Chapter 185

Chapter 185
Freya‘s pov.
Sleep was a war I couldn’t win.
When my eyes finally shut, Arius was there. Not as he had been in life—sharp-tongued, smirking, maddening—but as he had been in the last instant: giving everything. The dream replayed it in cruel detail. The shimmer of the valley swallowing him whole, his eyes burning with some secret conviction, his mouth tilting in that last reckless smile before it all went dark. I reached for him, but in dreams my hands were bound, useless. I screamed until my throat broke, but no sound carried. Just silence. His sacrifice crushed me again and again, each time heavier than the last.
When dawn crept in, I woke with tears crusted at my lashes and a hollow chest. I pulled my knees up, hugging them tight, and thought—stupidly, dangerously—that I could still feel him if I just closed my eyes again.
Instead, warmth brushed my cheek. I blinked and found a steaming cup of tea before me. The porcelain was delicate, the scent rich—cinnamon and smoke.
“Luxury,” I murmured, startled.
“Calipsa’s idea,” Tiberius said, his mouth curving faintly. “She insisted you needed more than firewood and stale bread.”
I cradled the cup, heat soaking into my palms, and looked up at him. His face was drawn, the shadows under his eyes darker than usual, but his presence was steady, grounding. “Thank you.”
He studied me for a beat, then asked, “How do you feel?”
“Fine,” I lied.
His brow arched. “I hope so.”
I tilted my head, countering softly, “And you, Tiberius?”
He gave a humorless laugh. “Always moving. Always running. Thanks to you, of course.”
Guilt stabbed. “I’m sorry, Tiberius.”
He leaned back, folding his arms. “Don’t be. You don’t regret—not really. You never have. You burn the world and then mourn the ashes.”
I flinched. “That’s not true. I do regret. I regret so much.”
His eyes softened, though the bitterness lingered. “Then you’re learning.”
For a moment we just sat there, the steam between us. My chest ached with words unsaid, apologies that felt too small. I swallowed them and asked instead, “Where’s Dorian?”
“He left early,” Tiberius said. “Escorting Selene.”
“Escorting?” My frown deepened. “What do you mean?”
“There’s a crossroads nearby. She thinks her mother might be waiting there. Or maybe she just got tired of you and wanted out.” His lips twitched. “Can’t say I’d blame her.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Ha. Hilarious.”
Before I could retort further, movement caught my gaze. Dorian approached, tall and sure, every inch the king he was meant to be. Even after everything, he carried himself like certainty incarnate. A man others would kill to have by their side. A man I had. Two men, if I was honest with myself.
Reyna stirred inside me, her voice threading through my thoughts. It’s our time now. Enough running, enough bleeding. We deserve joy. We deserve to live.
Pain clenched my ribs. “So I’m to blame now? I’m guilty just because I wanted you back?” My whisper was raw, jagged.
Hera’s laughter cut sharp. Our Freya still needs to grow. We’re grateful, yes. But do you even realize? Without Arius, you’d be gone. Not just you. All of us.
Hera muttered something I couldn’t catch, but Reyna hushed her. She’ll learn. She must.
“Learn what?” I whispered back, frustrated.
Dorian reached me then, kissed my forehead, and asked, “Why the frown?”
I let out a shaky breath. “Reyna and Hera are scolding me. They think I’m reckless.”
Tiberius and Dorian both chuckled, rare unity sparking between them. Tiberius pressed a kiss to the my head, murmuring, “If they guide you, maybe there’s hope. Maybe our little one will finally grow up.”
“Hey!” I protested, heat rushing to my face. But their laughter was warm, and for a heartbeat, I let it wash over me.

By the time we reached the castle, dusk had stretched long shadows across the stones. Cassian was waiting, arms crossed, jaw set like iron. The scowl on his face could have cracked mountains.
“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.
My stomach dropped. Memories surged—Arius’s fist, Cassian crumpling, blood bright on stone. Guilt twisted sharp.
Dorian cut the tension with an easy quip. Tiberius tossed in his own dry jab. Their words barely landed, because Cassian’s glare was all for me.
“Freya.” Dorian’s tone shifted—command again, cold and precise. “Go to your chambers. Rest. We’ll expect you later for explanations.”
I sighed, my shoulders heavy. “So no delaying, then?”
Cassian barked a humorless laugh. “Delaying? I’ll be there myself. And if these two don’t tan your hide, I sure as hell will.”
The guilt broke me. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him. “I’m sorry. So sorry. Never again.”
He froze like I’d struck him. For a long moment he didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Then, stiffly, he returned the embrace. “Fine,” he muttered. “But don’t think hugs will get you out of this.”
Relief stung my eyes. I nodded. “Understood.”
As I turned, I caught him mutter toward Dorian and Tiberius, “Don’t let her fool you. Those embraces work too damn well on men.”
They didn’t answer, but the corner of Tiberius’s mouth twitched.
I let myself hope we might survive this—fractured, furious, but together.