Chapter 76

Chapter 76: Chapter 76

The Undercroft dorm was silent save for the soft breathing of her sleeping roommates. Finn was sprawled across his bunk, one arm dangling over the edge, his mouth slightly open as he snored softly. Marek lay still as a stone, his breathing deep and even. Jasper was curled on his side, his ever-present book resting on the floor beside him, finally abandoned for sleep.

Nyra could not sleep.

She had been lying awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the stone, trying to quiet her racing mind. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw Soren’s face. The guilt in his dark eyes. The desperation in his voice. The way he had looked at her in the garden, broken and pleading. And beneath the anger, beneath the hurt, beneath the betrayal that still burned in her chest, something else stirred. Something she didn’t want to name.

She threw off her thin blanket and sat up, her skin slick with sweat despite the cool night air. The summer heat had settled into the academy like a fever, and the dormitory’s thick stone walls trapped the warmth even hours after sunset. Her thin nightshirt—a unisex white cotton shirt and loose trousers—clung to her body, damp with perspiration.

I need air, she thought. I need to think. I need to get out of this room before I suffocate.

She swung her legs over the side of the bunk and stood, moving quietly so as not to wake the others. Her cloak hung on a peg near the door, and she wrapped it around her shoulders, though the night was warm enough that she barely needed it. She grabbed the small lantern from the table near the door and lit it with a flick of flint, the flame casting a soft golden glow across the sleeping forms of her friends.

Finn mumbled something in his sleep—something about cheese—and rolled over. Marek didn’t stir. Jasper’s eyes flickered briefly but didn’t open.

Nyra opened the door with agonizing slowness, wincing at every creak of the ancient hinges. She slipped through the gap, closed the door behind her with equal care, and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

The corridor was dark and empty, the torches burned down to embers. The only sound was the distant hoot of an owl and the soft whisper of the summer wind through the towers. She raised her lantern and began to walk.

Her feet carried her through the familiar paths without conscious thought—past the training grounds, past the garden, through the willow curtain that hid the lake from view. The water was black glass under the moon, still and silent and utterly beautiful. She set her lantern on the wooden fence that bordered one small section of the lake—a place where you could sit and dangle your feet in the cool water—and began to undress.

Her cloak fell to the grass. Her boots were next, kicked off with more force than necessary. She kept her thin nightclothes on and lowered herself onto the wooden fence, her legs dipping into the cold water. The shock of it was refreshing, grounding, pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts and into the present moment.

The moon hung overhead, full and silver, and she stared at it for a long time.

The Mistwood, she thought. The hut. The rain. The way he held me when my fever broke. The way he kissed me for the first time in the stream. The way he told me he was afraid of what he felt.

A single tear slid down her cheek and splashed onto her trousers.

"Why am I crying again for that jerk?" she muttered to herself, her voice cracking in the silence. "I already promised myself I wouldn’t cry for him again. Why is this still happening?"

Another tear. Another. Soon her eyes were filled with them, and she was crying silently, her shoulders shaking, her hands gripping the edge of the wooden fence.

"That jerk," she whispered. "He made me fall in love with him only to break my heart like this. I hate him so much. I hate him."

The words were hollow. She didn’t hate him. That was the problem.

"You were in love with me?"

The voice came from directly behind her.

Nyra screamed a short, sharp yelp of pure fright and in her panic she lost her balance. Her hands flailed. Her body pitched forward. And then she was falling, the cold water of the lake closing over her head with a splash that echoed through the silent night.

She surfaced with a gasp, her hair plastered to her face, her thin nightclothes clinging to her body like a second skin. She sputtered, coughing, pushing wet silver strands out of her eyes.

Soren was already in the water.

He must have jumped in the moment she fell, because he was right there, his dark hair wet and dripping, his white shirt transparent and molded to the hard planes of his chest. He reached for her, his hands closing around her arms, pulling her toward him.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"I’m fine." She pushed away from him, her eyes going cold despite the tears still wet on her cheeks. "What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night."

Soren didn’t answer her question. His dark eyes were fixed on her face, searching, desperate. "Did I hear you correctly? Or was I hallucinating?" His voice was rough, barely above a whisper. "You said you love me. Is that true?"

Nyra looked away. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. "No. It’s not true. You heard wrong. Or you were probably hallucinating."

"You’re not even looking at me." He drew closer, the water rippling around them. "How do you expect me to believe what you’re saying? I clearly heard you say you fell in love with me. Isn’t that true?"

He reached out and took her arms again, gently this time.

She pushed him away and moved back, the water swirling around her waist. "You want me to look in your eyes and say it? Fine." She turned to face him, her jaw set, her hands fisted at her sides, her whole body trembling with the effort of holding back the tears. "I don’t love you, Soren. You probably misheard what I said."

Her voice cracked on the last word. Her eyes were red and swollen. Even in the dim moonlight, he could see the lie written across her face.

"Can you please leave? I need some air and space." She looked away again, unable to hold his gaze.

"I refuse to believe you, little moon." The nickname slipped from his lips like a prayer. "I can see it in your eyes that you’re lying. And I know I deserve it. It’s all my fault."

He drew closer again—for the third time—and this time she didn’t push him away.

"I’m so sorry, my love." His voice was raw, cracking at the edges. "I know I messed things up so bad. I broke your trust. Believe me, I wanted to tell you, but I guess I was too much of a coward to do so. I kept telling myself that all will be well. I will tell you when my father comes. I will tell you when the time is right."

"When the time is right?" Nyra’s voice was sharp, cutting through the night air. "When was it never right, Soren? Answer me. When was it never right? We were both in the Mistwood forest all by ourselves in a hut that provided little to no shelter and a bed that was no different from the hard ground for seven good days. We survived on nothing but rabbit and squirrels and the river water over there. All by ourselves, and you’re telling me it was not the right time?"

Soren opened his mouth, but no words came.

"When you told me about your family, about Freya, about your mother was it also not the right time? Or when we kissed and confessed our feelings for each other? Or when we made love to each other in that hut on that hard stone bed?" Her voice was rising now, trembling with fury and grief. "Was it also not the right time, Soren? Was it not?"

"I—"

"Answer me! When did you plan on telling me? Or did you ever even plan on telling me? Or did you just see me as a person to pass time with before duty calls in full?"

"No! Nyra, no—"

"It would have hurt less if I heard it from you instead of hearing it from your betrothed in front of the whole school, making me look foolish! And as if embarrassing me publicly was not enough, you had to do a round two, and your stupid betrothed slapped the one person that supported me and also slapped me, and you could do nothing to stop her!"

Tears were streaming down her face now, mingling with the lake water on her cheeks. Her chest heaved. Her hands were shaking.

"You wanted to know if I love you? Yes, I do. You heard it clearly. I am so deeply in love with you it’s frightening, because I don’t think I can do this anymore. A relationship built on broken trust is bound to break no matter what."

"Nyra, please." Soren’s voice cracked. Tears were forming in his own eyes now, silver in the moonlight. "I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I accept I am a coward, a fool everything you want to call me, I can take it. But please don’t break up with me. I don’t think I can take that. Screw the mating bond—I would have fallen in love with you regardless of that. Please, Nyra. I am begging you. Don’t do this to me."

He moved closer, his hands reaching for her.

"You can punish me. You can do anything you want with me. Even give me the silent treatment, I can manage that, even though it will hurt deeply. But please, breaking up is like killing me. Nyra, please forgive me."

He pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly that she could feel his heart pounding against her chest. He was crying now—Soren Thornridge, the Ice Wolf, the Sword Sovereign, the crown prince who had never shown weakness to anyone—was crying.