Chapter 81: Tears

One night before…

Ikarion fell asleep in Askarya’s lair.

In his dream, he was standing under a vast, twilight sky in brilliant shades of lilac.

Beneath his boots stretched an endless, sprawling field of violets. The silence was absolute, the air cool and heavy with the sweet scent of the valleys. As Ikarion looked closer, he saw that every single delicate petal was weighed down by a thick, shimmering layer of silver dew.

It looked as though the entire earth was weeping.

In the center of the field stood a small, familiar figure draped in the heavy black cloak.

Ikarion walked toward the child, his armor making no sound. The hooded child reached down with a small, pale hand and delicately plucked a single violet from the damp earth. The silver dew dripped from the petals, falling into the dry dirt below. Instantly, where the tears landed, rich, golden stalks of wheat sprouted from the ground, tall and vibrant.

Ikarion stared at the golden wheat growing from the silver tears. "What does this mean?"

The child slowly raised the weeping flower between them.

"The path to the eternal throne is paved in her sorrow," the entity whispered, the voice vibrating in Ikarion's very bones. "What you must do to finish your conquest shall break her heart beyond all repair."

Ikarion felt a sudden, suffocating tightness in his chest. "No."

"Her tears will irrigate the dry earth of your kingdom," the child continued, merciless and absolute. "From her weeping shall your people know no famine. Her pain shall be eternal, but there will be no more war. The Conqueror must harvest her sorrow…"

The child closed its small fist around the flower, crushing the violet completely.

Ikarion woke up with a violent, ragged intake of hot air.

His eyes snapped open to the red, smoldering glow of the cavern. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees against the scorching stone, his chest heaving as a wave of pure, physical nausea rolled over him. Beside him, Askarya let out a low, rumbling whine, sensing the violent spike of terror in her rider's blood.

Ikarion gripped the jagged rocks, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He played the words over and over in his mind. Her tears will irrigate the earth. From her weeping shall your people know no famine. Her pain shall be eternal, but there will be no more war. With the limited, fragmented pieces he had, Ikarion's mind forged the only logical, devastating conclusion it could.

His fate demanded a sacrifice.

Her sacrifice.

Ikarion closed his eyes, a profound, tearing agony ripping through his chest.

He had tasted the sweet, pure devotion of his valley dove, and it had brought him more peace than a thousand victories. All he knew was that Misarya made him feel something no other woman ever had—not even Anetha. Her pure, unyielding devotion had unmade his armor piece by piece, offering him a quiet, anchoring peace he had never known he was starving for. Watching her cease to be that scared, weeping lady to become his Queen brought him nothing but pure joy. The thought of actively hurting her, of purposely extinguishing the warm, radiant light in her lilac eyes, made his stomach churn with absolute self-loathing.

Could he condemn tens of thousands of Askari children to famine just to keep his wife smiling in his bed? Could he let his soldiers bleed out on the eastern roads just to protect the fragile heart of one Halendarian girl?

The Conqueror must harvest her sorrow.

No, Ikarion told himself, the Warlord’s harsh pragmatism violently pushing back against the mystical dread.

It is just a fucking dream.

It was a stupid, twisted vision born of his own guilt. He had lost his temper. He had used her deepest insecurity against her, and now his own mind was punishing him. Men of the plains did not build empires on the riddles of cloaked children. He was the Dragon King, and he did not cower in the shadows. He would go back to the cabin. He would face her and apologize. She would forgive him and take him in her arms and kiss him with her sweet lips.

He wiped the soot from his hands. He placed his hand briefly against Askarya's warm, scaled snout, and walked out of the red cavern.

As the King stepped out into the pale, early dawn, he stopped dead in his tracks.

The dry, cracked earth of the Askari plains was wet.

It was raining.

“Her tears will irrigate the dry earth of your kingdom.”

Ikarion did not move to pull away. He kept her securely pinned against the rough wooden wall, his large hands gripping her thighs to hold her weight as he remained buried deep inside her slick, trembling heat. His massive chest heaved, rising and falling in tandem with her ragged, breathless gasps.

He looked down at his wife's face.

Misarya’s eyes were glassy and completely blown wide, her long, dark lashes wet with fresh tears. Her cheeks were flushed a deep, beautiful crimson, her lips swollen and parted as she desperately tried to catch her breath. She looked completely undone, utterly shattered by the sheer, primal force of what had just happened between them.

She was so beautiful. So absolutely, breathtakingly perfect.

As Ikarion stared at the tears slipping silently down her flushed cheeks, the grinding, ancient voice of the cloaked child echoed in the back of his mind. The Conqueror must harvest her sorrow. A sudden, fierce wave of revulsion twisted his gut.

He had made her suffer so much already. Wasn't that enough?

As her inner muscles gave a soft, involuntary flutter around his cock, a fierce, possessive roar drowned out the whispers of the gods.

He didn't want to harvest her sorrow. The only tears he ever wanted to see falling from her beautiful lilac eyes were tears of overwhelming joy and blinding pleasure. The only pain he ever wished to cause her was the deep, heavy soreness between her legs after fucking her, and, one day, the pain of bringing his children into the world.

How could the prosperity of his empire be tethered to the suffering of the sweetest, most pure soul the world had ever known? How could the golden Askari wheat grow from the agony of the kindest Queen to ever walk the earth?

It wasn't right. It couldn't possibly be right.

Still panting, still buried to the hilt inside of her, Ikarion reached up. He gently brushed a tangled lock of damp, dark hair away from her face, his rough thumb carefully wiping a tear from her cheek.

Misarya leaned into his touch, her breath hitching. She looked up into his golden eyes, her icy demeanor completely melted away.

She parted her swollen lips hesitantly. "I..."

She fell silent, her voice cracking, her throat too tight to form the words.

Ikarion realized he had taken her against the wall like a feral beast, driven completely mad by his desire. He looked at the red marks on her delicate wrists where he had pinned her, and the harsh lines of the wood pressing into her bare back.

"Did I hurt you?" Ikarion asked. His voice was a low, fractured whisper, thick with genuine fear and regret.

Misarya slowly shook her head. Her lilac eyes searched his, completely laid bare.

"I love you," she breathed.

The three words crashed into him like a tidal wave, entirely knocking the breath from his lungs.

Ikarion froze. Still holding her up, still wrapped in her warmth, he was completely taken aback. He stared at her, his mind reeling as the absolute, undeniable purity of her confession washed over him.

He never thought he would ever hear those words again. And to hear them from her—it defied all logic. He took her from her home, stripped her of the customs of her people, ripped off her innocence and made her cry countless times. He wasn’t a good man, definitely not a good husband. He was a Riven-blood bastard covered in scars and the blood of thousands.

He was entirely, utterly undeserving of her.

Yet, for some miraculous, incomprehensible reason, she loved him.

Ikarion looked at his Queen, the suffocating weight of the prophecy hanging over his head. He didn't know if the dream was real. He didn’t know if his victory truly demanded her suffering.

So he simply told her the truth.

"I love you."