Page 113 of The Devil May Care

“She stood,” I snap, then lower my voice. “That’s what matters.”

Varo watches me a beat too long. “So, it’s true. You’ve taken a personal interest.”

“She’s under my instruction.”

“So was I, once.”

There is a pause. The silence between us is thick with things we do not say anymore. I remember when we fought side by side, when he laughed like the world could not touch us. We were almost brothers. I made him second in my command.

Until Isaeth.

Varo tilts his head, voice cooler now. “You think she’s strong enough for the Rite?”

“She’s willing to try.”

“She doesn’t know what trying costs.” He turns to me then. “But you do. Don’t you, my Lord.”

I hold his gaze. “That’s why I’m here.”

He huffs something that might be a laugh—or a warning. “You used to believe in the Rite. In the blood and glory of it. In what we it stood for.”

“I believe in honor,” I say. “And I believed in the Rite until I learned who pays the price for our glory.”

“You thinkIdon’t know about price? About sacrifice?” His jaw tightens, his gaze steely. “You think I didn’t lose anything when she—You know nothing.” He cuts himself off. But I know who he means.

“You didn’t lose her,” I say quietly.

“That’s right,” he murmurs. “You did. And then you left the rest of us to clean up the mess. Alone.” The torch closest to us flickers, casting his expression in shifting shadow. He looks older than I remember. Hardened, and not in the way battle makes you sharp—but in the way grief dulls you. “You stopped standing beside me.”

“You were still standing for something I couldn’t believe in anymore.”

He laughs. “I know you’re a Prince, but this is selfish even for you.” Varo looks past me then, toward the narrow window slits that line the barracks wall. “She’s not going to make it,” he says. I do not answer. “She’s fire, sure, but she’ll burn out, and if you’re not careful, you’ll burn with her.”

I step closer, just enough for him to feel it. “Then I’ll burn.”

There’s silence. Then, softly, almost fondly, he says, “See? Selfish. You always did play the martyr well.”

He moves to pass me, pausing at the door. “I intend to win this, Caz. I still believe the throne matters. The realm and its people matter and Crimson needs someone willing to bear the price to keep her safe. The rest of us didn’t give up on everything just because you did.” He opens the door, looks over his shoulder once more. “Try not to fall for the human too hard.”

Varo disappears into the barracks, and I am left standing in the corridor with my teeth clenched and my brand pulsing low and steady across my chest, in time with my thundering heart. Not pain. Not heat. Pressure.

Try not to fall for the human too hard,he said.She’s not going to make it.

He meant it as a jab, but it hits somewhere deeper. Somewhere I have not let myself look too closely. It was easier when I thought of her as a responsibility. An anomaly. A dangerous unknown in a game she did not ask to join. Easier when I assumed Father was intending to make a spectacle of her but let her go. Varo’s not wrong. She matters. More than she should. And that terrifies me.

I am left with the smell of scorched air, the echo of her voice in my mind, and the brand on my chest pulsing like it remembers what it is meant to carry. It hums under my skin. Not the surface ache from training or pressure. Deeper. Like a chord plucked inside my ribs that never quite stops vibrating. It has been worse since the trial. Since the flame claimed Kay.

I trace the edge of the mark absently. I do not have to look to feel it—every line of that brand was cut into me before I had reached my twentieth year. Before I understood what the war even was. Before I realized what we were really fighting for. They say men start wars and boys finish them. I thought it was glory and heroic. Saving the realm and all those in it, but it never is. I begged to be on the front. Begged to lead my own command. My father agreed. Said it was necessary. That Crimson best must lead the charge and if the Asmodeus’ son fell back, it would look like fear. Like weakness. Like defeat. We might as well have rolled over and allowed Cobalt to encroach on our borders.

I believed him. War made heroes. It was a proving ground for strength, for purpose, for legacy. But I wa wrong. It does not make anything. It only destroys. It strips you down to your last breath andteaches you that there are no victors, no heroes, only survivors. And even they do not walk away whole.

I thought the Cobalt incursion was real. We all did. I thought we were defending the border. I thought the Flame would guide us because we were righteous, because it was ours. And I was good at it. Too good. Quick with a blade. Merciless when it mattered. I became what they wanted. Until Isaeth.

Gods, Isaeth.

Sometimes I still hear her laugh. That soft one, like she did not want to be caught enjoying something. The way she used to wrap her shawl too tightly around her shoulders in the drafty wings of the citadel. She worked in the healing halls, quieter than most. Never asked for more. Never took up space. She was Vesperan. A servant. Beneath me, by law. And she was everything.

I asked her once what she would want to do if she could be anything. She looked me in the eye and said, “Free.”