Chapter 80 The Window

Chapter 80 The Window
Alexandria POV 
The house is too quiet. 
Silence presses into the walls like cold fog, settling into corners where thoughts begin to grow teeth. 
I sit beside the hearth long after the fire has sunk to nothing but glowing embers, hands clasped together so tightly my knuckles ache. 
He left. 
Not angrily—not cruelly. 
But he left. 
The door had closed behind him with a sound that felt far too final. 
I tell myself he needed space. 
I tell myself he did the right thing. 
But the voices I buried long ago have begun whispering again. 
You pushed too hard. 
You demanded too much. 
Men do not stay where they are questioned. 
My father’s hall rises in memory—the moment a conversation ended with a dismissive gesture instead of an answer. 
A Roman man who had once sworn loyalty choosing ambition instead. 
You are inconvenient. 
You are temporary. 
You are not worth the trouble. 
My chest tightens. 
“No,” I whisper aloud. 
But the house does not answer.  Silence.  Which is a response in and of itself. 
I am alone. 
The air feels thinner here tonight. 
I stand abruptly and pull my cloak around my shoulders. 
I just need air. 
Nothing more. 
⸻ 
The village lies quiet beneath the night sky. 
A few windows glow faintly with lamplight. Smoke drifts lazily from low chimneys. 
Most have already gone to sleep. 
My feet carry me down the path without thought. 
Past the well. 
Past the loom house. 
Past the ridge where the wind smells faintly of the sea. 
I do not realize where I am walking until laughter and voices reach me.  Killian’s voice. 
The tavern. 
Warm light spills through its windows, golden against the dark. 
I slow instinctively. 
Part of me wants to turn back. 
But another part—quieter, more stubborn—steps forward. 
The window nearest the door stands cracked slightly open to let smoke escape. 
I should keep walking. 
I should give him the space he asked for. 
Yet something inside me refuses. 
Just one look, I tell myself. 
Just to see that he is safe. 
Just to quiet the storm inside my chest. 
I step closer. 
And look through the crack in the shutters. 
⸻ 
Killian sits at the bar. 
Relief floods me first. 
He is safe. 
But the relief collapses almost immediately when I see who stands behind the counter. 
Moyrah. 
She leans toward him slightly as she speaks.  Her buxom bosom overflowing. 
I cannot hear every word through the tavern noise, but the shape of the conversation is clear enough. 
Killian’s shoulders are heavy. 
His head tilts forward the way it does when something burdens him. 
And Moyrah listens. 
Close. 
Patient. 
The way someone listens when they already know the person they are speaking to. 
A familiar way. 
My chest tightens painfully. 
Of course he would come here. 
Of course he would talk to her. 
She understands this place better than I ever will. 
She understands him better. 
The voices rise again. 
You see? 
You were always the outsider. 
I should leave. 
I should walk away and let them have their conversation. 
But my feet refuse to move. 
Something about Moyrah’s posture catches my attention. 
The way her body shifts closer. 
The way her hand drifts across the counter. 
Too close. 
Too soft. 
A warning pricks along my spine. 
Killian doesn’t seem to notice. 
He guzzles the drink from the mug in his hand. 
Speaks again. 
Moyrah circles around the counter. 
My stomach sinks. 
I know that movement. 
Not from this place. 
From Rome. 
From courts and feasts and gatherings where power often came wrapped in charm. 
She moves toward him slowly. 
Confidently. 
Killian’s back is partially turned to the window. 
He cannot see what I see. 
But I can. 
The way Moyrah tilts her head. 
The way her voice lowers. 
The way her hand carresses his shoulder. 
No. 
My heart pounds harder. 
She is not listening. 
She is positioning. 
For a moment I cannot breathe. 
Leave, my mind urges. 
Leave! Before you see the rest. 
But I remain frozen beside the window. 
Then she slides onto his lap. 
The world seems to stop. 
A sharp, sickening pain spreads through my chest. 
Of course! 
Of course this is how it ends. 
The voices begin shouting now. 
You were foolish! 
You believed too quickly! 
You thought yourself loved! 
My vision blurs. 
I turn away— 
But then something crashes inside the tavern. 
I look back instinctively. 
Killian is on his feet. 
The stool behind him lies overturned. 
Moyrah sprawled on the floor. 
The entire room has gone silent. 
Even through the cracked window I hear his voice clearly. 
“Do not touch me again.” 
Shock ripples through the room. 
Through me. 
Moyrah stays frozen on the floor as Killian towers over her. 
I can see confusion in her expression even from here. 
“You mistake me—” 
“I do not mistake anything.” 
His voice is colder than I have ever heard it. 
People shift around them, watching. 
No one intervenes. 
“You have crossed a line tonight you will never cross again.” 
My breath catches. 
He continues, every word sharp and certain. 
“You will not speak ill of Alexandria again.” 
The tavern murmurs. 
My heart slams against my ribs. 
“You will not question her place among this tribe.” 
The air feels electric. 
Then his next words strike like thunder. 
“I will marry her.” 
For a moment the world disappears. 
The window. 
The tavern. 
The voices in my head. 
Everything. 
I only hear those four words. 
I will marry her. 
“And when I do,” he continues, voice carrying across the room, “she will be your chieftess.” 
My hands begin shaking. 
“You will treat her with the respect that position demands.” 
The room remains frozen. 
“Or you will answer to me.” 
He turns then. 
Toward the door. 
Toward the night. 
Toward the window. 
Panic explodes through me. 
If he sees me— 
If anyone sees me— 
I stumble back from the wall. 
My heart races so violently I feel dizzy. 
Marriage. 
Chieftess. 
The words echo through my mind. 
Killian pushes open the tavern door. 
I do not wait. 
I gather my cloak and run. 
Through the dark village paths. 
Past the well. 
Past the loom house. 
Past the ridge where the wind tears at my hair. 
I do not slow until Killian’s house appears ahead. 
Only then do I slip inside and shut the door behind me. 
The quiet rushes back in. 
But it feels different now. 
My breathing is uneven. 
My hands still tremble. 
Across the room, the hearth glows softly. 
I stare at the door he will walk through soon. 
He does not know I heard him. 
Does not know I witnessed everything. 
Does not know that somewhere between heartbreak and relief— 
Something inside me has shifted. 
The ghosts are quieter now. 
Not gone. 
But quieter. 
And when Killian returns, he will believe I am still waiting for answers. 
He will not know that I have already heard the most important one. 
And I have made my decision.