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XIRATH

T he taste of her is haunting me.

It is a ghost on my lips, in my breath, in the very spaces between thought and restraint. A poison. A need. A ruin I cannot undo.

She fled from me this morning. Left my chambers, left the weight of what we did behind her, as if it could be outrun.

But it follows her just as it follows me.

My fingers tighten against the war table, the surface already bearing the faint grooves of my claws. Reports of Jalith’s movements lie scattered before me, messages from spies confirming that the dark elf has not forgotten what is his or what he thinks is his.

Seren is in danger.

She should have been far from my reach by now, a lingering memory, a temptation never tasted. Instead, she is here. Still mine.

And I cannot bring myself to let her go.

The chamber door swings open, the heavy iron hinges groaning in protest. Footsteps, unhurried, familiar stride across the stone floor.

“Of all things, I never thought I would witness my brother enslaved to a human.”

The voice cuts through the silence, low and taunting, thick with a noble’s arrogance.

My claws press deeper into the table as I lift my gaze.

Veyzar stands in the doorway, his arms folded over his broad chest, his own obsidian-black scales shimmering beneath the torchlight. The ridges along his tail mark him as noble-born, just as mine do. But where I bear crimson streaks, his gleam with silver.

He is my blood. My brother by the same mother, another son of the noble house of Va’Therin.

He is here for one reason.

He steps forward, surveying me as if I am something he does not quite recognize. “You look like hell.”

“Get out.”

A smirk tugs at his mouth. “Not yet.”

I remain still as he circles the table, his gaze flicking across the war maps, the spilled ink of unfinished letters. He knows why I have called no council today. He knows what I have been doing instead.

“You should have killed her already,” he mutters, voice like crushed stone. “Or given her back to the dark elves where she belongs.”

A growl builds in my chest, low and unbidden.

Veyzar leans against the table, unbothered. “I’ve seen the way you watch her. The way you fight for her. And worse, the way you didn’t let her go after you had her.”

Heat lashes through my veins, a warning edged in fire.

“You are obsessed,” he continues. “You are acting like a beast that’s caught something it doesn’t understand, something it should have discarded long ago, and yet?—”

My hand slams against the table, the force rattling the entire structure.

His smirk only widens.

"You should leave before you say something you cannot take back," I warn, voice edged with venom.

“You should listen before you make a mistake you cannot undo.”

His words carry an edge of steel, but there is no mockery in them now. Only cold, measured truth.

"She is not your mate, Xirath. She will never be."

The words strike something deep, something raw, something I have refused to face.

"Then why can’t I let her go?"

The question escapes before I can stop it.

Silence.

Veyzar’s amusement fades, his jaw tightening. “That is exactly why you must.”

A sharp exhale. A shift of weight. He straightens, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of this conversation.

"She is not one of us," he says, slower this time. "And this path you are walking leads nowhere but destruction" he gestures vaguely, his golden eyes burning into mine.

The words should make sense.

They should be rational.

But nothing about her has ever been rational.

"You think I do not see it?" he presses. "The way you hesitate. The way you let her speak to you as no human should. You will ruin yourself over this, brother. You will ruin us all."

A sharp crack echoes through the room before I register that I’ve moved.

Veyzar stumbles back, a thin line of crimson forming along his cheek where my claws grazed him.

Golden eyes flash with something feral.

He lunges, tail snapping behind him, claws slashing toward my throat.

I parry the blow, grabbing his wrist before it can strike true.

His growl vibrates through the space between us. "You’re already lost, aren’t you?"

A snarl rips from my throat as I shove him back, muscles coiled, teeth bared.

He does not attack again.

He watches me, and something in his gaze shifts—not pity, not fear, but understanding.

Veyzar has always been ruthless. But he has always understood me best.

His stance relaxes first. Then, his voice follows.

"Do it before it’s too late," he says, quieter this time. "Before there’s nothing left of you but the ruin she leaves behind."

Without another word, he turns and leaves.

The door slams shut behind him.

The silence after it is unbearable.

My hands tremble.

Not with rage. Not with exhaustion.

With the truth.

I should let her go.

But I won’t.