Page 74 of Kneel with the King
Trying not to need each other.
And failing spectacularly, apparently.
The silence after her question is deafening. I glance sideways again, and this time, Asher’s looking back at me. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—resentment, maybe. Or regret. Or the barest flicker of truth.
Because I think we both know the answer.
He looks away first. “We don’t talk about things,” he says finally, voice quiet but raw. “We weaponize them. We twist words, and we use them to get leverage. It’s like we’re in this with swords raised, ready for a fight at all times. It’s exhausting.”
He’s very astute. And I don’t deny it. I’m not sure I could if I wanted to. I didn’t expect him to answer honestly, and I suppose I’m trying to wrap my mind around the fact that he’s still pretending we’re together, despite learning earlier that I betrayed him.
“And what would it look like to stop doing that?” Marina asks.
Asher doesn’t respond, but I do. “It’d mean one of us has to be the first to put the sword down.”
She nods. “And?”
“And we’re not exactly unarmed kind of people. We’re both stubborn and strong-willed. Intimately, the dynamic works because I like being in charge and Asher likes to be told what to do. In real life, though? We both try to gain the upper hand, and we can both be conniving about it.”
It’s one of the most honest things I’ve ever admitted about myself.
Marina hums like she expected that. “You know… you don’t have to be completely unarmed to be vulnerable. You can still carry the sword. You just have to choose connection over being right—over raising your sword first.”
The words hang there, heavy and unwelcome. Like something sacred we’re both afraid to touch.
Marina gives us both a kind smile. “Before you go, one last thing. I’d like you each to write a few sentences tonight about what you want out of this relationship. It doesn’t have to be deep. Just honest. Bring it with you to the next session on Thursday. I think that’s enough for today,” she says gently. “I suggest you two spend some quiet time together before the skiing activity after lunch. You don’t have to talk about what happened in here. Just… be near each other. Practice not clashing outside of the bedroom.”
Asher nods stiffly, already halfway to the door. I murmur something like an agreement and follow him out, the door clicking shut behind us with finality. The hallway outside the therapy room is quiet, which only heightens the tension.
Asher starts walking, fast, like the air might burn him if he lingers too long beside me. I match his stride, but I don’t say anything.
When we reach the stairs leading down to the courtyard, he finally stops. “I didn’t know that about you,” he says, voice low. “Your family. Where you came from.”
I shrug again, that old reflex rising. “You never asked.”
His jaw tics, but for once, he doesn’t rise to the bait. “Well, nevertheless… thank you,” he mutters.
For the story? The honesty? For not interrupting him? I don’t ask him to elaborate. All I can do is nod.
We step outside into the cold together, neither of us sure if we’re walking toward healing or the next silent war. I follow him anyway, not because I think it’ll fix anything. Not because I’m ready to stop fighting. But because watching him walk away again would hurt worse than whatever this is turning into.
The wind bites against my skin. I let the door click shut behind us, and for a long moment, we just stand there, between buildings.
He exhales, like something inside him just gave up the fight. “Do you want to go for a walk? Just… not talk. Or talk. I don’t know.”
I nod once. “Yeah. Okay.”
We walk down the snow-lined path anyway, shoulder to shoulder, keeping pace. It’s not much, and we don’t hold hands or anything. But it’s more than we’ve ever given each other.
Silence, understanding… and perhaps a tiny bit of camaraderie.
At least until he remembers he hates me.
Checkmate, King
Asher
It’s confusing.Everything is so fucking confusing. I haven’t felt this unmoored since Ari left me for Maddox, but even then, I wasn’t balancing existential turmoil as well as career burnout at the same time. And if King’s firm really is acquiring mine… then I’ve lost more than just a client. I’ve lost my footing. My sense of control. My identity, maybe.
