Page 62 of King of Flames and Shadows

I turn away, unable to bear the weight of her gaze. "The houses will show no mercy when they come. They never have."

"Like the day they killed your family?"

The question hits me like a physical blow. I whirl to face her, anger flaring hot and bright, but the look in her eyes stops me. There's no judgment there, no pity—only a deep, steady understanding that makes my chest ache.

"You knew?" My voice sounds strange, even to my own ears.

"I found their tomb," she admits quietly. "In the catacombs. I saw … I saw your parents’ and sister's grave. I put the rest together. I’ve been … reading books."

The mention of Elara sends a fresh wave of pain through me. I close my eyes, seeing again her small body crumpled on the marble floor, her blood pooling black in the torchlight. When I speak, my voice is raw.

"I was barely more than a boy. They came in the night—the houses, their soldiers. My parents had trusted them, tried to forge alliances …" I break off, the old fury rising like bile in mythroat. "I found them in the throne room. My mother, my father, Elara … they didn't even spare a child."

I feel Calliope's hand on my arm, her touch light as a feather. "You were there?"

"As was my brother, though he was only a boy. I fought," I say, the words bitter on my tongue. "But I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't save them. And I learned that day that mercy …" I clench my fists, feeling my claws bite into my palms. "Mercy gets you killed. Trust gets you killed. The only thing that matters is power."

"Is that why you keep me chained?" Her voice is soft, but there's steel beneath it. "Because you're afraid of what I might do if I was free?”

I look at her then, really look at her. In the firelight, her eyes are the color of storm clouds, deep and fathomless. The scars on her face catch the light, a reminder of all she's survived.

"I keep you chained because I can't bear to lose you." The admission tears free before I can stop it. "Because everyone I've ever …" I trail off, unable to finish.

I cannot bear to face what I just admitted to her. I feel weak, a fool, cracked open by that which I have conceded. I wonder if this is how she felt when she first came to bed with me. We both keep losing to one another.

After a moment, Calliope clears her throat. "When my grandmother died, I thought I'd never trust anyone again. The villagers, they …" She touches the scars on her face, a gesture so brief I almost miss it. "They made sure I knew exactly what they thought of me. Of us. And my mother …"

"You never knew her."

Calliope shakes her head. "She died bringing me into this world. Sometimes I wonder if that's why I've always felt so … apart from everything. As if I were born owing a debt I could never repay."

Something in her words resonates deep within me, striking a chord I didn't know existed. Without thinking, I reach for her, my hand cupping her face. She doesn't pull away.

“The Fates know not what they seek to tear apart," I murmur, thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "Both of us forged by such losses.”

She leans slightly into my touch, an intensity in her stare that unsettles me, and says nothing, simply watching me. I feel seen through, as if I am made of glass.

The fire pops and hisses in the grate, sending shadows dancing across her face. Outside, I can hear the distant sounds of the city—shouts, the clash of steel, the beating of monstrous wings against the sky.

"I don't know how to be anything else," I admit, the words barely more than a whisper. “They made me into this thing. It is now all I am. I am the king. It’s how I’ll die.”

Calliope's hand comes up to cover mine where it rests against her face.

"I wish life had been kinder to you,” she murmurs, pitying and yet truthful, and I should bristle, but I know she means it. “I wish you’d known another way. You could have ruled better, lived better. You could have been better to me.”

I want to strike her—but at once, I want to believe her. I want to embrace her, to kiss her, to take her. I want to cast her from this place where she can no longer rend me open. Gods help me, I want to believe that there could have been somethingmore than this endless cycle of violence and betrayal. But the memory of my family's broken bodies rises like a ghost between us, an echo of my dreams, my terrors, my fury.

"And if it is too late?" I ask, my voice rough. “What of us then?”

She steps closer, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body, smell the sweet, flowery scent of her hair.

We linger close, faces near one another. I expect her to speak, but she doesn’t. When I look down at her, I see brightness in her eyes, the faint shine of tears.

I pull her closer, burying my face in her hair. She comes willingly, her arms sliding around my waist.

“I have these moments,” she says against my chest, voice muffled. “Where I feel it. I feel the ghost of it, what I could have felt for you—what Icouldfeel. Just moments. A warmth. Like love." Her hands splay against my midriff, thumbs rubbing slow against my skin. "Like the future we could build, if we were brave enough to try."

I catch her hand in mine, pressing my lips to her palm. Her pulse flutters against my mouth like a trapped bird. "And what future is that?"

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