Chapter 137 137
Daevir's POV
The look in her eyes does something to me.
And for a moment, just a moment, my heart lurches like it did years ago when she first looked at me like I was a god she worshipped
I clench my fist until my knuckles ache.
I cannot afford softness.
Not now.
Not here.
“I wish I had seen my child,” I say, my voice lower than I expect. Rougher. “I wish he had been here. I wish I had known.”
The words taste like regret.
Like something too late.
Her expression hardens instead of softening.
“If I had known,” I continue, forcing the words through my teeth, “I would have come.”
She laughs, sharp and disbelieving.
“You would have come?” she snaps. “You left me in the tower.”
The memory hits harder than I expect.
“You heard me scream for you,” she pressed, her voice breaking and furious all at once. “You heard me beg you.”
My jaw tightens.
“Despite your promises, you left me like I was expendable.”
I take a step back without meaning to.
The cell suddenly feels too narrow.
“You left me to die in that nunnery,” she says, her voice trembling now, but not weak. Never weak. “You didn’t look back.”
“Amarien…”
“You didn’t look back!” she repeats, louder this time.
“I screamed your name,” she continues, and I hate that I can hear it now, echoing in memory. “I believed you would come through for me, for our child!”
I swallow.
“And yet they called me the evil one, the cursed one,”
Her eyes flash.
“When you are the evil one!” she says. “The cursed one!” A tear pooled in her eyes. “You left my baby to die!”
I pull back from the bars, grief teasing into my heart.
The torchlight flickers between us, casting her shadow long against the cell wall. She looks smaller in here. Not weaker. Just… contained like caged fire.
“I regret,” I say slowly, the word heavy in my mouth, “every single action I did not take to save my child.”
The admission burns.
“I regret not riding back. I regret not looking back at your voice at the tower. I regret you would be kept safe enough in that nunnery.”
My eyes fixed on her as I stepped closer.
“If there is blood for that,” I continue, my voice roughening, “I would rather it be my blood, not my child's.”
She doesn’t move.
But her eyes sharpen.
“And I would rather all the stains be on me,” I add, “than see you take it out on a poor child who knows nothing!”
Her breath catches.
Look at her fully.
“You could have taken your rage out on me.”
Her brows draw together slightly.
“You could have cursed my name. My throne. My body. I'll take that!”
The silence stretches.
“But you didn’t.”
My voice drops lower.
“You let it spill outward.”
Her fingers tighten around the bars.
“You let villages burn with plague no healer could name.”
Her jaw stiffens.
“You let crops rot in soil that had thrived for decades.”
Her breathing shifts.
“You let mothers bury children who had nothing to do with us.”
“Enough!” she whispers, biting her eyes in agony.
“No.
The word comes out harder than I intend.
“No, it is not enough.”
I step closer again, though I do not grip the bars this time.
“You had the power to strike me directly.”
My eyes search hers.
“Why didn’t you?”
She doesn’t answer.
“If you wanted me broken, you knew how to do it.” I swallow. “You knew exactly where to aim.”
Her lips part slightly, but no words come.
“Why,” I press, quieter now, “did thousands of children in my kingdom have to pay for the unfortunate death of our child?!”
There.
It is said.
The air between us shifts.
I see something flicker in her eyes.
Shock.
Or is it guilt?
She looks away first.
I step back again, running a hand through my hair.
“I know what grief does,” I say. “It makes you want the world to feel what you feel.”
My throat tightens.
“But grief does not excuse cruelty.”
Her shoulders rise and fall slowly.
“I would have borne your hatred,” I tell her. “I would have taken your curse!”
My gaze locks onto hers again.
“You could have made me suffer instead, Amarien. Not my child!”
“Why didn’t you?” I ask again, softer this time.
The question hangs in the torchlight.
She opens her mouth…
Then closes it.
Her composure falters for the first time since I walked into this dungeon.
Her silence says more than any defense.
“You aimed wide,” I say quietly.
Her eyes flash briefly at that.
“You aimed at everything except me.”
The realization settles into my bones like cold.
And suddenly, I understand something I didn’t before.
“You wanted me to watch,” I murmur.
She inhales sharply.
“You wanted me to feel powerless.”
Her lips tremble, but she says nothing.
“You wanted me to live with it. To live with that grief that tore you apart.”
Amarien was speechless.