PART IV - that no matter what

Isabella stared. Unblinkingly. Seriously. Uncontrollably, at Rowan's sleeping face. The colour had returned to his cheeks, and she bit her tongue until she was able to taste her own blood as she realised that the sound of his steady breathing brought the pounding in her chest an unexplainable calmness.

It had been almost a week since the attack, and the camp had managed a recovery of impressive rapidness. Banjali had proved to be able of taking blows and bending so it would not break, for most tents had already been reconstructed, and the number of injured was low as most had already been treated.

She had spent the days following the attack in the castle, sewing, bandaging, cleaning, bleeding and drawing non-stop. By the time she had finally finished with all the injured she had found, lying immobilised and disoriented, most of them half-dead, their bodies were closer to corpses than flesh; her hands had been burning, her scars tearing, her legs trembling, it had been a miracle she had made it to her tent before passing out.

The morning after that, she had woken up alive, only to proceed to cry.

Her body had felt in shambles, as if someone had prickled at her skin and set it alight. Isabella had wished the painful, electrifying burn could turn her into ashes just so it would stop, but it hadn't. She was alert, if barely, and she had used all her strength to draw more of her blood -containing a howl of suffering- to write more healing sketches on her skin before she passed out again.

After that, she was unaware of how much she had slept, but her body had been almost back to normal when she stood up and walked out of her tent. It was nighttime, but the camp was filled with vivacious energy as everyone was doing one thing or another to bring the camp to its former standing. Her steps took her to the healers' wing, where she saw Louise, shouting orders while her hands moved faster than lighting as she tended to a soldier. Dahlia and Rose were in similar situations.

And despite all she had helped the night of the attack, the way she had pushed her whole being to unexplainable and non-returning lengths, a part of her felt guilty for not assisting the rest of the healers. That part of her was accompanied with an emotion of despair at her uselessness. Such emotions were accompanied with the itching of her fingers to disinfect, sew, and mend.

However, those thoughts were practically forgotten as her eyes settled on Rowan's body. Anger coursed through her veins as she remembered his eyes when he had found her secret; but most of all she felt hurt, for she had believed him to be understanding, and yet he had reacted as she had feared others would.

Isabella walked to his side, she examined his body for injuries again, and let out a sigh she hadn't known she was holding when she found no new deadly wounds. She had healed him before passing out, as soon as she had seen Lorcan carrying his limp body in his arms and begging her with his eyes to help him, to do something. The fury and torment she felt because of him were sparkles of dust in comparison to how much she wished for him to be alright.

Regardless, she did not stay next to his side after secretly tending to his deadly wound. She had merely grabbed an apron and joined the rest of the healers as much as she could. The workload kept her busy, distracted, her sense of serviceability gave her strength to keep working even when all others had gone to sleep; and if her chores happened to keep her in the healers' wing where she could keep a close eye on Rowan's resting form, it was pure coincidence.

-

Lorcan did not hate his life. At least, not always. When he had been a child, abandoned by both the woman who had birthed him only to leave him in the streets and the male who had disappeared as soon as said woman had told him of the child growing in her womb; even then he had not hated his situation.

He had been furious. Starving for revenge and for the chance to become more than what the irresponsible actions of adults had dealt him.

Years later, he had been at war, and he had realised that there were darker shadows than those of a dangerous alley, and more horrible monsters than another violent, misunderstood child.

Following, Rowan had appeared, and he could find nothing close to hatred for him to resent his life. Posterior to his treasured friendship, he had been captured. And in what should have been a black hole for him to hate, he had found him. Him, him, him, and always him.

And despite the fact that they were not together anymore, that perhaps he would never hold him in his arms again, he still couldn't hate his current life.

But he could damn sure complain about it.

He rubbed his temples with his free hand as he reread Essar's letter. Arobynn Hamel was a son of a bitch. Both literally, and figuratively. He was a lying, traitorous prick who managed the widest web of assassins in their world, and who had often played his hand with human slaves. It was such a shame that he also happened to sire Vinhen.

Lorcan was unaware of how Essar had met the male, and he couldn't grasp his head around such sweet, kind female falling for a monster like Arobynn; but when his ex-lover had knocked on his door years ago in the middle of the night, crying as she protectively cuddled her hands in front of her small bump, he had merely let her in and offer her a helping hand.

No one knew of Vinhen's heritage. And it was a good thing that they had managed to keep it that way. Lorcan was aware of the rumours that circled them both, the whispers that gossipers liked to utter whenever they saw Vinhen and him together, but he did not care. It did not bother him, for Vinhen may not be his son, but he'd played a big hand in raising him.

The only downside of such a secret, was that Fenrys also believed in those rumours. His mate was usually the first one in using his sharp hearing ability to listen to a good piece of gossip, and despite usually being in his wolf form, he managed to spread word of what he found interesting faster than a prey trying to get away.

But Lorcan could not tell him the truth, for it would put not only Essar and Vinhen in danger, but also Fenrys. Arobynn was unpredictable, the male was only loyal to himself, and he did not care for his only -known- child unless it was beneficial to him. Who knew what he would do if word spread about Vinhen's real father?

Which only made the message he had sent, the warning, even more unnerving.

Beware, they are coming.

Who did the assassin mean? The obvious answer would be their enemies, the novyk, but Arobyn did not care about the affairs of the Fae, not even despite the fact that the male himself had a far-away heritage himself, and the reason why the male did not age.

Therefore, who could the assassin have had in mind when he wrote the letter? Who could have brought the male enough distress that he felt the need to contact his son for the first time in his life?

Lorcan was going insane, trying to decipher what it really meant, and with Rowan asleep, Fenrys refusing to talk with him, and Gavriel busy leading the camp, he was left alone with the puzzle.

He had never been good with missing pieces.

-

Isabella knew she was dreaming. A distant part of her knew she was, yet she constantly forgot about such facts as the images unfolded behind her closed eyelids.

She was back in her cell, trapped. The vision felt so real that she swore she could smell the odour of all the dirty bodies -including herself- mixed with the scent of blood, vomit, and urine. In her mind, her knees were on her chest, and she was fighting against her tiredness as she tightly hugged herself and willed her small and bony body to become smaller so the shadows in her cell could hide her in case one of the soldiers decided to have his turn with one of the girls.

The fear gripped her throat as her nightmares materialised, and one drunk soldier stumbled inside the slaves' prison. He had a dirty moustache, and the wrinkles on his face revealed he was way older than any of them. The rustling of bodies moving inside the cells, followed by the sound of some of them crying, while others whispered prayers filled the small space.

"Well, well, bwell," He slurred his words, and his stuck his tongue out to water his dry lips as he came closer to the first cell. "Who else is awake?" He asked, loud as a parrot as he knelt -and almost lost his equilibrium- in front of a girl's cell.

The soldier blew her a disgusting kiss as he stood up with the help of the bars and continued walking. Isabella's heart beat fast against her ribcage, and she could feel bile rise in her throat as the soldier walked and said obscenities to the girls.

He whistled. "Such beautiful hands, maybe you can put them to good use" He told one. "Open your mouth, I want to see if you can take me" He ordered another. "I've been told you are good, but unluckily for you I don't like used holes" He went on and on.

Isabella did not pray, she had given up on such things a long time ago, all she could do as the soldier's steps crept closer to her cell was hold her breath and try to blend her dirty body with the darkness that covered her prison.

The monster's boots stopped in front of her bars. He used his empty bottle of beer to make a sound that sent terrifying shivers down her body. "Anybody home?" He narrowed his eyes, trying to find her in between the shadows, for the only lamplight in the prison was not enough to lighten the room. Soldiers liked to pretend such little light gave them privacy when they used them.

She held her breath, afraid that the small rise and fall of her chest would draw attention to herself, and he would choose her. She didn't even dare blink. If she could have stopped her heart from drumming, she would have.

"Is it empty? I can't see you, come closer" He teased, while he now used his bottle against the bars from one side to the other. Isabella didn't move, her chest began hurting as the amount of time she did not breath grew longer. "COME OUT I SAID!" The man yelled as he splashed the glass bottle against her cell, breaking the bottle and leaving pieces of glass all over the floor.

More girls began crying as a result of his outburst, and fear could be felt, for it was thick in the air.

Still, Isabella did not move. Her throat and head burnt as she remained immobile, hoping that he would move on. But he did not. He started rummaging through the keys strapped to his belt, and her heart skipped a beat for a second. The sound of the glass as he stepped on it while trying to use his drunk fingers to find the key that would open her cell were joined by the screams and cries of the younger girls.

"Silence!" He ordered, but he seemed to be too intoxicated to find the keys. He kicked her bars as he gave up. The man slipped one of his arms through the bars in an attempt to get a hold of her. "'C'om here" His hand closed and opened in the space between him and her as she leaned further into the dirty walls.

"I don't think I've ever even seen you outside of there. C'ome here right now" The soldier yelled, his fury and alcohol slurring his words. He was frantic as he seemed to try and slip through her bars, his arm stretched in front of him, moving from one side to the other in search of her body.

"Goddamit, c'ome here" His voice was too loud, and the cries and shouting of the other girls only seemed to match his level as they grew uncontrollable with terror.

But Isabella did not move. She did not move as one of the girls wailed so loud the soldier covered his ears. Or as the smell of urine rose as he kicked and kicked the bars that separated her from him. Not even as he narrowed his eyes and a veil seemed to cover his pupils -the alcohol, probably, she thought- and he took a step back and walked to another cell. And most importantly, she did not move as he managed to find the key of one of the cells, opened it, and grabbed the arm of the youngest girl -who could not have been older than twelve- as he forced her to go with him.

Isabella did not- she could not- her body was still as they all heard the little girl's cries even from outside. She did not move as tears fell down her eyes as the sound of men's laughter grew louder in sync with the little girl's plea to stop.

She didn't even blink as the cries stopped, but not the sound of a body being used. Not even when she heard one of the monsters say that it was not fun if she wasn't conscious.

In her nightmare, Isabella could not remember seeing the girl ever again after that night. But she could remember the slight glint of broken glass on the floor. That's when she moved.

She tried to make no sound, tried to be completely silent as she slowly unhugged her knees and dragged them through the filthy stone floor slow enough so she wouldn't catch anyone's attention.

Isabella's hand slipped through her bars only far enough so she could close it around one of the broken pieces of glass. Swiftly, she pulled her hand back to her middle and came back to the furthest corner in her cell, back to the shadows.

She didn't bother inspecting the piece as she brought it to her wrist and sliced through it.

Blood and blood and more blood poured out from the wound, and as her eyes drifted close, she prayed that all that red would be finally accompanied by death.

-

Isabella woke up screaming. And alone. Her eyes flew to her wrist, but she only found the sketches of the language she had inked herself, and white scars that did not belong to the injury she had inflicted to herself in her dream.

Her hands came to her throat as it closed and she gasped for air. She did not know why she had thought of that place after what had felt for so long, she could not understand were such visions had even come from, for she could not remember such events ever taking place.

Her wish for death was real, almost a tangible thing. That, she could remember. That, was true. Undeniably so. Isabella had lost count of how many times she had wished they would kill her, how many times she wished she could catch a virus and die, or for her starving body to finally give up; but death had never been on her side, for it had never granted her wishes.

And yet...the dream left a sour taste in her mouth, and her wrist itched as the image still played in her mind, the realness of the sensation making her dizzy and confused. But she had work to do, an assistance to offer, and so she changed into her training clothes and abandoned her empty tent.

She tried to also forget how helpful Rowan's magic had always been when helping her breath when her fear did not allow her to.

-

"I can walk, thanks" Rowan told Lorcan as the male tried to help him stand from the bed in the healers' wing.

"Are you sure? You look quite pale" The old male said, the joke in his voice thick and dense as Lorcan's bad sense of humour.

Rowan bared his fangs at him.

"If I poke you, will you fall to the floor like a shooting bird?" Fenrys asked, unnecessarily, as he poked his side with no shame.

"For fucks' sake" Rowan snapped, snatching the young's wolf hand away. "I'm fine"

"Hard to say, you looked quite weak as Lorcan carried you in his arms like a damsel" Gavriel joined in, the curve of his lips revealing his jest, and betraying the seriousness of his tone of voice.

"Personally, I find your comment quite unprogressive, Gavriel. There's nothing wrong with damsels in distress" Fenrys said with his nose up in the air.

The lion raised his eyebrows as he smiled. "Never said there was"

Rowan rolled his eyes as the both of them continued to talk nonsense. He had awoken from his week-long rest in the healers' wing alone. He had been halfway through successfully slipping away without being seen when Louise caught him mid-act and ordered him to lay back down as she called for the Cadre.

Pointlessly, he may add, for they had done nothing but utter unfunny jokes that only they laughed at. He ignored them and started walking towards his office. They followed him.

"Where's the rush?" Fenrys told him as he matched his fast steps. "Did your ego also take a blow when that arrow pierced your chest?"

"I think it's not that" Gavriel chimed in. "I think that he just wants to go to the bathroom since he's been asleep for almost seven days"

"Ass on fire" Lorcan added in between coughs as the other two males laughed.

Rowan felt the need to point out that they really were not good at cracking jokes, but he thought better of it and ignored them. He was mature, unlike them. Sure.

He strolled around the camp, using his powers to help those he saw were lifting the heavy poles from the tents, and then used a bit of it to make some of the minor commanders he didn't really get along with trip as they walked past him. As he had said, mature.

Lorcan closed the door behind him as they all stormed inside his office. He spread his hands on his desk as he leaned into it. "What are you all doing here?-"

"We want an orgy" Fenrys announced.

Rowan rolled his eyes and ignored his joke as the other two males laughed. "-don't you have better things to do?"

"We do" Gavriel nodded, "But we know what we ought to do, you don't because you've been resting for a week-"

Rowan opened his mouth to protest and say that he hadn't chosen to sleep, but rather it was his system's way of fully replenishing his magic and his body.

The lion did not let him. "-So you need us so we can tell you everything you've missed"

He raised his eyebrows, unimpressed and not about to admit he was right. "Alright. What did I miss?"

Gavriel shot Lorcan a worried look as the tallest male took over. "Arobynn Hamel has written" He announced, and although his voice did not betray any emotion, Rowan knew his friend must have been close to panicking, inside.

Rowan made sure not to stare for longer than necessary at Lorcan's face, and for his features to conceive what he was really feeling as he processed the information.

"He has warned us" Lorcan said, solemnly.

"About what?"

"It's still unknown to us" Gavriel answered as Lorcan handed him the letter with the King of Assassins' writing.

He read it three times before he gave it back. He could feel his brow turn in a frown the more he stared at the words. They meant everything and yet nothing.

"I still don't understand why Arobynn, of all people, would send such a message. He's known for not intervening in affairs of the Fae" Fenrys shook his head dramatically as he threw himself on a chair.

Lorcan and Rowan exchanged a quick, knowing look that was missed by both Fenrys and Gavriel. The latter was too deep in thought to notice it. The former, too preoccupied with fanning himself to catch the real meaning behind their exchange.

"Perhaps we should ask ourselves if he is earning something from this, and what that entitles, exactly" Gavriel pondered out loud.

"I agree," Rowan said.

They all discussed and shared their opinions for hours, for long enough that the moon was high and the stars shined. But their thoughts were all inconclusive. None of them were able to come up with an reasoning logic enough to convince them that that was the possible reasoning behind the male's warning.

In the end, Gavriel and Fenrys left, but Lorcan remained behind, pretending to be interested in a book as Rowan sat on his desk and the sound of the door closing, leaving them alone resonated in the contained space.

He broke the silence first. "Who was the letter for?"

The male did not look up. "Who do you think?" He grunted.

"Vinhen,"

Lorcan nodded.

"He's never sent a word to him before, has he?"

"Not that I know of,"

"Do you think Essar may have a better idea of what he meant?" Rowan left his desk to sit behind it, on his chair. He may have slept for days, but he was starting to feel fatigue. Magic was often senseless.

"We know what he meant, the problem is that we do not know who" Lorcan told him, mockingly, and with an edge to his voice.

"Don't get smart with me" He rubbed at his temple. "You know what I was referring to"

"I do," Lorcan sighed, his eyes focused on the palm of his hand. "It's just...frustrating"

"I can imagine," Rowan muttered, honestly. He had made no mention, but he had noticed the way Fenrys avoided the male's presence. The wolf's eyes did not even focus on Lorcan, as if he were not in the room with them.

"I'm sure you do"

"What does that mean?" His hand closed in a fist, even as a headache formed behind his eyelids.

"I'm not dumb"

"Are you sure?" He jested.

Lorcan leaned on the wall behind him, his arms crossed over his chest, as he raised his eyebrows with sarcasm. "You can ask me," He said, instead, not falling for Rowan's intention to stir the conversation to another topic.

"I don't know what you mean"

"Who's the dumb idiot now?"

Rowan growled lowly, the sound mixing with the cracking of a fire outside. He sighed as he gave in. "Where is she?"

"Right now? Probably in the healers' wing. She has spent most of her time there since the attack"

"And yet she was nowhere to be seen when I arose" Rowan tried not to, but he couldn't help the bitterness and hurt that creeped to his words as he spoke.

"Convenient, if you ask me" Lorcan shared as Rowan drowned in self-pity. "Did something happen between the two of you?"

Rowan did not respond, for what he had seen of Isabella was not Lorcan's concern. And because he wasn't sure that he could even speak aloud about it. The memories flooded his thoughts, and suddenly he could feel his own heart being squeezed painfully. His throat closed and he had to shut his eyes off for a couple of seconds so he would not wail like a just-born baby in front of one of his oldest friends.

"Oh, I see that something did happen,"

"I think I need a drink," He muttered. The idea of drinking until he could not remember and pass out was very tempting. It would even be just like the old times if Lorcan joined him. The invitation hung in the air, Rowan hoped his friend would take it.

He did not. "You are still recovering, I don't think it's the best idea"

"Since when do you act like a worried mother hen?"

"Ever since everyone I love decides to put themselves in danger over and over again"

"You are no one to talk, you are as self-destructive as I am" Lies. Rowan would never admit it out loud, but there were depths to his sorrow and hatred that he had always been too ashamed to share with Lorcan, for Rowan had always felt that he had no reason to feel so empty in comparison to all the things his friend had gone through.

"Perhaps, but we have a puzzle to solve and being drunk will do no good"

Rowan groaned even as he nodded.

-

Isabella did not want to admit it, but she needed a drink. She knew Rowan had awoken. She had known he was done recovering as soon as he had entered the healers' wing that day. Cowardly, she had ran away and called for Louise so she wouldn't have to interact with him.

She was ashamed, which she hated, and it was concerning because she was not sure why the shame even cornered her in the first place. She tried to remind herself she had no reason to feel that way. He was the one in the wrong. He had stormed without hearing her, he had looked at her as a traitor when everything she had done, all she had mutilated her body and sacrificed for was so she could help him. Them. Their world.

Trying to ignore the part of her mind that whispered that she had also done it for selfish reasons, she walked through camp with a bottle in one of her hands as she searched for Vinhen. She could use his constant talking as a distraction.

He was found crouched in front of the fire, his gaze intently on the flames. Isabella admired the way the blaze seemed to play with the colour of his hair.

Sitting next to him, she silently handed him the bottle. But he just stared at it without uttering a sound. She waved it, temptingly, wishing he would take it, for the sensation of the glass reminded her of her dream, and she could swear her wrist itched in response to her thoughts.

"Don't look at me like that, we deserve a drink after this week" She bumped her shoulder with his.

And yet, he still did not respond. He shook his head and she turned in her seat to catch a better look of his face. "What's wrong?" Isabella asked him once she noticed the unfamiliar emotion twirling in his troubled eyes.

"Nothing,"

"Don't lie" She tried for lightness, but it did not work.

"I'm just not in the mood,"

Isabella knew he was lying. Ever since the attack she had noticed his strange behaviour. He was always looking around, as if afraid someone was watching or following him. He was skittish. She had assumed it was because the attack had frightened him, but she was not so sure anymore.

She left the bottle on the grass and offered him her hand instead. Vinhen stared at her palm -all sketches and marks completely covered- for a long time, long enough that she thought maybe he would accept it and tell her what was bothering him, but all he did was stand up and leave without a word.

Isabella added his response to the list of things that shouldn't, but hurt her anyway.

-

Rowan was slightly panicking. He was pacing their tent. He had been doing it for long enough that he could have made a hole on the floor. But he could not help it. He rubbed at his palms with one another in a nervous response he only allowed himself because he was in solitude, and tried to calm down himself.

Lorcan had told him that Isabella still slept in their tent, with a few exceptions when the healers' wing demanded too much of her nighttime. So there he was, in their tent, unsure of how she was going to react to him, unsure of how he was going to react to her sight, and clueless of what to say.

He just knew he wanted to see her, that he was itching to take a look at her and make sure she was alright. Undoubtedly, he was going to feel better once he confirmed as a fact that Isabella had not suffered any major injuries in the days he had been asleep.

The last memory he had of her were in the infirmary, with her calloused hands -just like his- on her chest, and magic as one he had never felt before pouring from her and onto him as his dangerous wound healed itself. Then, her lips on his ear, and her voice in his mind.

She was powerful.

But she had always been so.

She had always been a warrior. Once, she had fallen. And risen as something stronger, fiercer, sharper and greater than she had ever been before: A survivor. It was hard for him to understand that she could not notice such spectacular things about herself. Not when it was as clear as the lines of his hands for him.

Perhaps he ought to show her. Perhaps he had been a fool in his approach, in his reaction, but- his trail of thoughts fell short as he heard her footsteps before she even entered the tent. His breath caught in his throat as the opening was moved to the side and she slipped inside.

Isabella stopped in her tracks as her eyes connected with his stare. Rowan forgot to breathe. To blink as his eyes lingered in every inch of her face. Inspecting, making sure, but also appreciating. Admiring. Gods, was she beautiful. His arms twitched, he wanted to hold her, he wanted to touch her and to feel her heart on his own chest and for her to want the same.

Rowan opened his mouth, to ask her if she was okay, but as soon as he did so her eyes hardened. Her features contracted into something vehemently ardent, almost fiery. She took another step inside their tent. Another and another, each movement from her part seemed to match the thrumming of his heart. Her pace kept going until she was close enough for him to brush her fingers with his as she walked past him.

He heard his own breath catch that time, loud enough that even she must have heard it. Rowan stood frozen in place, pathetically, as she ignored his presence and laid on her bed. He did not fail to notice the space that there now was between his bedroll and hers. A space that he knew had not been there before their fight.

Turning on his heels to look at her, determined to at least exchange some words, he was cut off before he could even utter a syllable by her covering the jar with the fire tear, which resulted in the whole room being engulfed by darkness. A not so subtle hint that she did not wish to speak.

His lashes fluttered close as he blinked. Once. Twice. Then, slightly shook his head as he tried to snap himself out of his state of a statue. His keen vision allowed him to be able to make sense of most of every thing that was in their tent despite the darkness, his senses were finer and more developed, so the darkness was not as much of a cover as it was for Isabella.

At times like this, his gifted sight was closer to a torture, because he knew exactly where she laid, he was aware of her scarred hands under her pillow, he could feel every rising of her chest as if it were the flapping of wings next to his ear, and recognize that there was anger and a bit of sadness in her scent.

Rowan's own stinging of a heart was as much as an ache as it was a beating organ inside of him. He realised that he had been ready to hear her scream, to show her fury, to unveil her vexation on him. He had not been ready to be ignored. To be beholden as something that existed but was not of enough importance to acknowledge.

The realisation of such events made him pause again, and a throbbing in his ears made him almost stumble before he was able to catch himself. How horrendous it was to be a void whose oblivion was naught to that who made him incomprehensibly overflow.

He considered staying there, demanding her she listen to him, begging on his knees to mutter whatever she wished to him as long as it meant she was speaking to him. But the knot in his throat forbid him from doing so.

Respecting her wishes, and for the sake of whatever trace of dignity he had, Rowan left the tent and slept in his office.

-

To you,

I write to you as I no longer can keep all these afflicting thoughts and unbearable emotions to myself. I fear I will go crazy if there is at least one record of what I am experiencing. But I cannot voice what is gnawing at me, I am afraid to speak, to unexplainably accurse it. Ridiculous, I know, but it is my truth. So what I cannot say, I write. To you.

Perhaps I find myself with a free tongue whenever I'm around you because I believe you already know what I'm to say, and the future that awaits me. There is a certain liberty in the knowledge that my pain is written in stone and that my aching unfolding will not be eternal. All of this means that you will have to bear with all my sorrows and complaints. What a good friend.

I will try for my letter to be short, but I cannot promise it. I have been told to be a silent male in person, but my words on paper are never few.

She is enraged. Furious. Raging. And all that fume is directed towards me. Her anger could have manifested in shouted words and curses, but instead it has pierced me with silence and abandonment.

She is not by my side anymore. Our tent is empty even as I sleep there, I can no longer feel the heat of her body resting next to mine, or hear the rhythm of her breathing. Her hand in mine is bygone, and in my deepest sleeps, I still reach for her. All that welcomes me are the shadows of solitude and the echoes of regret. I should be used to it by now, even the Gods know I have lived most of my life in worse states, but I find myself in new depths that I never imagined to reach.

What I feel is more than just a simple longing; my blood craves for her, my heart is pining to feel the rhythm of hercore, and my soul is aching to reach for hers.

It's agonising, all these emotions, for I can feel her slipping away, I can feel the distance growing, and I'm terrified that it will reach such an uncrossable width that I won't be able to ever stand next to her again. My desires are simple, I would even dare say they are quite plain for some.

All I wish for is to keep talking with her, I want to be in her mind as much as she is in mine, I want her to desire me as much as I desire her, I long for her to regret my absence as much as I miss her, I am desperate for her to reach in search for me in the middle of the night only to find that I am not there, just like I do for her.

I want her to find herself standing where I am, I want her to wish for the simple things in life that I do, I want I want I want I want too much. My heart is too greedy, and yet I would settle for whatever it is she would give me. Regardless, my hands are tied with her silence. I have so many regrets and so many words I wish I could say, but my fears have made a knot of my voice and I am no longer capable of speaking. If she were to be mine I would be elated with freedom, but she is not. I am nothing but a mess. A pathetic one, at that.

My nights are haunted with thoughts of what ifs; what if I had acted differently, what if I had listened to her, what if I had explained to her that those scars were sacrifices that I had never wished for her to have to do. Because she deserves everything the world has to offer and more, and she shouldn't have to sacrilege her own body to fight in a war that is not of her world.

Pointless, I believe. Myself and my musings. I must have bored you close to death with this letter, so I will be merciful and end it here. But be sure to know that you will hear from me soon, for I have too many thoughts and no courage to voice them.

With my head hung, your friend.

-

It had been days since their silent war, and Rowan could add to his list of pains one aching neck from falling asleep on top of his desk every night. He had slept in worse conditions when he had been an active soldier instead of a Commander but, for some reason, his body protested more to his new sleeping habits than it had when he had been in the front rows of the war.

A knock on his door had him snapping his head up and sitting straight up. He acquired a more relaxed posture as he recognized Lorcan's boots and then his enormous body as he entered his quarters.

The tall male lifted his eyebrows incredulously at him as Rowan rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, and did nothing to hide the discomfort from his face.

"Rough night?"

"Yeah," He sighed, leaning back on his chair. Rowan shook his head. "How do you do it?" The prince knew his friend had been sleeping in his own quarters for longer than Rowan had, ever since his relationship with Fenrys had suffered a strain from which they had yet to recover from.

Lorcan shrugged, feigning casualness that seemed real but he knew was nothing of such sorts. "You get used to it. I've had worse"

"I'm starting to believe I'm getting too old for this" He palmed his cervix again. "I don't think my neck will ever recover from this" Rowan tried to jest.

His friend huffed. A beat of silence as they both stared at each other stretched before Lorcan broke it. "Are you going to tell me what is it you did this time to anger her so much?"

"Why do you think I was the one to do something?" He pretended to be offended in the hopes that the male would change the subject.

Obviously, his friends never did what he wished.

"Because I know you, and you can be an annoying prick sometimes"

"You're one to talk"

Lorcan smirked, and even let out something close to a laugh as he responded. "At least I admit it"

Rowan's lips curved in a small smile even as it was quickly dissolved by the memories of Isabella's arms. The markings, the white scars and the black ink so deeply etched onto her body that it was starting to become reddish as every day mixed more with her blood.

It was an undeniable fact that Rowan found her beauty earth-shattering. Even when she had stumbled dirty and injured, his vision had blurred and his breath had caught in his throat as he had admired her. The new disfigurements that she had engraved onto her skins did not change said fact.

For him, she was a form of art. Pure mastery. Not only because of her dazzling beauty, but because of the grace she excelled whenever progressed with every move, because of the alluring brutality that her expression seemed to carry even from the beginning, because of the way her voice reminded him of a melody as she spoke, because of the way she was. Wholly. There was poetry in her virtue. His favourite kind.

But he couldn't help but feel agony as he thought of the way she had betrayed his trust, used him only to stab him in the back as she chose an unnecessary and unhealthy path. Even if he also admired her a bit for her determination, ambition and immeasurable strength.

Rowan looked Lorcan in the eyes, and wondered if he should share Isabella's secret. He was his most dearest friend, but it was not his secret to share. The prince cursed himself for his decision, for perhaps Lorcan would have been able to bring some clarity to the unexplainable strangeness of what she had achieved.

"No idea," He said, instead.

-

Lorcan stood with his eyes narrowed on Vinhen's form. The youngling was terrible. He was distracted, missing opportunities to attack and getting blows that he could have easily avoided. He was not right.

"Enough!" He yelled, and every single fae in the training facility stopped in his tracks. "I want everyone to run around the camp three times-" He mentally complimented them for being smart enough to not complain about it in his presence. "And then to help with whatever else that needs to be ready for the coming of the royals and commanders"

The soldiers did not lose time as they began strutting to make the runs he had ordered. "Not you Vinhen" He called the boy. "Come here"

The young male did as told, with his head hung and a slight weight on his shoulders as he walked to stand in front of Lorcan. He towered over the kid, so he leaned slightly so he could reach his side and talk closer to his ear. No one was around any longer, but he did not want to take his chances. He used his magic to create a bubble around them that would prevent anyone from listening to their words.

"You need to snap out of it" He ordered him. His tone was harsh and his words direct, but Lorcan thought that was exactly what the male needed to hear. "I know what's gotten into you, and unless you start behaving normally again, someone else will catch on to the fact that you're hiding something"

His words were true. Neither his mother non Vinhen himself wanted the world to discover who his real father was, and the true was that despite how much trouble the secret put Lorcan in, he didn't want it either. Vinhen was a good kid, and his paternal heritage would just put a target on his back, and a burden he did not deserve.

"I-" The boy opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it as his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He blinked them, trying to get them away.

Lorcan internally cursed, he hated the situation. He placed one of his hands on the male's shoulder and squeezed, trying to comfort him. "Listen, the chances of anyone making the connection are practically non-existent, but one can never be too sure. Just relax. Breath" He ordered.

Vinhen followed his instructions, and despite his father, the boy reminded him of Essar. He had inherited most of her features, and she had passed down her kindness and gentleness to him too. He was good. It wouldn't have bothered him if he had been his kid if it meant he had turned out to be this good.

"Your mother and grandfather will be coming soon, if anyone asks you or makes a comment about your behaviour, just tell them you are nervous because your grandfather is an old arsehole and you want to impress him"

The kid nodded, he appeared to be visibly more relaxed, even as he still seemed quite shaken. "That male -your father- cannot reach you here. A message is just a message. You are safe from him as long as you are in Banjali. Nobody knows about it, and nobody will." It was a promise, the latter.

"But what if he-" Vinhen began before he cut himself off. "Why did he send word now of all times? And what did that even mean?" He started hyperventilating again, and Lorcan squeezed his shoulder tighter so the pain would anchor him.

"Do not concern yourself with such trivialities, you are your mother's son, and that's all that matters." He forced the male to look him in the eyes so his words would have the effect he expected. "Are we understood?" Vinhen nodded. Lorcan straightened back to his full height and patted him affectionately in the shoulder. "Now go run, you should worry about making a good impression on your grandfather"

-

Rowan had made a decision. He could no longer fathom more days of ignorance, so he had come to the conclusion that he would speak with Isabella despite her wishes to not to. He didn't want to be disrespectful, but her indifference was slowly killing him. He needed to put a stop to it.

So he waited for her outside the healers' wing in the palace. The rest of the healers had all already left, but Isabella often stayed long after everyone had left. Patiently, he stared at one of the fire spirits lighting up the hall as he leaned back on the stony wall. The fire spirit stared back at him, even as it exchanged gossip with another fire spirit.

The door flung open as she appeared through it. She stopped in her tracks as she noticed his presence, taken by surprise, but quickly resumed her actions. Ignoring him. Rowan followed her tray like a dog as her steps grew faster.

Rowan strode faster, matching her steps. He called for her, but his plea was met with silence. He wondered if the fire spirits were going to gossip about his pain, too.

He raised his hand, trying to get a hold of her hand, -oh, how he longed for a touch- but his attempt was pointless as she merely brushed him off. The pain on his chest intensified as she rejected him again.

"Can we talk?" He asked her. Begged her, really.

Her steps did not falter as they continued to make their way through the stone walls. For a moment, he feared she would not respond, that she would continue to ignore him. Fortunately for him, for the first time in days, she actually uttered words in his presence actually directed at him. "I don't want to"

Not what he was wishing for, but it was more than he had expected. "Just listen to me, please"

She must have heard the desperation in his voice, because despite the fact that she continued walking, and that her eyes were on the road ahead, she responded. "Why should I?"

"I-" He began, and swallowed. He licked his lips, because this was so much more than he had expected. And because the sound of her voice had his blood running hotter. "I just want you...to understand my point"

Isabella's head snapped in his direction at that. And he had to contain a smile at the ambers of anger that flared in her eyes as he looked at him. Such emotions were so much better than to be ignored.

She laughed, humourlessly. "I understand your point perfectly, Rowan. The problem is that you are not even trying to understand mine" The last word was weaker, filled with hurt that he had not noticed before. He cursed at himself.

"I am!" Rowan tried to reassure her. "I understand why you did it, it's just-" He cut himself off, because he was ashamed. He did not want to admit how much her actions had hurt him.

He could understand her greed for something bigger, for more power, for independence. It was the fact that she had recurred to such monstrous methods, the fact that she would rather succumb to self-flagellation than ask for his help. But most of all, it was the idea that she thought so little, so lowly of herself that she did not care about impairing her well being.

Isabella stood in front of him, her eyes wide and expectant. Fury emanated from her body, and despite his sorrow, he relished in the emotion she was directing at him. "Just, what?"

"It's just... hard for me to grasp the extent to which you went to," Rowan admitted. His voice was lower now, shyer, even.

She narrowed her eyes at him, a different emotion now twisting her features into something he could not -did not- want to decipher. "Oh, excuse me for not thinking of you when taking decisions that only concerned my body"

Her tone was sarcastic, incredulous, indignant. Rowan sighed and rubbed his temples. "No, no" He tried to make her understand. "What I'm trying to say, is that you wounded yourself for power when you didn't have to"

"I had to, Rowan" Her tone was so harsh his eyes focused only on her.

"You didn't. No soldier would-"

Isabella threw her arms up. Exasperated. She was beyond displeased. Her index finger was suddenly pointed directly at him as she strode into him, backing him until he was trapped between the wall and herself. "Do not start with that. Soldiers do anything so their bodies are strong enough to fight. I've seen them bleed and tear and scar. I've healed many of those slashes myself. So don't you dare tell me that a soldier wouldn't do what I have, because they would. I am one, and I did. And you have no right to tell me otherwise because you would never understand what's like to be as defenceless as I used to be"

Unblinkingly, he received every single word of hers, and the confessions that lingered in the air as her phrases twisted every aspect of his thoughts and stomped over his soul. Perhaps, he should tell her everything. He should tell her she was his mate, and that such a miraculous state allowed them to share thoughts, memories. Maybe if she accepted, he would be able to share with her every echo of his heart regarding herself, and she would be able to see her through his eyes and understand. Understand that every inch of her was enough.

Selfish. He thought. A burden. Rowan was suddenly terrified by the thought of rejection, and he came to the conclusion that confessing would not make the situation any better. That it was selfish of him to impose such knowledge on her when she was still in the process of evolving.

"I-" His chest rose and fell. Even such action brought him pain. "You are right. I do not understand. I was born with power and magic. I had to train to be better, but I had an advantage others will never have, and I knew -I know- that" Her arm fell limply to her side as he continued speaking. "But the way you hurt yourself...I never knew you thought so little of yourself" He confessed.

-

Isabella took a step back. She needed to put some distance between them. His scent was making her dizzy, and his words were closing her throat. Of course he didn't understand. He thought he did but did not. Could not.

He was aware she was fragmented. That she would never be able to be a normal person because she had patches where there should be joyous experiences. But he hadn't known the depths of her crookedness.

The realisation was disappointing. She felt suddenly ashamed, and exhausted.

"I really wanted you to understand," She said under her breath. The idea of walking to their tent felt unfathomable, and she wondered if she could just lay on the floor and close her eyes. She wondered if there was a mark she could use to never sleep again. Or perhaps to never wake up.

"Isa," Rowan tried to take a step in her direction, to be closer, his arm already raised and reaching for her; but she took a step back. His hand fell. And she left.

-

Lorcan reached for the knife under his desk in a habit that he could do while sleeping. And he was sure of that, for he had done it just now while half-asleep as the sound of his office door being fiercely opened awoke him from his slumber.

"I have made a mistake," Rowan announced as he slipped through the door and closed it soundly behind him.

He let out a sigh as he put the knife back in its satchel and yawned. "No surprises then,"

Lorcan had been sleeping in his quarters, away from the tent he had once shared with Fenrys and Gavriel, for longer than Rowan had. But he could admit to himself that there was comfort in knowing that he was not so lonely in his misery.

The Prince threw himself on the chair in front of Lorcan, but his friend did not make eye contact as he spoke. "I have been misunderstood, I believe"

"What are you, a teenager?" When there was no response from Rowan, which indicated he was deeper in his sorrow than he had anticipated, Lorcan added. "Then explain yourself" He didn't have to ask who he was referring to, there was only one creature in the whole world -and worlds- that had such power over Rowan motherfucking Whitehthorn.

"It is not so simple"

"Why not?"

"You know why"

"I don't, actually" That got him a growl, Lorcan would have showed him his fangs if he'd had any.

"She's too reckless"

He rubbed at his jaw. "So are you" Especially in the last few months.

Rowan let out an exasperated sigh as he ran his hands over his hair over and over again. A faraway look on his face. "It's different. She was getting better. She is stronger now, but I fear the lengths to what she has gone to in order to achieve such power are only a sign of ill thoughtlessness"

Lorcan blinked. "Yeah, you lost me there, I have no idea what you just mean" And he was still sleepy. He hadn't rested properly in days and the sun was not even up yet. He yawned again, and did not bother to cover his mouth.

"Isabella," Was Rowan's only explanation.

He rolled his eyes. "I figured that much" But his friend did not rise to his jokes. "I think it's a good thing she's getting stronger. She's good"

He shook his head, and closed his eyes. Lorcan was not sure if he was imagining the tremblor in his hands or not. "Not that kind of power. I fear...I fear that she has no restraints now. No line to draw and know when to stop. Not anymore, at least" He murmured.

Lorcan moved in his seat, uncomfortable by the seriousness and genuine worry in Rowan's voice. "What do you mean?"

"What do you call a soldier who knows no limit to their sacrifice? Who does not know when to stop?" Lorcan remained silent. But Rowan answered for him. "Suicidal"

He sat up straight in his seat, suddenly wide awake. He frowned, now concerned. "I thought she wasn't, anymore"

"She's not. Not as she used to be, at least. But I fear she will end up dead, I am terrified of her ending up sacrificing herself because she has grown imprudent. She has become completely negligent of her well being, and is unaware of it"

The roughness on Rowan's voice came out shaky, his words a struggle as his hands trembled. In seconds, he was crying. Tears ran rapidly down his face as sobs wrecked his built body. In seconds, Lorcan was there.

-

Isabella ignored the world as she cleaned jars and cut bandages to keep just in case. The healers' wing was back to being empty after long, tortuous days of tending to the injured. But now that they were all mended, they were able to return to their routines, which meant that they had left the infirmary wing on the palace and returned to the familiar tent.

There was comfort in the familiarity, and tranquillity in the space. Louise was reading a book and making annotations on the desk as Dahlia stirred a spoon on a cauldron and added a mix of herbs she had picked up early in the morning.

She was about to ask where Rose was when the female came running through the tent's opening. The girl's cheeks were flushed, her pupils wide and a gigantic smile curved her lips and showed her fangs. Rose started jumping in her place, her hands soundly clapping.

Dahlia laughed at the girl's reaction. "What has you so happy, Rosie?"

The female giggled, and stopped jumping just to spin in her place. "It's finally time!"

"Time for what?"

"For all the High Commanders and Royals!" She shrieked with happiness.

Louise stopped writing, her pen fell on top of the book she had been writing and the ink ruined the page. She stood abruptly, turning on her heels to stare at the youngest healer. Her back hands were behind her back as she asked. "What do you mean?" Louise coughed. "Are they here?"

"Yes!" Rose exclaimed.

From her standing in the room, Isabella could see the back of Louise, and the way that even despite the fact that her hands were clasped, she was shaking. Frowning, she looked from one female to the other. Confused.

Dahlia whistled, unaware -or pretending to- of the situation. "That's good. Does that mean your brother is already here?"

"Ren?" Louise whispered, but her question was lost as Rose said at the same time. "Almost! I heard one of the soldiers say it to another as soon as they saw the horses and chariots."

Louise stood up straight. "But they haven't announced it yet" She looked frantically to Dahlia as if to confirm her words. "I heard no-" The female was caught off as the sound of a loud, wind instrument engulfed the whole camp.

They all covered their ears as the seconds stretched and the sound kept its volume. As soon as it was done, it was replaced by Rose's happy scream before she ran away and disappeared. Isabella noticed Louise's skin growing pale, and the female's knuckles were white as she held on to her desk for dear life.

She turned to Dahlia. "What was that?" She asked, alarmed. It had sounded like an alarm. It couldn't possibly mean that they were under attack again, not so soon. And if they had, Rose wouldn't have reacted the way she had, but panic was already speeding Isabella's heartbeat.

"It's a signal"

"For what?"

"To inform us that they are here"

"Who?" Isabella prompted, a bit exasperated by Dahlia's mysteriousness.

"The Queen, and every member of the royal family, including all High Ranking Officers" The female answered, finally. "They've officially arrived"