Chapter 79 The Line

Chapter 79 The Line
Killian POV 
The wind does not help. 
I walk the length of the shore twice before I realize I am walking in circles. 
The sea crashes against the rocks, relentless. The sound usually steadies me. Tonight it only mirrors the noise in my own head. 
I should not have left. 
But if I had stayed, I might have said something cruel. 
She spoke of abandonment as if I were already halfway out the door. 
As if the life I am building beside her is fragile. 
As if I would throw it away. 
I rub a hand over my face. 
Gods, I am terrible at this. 
Battles are simpler. 
Men draw blades. You answer. 
Words with Alexandria feel like navigating fog. Every step reveals another hidden edge. 
She thinks I do not feel. 
The truth is I feel too much and have no language for it. 
After a while my feet carry me somewhere familiar. 
The tavern. 
Light spills from its open doorway. Laughter drifts into the cold night air. The smell of ale and roasted meat follows it. 
I hesitate only a moment before stepping inside. 
⸻ 
The room is loud. 
Warriors crowded around long tables, dice clattering across wood, someone telling a story too loudly to be believed. 
No one questions my presence. Chiefs drink like anyone else when the day is done. 
I sit at the far end of the counter. 
“Ale,” I say. 
A mug appears in front of me. 
I drink half of it before I even notice who poured it. 
Moyrah. 
Of course. 
She does not speak at first. Just wipes the counter slowly. 
“You look like a man wrestling ghosts,” she says eventually. 
I grunt. 
“Alexandria?” 
The name lands heavier than expected. 
I stare into the mug. 
“She thinks I will discard her,” I admit before thinking. 
Moyrah leans her elbows on the counter, voice quiet beneath the tavern noise. 
“That is a cruel fear to carry.” 
“Aye.” 
“You did not give it to her.” 
“No.” 
“But you cannot take it away either.” 
I exhale slowly. 
That, at least, is true. 
“She saw us at the cliffs,” I say. 
“And thought the worst.” 
“I do not blame her.” 
“You defend her even in anger.” 
I shrug. 
“She has reason.” 
Moyrah studies me carefully. 
“And what of your reasons?” she asks softly. 
“For what?” 
“For choosing her.” 
The question sits strangely in my chest. 
“Because she is fierce,” I answer after a moment. “Because she stands when others would run. Because she sees the tribe as something worth protecting.” 
I take another drink. 
“Because when she looks at this place, she does not see wilderness.” 
“What does she see?” 
“Home.” 
The word comes out rougher than expected. 
Moyrah’s gaze flickers and jaw tightens. 
“Home,” she repeats quietly. 
I do not notice when she pours me another mug. 
Or when I finish it. 
The warmth of the ale loosens the tightness behind my ribs. 
“She thinks I hide my feelings,” I mutter. 
“Do you?” 
“I lead a tribe. I do not sit around speaking poetry about my heart.” 
A faint smile touches Moyrah’s mouth. 
“No,” she says gently. “You never did.  That’s not...you.” 
She moves around the counter then. 
Not unusual. 
Barmaids drift through the room all the time. 
She stops beside my stool. 
“You have always carried things alone,” she says quietly. “Even when you were younger.” 
I glance up at her. 
“Do not start that again.” 
“Why not?” she says softly. “It is truth. Alexandria is a foreigner, she will never understand you like one of your own. Someone that is not expecting you to change” 
She rests a hand lightly on my shoulder. 
The contact barely registers through the haze of ale. 
“You used to come to me when the weight grew heavy,” she continues. 
“That was years ago.” 
“Some things do not change and never should.” 
Before I can answer, she slides onto my lap. 
The motion is smooth. 
Deliberate. 
Her weight settles against me. 
For a split second, the tavern noise fades. 
Then something inside me snaps fully awake. 
Not desire. 
Clarity. 
The warmth of the ale burns away in an instant. 
I stand so abruptly the stool crashes behind me. 
Moyrah loses her balance and hits the floor hard.   
My voice cuts through the room like a blade aimed straight for Moyrah’s heart. 
“Do not touch me again!” I seeth through gritted teeth. 
Moyrah stares up at me, stunned. 
“You mistake me—” 
“I do not mistake anything.” 
The words come cold. 
Precise. 
I step back, towering over her. 
“You have crossed a line tonight you will never cross again.”  
“Listen carefully,” I continue, crouching over her, my voice low and dangerous. “Because I will not repeat myself.” 
Moyrah stays frozen on the ground. 
Her face is pale. 
“You will not speak ill of Alexandria again.”  
“You will not question her place among this tribe.”  
“Because she has one. Beside me.” 
My gaze locks hard with hers. 
“And soon she will have more.” 
The words land like iron. 
“I will marry her.” 
A sharp intake of breath from Moyrah, something breaking in her eyes. 
“And when I do,” I finish, voice unyielding, “she will be your chieftess.” 
The room holds perfectly still. 
Moyrah’s face drains of color. 
“You will treat her with the respect that position demands.” 
 The final words fall heavy. 
“Or you will answer to me.” 
For a long moment no one speaks.  Some must had started to listen. 
Then I turn and walk toward the door. 
The cold night air slams into me as I step outside. 
My pulse still hammers. 
The ale has not dulled it now. 
If anything, it sharpened the truth I have been circling for weeks. 
Marriage. 
The word does not feel reckless. 
It feels inevitable. 
And tomorrow— 
I will have to tell Alexandria what I just declared in front of half the village. 
I drag a hand through my hair and stare up at the dark sky. 
Gods help me. 
I still have no idea how to say what I feel without starting another war.