Page 193 of Wings of Ash & Flame
Instead, she reached for the canteen and pushed it toward him. “Drink.” She waited until he swallowed a few gulps before asking, “How are you feeling?”
“Better. Though hearing your voice must be its own sort of medicine.”
Fucking prince.He knew she had a soft spot for his pain, and he was going to leverage that to make her talk. But he was here, alive, and she wouldn’t trade his insufferable remarks for anything.
“So,” he said, letting the pause hang, “that’s some heavy shit you’ve been carrying.”
She stiffened when he burrowed closer, the warmth of him a stark reminder of how close she’d come to losing him forever.
“I’m fine,” she replied brusquely. A barricade she launched out of habit, the same wall she’d been hiding behind for years.
He laughed softly, brushing his shoulder against hers. “No, you’re not. And you don’t have to be. Not here, not with me.”
Her throat tightened, heart clenching at the quiet sincerity in his words.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“Alaire.” Dawson’s pinky hooked gently through hers. “You don’t have to share everything. But don’t think I don’t see it—the weight you carry. The anger you rely on as a front to keep you moving forward, but neglecting it all is tearing you apart. Starfall…” He hesitated. “And whatever else you hold inside—it’s too much for one person. Let me help you carry it. Let me be your friend.”
Her heart ached at the wordfriend. He was right here, and yet cracks still formed. Maybe that was all they could ever be. Maybe it was all she deserved.
The silence stretched. Alaire weighed each word. Dawson was meant to become a Premiere Lord, bound to uphold the system, while she longed for freedom from titles and expectations. Yet she knew she’d wield any position she had to protect those the Consortium crushed beneath it.
She’d spent so long pretending to be strong and unaffected that she’d forgotten what it felt like to be truly vulnerable, to let anyone see the broken pieces she barely held together. The dam inside her, already fragile, began to crack.
“I miss them,” she said, voice breaking. “I miss them so much. Everything would be so different if they were still here.Iwould be different.”
Dawson’s calloused fingertips traced the outline of her hand, circling thumb to pinky and back again. The gesture was small but full of meaning—steadfast support, active listening. He was holding space for her, dismantling her defenses wall by wall.
She didn’t deserve this—this gentle understanding, this patience. The ghosts she carried had whispered that to her time and again.
And yet, his touch lingered. Slow, deliberate, without judgment. Maddening, terrifying, comforting all at once.
Alaire fixed her gaze on a crack in the cavern floor. If she let herself fall into it—into him—would it heal her, or leave her more fractured when reality inevitably forced them apart?
“Listen carefully to my next words,” Dawson said, voice firm, steady. “It wasn’t your fault, Alaire. You were just a child. You couldn’t have known what your parents were planning. But they loved you—and, more importantly, believed their sacrifice was for the best.”
She shook her head, tears blurring her vision as the weight of everything crashed over her. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to make them proud.”
“You already are.” He rubbed his scruff against her skin, and despite the layers between them, his touch ignited a flame beneath it. “You are brave, strong, determined—and the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. You are exactly who you’re supposed to be. This was the journey you were meant to take.”
“I didn’t take you for a fate and destiny sort of person,” she muttered in a weak attempt to change the subject.
“I’m full of surprises.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Alaire, you don’t have to carry that burden alone.” He laced his fingers through hers, anchoring them together. “You have people here, including me, who see strength, not failure. Courage, not weakness. Your parents will always be part of you.”
The words hung between them. Alaire tightened her grip on his hand as if he might disappear again, but didn’t respond.
“You should know you aren’t alone in those feelings either. I grieve too—for a person I never met.” Dawson paused, collecting himself. This time, she was the one who traced patterns across his hand.
His vulnerability was like a mirror, reflecting all the pain she’d been carrying alone.
“You’re not the only one who’s done things they regret.” He squeezed her hand. “I wouldn’t have survived much of it without Caius’s friendship. Grief is… relentless. It drags you into a dark tunnel, searching for slivers of sunlight that feel unreachable. Knowing someone else has been through it too doesn’t fix it, but maybe it helps.”
Alaire stayed silent but clutched tighter to Dawson, who, somehow—despite everything—had become someone she respected, admired, and loved. But could never have.
Dawson pushed himself up and adjusted so she could rest against his shoulder, pulling the makeshift blankets over them both.
“I should take another look at the healing,” Alaire said, fingers already moving toward the torn fabric of his shirt, needing something practical to focus on.
