INTERRUPTED BY A PAINFUL TRUTH

It was a quiet evening in Lutheran’s quarters. The fire crackles softly, casting golden shadows across the room. Candlelight shone illuminating the rich designs on the walls and the sturdy wooden furniture. A light breeze flowed in through the slightly open window, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth.

But despite the peaceful surroundings, tension lingers in the air. Isolde sits on the edge of the large bed; her back is straight, and her hands are clasped tightly in her lap. She is not sure why she’s here, why she allowed Lutheran to bring her to his chambers after another gruelling day of strategizing for a war that seemed to have no end.

She feels suffocated by grief, anger and the heavy weight of everything she has lost. Her brother and the life they could have had if fate had not been so cruel.

Lutheran stands by the fireplace watching her carefully. There was something different about him tonight; it was not the usual unshakable leader who commands an entire army. Tonight, he looks concerned. Somehow, she hates that part of her craves the comfort he’s offering.

“Hey, are you still thinking about it, you’re quiet.” Lutheran’s deep voice breaks the silence, his sharp eyes never leaving her. Isolde exhales slowly, staring at the floor. “What do you want me to say?”

“That you’re alright.”

She lets out a humourless laugh. “I would be lying to you if I said that.” Lutheran crosses the room; his footsteps are slow and deliberate. “Isolde…” His voice is softer now, cautious like he’s speaking to a wounded animal. “Talk to me.”

She clenches her jaw; she does not want to talk because talking would only make her remember everything that has happened, and the more she talks about it, the more she feels hurt.

However, when she looked up, Lutheran was right in front of her, towering over her; his presence was solid and warm. Something inside her cracks.

Her breath hitches, and before she can stop herself, the words spill out.

“I saw him in my dreams,” she whispers. Lutheran doesn’t ask who, he already knows.

“My brother,” she continues, her voice was barely above a breath. “I see him in my sleep. I hear his laughter. I remember the way he used to ruffle my hair when we were children, the way we played together, and I swore to always protect him.”

Lutheran kneels before her, placing a gentle hand over hers. “You did all you could to protect him.” Isolde shakes her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “He died because of me.”

“No,” Lutheran says firmly. “He died because of this war. Because of the cruelty of men who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as him.”

“But if I had been stronger, he wouldn't have died, if only I had gone to him sooner..” Lutheran grips her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Don’t do that, don’t take the blame for something that was never yours to carry.”

A tear slips down her cheek. “Then tell me how to make it stop. The pain, the rage that's burning inside of me, and the feeling that no matter how much blood I spill, it will never be enough.”

Lutheran’s expression darkens. “You think I don’t ask myself the same thing?”

She swallows hard. “Do you?”

His jaw tightens. “Every day.”

A beat of silence passes between them and then she does something she never thought she would. She leans into him and allows herself to break. Lutheran doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her against his chest.

His warmth seeps into her, grounding her, and easing the sharp edges of her pain just enough for her to breathe again.

“You’re not alone, Isolde,” he murmurs against her hair. “You will never have to be alone.” She fists his tunic, gripping him like he’s the only thing connecting her to this world.

“I’m tired,” she admits, voice shaking. “I know,” he whispers.

The words settle between them, heavy with things neither of them is ready to say aloud. Isolde shifts, tilting her face up to look at him. Their eyes meet, and suddenly, the air between them changes.

Lutheran’s gaze drops to her lips, just for a second, before flicking back to her eyes. He’s giving her a choice. It's a moment to stop this, but she doesn’t. Instead, she closes the distance, pressing her lips to his.

The kiss starts slow, hesitant. But then Lutheran groans against her mouth, deepening it, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between them.

His hands roam up her back, threading into her hair, while hers clutch at his shoulders, her body arching into his. The world outside of this moment ceases to exist. At this moment, there is no war, no vengeance, and no pain in her heart.

Only this.

Only him.

He lifts her, carrying her to the bed with ease. Their kisses grow more desperate, more consuming. Clothes fall away, and fingers trace paths of fire-overheated skin, and then he called her name in a whisper, a sigh against her lips. “Lyrabi…”

She was stunned, and the name sent a sharp pain straight to her heart. Isolde freezes, and everything stops. The warmth, the passion, and the desperate need for him all shattered.

Lutheran stills, too, as if realizing what he’s just said. The silence between them is deafening. Isolde slowly pulls away, and her body is trembling. “What did you just say?”

Lutheran looks like he’s just been struck. “Isolde, I—”

She shoves him back, scrambling off the bed, her heart pounding so hard it hurts. “No,” she hisses, shaking her head. “No. Say it again.” His face twists with regret. “I didn’t mean—”

“Say. It. Again.” She cried out.

He swallows hard, but the damage is done. Isolde’s breathing turns ragged. “I’m a fool.”

“No,” Lutheran steps forward. “You’re not—”

“I am.” A bitter laugh escapes her lips. “I actually let myself believe that I meant something to you. But all this time, all I’ve been is a replacement?”

Lutheran’s hands clench into fists. “That’s not true.”

“Then why did you say her name?” Her voice cracks, but she refuses to let the tears fall. Lutheran opens his mouth in defence, but nothing comes out, and that silence tells her everything she needs to know. Isolde lets out a shaky breath, then turns toward the door.

“Isolde, please—”

“Don’t,” she cuts him off, and her voice is cold. “Don’t say another word.”

Lutheran steps forward as if to stop her, but she gives him a look so sharp, so full of betrayal, that he halts. Then, without another glance, she storms out, and the door slams behind her. Lutheran exhales slowly, running a hand down his face.

He had fought wars and faced death a thousand times over, but this was a battle he might have already lost even before it started.