Page 56 of Caged By the Lich

I nod. I thought I knew, but the way he said…It makes me think that maybe there's more to it. Olvaar's eyes meet mine, and I see a flicker of vulnerability there that makes my heart ache.

"It wasn't because of vengeance, not at first," he begins, his gaze drifting to the fountain. "I had a little brother once. Oriax."

My eyes widen at this revelation. Olvaar, with a family? It's hard to imagine, and yet the pain in his voice is unmistakable.

"He couldn't pronounce my full name when he was young," Olvaar continues, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "So he called me V. It was... our thing."

I lean into him, hoping I can give him some strength. "What happened to him?"

Olvaar's jaw tightens. "Our bloodline is strong, Astrid. Too strong, sometimes. When Oriax came into his major magic, it... it consumed him. Killed him."

My breath catches in my throat. "Oh, Olvaar..."

"It's a fear in our family," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "That a child might be killed by their own magic. Just like my brother."

I can see the weight of this memory in the set of his shoulders, the tension in his jaw. Without thinking, I wrap an arm around his waist, wanting to offer comfort as I nudge under his arm and burrow into his side.

"After that, I did become vengeful," Olvaar admits, the word pained and yet, it sounds like he's never told anyone this. Like he needs to say it. "I hated the nickname at first. Then... I clung to it. Like it kept him around somehow."

"And your parents?" I ask gently.

Olvaar's eyes close briefly. "My mother... she died of heartbreak. And my father, he fell in battle. Though he'd never admit it, the fight started from the rage of losing a wife and son." He sighs. "Oriax's death killed us all…in different ways."

My heart breaks for him. For the boy he must have been, losing everything in such quick succession. For losing a brother he clearly loved. And now I see why he's so fierce, so protective, so afraid to let anyone in or near.

He's scarred by loss.

I pull him toward me, reaching up to cup his face. His eyes, those beautiful gray orbs with swirls of purple and orange, lock onto mine.

"I am so, so sorry, Olvaar."

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine. "I'll give you another real thing," he whispers. "It had been so long since someone just called me Olvaar. I'd forgotten what it was to hear my name and not feel pain."

I can't bear it any longer. I lean in, pressing my lips to his in a desperate kiss. I pour everything into it - my understanding, my compassion, my love. I want to erase all his pain, to show him that he's not alone anymore.

When we finally break apart, both breathless, I don't release him. I keep him pressed firmly against me, wanting him to feel how true my words are.

"Olvaar," I whisper, savoring the way his name feels on my lips. "You're not alone anymore. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

26

OLVAAR

My mind is endlessly consumed by thoughts of Astrid. Her fierce determination, quick wit, and undeniable beauty have taken root in my consciousness, refusing to let go. I find myself inventing reasons to seek her out, to be in her presence.

I spend every evening buried in her, every night with her in my arms, and it's not enough. It feels like I can't breathe when she's near. And yet, I can't stop thinking about what Kaz said.

You need to decide if you're bringing your new mate with us when we go to the southern territories. Or if you're going to return your prisoner to her father.

I've made no decisions, and I'm running out of time.

I shove the thought away as I wait for Astrid. Today, I've convinced her to let me train her in combat. It's a practical decision, I tell myself. She should know how to defend herself in this dangerous realm. But as I watch her approach the training grounds, my heart races with anticipation.

"Ready to learn from the best, little rebel?" I smirk, trying to mask my eagerness with arrogance.

Astrid rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a smile on her lips. "Let's see if you can keep up, old man."

Her sass ignites something within me. I circle her, assessing her stance. "First, we'll work on your form." She's had some lessons, but it doesn't come naturally to her, yet. "Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent."

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