CHAPTER 79: THE SAVIOR AND THE TYRANT

Caelen remained still as he began to spiral.

His mind wandered to much earlier, when his world began to fall apart, when he heard the words he never imagined would slip out Eris’s tongue.

The halls of Solmire breathed with the kind of silence that follows music. The ballroom still echoed faintly with confusion and gossip, but here, where the torches burned low and the marble slept, Caelen walked alone.

He hadn’t even sought Ophelia who waited for him in their chamber.

Instead...

He had been drinking. Not enough to forget, just enough to find courage. The wine had burned going down, but not as much as the thought of her.

He told himself he only meant to speak to her, to make ber confess her real intention or to make peace before she left, to be honest for once. But honesty had never come easily to him. It always needed a little help from the bottle.

He braced himself and stumbled to find Eris.

He reached her wing and found it empty. Her guards bowed quickly and turned away, uneasy beneath his stare. Her door was closed, her rooms quiet, the air faintly scented with smoke and the faintest trace of jasmine.

For one breathless moment, he feared the worst, that she was gone.

Gone without a word. Without a fight. Without looking back.

He turned down the corridor, the world swaying slightly under the weight of that realization, and then he saw her.

Eris.

Walking toward him through the haze of torchlight. Alone, unhurried, her nightdress whispering against the marble like a sigh.

And for a moment, time forgot itself.

He had seen her a thousand times before, on thrones, in court, beneath blood-red skies, but never like this. Bare-faced, unguarded, her hair spilled around her, light catching along her skin as if even flame adored her.

Too beautiful, he thought, too beautiful to be real. From the first day he had seen her, he had wondered if she was an illusion meant to test him. An angel masquerading as ruin.

The way the fabric clung to her now, gods, it was the same color she wore that night, their wedding night. The memory struck like a blade: the wine, her eyes, the confusion that had burned into desire despite everything.

He’d told himself he hated her for forcing that union. He’d told himself the drink was the reason he’d touched her at all. But the truth...

the truth was uglier.

He had wanted her.

Even then. Especially then.

And when morning came, and guilt followed, he’d reached for the easiest enemy. He’d made her his sin so he could remain the hero Solmire needed.

Because how could good fall in love with evil?

How could the savior crave the tyrant?

Solmire was at her mercy,

And he became what the people needed him to be, the symbol of defiance, the hope that glimmered against her fire. He played his part so well he almost believed it.

Almost.

Until tonight.

Until he saw her walking back through those halls, ready to leave everything behind.

For years, he had told himself he would be free if she were gone. He had prayed for the day she’d lay down her crown and vanish from his sight.

And now she was doing it.

And he felt like dying.

The lie splintered then, every careful illusion, every righteous speech, every quiet moment he had pretended not to think of her.

All of it cracked under the weight of her silence.

She drew closer, her eyes lifting to meet his, and a thousand things warred inside him: shame, longing, grief, the terrible need to touch her just once more.

He should have spoken. Should have said anything that wasn’t a prayer or an apology. But words deserted him, and only her name burned on his tongue.

When she tried to pass, he reached for her.

His hand closed around her arm before thought could intervene. She turned, glare sharp enough to draw blood, and his heart stuttered painfully in his chest.

Because even her anger was a thing of beauty.

She handed him everything and took back herself.

And then... before reason, before restraint... he kissed her.

The world vanished in that single, reckless act.

Her mouth tasted of smoke and defiance and every mistake he had ever made. For once, he didn’t care. For once, he wanted to drown in it, to stop pretending he could breathe without her.

He knew it was selfish, unforgivable.

He knew she was leaving because of him, because of what he had broken between them. But when her lips parted under his, when her body trembled in his hands, the only truth left was this:

He wanted her to stay.

He wanted her to remember that her heart, damned as it was, still belonged to him. Only him. As it had been for years. Not to Soren. Not to anyone.

Just him.

Eris loved him once, too much, in ways that terrified them both.

He had spent years calling that love madness, calling it cruelty, because it was easier than admitting it had been real. Every time he’d pretended to hate her, it was an act of survival, not honesty. He’d hated himself for wanting her; hated her for making him feel it.

And now, finally, he stopped lying.

The moment his mouth met hers, he told her everything he’d never said. That he still belonged to her. That he would always belong to her.

That he was tired of pretending otherwise.

And maybe that’s why the kiss felt like drowning, because drowning was easier than breathing in a world where she didn’t exist.

Then came the interruption.

A voice, timid and trembling, broke through the fever of it all.

"Your Majesty—Lady Ophelia—she collapsed."

The words carved through him, clean and merciless.

Reality returned.

The fire on his skin turned to ice. His hands fell away. The woman he had wanted beyond reason blurred behind him as duty clawed him back into its grasp.

He stepped away, heart hammering, guilt rising like smoke in his throat.

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

Because if he did, he knew he would never leave.