But I can’t protect her from the scars Aleksander created inside her.
The tent flap rustles,and Reeve steps into my command tent. He holds out a clay jar, and the sweet scent of honey mixed with volcanic fire blossoms hits my nose.
I take the Vohlcom Elixir as Reeve settles on the ground next to me, his back against a wooden chest. Neither of us speaks as I lift the jar to my lips. The liquid burns down my throat, igniting every nerve ending.
My magic roars back to life. The exhaustion from the battle melts away. My muscles unknot. My thoughts sharpen.
But the pain in my chest remains.
I pass the jar back to Reeve. He drinks, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His gray eyes catch the torchlight, those silver veins in his irises gleaming.
We sit in comfortable silence, passing the jar back and forth until it’s empty.
Reeve’s shoulder presses against mine, solid and steady. Like when we were children, hiding from our father’s rage in the castle’s secret passages.
As I finish the last of the elixir, my magic pulses strong and sure, but what good is all this power when I can’t fix what matters most?
Reeve takes the jar from my hand and stands. He squeezes my shoulder once, then slips out of the tent as silently as he entered.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Jasce
Over the next two days,I honor Annora’s wishes, keeping my distance. Each time I catch a glimpse of her, a pang slices through my chest. Her once vibrant eyes are now shadowed, and the happiness that used to light up her face is gone, replaced by a haunting emptiness.
I watch her as she sits alone, sketching by the dwindling light of dusk. Her fingers glide over the parchment, but there’s a rigidity to her movements—a stiffness that wasn’t there before. The urge to go to her, to ask what she’s drawing, nearly pulls me forward, but I force myself to give her space.
At meals, I sit with my men, pretending to listen as they discuss strategies and share stories. My eyes drift to where she sits, picking at her food, barely engaging with anyone.
Nights are the worst. I lie on my back, staring up at the canvas ceiling, replaying memories of her laughter, the way she’d curl up against me, her breath warm on my skin.
Every rustle outside makes my heart leap, hoping she’ll appear at the entrance, ready to let me in again, but the hours crawl by, and she never comes.
By dawn, exhaustion pulls at every muscle, but rest won’t come. I throw myself into training, sparring with anyone willing. Blades clash, fists fly, but no physical exertion can dull the ache inside me.
Once, I catch her watching me. Our eyes meet across the camp, and for a heartbeat, time stops. I offer a smile, but she turns away, disappearing behind a tent.
I confide in no one, but Reeve seems to sense my turmoil. “You’ll wear yourself out,” he says after I defeat him in yet another sparring match.
“Better than sitting idle,” I snap back.
He raises an eyebrow. “Sometimes, standing still is the hardest thing.”
I glare at him as I wipe sweat from my brow. “I’m not in the mood for riddles, Reeve.”
He shrugs. “Maybe your wife needs to know you’re still there for her.”
“I’m giving her space. It’s what she wants.”
“And what do you want?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I grab my gear and walk away.
By the second night, I sit alone by a dying fire, staring into the embers. Memories of her flood my mind—the softness of her lips, the way she sighs contentedly when I hold her, the light in her eyes when she shares one of her sketches.
Rising to my feet, I make a decision. If she won’t let me in, I’ll find another way to help her. Perhaps actions will speak louder than words. I head toward the command tent, resolve settling like steel in my spine.
But as I pass her tent, I hear a soft sound—almost imperceptible. I pause, straining to listen. Is she crying?
