Chapter 86
Chapter 86
Klaus POV
The howls faded into the snow, distant but close enough to keep every muscle in me drawn tight. The others shifted uneasily around the dying fire, blades still in hand, eyes on the dark beyond the trees. Elian’s orders came clipped, efficient—rotating watch, strengthening the perimeter, keeping Amelia in the center where Demian’s shadow never left her.
I should’ve been focused outward. On the threat that had stalked us since nightfall, on the ridge that offered little defense, on the scent of corruption curling faintly in the air like rot.
But my gaze kept dragging back to her.
Amelia.
She sat pressed against Demian’s side, his arm locked around her, her face half-hidden in his chest. A trembling little thing, trying to look braver than she felt. And gods, how I despised the way my brother’s entire world shrank down to her heartbeat, the way he bent himself around her as if she was the only tether keeping him sane.
I hated it.
Didn’t I?
My jaw tightened, my arms folding across my chest. Hatred was cleaner. Hatred was easy. She faltered, she froze, she dragged him down—those were truths, and I’d seen enough war to know truths kept you alive.
But then she’d snapped at me. Out there in the snow, fire in her voice even through her tears.
“I’ll fight. I’d rather die beside him than let your prophecy come true.”
The words clung to me, gnawed at me. No one spoke to me like that—not without flinching, not without breaking. And for one damn heartbeat, I’d seen something in her eyes that looked too much like the fire in Demian’s.
It unsettled me.
Because if she truly meant it—if she truly would rather bleed at his side than run—then maybe she wasn’t the noose I thought she was. Maybe she was something worse.
The anchor he’d never cut free.
\---
By morning, the storm had eased, but the silence hadn’t. No one dared fill it. We packed in tense quiet, boots crunching through frost, breath steaming. Corrin cursed under his breath every few steps, Kira kept her blades loose in her grip, Elian walked like a shadow with his eyes always scanning the tree line.
And me?
I kept my distance. Watching. Always watching.
Except when her knees buckled.
It was small. Barely a stumble. But I saw it, and before Demian could even react, my hand shot out, steadying her by the arm.
She jerked at the contact, her wide eyes snapping up to mine. Surprise. Fear. Wariness.
I let my expression soften. Not much—just enough to loosen the lines in my face, enough to ease the bite out of my voice.
“Careful,” I said quietly. Almost gently.
Her lips parted, shock flashing across her features like I’d just spoken in another tongue. Then she swallowed, muttered something that might’ve been “thank you,” and stumbled back into Demian’s orbit as if she wasn’t sure what to make of me.
Demian’s eyes cut sharp toward me, suspicion written clear, but I didn’t look back at him. I kept my face forward, expression unreadable.
Let him wonder.
\---
The day dragged long and brutal. The snow slowed us, the cold gnawed at us, and the trees pressed too close. Every so often, a howl echoed faint in the distance, keeping nerves drawn taut.
But what I noticed most wasn’t the threat outside.
It was her.
Amelia.
She tried so damn hard. Every time she stumbled, she straightened faster. Every time her hands trembled, she clenched them tighter around the hilt of her blade. Every time her breath came ragged, she forced herself to keep pace with Demian, matching his stride step for step.
I’d thought she was fragile. Useless. A crack in the chain.
But fragility didn’t usually bare its teeth at you through tears.
And that fire—small, unsteady though it was—kept gnawing at me.
So I acted.
Not with venom. Not with sharp edges.
With something else.
When we halted to drink, I offered her my waterskin first. When the snow caught deep around her boots, I extended a hand to steady her. When she winced at a cramp in her leg, I muttered a low, “Shift your weight differently, here,” and demonstrated with a calmness that startled even me.
Every time, her eyes flicked to me with confusion, suspicion, disbelief.
Every time, Demian’s gaze sharpened, protective, narrowing at me like he thought I was baiting her.
And maybe I was.
But maybe I wasn’t.
\---
That night, when camp was made and the fire cracked faintly against the dark, I took the watch nearest her. Not because Elian ordered it. Not because Demian trusted me to.
Because I wanted to see.
She sat curled in Demian’s lap again, her body folded tight into his. But she didn’t sleep. I could tell by the way her shoulders shifted, by the way her breath never quite evened.
And then, after a long stretch of silence, she turned her face toward me. Her eyes caught the firelight, wary, searching.
“Why are you… different?” she asked softly, so quiet Demian couldn’t hear.
I tilted my head, meeting her gaze evenly. “Different?”
“You hated me yesterday.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Today you—” She faltered, as if the word itself was foreign. “You’re kind.”
I let the silence stretch, let the fire crackle between us. Then I leaned forward slightly, my voice low.
“Maybe I misjudged you.”
Her brows knit, her lips parting in disbelief.
I let my eyes linger, softer now, steady. “Maybe I thought you were weakness when really you’re something else.”
She stared at me like I’d just upended the world.
And maybe, in a way, I had.
\---
But inside me, the war raged hotter than ever.
Because every time she looked at me like that—like she was seeing a side of me no one else had in years—I hated it. I hated the part of me that wanted her to believe it.
I’d buried softness long ago, beneath graves and scars and the hard edges of survival. Softness got you killed. Softness dug holes for the people you couldn’t save.
And yet, here I was. Offering her waterskins. Catching her stumbles. Speaking gently when venom would’ve come easier.
Not because I forgave her. Not because I believed she belonged.
But because—for the first time in too many years—I wasn’t sure what I believed at all.
And that was more dangerous than any wolf in the snow.
\---
The following days blurred into a rhythm of cold and silence, danger and exhaustion. And in that rhythm, my actions kept shifting.
I forced myself to nod at her when she held her ground. I made room for her at the fire. I let my tone ease when I spoke to her.
And every time I did, I saw the suspicion in Demian’s eyes. The way he watched me like I was a snake circling too close to what was his.
He wasn’t wrong.
But gods help me, I wasn’t sure if I was circling to strike… or circling to shield.
\---
One night, as the snow drifted soft and heavy around us, I caught Amelia’s eyes across the fire again. For the first time, she didn’t look afraid.
She looked curious.
Hopeful, even.
And it twisted something deep in my chest that I hadn’t let move in years.
Because maybe—just maybe—I wanted her to keep looking at me like that.