Almost let the truth shatter everything.
But I didn’t.
I stayed in the dark.
And she walked away believing she was alone.
Elizabeth.
Her name was a blade in my mind, sharper than any steel.I saw her in the flicker of torchlight, heard her in the rhythm of my breath, and felt her in the silence that always followed the fight.The memory of her laughter—soft and bright—cut deeper than any wound.And the loss?A chasm devoured me, a darkness I couldn’t escape.
“Amir, you need rest,” one of my men ventured, his voice hesitant, foolishly brave.
I turned, fixing him with a stare that chilled the room.He faltered, wisely stepping back.There were no words now.No explanations.My silence was a fortress—impenetrable, merciless.I had become the shadow I once feared.
I relived our final moments every night—the way her fingers slipped from mine, the way I let her go.And I hated myself for it.
The rage I harbored toward Lazarus coiled tighter within me, venomous and hot, burning just beneath the surface like molten steel.He had ordered it—decreed that I sever the only connection that had ever brought light into my darkness.And I had obeyed.Like a coward.Like a man with no will of his own.
Steel clashed again.Sparks flared.But I didn’t feel it.
I didn’t feel anything anymore.
I shook my head, trying to dispel her face from my mind’s eye.But it clung to me like a ghost.I gripped my sword tightly, the leather biting into my palms.“I’m going to visit her.One more time,” I whispered to the shadows, a vow spoken only to myself—a lie I allowed myself to believe.
Just once more.Just to see her.
But I knew the truth—I could never let her go.Not completely.
* * *
The humid air of the American continent clung to my skin as I stood hidden amidst the tall grasses of a vast, sunlit field.Summer had drenched the land in vivid greens, the heat of 1762’s cruel sun bearing down like a punishment.In the distance, I heard laughter—light and carefree—voices of the Sioux, their joy carried on the wind.
But my gaze was fixed on her.
Elizabeth.
She moved with a grace that stole the breath from my lungs as if the sweltering heat dared not touch her.Her wheat-blond hair shimmered like spun gold in the sunlight, falling loosely down her back.A dress of soft doeskin hugged her slender form, and by her side, Dancing Fire—my friend, my brother in arms—worked the earth beside her with a tenderness that twisted like a dagger in my chest.
I watched as he reached out, gently wiping sweat from her brow with a touch so careful and intimate that it made my hands ache to do the same.
But it wasn’t the touch that shattered me.
It was her belly—round and full of new life.
A child.
Was it mine?
How had I not noticed before?
The thought was a storm, thrilling and tormenting all at once.My heart pounded, torn between the hope that I had not lost everything… and the terror that I had.
With every smile Dancing Fire gave her, every wordless moment of affection, jealousy seared through me, hotter than the sun that blazed overhead.My fists clenched, nails biting into flesh, as the urge to stride into that field and take my place at her side warred with every oath I had sworn.
“Amir,” I whispered, voice like gravel.“You have no claim here.You begged him to protect her.”I forced the words out like poison.“You’ll alert Salvatore if he senses your presence.You’ll doom her.”
Still, my fists tightened.My heart raced.
