Chapter 13

The chamber was hushed, saving for the faint crackle of the fire. Lilith sat opposite Alaric, her posture poised yet tense, her thoughts tangled like threads she could not unknot. The image of Asher—bloody, silent, frightening—refused to fade.

At last, she spoke, her voice quiet.

“Why does he come like that? Covered in blood… as though the world outside exists only to be cut down by his hand?”

Alaric studied her carefully. He did not flinch, nor did he rush. Instead, he smiled that gentle, steady smile—the one that always made her feel seen.

“You see only the surface, little dove. To most, Asher looks like a beast. A man of war, too wild to belong at court. But the truth?”

He leaned forward slightly, his tone soft, persuasive.

“He is the most loyal soul that I have ever known. Every drop of blood you saw was not spilled for cruelty. It was for duty—mine, and by extension, ours.”

Lilith’s lips parted in surprise. “Duty?”

“Yes.” Alaric’s gaze softened, though his words carried weight.

“Asher has always been my shadow. When I faltered, he bore the burden. When others betrayed me, he remained. He would never let harm come to me—or to our subjects.”

Her breath caught at that last inclusion. She looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap.

“…But he frightens me.”

Alaric chuckled low, not unkindly.

“He frightens everyone. That is why he is so effective. Men who quake at his presence dare not raise a hand against me. Yet behind that bloodied mask is the truest heart I have ever known.”

She dared a glance upward. His eyes held hers, steady and insistent.

“One day,” he said, voice almost tender, “I hope you will see him as I do—not as a monster, but as a man who would burn the world before he let harm touch the ones he calls his own.”

Lilith’s chest tightened. A strange unease pressed against her ribs. She wanted to believe Alaric, wanted to accept the portrait he painted of his brother in her. And yet…when she remembered the way Asher’s eyes had lingered on her, it was not loyalty she saw.

It was something else. Something Alaric had not named.

⚜

Two years later…

The corridors of the palace echoed with heavy steps. Word spread quickly through servants and courtiers alike: the bloodied hound of the battlefield had returned.

Lilith had not meant to cross paths with him again so soon, but fate seemed intent on testing her. She turned the corner and nearly collided with Asher.

He was as fearsome as before—armor still splattered from the skirmish outside the city, a faint smear of crimson along his jaw. His hair was damp with sweat, his knuckles bruised raw. Every servant in the hall scattered at his approach, vanishing behind pillars and doors, as though even the shadow of him might stain them.

Only Lilith remained frozen in place.

For a moment, he looked at her. That same piercing, consuming stare. Not a word passed his lips. The silence stretched, heavy, unbearable.

Then, instead of moving on as before, he tilted his head, as though studying some puzzle only he could understand. His lips parted, the faintest curl—half a smile, half a mixture of warmth. Lilith’s breath caught.

Before he could speak, Alaric’s voice cut through the tension.

“Asher.”

The crown prince strode toward them, his composure cracking for just a flicker. His gaze darted between his brother and Lilith, sharp as a blade.

“This…”

Asher did not answer. But slowly, deliberately, his eyes slid from Lilith to Alaric. His expression shifted, all traces of that strange hunger hidden behind a soldier’s cold mask. He bowed his head once, brusque, and moved past them without another glance.

Lilith’s knees felt weak, her gloved hands clammy. She could not explain it, but something in the way Asher looked at her had made her feel… strange.

Alaric, noticing her pallor, placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Yet his jaw was tight, his usual calm frayed at the edges.

“He is not himself after battle,” Alaric said quietly, almost too quickly. “You must not take his manner to heart.”

But even as he spoke, there was a flicker of unease in his eyes. A fear not of what Asher was to others—but of what he became in Lilith’s presence.