Page 12 of The War of Four Winters

Elindir shifted beside me, murmuring something indistinct before rolling onto his side, his back now facing me. The blanket slipped down with his movement, exposing the expanse of his bare back to the night air. Even in the dim light, I could see them—the silvery lines crisscrossing his skin like a terrible map. Scars from the flogging I had ordered, permanent reminders of my cruelty etched into his flesh.

I propped myself up on one elbow, eyes tracing each mark. Twenty lashes. I had insisted on delivering them myself. At the time, I thought it was essential that he hate me. I couldn’t risk the other slaves thinking I was showing him favoritism. I wanted him to hate me as much as they did, to mold him into the very thing I had become to my father.

But it was a delicate thing, wasn’t it? To make him hate me without breaking him. It broke my heart to do it, even then.

My fingers hovered above his skin, not quite touching what I had no right to touch.

The memory rose unbidden, flashes of that night months ago. The circle of slaves forced to watch. The leather whip in my hand. His body jerking with each impact. The silence was broken only by his ragged breathing. I had calculated every moment of his suffering, all to shape him into the leader I needed him to become.

In that moment, I'd believed my cruelty was necessary.

Was I wrong? How could I ever have justified hurting him?

Even now, with all that had changed between us, those scars remained. Silvery lines that would never fade, a permanent testament to what I had been. What I had done. He had forgiven me—or so he claimed—but how could anyone truly forgive such a thing? How could he look at me and not see the monster who had once owned him?

"I'm sorry," I whispered into the darkness, the words inadequate against the weight of the memory. "For the pain I caused you. For believing I had the right."

Elindir didn't stir. Perhaps it was easier this way, confessing to his sleeping back what I couldn't bring myself to speak aloud in daylight.

My hand moved to the scar beneath my ribs, the perfectly circular mark where Daraith's ritual knife had carved out my death price. One day each year spent in death's cold embrace, traded for Elindir's life. A bargain I would make again without hesitation. Yet even that sacrifice couldn't erase what came before. Couldn't undo the lash marks on his back.

"I'm afraid," I admitted, the confession tasting of weakness on my tongue. Kings weren't supposed to be afraid. Leaders couldn't afford such vulnerability. But here, in the darkness with only the moon as a witness, I could speak the fears that haunted me.

"I'm afraid Michail will recapture you. That this mission is a trap designed to bring you back under his control." My voice caught, the words sticking in my throat. "I'm afraid I'm sending you to your death because political necessity demands it."

Outside our window, the night wind picked up, howling through the ancient stone columns.

"I tell myself it's the right decision," I continued, my voice barely audible. "That thousands of lives might be saved if you can sow doubt among Michail's followers. But when I imagine you facing him again, standing before the brother who collared and sold you..." My fingers curled into a fist. "All I want is to lock the fortress gates and keep you safe within these walls."

Elindir shifted in his sleep, his breathing changing rhythm momentarily before settling back into the steady pattern of deep slumber. I watched the rise and fall of his shoulders, his face hidden from me. This mission weighed on him, too. I'd seen it in his eyes during the war council, heard it in his voice when he spoke of preventing genocide.

He carried the weight of kingship now, though he wore no crown. His decisions, like mine, meant life or death for others. There would be no easy choices in the days ahead for either of us.

"I watched the boys with you today," I whispered to his sleeping form. "The way Leif listens to your every word during training, how Torsten's eyes light up when you praise his progress. They trust you in a way they've never trusted me." I paused, the realization settling heavily. "They've already lost so much. The thought of losing you too... I'm not sure they would recover."

My throat tightened. Those boys had claimed a piece of my heart I hadn't known existed. Former slaves, like Elindir, bearing scars from lives spent in chains. Leif with his watchful eyes that missed nothing. Torsten with his boundless enthusiasm that somehow survived despite everything. In the days since they'd arrived at Calibarra, I'd watched from a distance as they formed a bond with Elindir, a connection I envied but understood. They saw in him what I now saw—strength forged in suffering, resilience that refused to break.

"They need you," I admitted. "Perhaps even more than I do. You understand their trauma in ways I never can."

The moon continued its arc across the night sky, casting new shadows across our chamber. How many nights had I lain awake like this, caught between duty and desire? Between the king I had to be and the elf I wished to be?

"I need you too," I said. The confession burned like fire in my chest, the kind of vulnerable truth I'd been taught to hide since childhood. Princes didn't need. Kings didn't want. Rulers served a greater purpose that transcended personal desire. "I need you more than I've ever needed anyone."

Unable to resist any longer, I lowered my fingers to his back, gently tracing one of the longest scars. The raised tissue felt smooth beneath my touch, a permanent testament to my former cruelty. I leaned down, pressing my lips to the scar in silent apology, in reverence, in sorrow too deep for words. I moved to the next scar, then the next, kissing each mark I had cut into his flesh.

"My greatest fear," I whispered against his skin, "is that you'll realize you deserve better than me. That while facing your brother, you'll remember everything I did to you and recognize you owe me nothing." The words felt like stones in my throat, heavy with truth I'd never spoken aloud. "That you'll choose not to return to the elf who manipulated you with pain and humiliation."

As my lips pressed against another scar, I felt him stir beneath my touch. His breathing changed, the rhythm of sleep giving way to wakefulness.

The reality of our beginning could never be erased, no matter how equal our partnership had become. I had owned him once. Had believed I had the right to manipulate him into becoming the leader I needed. That history stood between us like a wall neither of us could fully breach, though we'd found ways to build around it.

"I tell myself I've changed." My voice had dropped to barely a whisper now. "That I'm not the same elf who wielded that whip. That I've learned what true strength looks like through your example." I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. "But there are moments when I catch you looking at me, and I wonder what you see. If you're remembering that night. The collar. The calculated cruelty I inflicted to make you become what I needed you to be."

Elindir turned to face me, his eyes finding mine in the darkness. "Ruith?" His voice was rough with sleep, but fully aware. "What’s wrong?"

My fingers trembled as I traced the contours of his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm.

"Let me," I whispered, pressing my lips to his shoulder. "Let me worship you as I should have from the beginning."

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