Page 148 of Shattered Jewel

“Never.”

The word is strained, strangled, tormented.

“Then why,” she breathes, her voice steady even as tears drip from her amber eyes, “why can’t you accept that you deserve forgiveness too?”

“I...” I begin and falter. All I can do is stare at her in disbelief.

I work my jaw, trying to voice the fears and doubts that have caged me for years. “I’ve done so much...”

“So have they,” she interjects fiercely. She pulls away slightly, holding my gaze with the force of her conviction. “The Court—the Sovereigns. The same way they forced their ideas onto Wilder, Cav, and Kaspian. They’ve hurt us enough. It’s time we stop hurting ourselves.”

I look at Elara, really look at her. She is a bittersweet symphony of regret, hope, bravery, punishment. She is pure, even when covered in gore. She shines brightly amidst shadows. She is good and kind and compassionate, even when forced into violent actions. And me?

I don’t deserve her, yes, but I have her.

Elara’s gaze holds mine captive, refusing to let go even as I try to break away. Her fingers trace the outline of my face, pausing at the slash down my cheek, brushing my lips, before running through my unkempt hair, grounding me in this moment with her before she closes the gap and touches her mouth to mine.

“I want to believe you,” I confess as almost a silent plea against her lips.

The kiss is not one of possession, not this time. It communicates in ways my words can’t, my lips moving with something akin to desperation both dark and sweet.

When we break apart for air, she rests her forehead against mine.

“I know you do.” She breathes out the words so softly they almost get lost in the stillness around us. Her hands, warm and steady, continue to cradle my face.

Time stops as I allow myself to drown in her warmth, in her faith in me ... in us.

And then she drops another bombshell.

“Axe, I need to tell you something,” she says. “Before he died, Orion told me where your sister is. She’s alive.”

I hold my breath as uninvited images assault my mind—of family dinners we never had, of school races I was never a part of, of laughter that never echoed in our home because we were separated, bartered with, sold.

But Elara continues like a gentle salve soothing my open wound. “She’s safe. Living in Montana. She got into college there on a scholarship for dressage.”

“She … rides horses?”

“Always has,” Elara replies, her voice tender. “I asked Clover to look into it earlier. Your sister’s even won a few competitions. She goes by Melody Parsons now.”

I sit there, stunned into silence. An equestrian. It seems so gentle, so delicate. But then again, it’s fitting.

My hand instinctively reaches for the wound on my chest—a reminder of my past mistakes, the price paid for my imagined redemption.

“She knows she has a brother somewhere, Axe,” Elara murmurs, stroking the stubble on my jaw. “Orion made sure of it.”

Her words punch through me like a bullet, leaving me momentarily breathless. My little sister ... alive ... and she knows about me.

“Write to her,” she whispers, bringing a hand up to push back loose strands of hair from my forehead. Her touch is heaven. “Let her know that you’re alive, too.”

I hesitate, studying Elara for a long moment before I finally nod. Elara’s face softens into a small but genuine smile as she fetches paper and pen from a nearby drawer.

The blank page stares back at me as I place the pen onto it. It feels foreign and unreal. The whole concept is dated, one borne from a time when people trusted their hearts to mere parchment and ink.

Elara’s arms encircle me from behind, her chin resting on my shoulder. Her body molds against mine like it’s made to fit. Soft where I’m hard, curved where I’m sharpened.

Because of her, I begin to write.

Dear Melody,

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