Chapter 43 #2
Memories clawed to the surface, relentless and unforgiving.
She could almost smell her mother’s perfume, hear the steady cadence of her father’s voice.
Her father, who’d always listened, always made her feel heard.
She remembered racing through the castle halls, too restless to sit still, and how his love of books had become her own.
These memories were gifts—precious, fragile—but also reminders of everything she’d lost. Each glimpse was bittersweet, deepening the void their absence left behind.
Her shoulders shook, jostling Dawson’s head against her arm.
“The more choices I made, the heavier the numbness settled. Pain and anger were easier. Detatching myself from who I was forced to become,” she whispered into the dark cave, swiping at her eyes. It was easier to confess when no one could hear.
“Avoiding everything has always been easier. Because if I let myself feel even an ounce of that grief, I’d drown in it.”
But maybe drowning was the point. Maybe she had to sink into it to flutter her way back to the surface. Maybe she had to stop running from the pain of losing her parents—or risk losing someone else she?—
Loved.
The word snatched the air from her lungs. She loved him. This impossible, arrogant, beautiful, brooding prince who made her believe she was capable of more than surviving, who made her feel worthy of living.
And Dawson mattered. Gods, he mattered more than breathing.
It happened in pieces. In the silences they shared.
In the way both of them flinched from their pasts.
It happened when she started to remember, and when he began to understand.
She fell, not because she was meant to—but because in the remnants of everything she’d lost, she’d found something she wasn’t ready to let go of.
And she would damn the gods themselves before she let them take him.
With each slowing beat of Dawson’s heart, the fury that had roared to life inside her transformed into something greater—something that could move mountains and defy death itself.
The binds around her magic, the ones she thought sealed forever, began to loosen.
She clung to every memory of him: their dance at the Celestial Cascade Ball, the way he’d looked at her; her first flight with him and Beck; the vulnerability in his eyes when they sat by the fire. How he’d never called her broken or dangerous, but exquisite.
How he had always seen her—even when she couldn’t see herself. How he made her feel like she was enough. More than enough. Like she was everything.
Light flared under her palm, warmth growing with each memory.
“Please,” she whispered, pouring everything she had into that single word. “Please, don’t leave me.”
Suddenly, energy surged—wild and uncontrollable—clamoring for release from the confines of her flesh. It felt like coming home.
An outline of white-hot flame ignited beneath the palm pressed to Dawson’s wound. Waves of warmth flowed from Alaire’s hand, seeping directly into the injury. This wasn’t like that first spark of aether she’d experienced. This was gentler.
It felt like liquid sunlight.
Somehow, she could sense the torn flesh, fractured rib bones, and blood that needed to be staunched. Her breath came in gasps as she directed the aether to mend what was broken, knit tissue, alter destiny’s plight, and restore what once had life.
The power surging through her was unlike anything she had ever known.
The white light molded around the fracture, coaxing the pieces back into place.
Alaire could’ve sworn she heard the faint creak of bone knitting together.
She envisioned fibers of muscle weaving whole again, forged like a blacksmith hammering steel.
Fire coursed through her veins as more of her poured into Dawson’s wound.
Faintly, she felt the steady incline of his heartbeat.
“Astounding,” she thought she heard, though the voice was warped, distant.
The light continued to permeate, and she felt the tension beneath his skin, stretched taut. At last, Dawson’s breathing steadied. But every second drained her further.
With trembling hands, she pulled back—and to her astonishment, the wound had closed completely. Where infected gashes had been, pale pink scars now marked his chest. No swelling. No angry red lines.
Color returned to his cheeks, chasing away the ashen grey that had whispered Umbra’s claim.
Exhaustion crashed through her, but relief steadied her. He was alive. Because of her magic.
She met Solflara’s golden amber eyes—pride shone down the bond.
Her body screamed for rest, but she clung to consciousness. He was alive. That was all that mattered.
“It’s not your fault, Alaire.”
Dawson’s gruff voice startled her.
Her head snapped up. His turquoise eyes were open, trained on her with an intensity that made her want to hide behind her hands. His dark hair, disheveled and loose, framed his face—but he was undeniably, beautifully alive.
He wasn’t supposed to have heard her desperate whispers.
“I thought you were asleep,” she said, voice small. That’s exactly how she felt.
He blinked slowly, weak but steady. “I was drifting in and out…”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “How much of that did you hear exactly?” she asked, staring at the ceiling instead of his knowing gaze.
“Enough,” he said softly. “Enough to learn about the scope of your pain, the depth of your grief. Enough to hear you pleading with me not to leave.”
Her heart stuttered. The raw desperation she’d poured out, thinking he couldn’t hear?—
“Dawson,” she whispered.
When she finally looked back, he was smiling. Not his usual smirk, but something infinitely gentler. His hands lifted to cradle her face, fingers weaving through her hair, thumbs brushing away tears she hadn’t realized were falling. Even weakened, his touch was steady. Grounding.
“Firework,” he murmured, lips brushing her cheek in a soft kiss. “Thank you for saving me. For fighting so hard to bring me back.”
Her fingers slipped into his silken hair, idly toying with the dark strands—until she realized what she was doing and snatched them back.
Instead, she reached for the canteen and pushed it toward him. “Drink.” She waited until he swallowed a few gulps before asking, “How are you feeling?”
“Better. Though hearing your voice must be its own sort of medicine.”
Fucking prince. He knew she had a soft spot for his pain, and he was going to leverage that to make her talk. But he was here, alive, and she wouldn’t trade his insufferable remarks for anything.
“So,” he said, letting the pause hang, “that’s some heavy shit you’ve been carrying.”
She stiffened when he burrowed closer, the warmth of him a stark reminder of how close she’d come to losing him forever.
“I’m fine,” she replied brusquely. A barricade she launched out of habit, the same wall she’d been hiding behind for years.
He laughed softly, brushing his shoulder against hers. “No, you’re not. And you don’t have to be. Not here, not with me.”
Her throat tightened, heart clenching at the quiet sincerity in his words.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“Alaire.” Dawson’s pinky hooked gently through hers.
“You don’t have to share everything. But don’t think I don’t see it—the weight you carry.
The anger you rely on as a front to keep you moving forward, but neglecting it all is tearing you apart.
Starfall…” He hesitated. “And whatever else you hold inside—it’s too much for one person.
Let me help you carry it. Let me be your friend. ”
Her heart ached at the word friend . He was right here, and yet cracks still formed. Maybe that was all they could ever be. Maybe it was all she deserved.
The silence stretched. Alaire weighed each word. Dawson was meant to become a Premiere Lord, bound to uphold the system, while she longed for freedom from titles and expectations. Yet she knew she’d wield any position she had to protect those the Consortium crushed beneath it.
She’d spent so long pretending to be strong and unaffected that she’d forgotten what it felt like to be truly vulnerable, to let anyone see the broken pieces she barely held together. The dam inside her, already fragile, began to crack.
“I miss them,” she said, voice breaking. “I miss them so much. Everything would be so different if they were still here. I would be different.”
Dawson’s calloused fingertips traced the outline of her hand, circling thumb to pinky and back again. The gesture was small but full of meaning—steadfast support, active listening. He was holding space for her, dismantling her defenses wall by wall.
She didn’t deserve this—this gentle understanding, this patience. The ghosts she carried had whispered that to her time and again.
And yet, his touch lingered. Slow, deliberate, without judgment. Maddening, terrifying, comforting all at once.
Alaire fixed her gaze on a crack in the cavern floor. If she let herself fall into it—into him—would it heal her, or leave her more fractured when reality inevitably forced them apart?
“Listen carefully to my next words,” Dawson said, voice firm, steady. “It wasn’t your fault, Alaire. You were just a child. You couldn’t have known what your parents were planning. But they loved you—and, more importantly, believed their sacrifice was for the best.”
She shook her head, tears blurring her vision as the weight of everything crashed over her. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to make them proud.”
“You already are.” He rubbed his scruff against her skin, and despite the layers between them, his touch ignited a flame beneath it.
“You are brave, strong, determined—and the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.
You are exactly who you’re supposed to be.
This was the journey you were meant to take. ”
“I didn’t take you for a fate and destiny sort of person,” she muttered in a weak attempt to change the subject.
“I’m full of surprises.” She could hear the smile in his voice.
“Alaire, you don’t have to carry that burden alone.
” He laced his fingers through hers, anchoring them together.
“You have people here, including me, who see strength, not failure. Courage, not weakness. Your parents will always be part of you.”
The words hung between them. Alaire tightened her grip on his hand as if he might disappear again, but didn’t respond.
“You should know you aren’t alone in those feelings either. I grieve too—for a person I never met.” Dawson paused, collecting himself. This time, she was the one who traced patterns across his hand.
His vulnerability was like a mirror, reflecting all the pain she’d been carrying alone.
“You’re not the only one who’s done things they regret.
” He squeezed her hand. “I wouldn’t have survived much of it without Caius’s friendship.
Grief is… relentless. It drags you into a dark tunnel, searching for slivers of sunlight that feel unreachable.
Knowing someone else has been through it too doesn’t fix it, but maybe it helps. ”
Alaire stayed silent but clutched tighter to Dawson, who, somehow—despite everything—had become someone she respected, admired, and loved. But could never have.
Dawson pushed himself up and adjusted so she could rest against his shoulder, pulling the makeshift blankets over them both.
“I should take another look at the healing,” Alaire said, fingers already moving toward the torn fabric of his shirt, needing something practical to focus on.
“By all means,” Dawson said with a hint of his usual smirk, “examine away.”
She rolled her eyes at his tone but carefully peeled back the shredded material. Smooth skin met her touch.
“Any pain?” She asked when she pressed gently.
“No.”
“It’s like it never happened.”
“Thank you,” he murmured, and the weight of everything hung between them.
“Can I get you something to eat?”
“Later. We both need more rest. We’ll need our strength to find the winterflame tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Alaire said, eyelids growing heavy.
“Rest. Let someone else take care of you for once.”
Despite the cold, she allowed herself to be held for the first time in longer than she could remember. Nestling into him, she was careful not to press too hard against his chest.
A flicker of determination kindled within her. She’d spent so long running from her pain; maybe there could be another path forward now.
The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest steadied her. Made her feel safe. Born of shared struggles and quiet strength, together against the howling wind and cold, they’d help each other keep the darkness at bay—if only for a little while—in the quest for those slivers of sunlight.