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“You shouldn’t have come back,” he says finally.

“Why?” I ask. “Because it makes things complicated for you?”

He whirls around. His tail slaps the ground, wings snapping open with a sudden crack.

“Because,” he snarls, voice low and rough, “I can’t think straight when you’re near.”

My heart stutters. It feels like a void opened between us, one that has a gravitational pull, drawing me towards him. I stiffen, holding myself in place, not giving in to the raging feelings and thoughts that have no place in a negotiation with my peoples very existence on the line.

“That’s your weakness, not mine,” I say, carefully keeping my voice neutral so as not to betray the storm happening in my head and in my core.

He stalks towards me. Slow and deliberate. I refuse to move. I stiffen, refusing to be prey in his lair. I will not flinch before the storm.

“You think this is just about a trinket and pretty words?” he growls. “You think because you bring me one scrap of proof that I’ll forget what your people did?”

“No,” I say quietly. “I think you remember it all too well. I think you use it to justify the walls you’ve built around your heart.”

He freezes. Fury flares in his eyes. But beneath it… something else. Pain. Loss.

“I have lost too much,” he says. “My people have died in this war, how am I supposed to forgive that?”

“You’ve lost, I do not deny it, but I have lost too. More even. I already admitted to you that we have lost this war. I admit surrender, to you.” I step closer. “And yet, I came back.”

Our breath mingles. Close. Intimate.

“I hate that I want you,” he growls.

“Then stop fighting me.”

His hand slams against the wall beside my head. The breadth of him surrounds me.

“You are infuriating.”

“And you,” I whisper, “are scared.”

The words strike like a lash. He snarls, but doesn’t move away.

“You don’t know me.”

“I know enough. You pretend to lead without doubts, but they are eating you alive.”

He leans in, so close his lips brush my temple when he speaks.

“And what would you have me do?”

“Open the door. Let the resistance help. Let me help.”

His hand lifts, almost to touch my face, but he pulls back at the last second, fist clenching at his side.

“If I do this… if I let you in…”

“We might survive,” I finish for him. “Or we might not. But you will have tried.”

Another long silence. His eyes flicker to my lips. Then back to my eyes.

“I should hate you.”

“You probably do.”