Page 44 of Realms of Swords and Storms (Empire of Vengeance #3)

"This is insane," he said finally, running a hand through his hair.

"You can't possibly expect me to believe that you're fine with.

.. with this. With what we've done." He gestured between himself and me, unable to even name it.I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to me. Septimus’s eyes narrowed instantly, but I didn’t give a fuck.

"Septimus hates himself for wanting me," I explained to Livia, though his words were clearly meant for me.

"He can fuck me in the dark, but he can't bear to acknowledge me in the light.

I'm good enough to satisfy his lust, but not good enough to be seen with.

Not good enough to be respected. Not good enough to love. "

Each word was a blade, precisely aimed to draw blood.

And gods, they hit their mark. Septimus took an actual step back, as though my words had wounded him.

The worst part was, I wasn't wrong. I had used him, true, but there had always been something deeper for me, but Septimus had always taken what he wanted while giving nothing in return but contempt.

"Is this true?" Livia asked, her gaze now fixed on him.

Septimus met her eyes directly. "Yes."

She didn't flinch, didn't look away. She simply studied him, as if seeing him clearly for the first time. "Why didn't you tell me?"

A harsh sound escaped him, not quite a laugh. "Tell you what? That I've been fucking a half-breed? That I hate myself for wanting him? That every time I'm with him, I feel like I'm betraying everything I've ever believed in?"

“Septimus…” She reached out, taking his hand in hers. "I love you both. I always have. The only thing that's hurt me is watching you tear yourself apart trying to deny what's between you. Watching you pull away from me because you thought I wouldn't understand."

Septimus stared at her as if she'd started speaking another language. "You love me," he repeated, the words seeming to catch in his throat. "Even after this? Even knowing what I've done?"

"Especially after this," she said. "Because now you can stop hiding. Stop pretending. Stop hating yourself for something that isn't wrong."

Hope flickered across his face, a candle flame in a storm—fragile, wavering, on the verge of being extinguished.

I held my breath, suddenly desperate for him to believe her, to accept what she was offering.

The realization struck me with startling clarity: I wanted this to work.

Not just for Livia's sake, but for my own.

Despite everything—the insults, the violence, the rejection—I still wanted him.

Still loved him in a way that defied simple explanation.

But then his gaze shifted to me, and the flame died. His expression hardened, the walls slamming back into place with an almost audible crash.

"It is wrong," he said, his voice flat and cold.

"Everything about this is wrong. He's Talfen, Livia.

The enemy. The reason our village burned, the reason your brother died.

And now you're telling me you love him? That you expect me to what—share you with him?

To admit that I—" He broke off, his voice cracking.

"That you what?" I pressed, unable to stop myself. "That you feel something for me too? That it's not just lust or shame or self-hatred? Say it, Septimus. For once in your life, say what you actually feel."

His eyes met mine, and for a heartbeat, I saw it—the raw, naked truth behind all his defences. The longing, the confusion, the desperate need he couldn't bring himself to name. My heart lurched painfully in my chest, hope rising despite my better judgment.

Then the moment passed, and his expression shuttered closed.

"What I feel," he said, his voice glacial, "is disgust. At myself, for letting this happen. At you, for corrupting her. At both of you, for thinking I could ever accept this perversion."

The words struck like physical blows, each one calculated to inflict maximum damage. I knew it was his fear talking, his panic at being exposed, at being vulnerable. But knowing that didn't lessen the pain.

"Septimus," Livia began, reaching for him, but he stepped back, avoiding her touch.

"Don't," he said, his voice cracking. "Just... don't."

He turned toward the door, his shoulders rigid with tension. At the threshold, he paused, not looking back.

"You need to know something else," he said, the words directed at the doorframe.

"Tarshi is a demon. I’ve seen it, seen the evil beneath his skin try to escape, watched him rip Varin apart in his rage.

" He glanced back then, his eyes meeting Livia's.

"Did he tell you that part? Or was he keeping that secret too? "

Livia's expression didn't change. "I know what he is," she said steadily. "I've known for weeks. I've watched him transform. And it only makes me love him more."

Something broke in Septimus's face—the last fragile thread of hope, perhaps. He nodded once, a sharp, painful gesture.

"Then you're both lost," he said, and walked out, the door closing with a finality that echoed in the sudden silence.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. The room felt colder without him, emptier somehow. I stared at the closed door, half-expecting him to return, to say he didn't mean it, that he was scared but willing to try. But the door remained closed, and the silence stretched between us like a void.

Livia moved first, crossing to where I stood and wrapping her arms around me. I held her tightly, feeling the fine tremors running through her body, the dampness of silent tears against my chest.

"I'm sorry," I murmured into her hair. "I should have told you about us sooner. I should have been honest from the beginning."

She pulled back just enough to look up at me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I understand why you didn't," she said. "You were protecting me. Protecting him, too, in your own way."

"I thought he might..." I trailed off, not sure how to articulate the foolish hope I'd harboured.

That Septimus might eventually see past his prejudice?

That he might admit his feelings went beyond physical desire?

That we might somehow forge a future together, the three of us, despite everything that stood between us?

It seemed laughable now, in the wake of his rejection.

"I know," Livia said, reading my unspoken thoughts as she so often did. "I hoped so too."

The simple admission broke something inside me. All the anger, all the hurt, all the frustration of the past months came rushing out in a tide I couldn't control. I sank onto the edge of the bed, my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking with emotions I couldn't name.

Livia sat beside me, her arm around my waist, her head resting on my shoulder. "He's scared," she said softly. "He's been taught his entire life to hate what you are, what he feels for you. That kind of conditioning doesn't disappear overnight."

"I know," I said, my voice rough. "But knowing doesn't make it hurt less."

"No," she agreed. "It doesn't."

We sat in silence for a time, finding comfort in each other's presence. Outside, the moon continued its path across the sky, indifferent to the human drama playing out beneath it. Finally, Livia sighed, a sound of bone-deep weariness.

"He'll come around," she said, though I wasn't sure if she was trying to convince me or herself. "Once he's had time to think, to process everything. He cares for you—I've seen it, even if he can't admit it to himself yet."

I wanted to believe her. Gods, how I wanted to believe her. But the memory of Septimus's face, the disgust and rejection in his eyes, was too fresh, too raw.

"And if he doesn't?" I asked, voicing the fear that hung between us.

Livia was quiet for a long moment. "Then we go on without him," she said finally, her voice steady despite the pain I knew she felt. "It would break my heart, but I won't let his fears destroy what we have. What we've built together."

Her unwavering loyalty, her absolute acceptance of me—of all of me, human and Talfen alike—was a gift I still wasn't sure I deserved. I pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"I love you," I said simply. "Whatever happens, whatever comes next—remember that."

She nodded against my shoulder, her body relaxing slightly as exhaustion began to claim her.

I guided her to lie down, pulling the blankets over her trembling form.

She looked small suddenly, vulnerable in a way she rarely allowed herself to be.

I stretched out beside her, gathering her close, offering what comfort I could.

"Stay with me," she murmured, already half-asleep. "Don't leave."

"I'm here," I assured her, stroking her hair until her breathing deepened and her body went slack against mine.

I lay awake long after she had fallen asleep, my mind racing with the events of the night.

The hope I'd briefly allowed myself to feel had been crushed under the weight of Septimus's rejection.

But beneath the hurt, something else was growing—a cold, hard anger that had nothing to do with personal betrayal and everything to do with the system that had created this situation.

The Empire, with its lies and its prejudice, its careful cultivation of hatred and fear.

The society that had taught Septimus to despise himself for wanting me, that had forced me to hide my true nature for my entire life.

Carefully, so as not to wake Livia, I slipped from the bed. I dressed silently in the darkness, my movements precise and controlled. The pain in my chest had solidified into something sharp and dangerous—a blade of pure resolve, forged in the fire of Septimus's rejection.

I had been cautious until now, hesitant to commit fully to the resistance's more radical plans.

I had held back, worried about the risks, about the potential for civilian casualties, about crossing lines that couldn't be uncrossed.

But that caution had gotten me nowhere. Had earned me nothing but this—a man who would rather destroy himself than admit he cared for me, a world that would never accept what I was.

No more. No more half-measures, no more hoping for gradual change.

The Empire would never willingly surrender its power, would never stop spreading its poison.

If it took blood to create a world where people like me could live without shame, where people like Septimus could love without self-hatred, then so be it.

My blood, their blood—it made no difference now.

I paused at the door, looking back at Livia's sleeping form.

She believed in a better world, in the possibility of change without wholesale destruction.

Part of me ached to wake her, to tell her what I was planning, to seek her counsel.

But I knew what she would say. She would urge caution, compassion, would remind me that violence only bred more violence.

And she would be right. But I was tired of being right. Tired of taking the moral high ground while the Empire ground us all to dust beneath its boot.

I slipped out of her quarters, moving through the academy's darkened corridors like a shadow. The night air was cool against my skin as I made my way off the grounds.

The streets were empty at this hour, most of the city's inhabitants long since asleep.

I moved quickly, my footsteps silent on the cobblestones, my senses alert for any sign of Imperial patrols.

By the time I reached Kalen's door, the eastern sky was beginning to lighten, the first hint of dawn creeping over the horizon.

I knocked, three sharp raps followed by two softer ones—the resistance's signal. There was a long pause, then the sound of a bolt being drawn back. The door opened a crack, Kalen's weathered face appearing in the narrow gap.

"Tarshi?" he said, surprise evident in his voice. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

"I'm in," I said simply, the words falling like stones between us. "Whatever you need me to do for the festival. Whatever it takes. I'm in."

He studied me for a moment, his eyes sharp despite the early hour. Then he nodded, opening the door wider to admit me.

"Come in," he said.

I stepped over the threshold, leaving behind the man I had been—cautious, hopeful, believing in the possibility of peaceful change. That man had died in Livia's chamber, under the weight of Septimus's rejection, under the crushing reality of what the Empire had done to us all.

What remained was harder, colder, capable of things I hadn't allowed myself to contemplate before. As Kalen closed the door behind me, shutting out the growing light of dawn, I felt the last of my hesitation fall away.

The Empire had created this world of hatred and fear. Now they would reap what they had sown.

"What do you need me to do?" I asked, my voice steady and resolved.

Kalen's smile was grim, satisfied. "Something only you can do," he said, leading me deeper into the house. "Something that will change everything."