Chapter 142

Ronan

In the dream, everything was quiet.

Not the sharp silence of tense corridors, no, this was a soft quiet. It wrapped around the body in a warm embrace.

Lila sat beside me on a low bench, her knees tucked under her, firelight flickering against her cheek. We weren’t in her chambers or mine, but some imagined in-between. A place that smelled like cedar and safety.

Her eyes were clear and focused. No fever. No pain.

She smiled, small and tired, but with a kindness I yearned for. “You don’t always have to hold your breath around me, you know.”

I tried to speak, but the words caught in the back of my throat. She reached for me before I could find them, one hand lifting to cup my cheek, slow and certain like she’d done it a hundred times before.

Her fingers were warm and callused. Familiar.

“Ronan,” she said, and there was no confusion in her voice. No trace of Damon’s name. Just mine, spoken from the heart.

I leaned into her touch before I knew I was doing it.

“I know you,” she whispered.

The ache that bloomed in my chest was sweet and unbearable. And then she leaned in.

Her lips brushed mine softly, questioning. It was gentle. The kind of kiss you give when you’re already home.

I kissed her back with equal softness. Her breath caught. My hand found the curve of her waist, anchoring her to me. She felt solid. Real. Right.

“Stay with me,” she murmured against my mouth.

And gods, I wanted to.

The dream fractured and slammed me into wakefulness before I was ready.

I jerked upright, chest heaving, the fire in my chamber burned low to coals. My sweat-damp tunic clung to my back. My sheets were twisted, kicked halfway to the floor. The candle on the table guttered weakly, casting long shadows across the walls.

My fists clenched the edge of the mattress as if I’d been bracing for a fall.

I was alone.

I ran a hand down my face, then over my mouth, as if I could wipe the dream away. My pulse thundered in my ears, fast and ragged. The warmth of her skin still lingered in my palms like memory could stain.

What the hell is wrong with you. I scolded myself.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, planting my feet on the cold floor. Grounding. I needed grounding.

My mouth was dry. I rose from the bed and poured a half-glass of water with a hand that shook, just slightly, and drank it too fast.

But it didn’t help.

The kiss had felt too real. Her breath in my lungs. Her voice in my ear. My name on her lips, her touch, the way she’d leaned into me without fear or fever.

That hadn’t been fantasy. It had been longing. And it was mine.

I bowed my head and gripped the edge of the basin, the cool metal biting into my skin. Shame coiled low in my stomach, slow and sickening.

She wasn’t mine. She’d never been mine and never would be.

I had sat at her bedside and held her through fever and grief. I had washed blood from her skin. Carried her to safety and cared for her. But that didn’t give me the right to want her.

Not like that. And not when she still whispered Damon’s name in her sleep.

I whispered my own curse into the empty room, the sound catching in my throat.

Then, quieter still: “Stop it. She’s not yours.” But the ache in my chest didn’t obey.

And as dawn crawled across the windowsill, pale and indifferent, I knew I would carry the dream with me. A wound that refused to close.

Today I would care for her as duty demanded and bury these fruitless feelings. So, I brought her the herbal tea the healers said she would need.

I was careful with the tray, making sure the tea didn’t slosh. The bread was warm, wrapped in cloth. And the jam—her favorite, blackberry—was tucked beside the butter dish, even though she hadn’t eaten more than a few bites in days.

My fingers curled too tightly around the handles, and my shoulders were too stiff as I walked the palace corridor toward her chambers.

The dream still clung to me. I’d gone to the barracks just before dawn, sparred with two of the senior guards until my arms went numb, then bathed in cold water like the punishment would make the burning behind my ribs go away.

Unfortunately, none of it helped.

The guard outside her door nodded as I approached. I returned it without speaking.

When I stepped inside, Lila sat near the hearth, legs tucked beneath her, a shawl draped around her shoulders. Her hair was loose, making my breath catch at her beauty.

She turned toward me as I entered, and her expression brightened slightly. But it was enough to undo me.

“You’re early,” she said.

“I thought you might be hungry. And the healers want you to drink this, it’ll help.”

She gave a small nod and adjusted the shawl. “Thank you.”

I crossed the room and set the tray down on the low table. My hands moved carefully, arranging everything just so, too focused on the placement of the spoon and not on the way her eyes followed me.

“You didn’t have to bring all this,” she said gently.

I kept my eyes on the task at hand. “I don’t mind.”

That was a lie. I minded all of it. Every breath. Every glance. Every moment that reminded me of how close I was to something I couldn’t have.

She reached for the tea, but her fingers trembled slightly. I noticed before she could mask it and stepped forward, instinct guiding me before thought could intervene.

“Here,” I said, crouching beside her. “Let me.”

She allowed it, her hands falling still as I lifted the cup to her lips. She sipped slowly, eyes closing briefly at the warmth.

When she leaned back, I stood quickly and busied myself with the tray again, wiping an invisible crumb from the cloth.

“You’re quiet today,” she said softly.

I grunted at the observation, but didn’t offer an explanation.

Crossing the room I pulled the extra blanket from the linen chest, brought it over, and draped it carefully across her knees. The wool brushed the back of my fingers, and I pulled away.

“Ronan.”

Her voice stopped me mid-step. I turned, schooling my face into stillness.

She tilted her head slightly, eyes searching mine. “Are you alright?”

I nodded. But she saw through it. I could tell. I gave her a tight smile—the kind that didn’t reach my eyes—and turned toward the door.

“I’ll be back later,” I said. “You should rest.”

As I reached the threshold, her voice followed.

“Thank you, Ronan.”

I stopped, fingers curling around the doorframe. “You’re welcome,” I said. My voice was steady, but my chest ached.

I walked out without looking back, forcing my shoulders straight, my breathing even. But every step I took away from her felt like I was leaving something behind.

And I knew.

I knew it in the marrow of my bones, in the way her name pulsed behind my ribs like a bruise I kept pressing.

The revelation slammed into me: I was in love with her.

And I didn’t know how to stop.