authority in him.
Not the kind Varek carries, built from responsibility and hard choices and the weight of keeping people alive.
This is older. Stranger. Colder in some ways.
It clings to him like memory, like old ceremony and power that once sat unquestioned on a throne.
He’s tall, though not quite Varek’s size, and built like a male who’s known both battle and luxury and decided to keep the useful parts of each.
His features are unmistakably Glowranth, but there’s a severity to them that makes Aelith’s beauty look almost unfinished by comparison.
Dark hair falls loose around his shoulders, streaked faintly at the temples with silver that catches when the strange green light hits it.
His armour isn’t armour—not exactly. It looks like travel-worn court leathers cut for movement, dark and close-fitting, marked with damage that’s been cleaned but not repaired.
At his throat hangs a clasp I don’t recognise, old metal worked into a pattern that looks almost organic.
He stops just inside the perimeter.
No one breathes.
No one speaks.
The trees behind him sway faintly in the morning breeze, and somewhere overhead, one of the winged caringers native to this place lets out a distant cry, but close by there’s only stillness.
Even the sentries nearest the edge have gone motionless, weapons half lifted, as if they can’t decide whether this male is guest, threat, or ghost.
Aelith makes the choice for everyone. “Impossible,” he says.
The male’s gaze slides over the assembled fighters, over Kael, over Shanae, over Varek, and then lands on Aelith with unnerving precision. He doesn’t look surprised to find him here. He doesn’t even look relieved. He simply looks… certain.
“Aelith.”
The prince goes utterly still beside Kael.