Barracks (War of Hearts)

45- King

After dinner, Aldaire and I stroll through the maze. His silence weighs heavily, and I ache for him. He's adept at concealing his pain, but I see through the facade. Worry gnaws at me.

"I am sorry," I say, taking his hand.

He halts, puzzled. "About everything. Your father, the capture, the risks you took to find me. I was meant to assist you with Lavyrle, not the other way around. I thought you might not come."

Offended, he retorts, "Why would I leave you with them? You are my subject. My responsibility. I apologize for not reaching you sooner."

The moon bathes us in its glow, and we stand hand in hand, isolated from the world, lamenting the irreparable.

When he cups my face, my worries dissolve. I've missed him desperately, and now that he's here, witnessing his silent suffering tears at my shattered heart. I'm strong for him, though admitting it feels like a betrayal of my own fragility. If he glimpsed my brokenness, guilt would consume him.

My lies accumulate, but so does my love for him. There's no way I'll release him.

"I was scared," he confesses. "Losing you. That night, I searched for you, saw you with him." My heart stutters. How much did he witness? "I returned to Barracks, waited there. I shouldn't have left you. Then news of the attack and your abduction reached me. Himley contacted Tristan. My thoughts were a whirlwind."

My heart clenches, unwilling to reveal its secrets, but he persists. His sincerity tugs at my chest, unraveling the tightly wound threads of my guarded emotions.

"But you found me, and I am here. That is what matters," I whisper.

"I said once that I didn't care if you died," he says, his breath warm against my skin, his gaze intense. "I lied then, and I probably will if I ever say it again." His cold hand rests on my cheek, leaving a searing imprint. "Come here," he commands, pulling me into an embrace. In that moment, he becomes my lifeline—the only thing I need.

"Did you tell Himley about the events?" I ask, my concern for him never waning. I was fortunate he hadn't harmed me during his uncontrollable fits, but I feared he might hurt himself.

He chuckles, as if recounting a darkly humorous tale. "I didn't tell her. She witnessed me decapitate my guard, extract hearts, and lose control during a crucial meeting."

Oh, no! Panic flares within me. "She suspected something was wrong."

"She noticed it wasn't me," he says, his eyes narrowing. "That wound was poisoned during the tournament... Guess who participated?"

"I have no idea. Lavyrle? Stefani?" I hazard guesses, my mind racing.

"Seems like the apple didn't fall far from the tree," he muses. "She expected me to kill you during one of my fits," he admits. "But on the contrary..."

I smile, understanding him. Aldaire rarely wears his emotions on his sleeve. 

Later, Aldaire leads me to my room. The ache of separation is torture; our shared space feels alien without him.

The next morning dawns somber. Dark clouds shroud the sun, casting a melancholy hue. It doesn't rain, yet the absence of sunlight disturbs me even more. The queen invites me to breakfast, and Himley joins us under a gnarled tree. She slumps into the chair beside me, unenthusiastic.

Her lack of enthusiasm puzzles me until the queen's words break the silence. "I hope you can stay this time," she says, her gaze searching hers.

"We've discussed this, Mother," she replies, her tone firm. "It's too early for arguments. We have a guest."