CHAPTER 81: PITY

ERIS

The room was still when I woke again.

Not the kind of stillness that soothed, but the kind that pressed against the ribs, making every breath sound too loud, too human.

I didn’t move at first. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, the soft ripple of frost still clinging to the corners of the room. The world felt muted, pale, as if the fire in me had burned itself hollow.

My mind ached. My body was quiet, too quiet.

I remembered everything.. the corridor, Caelen, the kiss, the flames, the smoke swallowing me whole. And then the voice. My voice, but not my own. The child’s cry that had clawed its way through the fire.

The memory lingered like ash on my tongue.

That little girl... the one screaming, begging for mercy in the dark, the was me.

I knew it with a certainty that frightened me.

But I couldn’t remember it.

Not from this life. Not from the first. Not even from the fragments I’d gathered from death.

It was like seeing a piece of myself I’d buried centuries ago, alive and trembling, reaching for a truth I wasn’t ready to touch.

For a fleeting moment, I almost whispered his name.

Orrian.

The Gatekeeper who had toyed with my resurrection, who had known too much and said too little. He would have known what this meant.

He always did.

But of course, he wasn’t here.

He never came when I needed him. Only when it amused him to watch.

So I lay there in silence, counting my breaths, trying to assemble the broken edges of myself into something that could still resemble a queen.

The door opened quietly.

I didn’t need to look to know it was him.

Soren moved like winter, graceful, unhurried, absolute.

He stepped inside, and the air cooled, not enough to bite, just enough to remind me that the fire was no longer the only force in the room.

"You’re awake," he said softly.

I nodded once, my throat too dry for words.

He stopped a few paces away, studying me. His expression was calm, measured, but there was something faint beneath it, concern, perhaps, or the ghost of it.

"How are you feeling?"

How was I feeling?

Embarrassed. Hollow. Ashamed.

I wanted to disappear into the sheets, to erase the memory of him walking through flames for me again.

He had saved me, again.

He had seen me at my weakest—again.

And I couldn’t even meet his eyes.

"My men are ready," he said after a pause, his tone gentle, as though he feared his voice might shatter what was left of me. "We can leave whenever you wish. But if you’d rather not... we can wait. There’s a place on Solmire’s outskirts, quiet, safe. You could rest there until you’re stronger."

The offer hung in the air between us, fragile and kind.

And cruel.

Because I didn’t deserve kindness. Not from him. Not after what he’d seen.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My voice felt trapped somewhere beneath the weight of humiliation.

I should have been stronger.

I should have had control.

But instead, I’d burned my own chambers to ruin and collapsed like some fragile, frightened thing. I could still feel the imprint of his arms around me, the cold seeping through my fevered skin, the way he whispered that he wasn’t going anywhere.

A bitter laugh nearly rose in my throat.

What was I now? A queen in name only, a monster trying to remember how to be human?

How many more times would this happen before there was nothing left of me but smoke and memory?

My fingers curled against the sheets. Beneath the skin of my chest, I could feel it, the faint pulse of the seal. The cracks spreading, the dragon beneath it stirring.

Maybe I didn’t have as long as I thought.

Maybe my time was shorter than I predicted again.

And that frightened me more than I wanted to admit.

Not the dying.

No, death had never scared me.

What scared me was the thought of dying before I did anything that made me happy. Before I found something that felt like mine.

What scared me was the possibility that this, this endless cycle of guilt and ruin, was all I would ever be.

Maybe taking a different path, daring to change the story written for me, had consequences. Maybe this was the dragon’s way of reminding me who I really was.

Maybe the seal was breaking because I was no longer following fate’s design.

And yet... I couldn’t regret it.

Even now, even trembling, even ashamed, I couldn’t.

Because for the first time in both my lives, I wasn’t burning for someone else’s throne or someone else’s love.

I was burning for myself.

"Eris."

My name left his mouth like a question dressed in silk.

When I looked up, he was standing closer than I remembered, the faintest crease between his brows. His voice was so gentle it made me ache.

"Are you alright?"

I hated the sound of that question.

It was too kind, too deliberate.

For a moment, I didn’t answer. I simply looked at him, at the cool steadiness in his eyes, the way the candlelight caught on the pale line of his throat, the faint curve of his lips that wasn’t quite a smile.

And then I saw it.

That look.

That softness.

That flicker of pity.

I felt it like a slap.

The shame came fast and sharp again, slicing through the fog that had settled over me. It struck me that I was still sitting there, half-wrapped in linen, hair undone, skin marked with soot and faint bruises from my own flames. A pitiful thing pretending to be powerful.

I couldn’t stand it.

I couldn’t stand the way he looked at me, not with judgment, but with understanding. It made me feel seen in all the wrong ways.

So I did what I always did.

I put the mask back on.

I straightened my spine, forced my face into something impassive, and swung my legs off the bed. The floor was cold against my feet, the kind of cold that bit deep and woke everything that still hurt.

Soren moved immediately. "Careful your majesty," he murmured, reaching out as if to steady me.

I shook my head, taking a step back before his hand could find me. "I’m fine."

"You shouldn’t—"

"I said I’m fine."

He studied me quietly for a heartbeat, then inclined his head, yielding with that graceful politeness that somehow made me feel even smaller.

"We don’t need to wait," I said. My voice was steadier than I expected. "I’m ready to leave."

His eyes flicked to the bandages on my arm, the faint scorch along my wrist, but he didn’t argue. Maybe he saw there was no point.

Every inch of my body hurt, but pain was nothing new. It was an old companion. What I couldn’t bear was another night spent in this palace, another breath of air that still tasted like him.

I moved toward the door, half out of instinct, half out of desperation to move. To do anything that wasn’t lying there under the weight of Soren’s concern.

He caught my wrist before I reached the handle. "Where are you going?"

"My chamber."

"Why?"

The word fell too easily from his mouth, light but edged.

I frowned, pulling lightly at my arm. "I didn’t know I had to document every step I take to you now."

The faintest curve appeared on his lips, not quite a smile, more like a reminder that he didn’t scare easily. "You don’t," he said softly. "I just don’t think you should go back there. For your own good."

The words might have sounded patronizing from anyone else. From him, they sounded like truth.

I sighed, letting my shoulders drop. "Fine."

He released my wrist slowly, as though reluctant to let go.

"Stay," he said, motioning toward the bed. "You should rest. I’ve ordered your maid to prepare you for the journey."

My eyes flicked up to his. "And you?"

"There’s something I need to take care of before we leave."

He turned toward the door before I could ask what, and in that subtle, effortless way of his, the space seemed to empty of air when he was gone.

Moments later, the maids entered.

They were careful not to meet my eyes, bowing quickly before setting to work. The sound of silk and metal filled the quiet, fabric shifting, clasps tightening, the muted rustle of fear in the air.

I could feel it, their unease, their eagerness to be done with me. The way their hands trembled slightly as they buttoned the high collar of my gown, as if I might combust again at any second.

Perhaps I might.

The scent of rosewater lingered as they pinned up my hair. It smelled too clean, too soft for me.

When they finished, they stepped back in unison, heads lowered. None of them dared to speak.

I looked at myself in the mirror, pale, composed, unrecognizable. Every inch of me was covered, hidden, contained.

The fire still smoldered beneath the surface, but the reflection showed nothing of it.

"Enough," I said quietly.

The maids bowed and scurried away, relief clinging to their skirts as they left.

When the last door shut, I stood alone again.

The air felt thinner now. The walls closer. The weight of departure pressing down on everything.

I straightened my shoulders, inhaled once, then walked out.

This time, I didn’t look back.