Chapter 8: The Weight of an Oath

Lysander’s POV

The moment I crossed the doorway, it was as if the world around me completely collapsed. Ever since my father died, I had focused all my energy and thoughts on the battle before me, pushing all the pain I felt deep into the darkest part of my being. However, I could not do it for even a second longer.

The war had finally ended, and becoming aware of that caused all that pain to return to me with more force than ever.

I then looked down at my hands, stained with the blood of my enemies, but not with the blood of the one I truly wanted to see dead. That only made me feel even worse. I was furious; things were not supposed to end this way.

I was so deeply affected by everything that I needed a way to release my fury. Unable to restrain myself any longer, I began throwing everything within my reach. A couple of wine bottles, a wooden chair, a painting on the wall—everything I could find. I injured my hands in the process, the shattered glass embedding itself deeply into my skin, but I did not care, nor did it stop me.

I began screaming at the top of my lungs, finally letting everything out. That was how it continued until a roar escaped my throat, powerful enough to make the entire palace tremble.

I knew that would not take long to draw attention, and I was not mistaken. Soon, my mother appeared before me. She looked at me with deep concern on her face, and it was understandable, considering my appearance and the state of the room.

—Son—she called, worried.

I turned to look at her, my eyes threatening to spill tears.

—Are you all right?—she asked when she saw me in that state.

—No, I’m not—I admitted aloud for the first time.

—Are you hurt?—she tried to make sure, terribly distressed at the idea that it might be so. After all, I had been in battle, and the mere thought that I might die as my father had filled her with terror.

She began walking toward me and examined me before I could react, but as soon as she did, I tried to calm her.

—Don’t worry, I’m not hurt—I assured her.

Unfortunately, she did not listen and continued checking me.

—I haven’t been wounded—I repeated more firmly, grabbing her hands to stop her.

—Is all this blood yours?—she asked, trying to understand.

—Not all of it is mine—I admitted, lowering my gaze to my body.

—Is it his? Is that why you’re like this?—she questioned, clearly remembering the promise I had made before leaving.

Although she disliked the idea of me being dragged down by a feeling as cruel and destructive as revenge, she could not help but wish for the death of the man who had taken her husband from her—the love of her life. I knew her well enough to understand that.

—Is he dead?—she asked, trying to be certain.

All I could do in response was lower my head, deeply affected by what I had to tell her.

—No—I admitted after a moment.

That left my mother with a true mixture of emotions, something I could clearly see in her eyes.

—Then he escaped—she assumed, because she knew me and understood that otherwise nothing would have stopped me from fulfilling my purpose.

—No, he did not—I admitted, moving closer to the truth—one that would undoubtedly be difficult to hear and even harder to accept.

—Then what happened?—she asked, growing increasingly confused.

—I’m so sorry, Mother. You have no idea how much I regret this, but I couldn’t do it—I confessed, full of remorse.

—What are you talking about, son? What happened?—she asked, fear creeping into her voice.

—Dominic Stone is in the dungeons, and there he will remain—I finally revealed.

—I don’t understand you. He was your father’s murderer, we both know it. And although I didn’t want you to stain your heart with hatred, the very idea of him being alive is impossible for me to accept—she said, and it did not surprise me to realize she felt the same way I did.

—I know that very well, believe me, I do. But I can’t do it. He must live, and not only that—he is under my protection—I confessed, having no other choice.

—You cannot be serious—she refused to believe it, and I could not blame her.

—I’m afraid I am. And not only that, I will marry his daughter—I admitted, watching my mother’s face completely fall apart in the span of a single second.

—What?—she exclaimed.

—I made a deal with her. We will marry, and the war will finally end. All these deaths will not have been in vain—I tried to justify myself in the only way I could, even though I knew nothing I said would make it acceptable.

—No, this cannot be possible. I will never allow something like this to happen—she said vehemently.

—I’m afraid there is no other option—I told her, full of anguish.

—What do you mean by that?—she asked, dreading my answer.

—I cannot break our engagement. It is sealed—I said, showing her the palm of my hand, where a blue mark was beginning to appear.

—A blood pact? Have you made a blood pact with that woman?—she asked, sounding more accusatory than surprised.

—Yes, I have—I admitted without hesitation.

—Have you gone mad? You know that a blood pact is almost impossible for us to break—she reminded me.

—I’m aware of that—I acknowledged.

—I’m sorry, Mother, but that’s how things happened. We have no other choice but to accept it—I said, trying to sound resigned, even though I would do anything to change it.

—You’ve been a fool—she insulted me.

After that, she walked away, too affected to continue the conversation—one that would lead nowhere. Not when the wedding would take place whether we wanted it to or not. I knew her well enough to know she would do the impossible to stop it, and I would allow her to try.

I wished she would succeed where I had failed and manage to make Astrid break our pact.