The forest held its breath.
Mist clung to the undergrowth like a secret, coiling between the roots of ancient trees and muffling even the sound of footsteps. The sky above was a pale gray, streaked with the remnants of night. In the hollow of a hill, the flickering fire cast shadows across the battered faces of those who had survived the impossible.
Cassius dozed restlessly on a bed of cloaks and pine needles, his skin paler than snow, lips cracked and blue. Every so often, he murmured something unintelligible, twitching like a man caught between dreams and memory. Aerin sat beside him, one knee drawn to her chest, watching his chest rise and fall.
She had washed the blood from his face herself.
Not because she had to.
But because she needed to.
To remind herself that he was still here. Still real. Still hers, in whatever way fate would allow.
Lys returned from her perimeter check, brushing leaves from her cloak. "Nothing yet. No dogs, no torches. Either they lost the trail or they're letting us run."
"They wouldn't dare," Thorne muttered, sharpening a blade. "Not with Cassius gone. Not with the King's blood on their hands."
Silas crouched beside the fire, expression unreadable. "He won't be out of the game for long. When he wakes, we'll need to move again."
Aerin didn't look up. "He needs rest."
"He needs to live," Silas said quietly.
The statement hung in the air like smoke.
Then Cassius groaned.
All eyes turned as his eyelids fluttered, and the bond between him and Aerin flared like a flame catching wind. She was at his side in a heartbeat, cradling his face.
"Cassius," she whispered. "It's me. It's all right."
He blinked blearily. "You're… not dead."
"No," she said, brushing damp hair from his forehead. "Neither are you."
He tried to sit but winced, breath catching in his throat. "Everything hurts."
"I should hope so," Lys muttered, offering a canteen. "You've been stewing in a dungeon like a slab of meat for weeks."
He drank gratefully, though most of it spilled down his chin. "How did you—?"
"Don't ask," Aerin said. "We found a way. That's all that matters."
Cassius's gaze shifted to the others, eyes sharpening with awareness. "Thorne. Silas. You came."
"We're idiots," Thorne said simply. "Apparently."
Cassius managed a ghost of a smile. "Apparently."
Then his gaze turned serious.
"I dreamt of her again," he murmured, almost to himself.
Aerin frowned. "Who?"
"…Elenna."
The name dropped like a stone into still water.
Even Silas tensed.
Aerin said nothing at first, then: "You said she was dead."
"She is."
"But you dream of her."
Cassius turned his head toward the canopy above. The leaves swayed, whispering secrets only the forest could hear.
"She was the first," he said softly. "Before the throne. Before the war. I loved her like breath."
A long silence passed.
"She was human, wasn't she?" Aerin finally asked.
He nodded once.
"And you killed her."
His jaw clenched.
"Yes."
The truth rang through the clearing, and no one dared speak.
Not even Thorne.
Finally, Aerin broke the silence. "Why?"
Cassius closed his eyes. "Because my father demanded it."
Lys swore under her breath.
"He found out," Cassius continued, voice distant. "About us. That I'd given her protection. That I was planning to… take her away from all of it. He said it made me weak. Said I was compromising the bloodline."
"So he ordered her death?" Aerin asked, horrified.
"No." Cassius's voice cracked. "He said I had to do it. To prove I was still his son."
Silas looked away.
Cassius took a shaky breath. "I thought I could trick him. That I could fake it. That if I just played along, he'd lose interest. But he was watching. Always watching. And when the time came—when she was on her knees, terrified—I… I couldn't disobey."
His hands curled into fists.
"I drank her blood, Aerin. With my own mouth. I felt her die in my arms."
She didn't recoil.
Didn't flinch.
Just reached out and took his hand.
"Then let her be the last," she said quietly. "Let her death mean something. End the line that demanded it."
Cassius turned his head, eyes burning. "You think I haven't tried?"
"I think you were alone," Aerin said. "And now you're not."
He held her gaze.
And in that moment, something shifted. Not just between them—but inside him. Like a weight he'd been carrying alone had finally cracked and spilled into the earth.
They moved by twilight.
Cassius insisted on walking, though Thorne practically carried him half the time. He wore a stolen cloak, his hair tied back, his features shadowed beneath the hood. But even bruised and bleeding, he walked like a prince.
They headed south—through the Fallow Pines, past the forgotten temples of old gods, deeper into no-man's land. Few ventured this far; even fewer returned. But Aerin had a destination.
"The outpost near Vareth's Hollow," she told the others. "There's a witch there. An old ally. She'll hide us."
"You trust her?" Lys asked.
"She saved my life once," Aerin said. "That's enough."
They reached the Hollow by nightfall.
It wasn't much—just a burned ruin and a cave beyond it—but it would do. The witch's wards were still active, humming softly in the air. Aerin muttered the passphrase, and the enchantments parted like mist.
Inside, the cave was warm and dry. A hearth had been carved into the stone, and bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling. Cassius collapsed onto a pallet, too tired to speak.
The witch—an older woman with one eye and a voice like gravel—offered no questions. Just poultices and soup and silence.
It was what they needed.
That night, Aerin sat outside the cave, watching the stars.
Cassius joined her, limping slightly.
He didn't speak.
Just sat beside her, shoulder to shoulder.
They sat in silence for a while, breathing the same air, watching the same constellations.
Finally, he asked, "If I hadn't… killed her… would you still be here?"
Aerin considered.
Then turned to him.
"I don't love you because you're perfect, Cassius," she said. "I love you because you keep choosing to be better. Even when it hurts."
His eyes shimmered.
She took his hand.
"Let's burn your father's crown to the ground."
He smiled.
And for the first time in years, it reached his eyes.