4: Darken War

13: James

Chapter Thirteen: James

She slept for another three days.

Every hour that passed, I stayed close. I paced. I sat by her bed. I reread old maps and rechecked the mirror network security. But mostly, I watched her breathe, waiting for the moment those violet eyes would finally open again.

When she did, it was quiet. No dramatic gasp or sudden movement—just her eyes slowly blinking open, then staring at the ceiling like she wasn't quite sure where she was. Or who she was.

Now, on the evening of her third waking day, we sat in the palace's dining hall, just the two of us, dinner set out between us on the long carved table. A beautiful roast, wine, fruit, and vegetables. And yet, she hadn't touched a thing.

She sat stiffly, gaze lost somewhere far beyond the room. Her eyes were distant. Empty. Like she was seeing ghosts I couldn't fight for her.

I leaned forward and gently rested my hand on hers. "Is everything okay, love?"

No response.

She didn't blink. Didn't flinch. Just kept staring ahead like the world had stopped moving around her.

I snapped my fingers softly in front of her face.

She blinked and looked at me, startled. "Sorry." She glanced down at her plate, her fork still untouched.

"What's wrong?" I asked again, this time more carefully.

"Nothing," she replied too quickly, too quietly, picking up her fork with mechanical grace.

"You know damn well that's a lie," I said gently, tightening my grip on her hand. "And I think I deserve the truth."

She paused, eyes shimmering. Then, with a small sigh, she set the fork down again and looked up. Her voice cracked.

"I... I'm getting tired of all this war," she whispered.

The words struck me like a punch to the chest.

"My entire past life, it was nothing but war," she said. "War for land. War for pride. War for my father's insane hunger for power. I was a weapon in his hands. I didn't have a choice back then. I didn't have anything."

Her hands trembled.

"And now? This life—my second chance—when I should have been free, when I am free... it's the same. War after war. Battle after battle. My father in this life is gone, and yet I still can't escape it."

She stood from her seat and walked a few steps away, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"When will enough be enough?" she asked, voice rising. "When will I finally get to just live with my husband and children? When will I get to walk through a field without wondering if there's a blade waiting for me behind the grass?"

She turned to face me, her voice hollow. "War follows the Great Dragon. Wherever I go, no matter what I do, I'm dragged into conflict. I didn't ask for this power. And if it means I'm forever condemned to fight and kill and bleed—I don't want it."

Her knees gave slightly as she sat again, folding in on herself. "I feel like... like a machine, James. A perfect weapon. Sharpened. Unbreakable. But weapons don't feel. Weapons don't cry. And I do. I do so much."

Tears rolled freely now.

"I've been tortured. Possessed. Kidnapped. Raped. Changed. Controlled. All because I'm her. The Great Dragon. The savior, the queen, the war-bringer."

She looked away, her voice breaking. "I can't keep doing this. I can't. I can't even sleep at night without seeing the horrors I've lived through. The faces. The blood."