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Chapter Forty-Five

Aleksander

For two days, I’ve tried to forget the way Annora glared at me after I ordered her to destroy that village—her eyes smoldering with hatred and revulsion.

Time and again, I tell myself it doesn’t matter. Her opinion is meaningless. Yet every time I close my eyes, that look resurfaces, reminding me of my father.

Does she know what she has done? How she has reopened wounds I’ve spent summers trying to cauterize?

Probably not.

Torchlight flickers across the canvas walls as I pace the length of my tent. Still, Annora’s eyes haunt me, pierce me, accuse me.

Damn her.

I pull out the false gold and squeeze my fingers around it.

“You’re the fool, Alek. The spare who doesn’t matter.”

I grit my teeth, trying to silence my father’s voice, but it refuses to be silenced.

“Brooding doesn’t suit you.”

I turn to find Kythara standing at the entrance of my tent, arms crossed, dark eyes fixed on me. As usual, she wears black armor, but it does little to hide the henna tattoos that wrap around her hands and wrists. Today, only dark, bold lines, and swirls adorn her skin—no shapes, no patterns.

“What do you want?” I shove the rock back into my cloak, hiding it away.

“Nothing. I’m just wondering why you’re skulking alone in the dark.” Torchlight shimmers across her face as she steps inside without waiting for an invitation.

I lift my brow. “Are you concerned for my well-being?”

“Hardly. But if you’re losing your edge, that’s a problem for all of us.”

I smirk and lean against the table. “Don’t worry about me. Focus on your own duties.”

“Maybe I would if you were actually leading instead of whatever this is,” she says, gesturing at me.

I narrow my eyes. “Your audacity never ceases to amaze me.”

“And your arrogance never ceases to disappoint.” She fires back without missing a beat.

A muscle clenches in my jaw. “Careful, Kythara.”

“Or what?” Her gaze doesn’t waver as she continues. “You’ll have me burned like those villagers?”

Anger spikes through me. “Mind your tongue.”

She steps closer, the scent of lilacs trailing behind her. “You’re spiraling, Sander. May I call you Sander?” When I don’t respond, she continues. “Anyone can see that you’re spiraling.”

“What do you know about anything?” I lash out, not caring if I sound hostile. “You think you understand me?”

“I don’t need to understand you to see that you’re letting your demons control you.” Her voice softens just a fraction. “Whatever’s bothering you, fix it. We can’t afford a leader who’s lost in his own head.”

“I don’t answer to you.”

“Maybe not. But you owe it to those who follow you not to lead them off a cliff.” Strands of black hair slip over her shoulder as she tilts her head. “Or is this about proving something?”

“Get out,” I growl, no longer willing to play this game with her.

“Gladly.” She turns on her heel but pauses at the tent’s entrance. “And Sander, holding onto false gold won’t make it real.” Her eyes flick to the bulge in my cloak before she disappears into the night.

“Fuck!” The curse explodes from me as I grab the false gold and throw it across the room.

Sadly, it changes nothing. The voices in my head. The guilt. The undeniable truth.

They ring through my ears like a bell that never stops tolling—each echo saying what I do not want to hear: it’s impossible to bury the past when ghosts refuse to stay dead.

Determined to forget about Annora and Kythara, I step out of my tent a short while later. Both women irritate me, but in different ways. Annora with her endless supply of moral righteousness, and Kythara with her sharp tongue.

Maybe Asha is still awake.

I turn toward her tent and push back the flap, but as I step inside, a chill runs through me. Asha’s fingers tangle in Titanus’ hair as he pulls her closer, their lips meeting in a heated kiss.

“Well,” I drawl, keeping my voice light. “Isn’t this cozy?”

They spring apart like guilty children. Titanus’ face remains stoic, but Asha’s eyes widen, and her mouth opens and closes, as if she’s desperately trying to find the right words.

“Aleksander—”

“—there’s no need to explain.” I lean against the tent pole, adopting an air of casual indifference I don’t feel. “Though, I must admit, I’m impressed by your ability to maintain appearances. Here I thought you had no room in your heart for romance.”

Asha’s eyes narrow. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Point out your hypocrisy?” A smirk pulls at my lips as I continue. “Or perhaps you simply meant you had no room for romance with me?”

My chest constricts as the pieces click into place—her constant rejections, the way she pulls away from my touch.

All this time, she’s been with him.

“Alek,” she says as she takes a step toward me, but I raise my hand to stop her.

My gaze locks onto Titanus, who stands there like a golden statue, proud and unmoved. “Leave us.”

The commander’s eyes flick to Asha, seeking permission even now, and she nods. He bows stiffly and walks past me, his armor clinking with each step as he exits the tent.

Asha speaks the moment we’re alone. “I can explain.”

“Explain what?” I ask, not bothering to hide my anger. “How long you’ve been lying to me? Making a fool of me?”

“You don’t understand—”

“—I understand perfectly.” I move closer, close enough to see the rapid pulse in her throat. “You never intended to be faithful to me, did you?”

Her silence is answer enough.

Something inside me splinters, a crack spreading through my chest like ice breaking over a frozen lake. “I should have known you were only using me.”

“That’s not fair,” she says, but her words are empty, like everything else between us has been.

“Isn’t it?” The question hangs between us like a poisoned blade.

She flinches but doesn’t back away from me. “You and I are different. Surely, you see that. You must know I could never love you.”

“You’re right, Asha. The only person you love is yourself.”

A storm brews behind her eyes as she speaks in a flat voice. “This isn’t about love. It’s about duty.”

“Duty?” I scoff. “Is that what you call sneaking around with your commander behind my back?”

She crosses her arms. “I owe you nothing. Our arrangement was always political.”

“Don’t insult me,” I snap.

“If you saw more, that’s on you. I never promised you my heart.”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “No, you just dangled it like a carrot, keeping me close when it suited you.”

“This war is bigger than us,” she insists. “Bigger than petty jealousies.”

“Don’t trivialize this. You manipulated me.”

She shakes her head. “I partnered with you because it was strategic. Personal feelings were never part of the equation.”

“Maybe not for you,” I say, a sharp edge to my words. “But I won’t be made a fool of.”

She takes a breath, steadying herself. “What do you want from me, Aleksander?”

“The truth. Why string me along when you clearly had no intention of honoring our betrothal?”

A flicker of something passes over her face. “Aligning our houses was necessary. Emotion had nothing to do with it.”

A cold realization settles over me as I shake my head. “You used me to bolster your power, just as my father always said others would.”

“This isn’t about your father.”

“Everything is about him!” The words burst out before I can stop them. “Every shadow, every doubt—he planted them all, and you’ve only proven him right.”

I watch her face, searching for any hint of remorse, but find only that stubborn pride that first drew me to her.

My mind races through every interaction, every subtle touch, every time she pulled away. All those moments I dismissed as grief or trauma now reveal themselves as calculated moves in a game I didn’t know we were playing.

How many times did she meet with Titanus after leaving my company? How many sweet lies did she whisper to keep me compliant while she pursued her true desires?

A familiar darkness unfurls in my chest, the same one that sprouted the day my father handed me that worthless piece of metal.

Second best. Always second best. The spare. The shadow. The fool who dares to reach for something real.

The worst part isn’t even the betrayal—it’s that I allowed myself to hope. To believe that someone might choose me first.

But Asha is just like all the rest, using me for my power, my position, my ability to further her goals.

I want to hate her. The gods know I want to hate her. But beneath the rage and humiliation, there’s something else—a grudging respect for how thoroughly she played me. In another life, we might have made quite the pair, two broken souls carving our way through the world.

But now?

Now I see her clearly for the first time. Not as the grieving sister or the passionate rebel, but as someone just like me—willing to sacrifice anything, anyone , to achieve her goals.

The recognition doesn’t bring the satisfaction I expected. Instead, it leaves me hollow, like I’m staring into a looking glass that shows all my worst traits reflected back at me.

“I’m sorry if you misunderstood,” she says after a while.

Her apology is meaningless.

I speak in an icy voice. “We’re done, Asha.”

Without waiting for her answer, I turn, push past the tent flap, and step into the night air.