Page 28

She flinches, sorrow twisting her features. “All right,” she whispers, voice unsteady. “If that’s your decision, then tell me where to go.”

I can’t bear the look in her eyes, yet I force myself to hold it. “I haven’t decided,” I admit, my voice dropping to a near growl. “But I have to consider it.”

She nods once, tears glistening but not falling. “Then let me know,” she says, turning away. “I won’t cling where I’m not wanted.”

A furious denial surges in my chest, but the potion dampens my reflex to reach for her.

Instead, I stand motionless, tail coiled around my leg, mouth pressed thin.

She strides back inside, posture rigid, leaving me in the gathering dusk with nothing but the ache of regret.

The tension rips through my chest, but the concoction in my system stifles it into a cold, throbbing hole.

Time crawls after her departure, my mind swirling in a haze of guilt and something akin to heartbreak.

Night deepens, and the courtyard grows dim.

Eventually, I reenter the manor, steps echoing on stone.

I find myself gravitating toward my personal chambers, tail dragging across the floor with lethargy.

The staff vanish from sight, sensing my dark mood.

When I reach my chamber, I see a figure seated on a cushioned chair near the brazier: Sahrine. She must have let herself in, presumably to check on me. Her sightless eyes shift in my direction the moment I enter.

She speaks softly. “I gather you spoke to her.”

I grunt, crossing to the brazier, letting its warmth seep into my scales. “It’s done. She knows the risk.”

Sahrine’s voice gains an edge of sadness. “And how did she take it?”

I exhale shakily. “She’s hurt. I told her I might send her away.”

Sahrine’s cane taps once on the floor. “Might,” she echoes. “That means you’re still unsure?”

I glare at her, tail flicking with subdued frustration. “This is no trifling matter. I can’t simply keep a human in my bed. The council?—”

“Yes, the council,” Sahrine says, cutting me off. “You’ve always feared their wrath, and rightly so. But look at you. You’re using potions that dull your senses. You argue with your own reflection. You push away the only person who makes you more than just a weapon.”

I clench my fists, lips pulled tight. The numbness from the potion makes me incapable of fully lashing out, but the undercurrent of anger simmers. “She doesn’t deserve the retribution that could fall upon her if the council learns of this. Let me handle it in my own way.”

Her shoulders slump. “Handle it by exiling her? Or doping yourself until you’re a husk?” The cane taps again, frustration creeping into her voice. “That’s a bleak solution.”

I turn from the brazier, tail sliding across the rug in a slow arc. “Better bleak than seeing her punished for my actions.” My tone emerges clipped, mechanical, thanks to the potion’s effect.

Sahrine sighs, rising from the chair. “My lord, even exiling her might not keep the council from prying. They’ll sense your shift in alliances. They might chase her down to unearth a scandal, or use her as leverage. Is that truly safer?”

My throat tightens. I can’t muster a retort. The walls of my carefully constructed justifications feel paper-thin. The hush that falls is profound, pregnant with the knowledge that none of my plans ensure her safety or mine.

Sahrine sets her free hand on my forearm, a rare gesture of genuine empathy. “Consider speaking with her honestly. If you plan to keep her safe, at least do it with clarity, not secrecy. She’s stronger than you give her credit for.”

I stand rigid, warring impulses clashing behind my eyes. The numbness robs me of the impetus to shout or break something, leaving me paralyzed. “Go,” I whisper at last. “I need to be alone.”

With a quiet nod, she departs, cane tapping out the door.

The latch clicks behind her, leaving me in my dimly lit chamber.

My tail drags across the rug as I cross to the bed, the very space where I once believed I could command my destiny.

Now it feels like a trap. My head throbs, and I sink onto the edge of the mattress, burying my face in my hands.

Images swirl: Mira’s tear-bright eyes, the night we spent in a frantic, beautiful tangle.

The numbness tries to seal those memories behind a fog, but they burn through anyway.

Crick’s warning. Sahrine’s caution. Mira’s heartbreak.

My coiled terror that I’ll see her snatched away by the council’s decree or forced to watch me stand trial for violating tradition.

I draw a ragged breath, feeling as though I’m drowning in a tide of conflicting demands.

The estate’s silence feels taunting now, a hollow echo of the quiet I once craved.

But this quiet harbors too many unspoken possibilities: if I let her stay, I risk destruction.

If I send her away, I risk a deeper kind of ruin within myself.

Dusk deepens to full night, shadows stretching across the stone floors. My body remains heavy with the suppressor’s effect, yet my mind churns, unrelenting. I replay the moment she asked if it was a mistake. The pain in her voice reopens a wound I’ve tried to keep shut.

Some time later, I rise and approach the window. A faint breeze stirs, carrying the scent of damp foliage and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. My reflection in the glass reveals the gold in my eyes dulled, like a flame behind frosted glass. Tension lines my face, jaw tight.

I lean my forehead against the cool window, letting the outside chill my thoughts. If the council’s tyranny is inevitable, do I have it in me to stand and fight for her, for what we shared? Or will I sabotage this fragile bond to preserve the status quo? The question tears me apart inside.

My tail lashes once, hitting a low table and rattling a vase.

I hiss in frustration, forcing myself to breathe.

The numbness is wearing off, replaced by an undercurrent of panic.

Another dose of the suppressor sits in the library, but I can’t face that again tonight.

I fear I’ll lose the last shred of clarity I possess.

A gentle knock slices through my spiraling thoughts. I stiffen, expecting Sahrine or perhaps Crick. Instead, a timid voice speaks from the other side: “My lord?”

It’s Mira’s voice. My heart seizes, warring with the urge to remain silent. But my traitorous mouth forms words. “Enter.”

She steps inside, hugging her arms around her torso. She’s dressed in a plain linen shift, hair pinned back haphazardly, as though she left her room in haste. Moonlight filters through the window, illuminating her tense posture.

I realize I’m half-dressed—just a simple robe across my chest, scaled arms exposed, the potent lines of my shoulders taut. She sees me near the window, tail coiled in agitation. Her gaze flicks to the small table bearing scattered scrolls and the faint shimmer of a half-empty vial.

She breathes quietly. “I wanted to see if you were... if you needed anything.”

A bitter chuckle threatens, but I keep it in. “I need many things,” I say, voice rough. “But none that you can fix.”

Her throat works, swallowing. “I’m not here to fix you,” she murmurs, stepping closer. “I just... I can’t bear leaving things unsaid.”

My chest constricts. “What is there to say?”

She halts a pace away, the tension between us palpable. “You keep talking about punishing yourself or sending me away to save me from the council. But no matter what you do, you’re tormented.” Her eyes search mine. “Have you considered that maybe you don’t have to face this alone?”

A strange ache clutches my heart, fighting the residue of the suppressor. “If I let you stand by me, the consequences?—”

“—might still be less destructive than what you’re doing to yourself,” she finishes gently. Her gaze drifts to the half-empty vial near the desk. “You’re taking potions to numb your feelings. That doesn’t look like safety to me.”

I can’t speak for a moment. My tail trembles, betraying the surge of emotion welling behind my carefully erected walls. She senses my hesitation and lifts her hand, hesitating before placing it on my forearm. The contact sends a jolt through me—her warmth colliding with the residual numbness.

“Mira,” I whisper, voice ragged. “You don’t understand the depth of naga law. I’ve spat on everything they hold sacred by taking you without ritual.”

She exhales slowly. “I can’t claim I understand all their rules. But I know what I feel when I’m with you. If it’s worth the risk for me—shouldn’t that matter?”

My breath shudders, the last of the suppressant’s haze peeling back to reveal the raw longing I tried to bury. Her palm on my scales is both comforting and agonizing. “I can’t guarantee your safety, or that of my domain, if the council decides to act.”

She steps closer, until I catch the faint scent of soap lingering on her skin. “Let me help you fight,” she says, voice trembling with resolve. “Or let me stand at your side, at least.”

A swirl of conflicting emotions churns: fear, hope, desire, and an undercurrent of shame that I’m letting her shoulder my burdens. I recall Sahrine’s words—that sending Mira away or drugging myself might be worse than facing the council’s wrath with honesty.

In a moment of desperate vulnerability, I raise my hand and brush my knuckles over her cheek. She leans into the contact, eyes fluttering shut. My tail, uncoiling from tension, circles gently around her waist, not caging but holding her near. She breathes a quiet sigh.

Her presence soothes the gnawing panic, if only for an instant.

I see in her eyes that she’s willing to stand with me, even though fear lurks behind her resolve.

Something inside me cracks, releasing a surge of affection laced with protectiveness.

For the first time in years, I let the stirring warmth in my chest override the coil of caution.

I lower my forehead to hers, our breaths mingling. “I am afraid,” I confess, voice barely above a whisper. “Not just of the council, but of losing you. And losing myself again.”

She slides her arms around my waist, pressing close. “We’ll find a way,” she whispers. “Together.”

For a moment, I just hold her, letting the hush cradle us.

The temptation to sweep her back into my bed flares, but I resist, mindful of the chaos swirling in my mind.

We’ve already crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed.

But perhaps acknowledging this bond openly, rather than hiding it in potions and denials, is the first step to surviving the storm.

I exhale slowly, releasing some of the tension. “No more secrets,” I murmur. “If we face the council’s wrath, we do so knowing what we risk.”

She nods, tears glistening, though she blinks them away. “Thank you,” she breathes, as if the words come from the depths of her soul.

I ease my tail away, letting her take a half step back. My eyes drift to the half-empty vial on the desk, and a wave of distaste surges in my gut. The solution I craved now feels like a poison that robs me of the very real emotions I can’t pretend to despise any longer.

“Go,” I say gently to Mira, guiding her toward the door. “Rest. We’ll speak more in the morning, figure out our approach.”

She hesitates, then nods. “I’ll wait for you.” With a last, searching glance, she steps out into the corridor and disappears into the gloom.

Alone once more, I pivot toward the desk, tail flicking in a decisive arc.

With one sweep of my arm, I knock the leftover potion to the floor, shattering the glass.

Liquid seeps across the stone, giving off that pungent smell.

A sense of finality settles over me. I won’t rely on such crutches again, no matter how terrified I am of the path ahead.

My chest rises with a slow breath. Consequences still loom, but I won’t face them by numbing myself or banishing her.

If a confrontation is inevitable, so be it.

At least I’ll fight with a clear mind, fueled by something stronger than fear.

The hush of the chamber no longer feels like a prison; it’s simply the quiet before the struggle that will define us.

I stride to the window, inhaling the night air.

The distant jungle calls, whispering of ancient laws and savage hearts.

The moon hangs low, casting silver over the courtyard.

My tail sways, no longer locked by tension.

I can almost feel the steady drum of possibility, the pulse of a future I never imagined sharing with a human.

One step at a time, I remind myself. Tomorrow, I’ll face the estate, the staff, and the looming specter of the council with open eyes.

No potions, no more denials. If I must guard Mira from the entire naga world, I’ll find a way.

Her safety and the strange bond that’s grown between us matter more than playing by rules designed to keep hearts frozen.

I rest my hand against the cool window frame, letting the final vestiges of the suppressor’s numbness fade.

A swirl of desire, protectiveness, and apprehension settles in my blood, vibrant and real.

This might well break me or lead me to a new future beyond the confines of exile.

But for now, I’ll chase that new dawn with every coil of strength I possess.

I close my eyes, breathing in the moment. Yes, consequences wait for me. But so does the memory of her gentle voice, her unwavering presence in my arms. The cost may be high, yet a quiet determination steels my spine. I will face what comes, and I will not let her stand alone.

With that resolve echoing through me, I turn away from the window, tail sliding behind, the hush of night transforming into a vow. Tomorrow, the confrontation begins, but at least I do not face it empty-handed or alone.