The camp had fallen into uneasy silence.
Soldiers shifted in their sleep, some muttering as though even in dreams they feared the golden light that had shaken the forest. The night air was heavy, smoke from dying torches drifting lazily upward, carrying with it the faint scent of charred wood.
Damien stood alone at the edge of his tent, staring into the darkness beyond the camp. His armor lay discarded on the ground beside him, his sword propped against a post. Yet even without them, the weight of command pressed on his shoulders, heavy and relentless.
He could still feel her.
The warmth of her skin beneath his hand. The way her light had surged, wild and desperate, when he'd touched her. It had burned against him, seared him, and yet… he had not let go. He never would.
Eight years, and still she defied him.
His jaw clenched as he dragged a hand down his face, trying to smother the storm raging inside.
Why?
He had given her everything. The dungeons, the lash, the slavery of her childhood—he had torn her from it, torn her free with his own hands. He had risked his title, his father's wrath, his life, to protect her.
And what had she done?
She had vanished.
Left him in the ashes of his youth, alone.
Damien's hands curled into fists. He could still remember the day he'd realized she was gone. The frantic searching, the hollow in his chest that only grew deeper as months turned to years. He had killed for her absence—had carved bloody paths through anyone who dared to lie about where she might have gone.
And still, she had chosen a life without him.
The fire in his chest twisted, torn between rage and longing.
He closed his eyes, and her voice haunted him. I was happiest when you were still the boy I knew. Not this monster.
Monster.
The word echoed, sharp and merciless.
His teeth ground together, but the mask cracked all the same. For a moment, the tyrant was gone, and in his place stood the boy who had once held her hand in the market, who had once promised, I'll protect you.
A hollow laugh escaped him. "You're right, Victoria. The boy you knew is dead. You killed him."
He opened his eyes, staring at the campfire that burned low in the center of the clearing. Its glow reminded him of her light—not the wild destruction, but the softer shimmer he had glimpsed when she had faltered. For just an instant, she had been beautiful beyond reason, beyond belief.
He hated her for it. He wanted her for it.
Damien turned sharply, storming into his tent. The guards outside shifted nervously but said nothing. None dared speak when his fury was so close to the surface.
Inside, the tent was quiet, lit only by a single lantern swaying gently. Maps were spread across a table, red ink marking conquered cities, black marks slashing through fallen baronies. All his victories—all the blood he had spilled—yet none of it had filled the hole she had left.
He pressed his palms against the table, his head bowing.
"She should have been at my side," he muttered under his breath. "She should have ruled with me."
But she hadn't. She had chosen the dirt, the woods, the smallness of a quiet life, rather than him.
That was betrayal.
And betrayal deserved punishment.
But still, a traitorous voice whispered in him: She looked at you, Damien. She remembered you. For a heartbeat, she saw the boy you were.
His chest ached.
He slammed his fist into the table, rattling the lantern. "No. That boy is gone."
His breath came heavy, his pulse racing. His body remembered her—the warmth of her, the tremor in her voice when she whispered his name, the way her tears caught the light. He wanted to tear the chains from her wrists, pull her into his arms, and—
No.
Not yet. Not until she understood.
Not until she broke.
He straightened, dragging in a steadying breath, shoving the chaos of his thoughts back beneath the steel mask. That was the only way. The only way to keep her.
Because she was his. She always had been.
And he would not lose her again.
Outside, the camp remained still. From where she sat chained, Victoria could just barely make out the silhouette of Damien's tent, the faint glow of lantern light within.
She hugged her knees, her heart heavy, her mind replaying every word he had said.
She had seen something flicker in him. She had seen the boy he used to be.
But the boy was buried deep beneath the tyrant's shadow.
And if she couldn't reach him—if she couldn't save herself—then she would be consumed by the chains he carried in his heart.