Page 195 of The Ashes and the Star-Cursed King

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Itdoesmatter. Youknowit matters.”

“And let’s say I had won his alliance. Then what were you going to do? What was your plan? Just stay in that castle with him for Goddess-knows how long, and suffer through it?”

Mische sighed. Suddenly, she looked so tired. “Maybe,” she said. “I don’t know. He is—was—important, Raihn. I’m not a child. You’re trying to do something big. And even though you won’t give me shit about it, I know I pushed you into it.” She touched her chest, letting out a wry laugh. “AndI’msupposed to get in the way of that, now?Me?You sacrificed for this. You gave up Oraya, and I know—I know what that meant to you. You gave up yourlife. I wasn’t going to stand in the way.”

You gave up Oraya.

Those four words hit me in the chest like arrows, one after the other, too quick to catch my breath.

I had fucked up.

Because Mische was right. I had sacrificed in the name of power. I thought my sacrifices were my own, but that wasn’t true. Oraya had suffered the weight of them. Mische had suffered the weight of them.

And now she thought—genuinely believed—that she was less important than that cause.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said softly. “Alliances. War. Politics. It does not matter. Alright?”

“That’s not—”

“Let me talk,” I snapped. “Don’t you fucking dare regret it for a second, Mish. The House of Shadow wants to come for us? Let them come. It will have been worth it.”

I meant it, even though I also didn’t want to think about the consequences. At least we had some time before we had to deal with that. As far as the House of Shadow knew, their prince died in the care of Simon Vasarus, not me. We were trying to retake the throne quickly. Whatever diplomatic issues this might cause... we could save that for the next war.

Tomorrow’s headache. Not today’s.

And even tomorrow, I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to be sorry.

“Besides,” I said, “maybe we’ll all be dead by then and it won’t matter.”

A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “Have you seen what this army looks like? Seems like a ‘probably,’ not a ‘maybe.’”

I scoffed. “And this from the optimistic one.”

She laughed. It was weak, but it was a laugh. I’d take it. “Sorry. I’m tired.”

Tired. Long-term tired. I understood right away what she meant.

She stared off into the darkness of the tunnels. If I listened carefully, I could still hear the sounds of the camp far in the distance, echoing down the hall. A constant reminder, even out here, of what was coming.

I watched her profile, so uncharacteristically mournful.

“I’m sorry, Mische,” I said quietly.

She started to shake her said, but I said, again, “I’m sorry for all of it.”

I’m sorry that it happened to you. I’m sorry that I couldn’t stop it. I’m sorry you had to fight this alone. I’m sorry that I didn’t get to help you kill that fucking bastard. I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me.

I’m sorry I made you feel like it wouldn’t matter if you did.

Her face softened. “It’s alright.”

“No. It isn’t. But it will be.” I paused, then added, “Maybe. If we’re lucky.”

She laughed softly, then laid her head against my shoulder. “I think we’re lucky,” she murmured.

I wasn’t convinced, but I sure as fuck hoped so.

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