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Chapter Forty-Six

Aleksander

I grip a terracotta jar full of wine and sink onto a log by a dying campfire. The stars mock me as I tip the jar back, letting the bitter spirits burn down my throat.

How dare Asha use me like that, play me like that?

Footsteps crunch softly behind me. I don’t bother to look up.

Without a word, someone slides onto the log opposite me. A slender hand reaches out and plucks the jar from my grasp.

My eyes snap up, meeting Kythara’s gaze. Her eyes stay locked with mine as she tilts the jar to her lips, taking a long drink.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask.

A hint of a smirk plays on her lips as she lowers the jar. “Sharing.”

“I didn’t peg you for a thief.”

“And I didn’t peg you for a sulking child.” She hands the jar back.

Not bothering with niceties, I snatch it from her. “Shouldn’t you be sharpening your sword or scowling at someone else?”

Firelight softens her features as she leans back and shrugs. “The night’s young, and there is plenty of time for both.”

“This camp is vast. There are plenty of fires to choose from.”

“True.” From the stack next to the fire, she picks up a small stick and twirls it between her fingers. “But none as dramatic as yours.”

I lift the jar to my lips, taking a long drink before replying. “If you’re here to provoke me, you’re wasting your time.”

“Who’s provoking?” she asks as she digs the stick into the ground. “Perhaps I prefer company that’s less dull.”

“Why aren’t you with your friends?”

She snorts. “Friends….”

“Don’t tell me the fierce Kythara doesn’t have any companions to share the night with.”

“Companions come and go.” She leans forward. “So, why are you brooding by yourself?”

The anger returns, coiling tight in my chest as I stiffen. “That’s none of your concern.”

“Maybe not.” Sparks shoot into the air as she tosses the stick into the fire. “But sometimes it helps to talk.”

“Since when do you care?”

The lines near her mouth soften a fraction. “I don’t. But like I said, the night’s young, and you’re moderately interesting.”

She reaches out, and I hand her the jar without protest. Her fingers brush mine—calloused, steady.

“Are you stalking me?” I ask as she takes a long drink, then lowers the wine to her thigh.

A ghost of a smile crosses her lips. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

I extend my hand for the jar, and she passes it back.

Silence settles between us, broken only by the whisper of the wind and the distant murmur of the night watch.

“You’re surprisingly quiet tonight,” she says, breaking the silence first.

“Disappointed?”

She tilts her head, as if she’s trying to figure me out. “I thought you’d be spouting grand plans or brooding about your latest conquest.”

“Is that what you think of me?”

She arches an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

“Not entirely.”

She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “So, which is it tonight? Grand plans or brooding?”

I glance away. “Neither.”

“Ah. Something new, then.”

“You’re awfully curious.”

“Consider it a passing interest.”

I take another drink before offering the jar back to her. “To passing interests, then.”

She accepts the jar and takes a long drink. As she lowers it, she pins me with those dark eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

I feign ignorance. “Which one was that?”

“What’s got you out here alone?” She’s relentless, this one.

I shrug, trying for nonchalance. “Maybe I prefer the quiet.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

Two can play at this game. “At least I have people who want to be around me. The only time anyone approaches you is during training, and that’s because they have to.”

Something shifts in her gaze, the playful spark dimming. “Maybe I was wrong.”

“About what?” I prod.

She sets the jar down with a thud. “Thinking you’d be less insufferable tonight.”

She stands abruptly and walks away.

Silence settles around me, broken only by the occasional pop of the dying embers. I stare into the flames, watching them dance and flicker, until they’re nothing more than glowing coals.

I don’t move. I can’t. It’s as if I’m frozen in place, trapped in a world that exists only in my memories. A world where my father’s disappointment and disdain were as constant as the sun rising in the east.

His voice echoes in my mind, as clear as if he were standing right beside me. “You’re a fool. A spare who doesn’t matter. You’ll always be nothing.”

I still see his face, the way he looked at me that day when I was fourteen. The day he gave me the false gold, the day he shattered any illusions I had about his love for me. To him, I was nothing more than a pale imitation of my brother.

The summers have passed, but the sting of that moment has never faded. It’s driven me, pushed me to be better, to be more. To prove him wrong.

But now, sitting alone by the dying fire, I wonder if he was right all along. If I am nothing more than a fool, chasing after things I can never truly have.