“I didn’t dare to tell you,” I continue. “I barely had time to feel it before it was gone. I just… bled. And bled. And kept going like it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t real.”
Another sob slips out and this time, I don’t fight it.
He pulls me in.
Fully. Without hesitation. I press my face into his neck and cry, really cry. He doesn’t shush me. Doesn’t tell me to stop. He just holds me. Strong. Unmoving. Infinite.
“You should’ve told me,” he says, voice thick but even.
“I didn’t know how,” I whisper. “And I didn’t want to watch your face fall.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them, but not with rage. With something more dangerous.
Grief.
“Watch my face fall?” he repeats, but softer. Like he’s tasting the weight of those words, letting them bleed onto his tongue. “Isabella…”
His hand comes up, slow, reverent, fingers brushing along the side of my face like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he touches me too hard.
“I’ve watched my men die,” he says quietly. “Watched my enemies rot. Watched cities burn because I lit the match. But nothing—nothing—would’ve destroyed me more than watching you go through that alone.”
My breath hitches. My chest trembles beneath the pressurethat rises again, more fragile now. His grief, his guilt, it settles over me like ash.
“There was never a chance for it,” I whisper. “Not with everything going on. Not with who you are.”
He stares at me like he’s been punched.
And then, softer than I’ve ever heard him, he says, “I swore never to create an heir.”
The confession cracks open something inside me.
“Swore it in blood,” he continues. “I told myself I would never curse a child with my name. My enemies. My legacy. That I’d never bring something into this world just to lose it, or make it survive me.”
His voice shakes. Barely. But it does.
“But if I’d known it was ours...”
His forehead touches mine. His breath fans across my lips, warm and raw.
“If I’d known it was you, Isabella, I would’ve stopped everything.”
I can barely breathe.
“I would’ve put down the crown. Given up every plan. Every body I swore vengeance on. For you. For them. For us.”
Tears slip down my cheeks, silent, unchecked. His thumbs catch them, like he’s afraid the world might break if one touches the tile.
He kisses me then; not hungry or bruising, but soft. So soft it aches. Like a man kissing something he knows he might never deserve, but would burn for anyway.
Our bodies press closer under the water. Nothing sexual, nothing charged. Just closeness. Heart to heart. Breath to breath. The kind of embrace that mends something long splintered.
“I would’ve been a father,” he murmurs into my hair. “Not a soldier. Not a Devil. Just a man with something to live for.”
I sob into his shoulder, and this time, I don’t try to stop it.
His arms tighten around me. His lips press into my temple like a vow.
“You’re not alone,” he says again. “You’ll never be alone again.”
