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I floated some more, feeling less weightless and more solid. Later, when he spoke about his father, I remembered seeing the portrait of him. I recalled talking to him.

“Do you do that?” I asked, staring at the painting of the woman. She was beautiful, with deep, wine-red hair framing skin painted a rosy pink on an oval-shaped face. Her brows were strong, her silver-eyed gaze piercing. Piercing like his. Her cheekbones were high, and her mouth was full. “Do you often accept the aid of others?”

“Not as often as I should.” His voice was closer.

“Then maybe you don’t know if that is brave or not.” My attention had shifted to the painting of the male, and I felt my breath catch then. And it did so now. His hair was shoulder-length and black…

But his hair wasn’t as dark. It was a shade of brown with red undertones. A chestnut color. They shared the same features. A strong jaw and broad cheekbones. A straight nose and a wide mouth, but his was more defined than his father’s. He’d gotten sharper angles from his mother.

I could see him in my mind now as he spoke of following his father as a child, and he was striking. Had a beauty that bordered on cruel. Perfect to me. For me.

Later, he spoke of how he used to follow his father around a large palace as a child. “He never grew tired of my presence,” he said. “He wanted me with him. I think because I reminded him of my mother, even though I also resembled him. When he spoke about her, it was the only time I saw him smile—really smile. Fates, liessa, he loved her so much.”

Their story was a tragic one that had ended in betrayal and jealousy.

“He was so damn strong. He never completely lost himself to the agony of her loss,” he shared. His voice turned sad, and it made me sad. “He remained kind and compassionate, even though he’d lost a part of himself. I don’t know how he did it. How he continued on for as long as he did.”

A whisper of a touch brushed my jaw. “I wanted to be as strong as my father, but I wasn’t him.”

“It has nothing to do with strength,” that raspier voice of fire joined his, and I…I felt weight on my legs.

Frowning, I looked at where my legs drifted in the water. I saw nothing, but I felt a familiar weight I knew but couldn’t quite place.

“Eythos had many more years on him than you,” the other voice said, and images flashed in my mind of a tall man with copper skin and long, dark hair streaked with red. “And he changed, Ash.”

My heart thudded heavily. Ash. I knew that name. He was the nightmare that had become my dream. The calm in my storm. My strength when I was weak. The breath when I couldn’t breathe. He was more than my King. My husband.

Ash was the other half of my heart and soul.

“He was never the same,” the other continued. “And if you hadn’t lived? He would’ve wasted away.”

There was a gap of silence, and then, “And if I’d lost her?” Ash replied. “I wouldn’t have wasted away. I would’ve destroyed everything.”

“I know,” the other said, the voice so heavy I felt the truth of it in my bones.

Because I was the other half of Ash’s soul. His heart. And nothing was more powerful than that—or more dangerous.

“But that will not come to pass,” the other said. “You saved her.”

He had.

That other voice was right, and I knew his name, didn’t I? He had once told me that not everyone can always be okay. He’d made me agree that if I…if I ever wasn’t okay, I would talk to him. That we’d…

We’ll make sure you’re okay.

Nektas.

That was his name.

Tears stung my throat and eyes, his offer meaning the world to me because Nektas knew that life was worth living, even when it was often unfair and the injustices seemed to stack up. Hardships didn’t always happen for a reason. Sometimes, the Fates didn’t have a greater plan.

But even when it began to feel like a chore one had to force themselves to complete, life was still worth living.

Even when it was unfair and heartbreaking, dark and full of the unknown, life was still worth living.

Because rewards could be found among the chores. Little pieces of enjoyment that would come to mean something. Darkness always gave way to the light if given time, and while some heartbreaks may never completely heal, living allowed there to be space for new sources of happiness and pleasure.

Life was worth living even when it was full of unfairness and injustice. When the heart felt light and when the chest was too tight to breathe.