Adrian's POV
Night is crueler when your heart is breaking, also is the day.
I had thought that by now, the tears would have dried, that grief would have dulled into something bearable. But grief is greedy. It consumes everything, every breath, every heartbeat, every flicker of thought until you are nothing but hollow.
That was me, lying awake in a bed far too wide and far too empty, staring at the ceiling as the palace around me roared in celebration.
They were celebrating his death.
The death of the wolf king.
The death of… Damien.
I pressed my face into my pillow, as if the silence of the fabric could muffle the sound of their laughter. But it seeped through the walls like poison, every cheer a knife twisting into my ribs. I wanted to scream at them all, to tell them to stop, to make them understand that this was no victory, it was a loss so great it threatened to tear me apart.
But I couldn't. Because they didn't know. They couldn't know.
No one knew what Damien meant to me.
I'd ordered this.
I told myself I did it for the crown, for my people, for power. That I was doing what was necessary, not what I wanted. But now, lying here drenched in misery, I couldn't cling to those lies anymore.
I hadn't just killed an enemy.
I'd destroyed the only man who had ever made me feel alive.
I turned onto my side, curling in on myself, and the tears came again, hot, relentless, humiliating. My chest shook with sobs, and I buried my face deeper so the walls wouldn't carry the sound. My people thought me untouchable, invincible. But if they saw me now, they would see nothing but a broken man drowning in his own regrets.
I couldn't eat. I couldn't drink. I couldn't move from this bed without feeling the crushing weight of despair pressing down on me. Hours bled together like watercolors running in the rain. My body was weak, drained, but my mind refused me the mercy of rest.
And so I lay there, waiting for night to fall again.
Because tonight, I would go.
I had to see him. Even if all that remained of him was lifeless flesh, I had to see with my own eyes. I had to know.
When the moon finally rose high, cloaking the palace in shadows, I pulled myself up. My legs trembled as though I hadn't used them in years. Dressing in black, I wrapped my cloak tight around me, the hood low over my face. My heart hammered as I slipped through the quiet halls, every creak of the floor making me flinch.
The night air outside cut cold against my tear-streaked cheeks, but I didn't care. I welcomed the sting, it felt like penance.
The ride to Blackthorn was long, the path through the woods stretching endlessly, every shadow whispering Damien's name.
The trees loomed like mourners in the dark, their branches bowing under the weight of my guilt. Once or twice, I had to stop my horse, sliding to the ground to press shaking hands against my eyes, forcing the sobs down so I wouldn't collapse.
By the time the dark spires of Blackthorn came into view, my throat was raw, and my body felt like lead.
The kingdom was quieter than I'd ever known it. The fires of battle had left scars, broken walls, charred banners fluttering weakly in the wind. And yet, in the distance, I could hear voices, murmurs of victory songs.
Even here, his death was being celebrated.
My stomach turned.
I slipped from my horse, leading it into the shadows before continuing on foot. Every step toward the palace felt heavier than the last. It was as if the earth itself tried to drag me down, to keep me from seeing the truth that awaited inside.
But I had to go.
Damien had once told me of a secret way into the palace, a hidden door he used to escape the suffocation of his crown. He'd laughed when he told me, eyes sparkling like he was sharing the world's greatest treasure.
And now I was using it, not to meet him in stolen moments of warmth, but to confirm his death.
My hands shook as I pressed against the stone, finding the groove, sliding it open just as he'd shown me. The passage smelled of damp earth and memory, and I nearly choked on both.
I crept inside, the silence pressing in on me. My footsteps echoed faintly on the stone, my heartbeat louder still.
Then—voices.
I froze, pressing myself against the wall, listening.
Two maids, their voices hushed but trembling with excitement.
"…did you hear? The king is dead. Poisoned. He didn't last the night."
My blood turned to ice.
"He was strong, but not enough. They say he suffered terribly before the end."
The words twisted like a blade in my gut. Suffered. Terribly.
My Damien.
I clenched my teeth, trying to hold in the sob clawing its way up my throat. But my body betrayed me, my shoulder knocked against a metal bucket left carelessly against the wall. It clattered loudly, ringing through the silence like a death knell.
The maids gasped.
"Who's there?"
Boots thundered from somewhere nearby, guards.
Panic surged through me, icy and sharp. I turned and ran, the passage a blur around me as my cloak whipped behind. The sound of pursuit rang out, shouts echoing as the guards tried to follow. My lungs burned, my body ached, but fear drove me faster.
I stumbled back through the door, slamming it shut behind me just as torchlight rounded the corner. My horse was still waiting, restless, and I mounted with trembling hands.
The ride back was madness, a blur of pounding hooves and tears streaming into the cold night air.
When I reached my palace again, the first thing I saw was Lucien.
He was waiting in the shadows, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
"Where have you been?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade.
I froze, my breath ragged, my heart still racing from the escape.
"Answer me," Lucien pressed, stepping closer. "Don't think I don't know. You went to see him, didn't you?"
Rage flared hot in my chest. I couldn't bear his knowing tone, the way he said him like Damien was nothing, like he hadn't been everything.
"Stay out of my affairs," I snapped, my voice raw with grief.
Lucien's eyes narrowed, sharp as daggers. "There's something more between you two, isn't there? I can smell it. The way you look when his name is mentioned. Tell me, what was he to you, Adrian?"
"Enough!" I roared, my voice breaking. "Enough, Lucien. You've done enough!."
I shoved past him, unable to bear the weight of his stare, and fled back to my room.
Once the door slammed shut, I collapsed to the floor, my body finally giving out.
And I wept.
I wept until my throat was raw and my body ached. I wept until the floor beneath me was slick with tears. I wept for every kiss, every look, every laugh Damien had ever given me. For every dream I'd dared to build with him in stolen silence.
And I wept because I had destroyed it all with my own hands.
I had lost him.
Forever.
And there would never be forgiveness. Not from Selene, not from the gods, not even from Damien himself.
The celebrations outside roared louder, echoing through the walls like a cruel mockery of my grief.
I pressed my fists against my chest, desperate to claw out the pain, but it only grew sharper, deeper.
I whispered his name into the darkness, again and again, like a prayer, like a curse, like a confession.
"Damien… forgive me. Please… forgive me."
But the night offered no answer.
Only silence.
And the weight of a heart that would never be whole again.