Page 59 of Savage Devotion
"You think emotional investment makes you weak?"
"I think it makes me unreliable. Unpredictable. A liability to everyone depending on my leadership."
"And what do you think it makes me?"
The question catches me off-guard. "What?"
"I've spent the last three days thinking about your safety more than clan obligations. I charged into those ruins without backup because the thought of you being hurt made strategic planning impossible." His grip on my face tightens slightly. "Does that make me weak?"
"No, but?—"
"Then why is it different for you?"
I don't have an answer that doesn't sound like Heldrik's voice echoing in my head. All those lessons about emotional distance, about the necessity of sacrificing personal desires for command effectiveness. Lessons that suddenly feel less like wisdom and more like fear dressed up as doctrine.
"Maybe it's not," I whisper.
"Maybe."
We're close enough now that I can feel his breath on my face, see the flecks of gold in those rust-red eyes. The air is charged with possibility and danger in equal measure.
"But if we do this," I continue, "if we let this happen, everything changes. The alliance between our forces becomespersonal. Political decisions become emotional ones. Every tactical choice proves what we mean to each other."
"Yes."
"That's terrifying."
"Yes." His other hand finds my wrist, fingers wrapping around the pulse point where my heartbeat betrays every emotion I'm trying to keep controlled. "But maybe terror isn't always a reason to run."
"Kaelgor..."
"I know what this costs. What it risks. For both of us." His voice drops lower in a confession. "But I also know that loyalty isn't something you inherit or assign. It's something you earn. Something you choose."
"And what have I done to earn yours?"
"You've seen me bleed and stayed to bind the wounds. You've trusted me with your soldiers' lives. You've fought beside me without question when things went bad." His grip on my wrist tightens. "You've chosen to trust instead of suspect, even when suspicion would be safer."
"That's not enough."
"It's everything."
It steals breath leaving me dizzy. Because he's right somehow. All those careful calculations about political implications and command structure matter, but they're not the only things that matter.
Maybe trust is its own kind of tactical decision. Maybe choosing to believe in someone despite the risks is its own form of courage.
"I'm still afraid," I admit.
"Good. Fear keeps you careful. Makes you think before you act." He releases my wrist, but doesn't step away. "But don't let it make you so careful that you miss what's worth fighting for."
"And what's that?"
"Each other. Our people. A future where alliance means something more than temporary convenience."
The canyon suddenly feels too quiet, too intimate for the size of what we're discussing. But maybe that's appropriate. Maybe the biggest decisions get made in small moments, between heartbeats, when the world narrows down to just two people standing close enough to share breath.
"If we do this," I say carefully, "we do it honestly. No secrets, no hidden agendas. Whatever happens between us, it can't compromise our responsibilities to our commands."
"Agreed."
