A LOVER'S QUARREL

The night was colder than usual. The air inside Isolde’s chamber felt stifling, thick with emotions she could no longer contain. She sat by the open window, her arms were wrapped around herself as if holding her own body together would stop the ache inside her chest. Lyrabi.

That was the name he had whispered in the heat of passion, not hers. Not the name of the woman in his arms, the woman who had given him her trust, her vulnerability. Instead, he had called her Lyrabi, the woman he had loved first but who had died.

Isolde felt something in her crack, she had suspected from the very beginning, especially after Lutheran had told her that she looked like Lyrabi. But now, the words rang differently in her head.

"Did he ever love me for me, or has he only ever seen her?"

Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She had stormed out of his quarters without looking back, the thought of being a replacement of a dead girl she never met made her body tremble.

Her fingers clenched against the window frame, her nails digging into the wood. The silence of the night offered no comfort, only the sound of her own shaky and unsteady breathing could be heard.

She had to stop thinking and clear her mind, but still, his voice lingered in her head. "Lyrabi—"

The name wouldn’t leave her, no matter how much she wanted to erase it. Then, suddenly, a gentle knock on the door distracted her from her thoughts. She froze. For a moment, she considered ignoring it, but she knew who it was; she could feel him; his presence was like a shadow pressing against her soul.

He knocked again, firmer this time

“Isolde,” Lutheran’s voice came through the wood, deep and laced with something she wasn’t ready to face. She squeezed her eyes shut, she wasn’t ready to talk to him.

“Please,” he said, there was vulnerability in his voice. “Let me in.”

Isolde opened her mouth but found no words. What was she supposed to say? That she didn’t want to see him? That she couldn’t bear to look at him and wonder if he only loved the ghost of another woman?

She stayed silent. Lutheran exhaled on the other side of the door. “Alright,” he murmured, after a moment. “I’ll wait.” Her breath hitched. Wait?

“I won’t leave,” he said. “I’ll be right here until you’re ready to hear me out” The words sent something sharp and painful through her chest. But she still couldn’t open the door. Lutheran kept his word.

Isolde sat curled up on her bed with her arms wrapped around her knees, listening to the silence on the other side of the door. She expected him to leave after a while, to become impatient and walk away, leaving her alone with her thoughts. But he didn’t, he stayed.

Minutes passed and turned into hours. And still, she could feel him there, his presence felt like a heavy weight against the door. He wasn’t knocking anymore, wasn’t speaking, but somehow, she knew he was still leaning against the wood, waiting for her.

She shut her eyes, she could feel the frustration bubbling inside her. She hated how much she felt for him, she hated that his words had hurt her this deeply. She should just let him leave, but she knew he wouldn’t.

She turned her head, looking at the door as if she could see through it. Why is he still here?

She had heard the stories of Lutheran, the King of the Alphas, the man feared by his enemies. He wasn’t the kind of man who waited for anyone, and yet, here he was waiting for her.

The thought made her heart ache. With a sharp breath, she wiped her damp cheeks and forced herself to stand. She couldn’t stay like this forever, she needed air, she needed to clear her head. Without thinking, she opened the door.

Lutheran straightened instantly, he had been sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, one leg stretched out, the other bent. He looked up at her, his eyes dark with emotions she couldn’t name. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The hallway was dimly lit, casting soft shadows on his face. His jaw was tight, and his lips were slightly parted as if he had been about to say something. But when she didn’t move, he didn’t either.

Isolde swallowed hard. He looked tired and worn down Like he had been carrying a weight just as heavy as hers.

“Why are you still here?” she asked finally, her voice quieter than she intended.

Lutheran let out a slow breath. “Because I couldn’t leave you alone. I'm sorry.” His answer was simple. She clenched her fists at her sides. “Why?”

His eyes searched hers, he didn’t look away. “Because you mean everything to me.” The words made her chest tighten painfully, she wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t. Not when his voice had whispered another woman’s name in her ear.

She looked away, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I need to be alone.” A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he didn’t argue. He only nodded. “Alright.” She stepped back, reaching for the door, but before she could close it, he spoke again.

“But I’m not giving up on us, Isolde.” Her breath caught. His voice was low and steady, but there was something fierce in it. Something unshakable.

“I’ll wait for you,” he said. “No matter how long it takes.” The door shut between them before she could break and for the first time that night, she let the tears fall.

For two days, she had kept her distance, shutting herself away, trying to convince herself that it didn’t matter. That it was just a mistake, probably just a slip of the tongue. But it did matter, because every time she closed her eyes, she could still hear it, his voice murmuring a name that wasn’t hers.

Lyrabi, the name of the woman she would never be. The realization burned, clawing at her insides, and by the time the third day came, she couldn’t take it anymore.

She stormed through the halls; her steps were sharp, and her hands were trembling with a mixture of anger and something else she didn’t want to name.

Lutheran was in the training courtyard when she found him, speaking to his men, his face was calm and composed, like he hadn’t spent the last two days sitting at the door of her cabin, waiting for her.

“Lutheran.” She called. The way she said his name made the air turn cold. The warriors around him stiffened, sensing the tension immediately. Some exchanged glances, others quietly stepped back, giving them space.

Lutheran turned to her, and when their eyes met, there was a mixture of surprise and relief. And something that looked a lot like guilt. That only fueled her fury.

“I need to speak with you,” she said, her voice sharp as a blade. Lutheran gave a slow nod. “Come.”

He didn’t hesitate, he simply led the way inside, through the corridors, until they reached his private chambers. The door barely closed before Isolde whirled on him.

“Tell me the truth,” she demanded, her voice trembling with emotions she had tried so hard to bury. Lutheran exhaled slowly, his broad shoulders tense. “About what?”

“About me,” she shot back. “About us.” He met her gaze and called out. “Isolde—”

“Do I even matter to you?” she cut in, her chest was heaving. “Or am I just a replacement?”

Lutheran’s expression darkened. “You’re not a replacement.”

“Then why did you say her name?” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t care. “Why did you look at me and think of her?”

His jaw clenched. “It was a mistake.”

“A mistake? Do you even hear yourself?”

Lutheran ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Isolde, I love you.”

The words hit her like a blow but she couldn’t believe them.

“You love me?” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Or do you love her through me?”

Lutheran sucked in a sharp breath. He didn’t speak for a moment, and that silence and hesitation were all the answers she needed. Isolde let out a shaky laugh, stepping back. “That’s what I thought.”

Lutheran moved before she could leave, his large hands gripping her arms, not hard, just enough to stop her.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice raw. “Yes, Lyrabi was my first love. And you indeed remind me of her, but you are not her.”

His grip tightened, his eyes burning into hers. “I don’t love you because you look like her,” he said. “I love you because you’re you.”

Her heart pounded. “Then why—”

“Because for a long time, I was afraid.” His voice was hoarse, his breath uneven. “Afraid that if I let myself love you, I would lose you too.”

The words sent a tremor through her chest. His hands trembled slightly against her skin.

“You think I don’t see you?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion. “I see you, Isolde. I see all of you. And I love every single part.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out; she wanted to believe him, but something still held her back and he saw it.

“I’ll prove it to you,” he vowed. “No matter how long it takes.” The storm inside her didn’t fade. But for the first time in days, it didn’t feel quite so suffocating