Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
The last time
blythe
By the time we returned to Nik’s house, dusk had settled over Lucius, painting the city in softened gold and violet. The noise of the festival felt distant now, like a lingering memory. A warm breeze traced over my skin, drawing bumps to the surface as I stood by the railing of the balcony.
Behind me, Nik poured two glasses of wine, then handed me one, as if it were normal between us once again.
I lifted it to my lips, inhaling the liquid. It was pale, and smelled faintly floral. “Thank you.”
He stood by my side, arms casually leaning on the balcony edge, wine glass between his hands. Down below, the city breathed. Lanterns flickered on one by one. Somewhere far off, laughter drifted upward, muted and gentle.
Neither of us spoke for a while. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was heavy—but not uncomfortable. It waited to be acknowledged.
“Can I ask you something?” Nik asked, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
I took another sip, begging the wine to calm my nerves. “Yes.”
“Why did you keep your real name a secret?”
The question should have been simple, but it wasn’t. I stared down at the wine, watching it catch the last light. My throat tightened with words I didn’t know how to shape. I could make it small. I could say it’s because I didn’t trust him.
But that wouldn’t be the truth.
And he deserved the truth. Because he’d been generous and kind more times than I could count, without ever demanding anything back.
I took in a breath and glanced up at him. “It was the only thing The Grey couldn't take from me.”
Nik’s head turned slightly, attention sharpening, the space between us suddenly charged.
I swallowed, forcing the words out before I could lose my nerve. “When people don’t see you as a person, they don’t use your name,” I said quietly. “They don’t want you to have one. A name means you belong to yourself. It means you’re . . . real. Worth remembering.”
“Oh, Blythe,” Nik breathed.
His softness was too much. It crept towards me like a vine, wrapping me in warm tendrils. My hands trembled. I turned and set the glass down on the tabletop.
“I didn’t want them to take Blythe . . . so I became The Night Jewel—Sapphire—whoever they needed me to be to keep her safe,” I said, the words tumbling out of me between trembling lips.
The word her scraped my chest. I hated how small it made me feel.
Nik placed his glass down and took a step closer, offering his presence. “So you hid it,” he said, his voice low.
I nodded once. “If I said it out loud, I’d have to admit there was still a person inside me who deserved it.”
He slid closer, taking my hand in his. “And why now?”
Emerald eyes sought my gaze, looking, but not judging. I laughed softly under my breath, small and bitter tasting on my tongue. “I don’t know.”
Yes, I did. But saying it would make it real.
I kept my eyes on him. “Because I knew you’d say my name like it wouldn’t hurt,” I whispered. “Like it doesn’t come with a price.”
He squeezed my hand tighter, pulling me closer and it made that warm, unfamiliar feeling spread through my chest. Something shifted in his face. Pain, yes—but also something fierce and protective. “I would never use it against you,” he said.
My free hand grasped the front of his shirt. “I know,” I whispered, my throat tightening. “That’s what scares me.”
His brow furrowed as he looked at me like he was trying to read every fractured piece of my shattered soul that I tried to hide away. “Tell me,” he murmured. “Why does it scare you?”
I gripped his shirt tighter, for fear if I let go I would drown in the current of emotions washing over me. “Because if you know my name . . . you can’t un-know me.”
Nik’s breath left him slowly, like he’d been hit.
“And if you know me,” I continued, voice shaking now, “then I can’t pretend I’m still the thing they made of me. You’ll look at me and you won’t see Sapphire . . . you’ll see Blythe.”
His hand let go of mine so both of them could wrap around my waist. I wanted to sink into his chest, to put all of my weight on him so that I might be able to breathe for a while.
“Blythe . . .” he said softly. “Let me see the pieces you hide. The ones you think make you unworthy.” His hands came up to frame my face, skin warm against my cheeks. “Show me the parts you can’t stand to look at so I know exactly where to start loving you.”
His words cracked something inside me, and the rot I carried stirred, restless and alive.
I’d felt it before—that day in the flower fields, when the pressure became unbearable and the truth tore its way out of my mouth in a stream of burning words.
At that moment, it felt powerful. Cleansing. Like I’d purged something poisonous.
But rot doesn’t vanish. It festers.
It would cling to me no matter where I went, no matter how soft the world became, it would follow me forever—through joy, through tenderness, through him—dragging its filth behind it. A constant, breathing reminder that no amount of beauty or love could make me innocent again.
I forced my gaze to the floor. “I’m not good,” I whispered. “Not the way people here are. Not . . . clean.”
Nik pressed a thumb under my chin, forcing my gaze back up towards him. “I don’t want clean,” he said, voice low and steady. “I want you. Every version.”
I swallowed, trembling under his gaze. A silent tear slipped from the corner of my eye, carving a path before dripping onto my dress. “I don’t know how to be her anymore,” I admitted. “I don’t know how to be Blythe.”
Nik’s thumb brushed gently across my cheekbone. “Then we’ll learn. Slowly. Together.”
My heart lurched. The wine, the dusk, the city lights—none of it mattered compared to the way he said ‘together’, like it was possible.
I reached up to thread my arms around his neck. “Nik . . .”
“I have something I need to confess to you,” he murmured.
The way his voice sounded caused my heart to beat faster. Here it came. He was finally going to tell me that he was willing to help, but only from the safety of a different house. Or that the king had decided it was best I return to Oscuro.
He must have seen the panic in my eyes. His hands cupped my face, and ever so sweetly, he said, “Hey, it’s alright. It’s not what you're thinking.”
I squared my shoulders and took in a breath. “What is it?”
Slowly, he let go of my face and rested his hands on my hips. “It’s my fault that you died,” his voice trembled, and even though his words settled over me like ash, seeing him look so troubled tightened something in my chest.
“Pretty sure it wasn’t your fault,” I said, with enough bitterness to sour anyone's mood.
Nik shook his head. “I should’ve been there.
That night in The Grey.” He took a step back, releasing me as he dragged a hand through his hair.
“The king told me to check on you, and I didn’t.
You were so mad when I found you at the cemetery.
You told me to leave you alone, and after that, I needed to blow off steam.
” His eyes glistened with emotion. “I thought you needed the space.”
I looked away, blinking back tears. I should have been angry. I should have felt something sharp and righteous and deserved. But I was tired. Bone-deep, familiar tired—the kind that came from carrying blame long before he ever knew who I was.
Nik ran a hand over his face. “If I had—if I’d just shown up, maybe—maybe you wouldn’t have died. I failed you and I’m so sorry.”
It hadn’t been his fault. Not really. I’d been unravelling for years before that day in the cemetery. Nik’s persistence hadn’t broken me; it had only revealed the cracks that were already there. I’d been walking towards the edge long before he ever turned away.
And still . . . hearing him say it—hearing him take the weight of my death onto himself, made something ache in my heart in a way I couldn’t express.
He looked at me like he’d failed me.
No one had ever done that before.
I took a step towards him and smiled because it was easier than letting him see the truth: that if he took responsibility for my end, then he’d start believing he had a right to save me. And I couldn’t let him do that. Couldn’t let him think I was something he was meant to fix.
“Anyone would have left me,” I whispered. “It’s a miracle you stayed at all.”
Pain etched across his face. Not the physical kind, but the kind that carried too much and didn’t know the right words to say. So I reached out and drew him closer. As his firm embrace wrapped around me, I let myself feel the warmth of being held without asking him to carry my sins alongside it.
Because if I let him believe he’d failed me . . . then loving me would become another debt. And I couldn't bear to give him that.
I looked up into his eyes, inviting him.
He leaned in, giving me the last inch of choice.
So I closed it. Pulling him down, I kissed him.
It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate. It was careful and unbearably intimate—like my name and his confession had unlocked something between us that couldn’t be locked again.
The city faded. The balcony railing pressed cool against my back. His other hand found my hair, fingers threading through slowly, reverently. I kissed him harder, deeper, and felt the shift immediately—the way his breath caught, the way his restraint strained.
“Come inside,” he murmured against my mouth. Not a demand. An invitation.
I nodded because I wanted to have this last night with him. I wanted to hear him say my name over and over so I could hold onto the memory forever. I know it was selfish, but I needed it.
We didn’t make it far.
The door to the balcony barely had time to shut behind us before Nik’s hand found my waist, tugging me towards him. My breath knocked from me as he pressed my breasts to his chest. I gasped when I felt the cool of the wall on my back. His body warm, solid, unmistakably there.