Page 72 of A Bond so Fierce and Fragile

She saw him not as the regent everyone feared, wondering how he’d become so powerful, but as the boy who had been born into a cruel world, who’d made mistakes and paid for them, but tried to do what he could to make his nation a better place.

Loche shook his head as the memories of their final time together, before it all went to shit, replaced the ones of today.

He was pretty certain he preferred not to remember the good times with Lessia, and he balled his hands so snugly, it felt like all blood drained from them.

Loche didn’t want to dream of her laugh—the one he’d heard too few times, but which appeared ingrained in his memory. He didn’t want to see her twirl in the damned dress he’d purchased for her, when she stole his breath with how beautiful she looked.

He didn’t want to remember the feel of her skin beneath his hands. The way her lips melted against his. The way she breathed when she was excited or scared.

She wasn’t his, and… he knew now she never would be.

Not after what he did to her.

Lessia calling his name that day—the desperation, the pain, the fear in her voice—filled most of his nightmares, and he dreaded sleeping because of it.

Back then, he’d thought it was the only way…

But it had cost him everything.

As soon as he’d caught her eyes in that damned cabin after his men had captured her and the Fae warriors, he knew it was over.

The way she hovered by Merrick wasn’t for protection. It was as if those two were drawn to each other wherever they went, like two forces that couldn’t be apart.

Loche sighed.

He’d heard of the Fae’s mates, but he didn’t really understand it—didn’t understand how Lessia, who resented anyone for taking away her choices, could stand it.

But…

At least Merrick loved her with everything in him.

Loche had seen the fear in his eyes today, and while he felt for the Fae, because that fear resounded in him as well, he was grateful for it. Merrick would die for Lessia—exactly like Loche would have if she’d chosen him.

“May… may I join you?”

He almost pinched himself to make sure that it wasn’t another dream—that it truly was Lessia who walked over from the cabin inside, her matted hair and empty eyes illuminated only by the moon that hung high above them in the sky.

Forcing himself to nod, Loche stepped to the side, allowing her to take the spot by the railing beside him where he stood in the bow, and as she settled, he placed a hand atop the wooden sea wyvern that hung there.

“Can’t sleep?” He couldn’t meet her eyes again, not now, when her scent joined the salty wooden one of the ship, so he looked out over the restless sea, where the moon’s reflection played in the waves.

“No.”

Her voice was so small, so broken. So full of guilt, he could taste it.

Fuck. He had to turn to face her, and when he met those pain-filled amber eyes, saw the torment that seemed to hurt her more than any of the broken bones and wounds she carried, he opened his arms.

To his surprise, Lessia walked right into them, and he had to fight with everything in him not to burrow his face into her hair, pull that intoxicating scent of hers deep into his lungs.

“It’s not your fault,” Loche whispered when she continued trembling in his arms.

“Everyone keeps saying that.” She sniffed. “But if not partly mine, whose is it?”

“Rioner’s. It’s only Rioner’s fault.” Loche pulled back to look at her, trying to keep his voice even as he faced the broken woman he still loved. “I know you think you’re responsible, I know the guilt you think you must carry, but it’s unwarranted, Lessia. You have done nothing wrong.”

A mixture of a sob and a snort left her. “Nothing wrong? I spied on you! I told my king your secrets! I… I took your memories and feelings, and then I… I didn’t know.”

Her face crumbled. “I didn’t know,” she whispered again. “I didn’t know, and I hurt you. Like I’ve hurt everyone.”