ZAIRO

Something isn't right. I watch Sidra walk around camp in a rush, carrying things in a sack. She's packing.

Elystia is nowhere to be found. She went for a walk into the forest, probably to clear her head. It takes all of my self-control to keep from running after her. From dragging her into my tent and keep her there. Distract her in my furs until she forgets her upset.

But I can't do those things. She's a free spirit who came from a lost island and somehow found her way to me. I could never clip her wings.

I keep myself busy by meeting with the master in charge of investigating her tent's fire. After working with the chemist, they came to a conclusion that unnerves me: the fire was likely not an accident. Someone set fire to Elystia's tent, and I have no idea who it could be.

There are a few entertainers that still look at me longingly. One of them might have realized my heart is no longer available because it's owned by the camp's master Archer. But I can't be sure. I've got plenty of enemies, most from the palace. I wouldn't put it past them to want to terrorize me. It's clear to the world that I'm attracted to Elystia. I've made few efforts to downplay that. In hindsight, that was a mistake. I should have protected her.

I tell the investigator and chemist to keep working to and determine who stuffed bits of hay beside Elystia's tent and set it on fire. In this massive camp, someone must have seen something.

I wonder if I should share the news with Elystia. She's already processing so much. She would fall to her knees if she knew someone made an attempt at her life because she has gotten incredibly attached to the camp.

I tap my fingers on my desk anxiously, glancing at the flaps on my tent and waiting for Elystia to walk past them. It's evening now. She canceled her archery lecture—something unheard of. She loves that class.

"Fuck this," I mutter and rise from my seat.

I walk barefoot toward the flaps, hellbent on finding her. I need to know what she's thinking, even if it's words I don't want to hear.

The tent flaps shift, and a female enters. I know it's Elystia before she even lifts her head. No other female would have the backbone to enter my tent uninvited and unannounced. No other female has the authority to treat my tent as if it's their own.

"Captain," she addresses me.

My hands fist so tightly that my knuckles crack.

She's distancing herself. Pushing me away by reinforcing the difference in our status. Her beautiful face is stone cold. There's no hint of the passion I saw in her eyes when I was deep inside her, stretching her.

"I spoke with Sidra and told her everything. We had a talk and... given our history, I think it's best for us to walk separate ways."

I nod. "I'm sure she's upset that you're leaving her, but—"

"No," she interjects with a frown. "No, I'm not leaving her. She's like my sister. We're leaving the camp together."

I've been in chaotic battlefields with mutilated bodies surrounding me, clashing weapons, flying arrows and screaming men. I've always been able to maintain my cool and focus, even without medication. But hearing Elystia's soft, dead tone is baffling to me.

I can't process a word she says.

After a few inhales, blinks, and twitches of my fingers, I reply, "what?"

"We're leaving the camp, Captain. We're transferring to another one. I hear the nearest one is managed by Captain Malik?" (A/N: Malik is from The General)

She's calm and composed. Speaking to me as if we're discussing ingredient stock in the kitchens. As if I didn't lick her pussy until I mapped it in my memory.

"Elystia, I know you're upset, but I'm willing to talk about this. There's no need to punish me with a cruel joke."

"This is no joke, sir."

She's fucking serious. She's leaving?!

A thousand things run through my mind, splitting it apart as fear and desperation take over, filling the cracks.

If she leaves, I will never be home again.

"Absolutely not. I will not allow this." My voice is stern. It never fails to straighten the Masters out.

But Elystia isn't a Master. She's far deadlier.

She straightens her back and glares, eyes finally showing me some fire. "You will not control my life as your ancestors controlled mine. This is it. I'm releasing the power your blood has over mine."

I grab get her shoulders and squeeze gently. She jolts, not expecting my touch.

"I gave up my life as a royal. I've denied my bloodline and acknowledged it's poison. I know I lied to you, but you can't punish me for inheriting a bloodline I didn't choose. I'll give you anything. Just forgive me."

She looks away from me. Turning her cheek as I resort to something I've never done in my life: begging.

"Please don't do this," she whispers.

Maybe she's hurting. Maybe she doesn't want to see the pathetic desperation in my eyes.

I release her and take a step backward, my fingers twitching again. I realize they're searching for my sword. They want to cut out my bleeding, aching heart so that it doesn't hurt anymore.

My voice is dead as I say, "I'll approve your request."

"Thank you," she whispers, closing her eyes and letting tears escape.

I reach a hand for her, but she spins quickly, only allowing a whoosh of air to brush my fingertips. She leaves the tent, and my hand remains outstretched.

I'm shocked for a minute. Numb. And then the fury takes over.

I shout and look around madly, panting as a vein throbs in my temple. A tar-black desperation clogs my mind, and I can only think of her. Her hair, her eyes, her skin. I pace by the tent flaps, losing my mind. Tempted by the splashes of sunlight that streak into my tent.

I want to chase her. Disrespect her wishes and trap her. Show her that not even the prestigious title of Captain can mask my barbaric, greedy nature.

Knowing that I'm breaking and about to run after her, I walk to my desk and grab my sword. I grip the blade with both hands and bend the black metal with all my might.

The blade digs into my flesh and blood pools out. Pain erupts in my hands, but I accept it. It serves its purpose of distracting me.

I fold the fucking sword until my biceps burn from the effort. Until the metal snaps in half and the rug beneath my feet is dark crimson. Until I've lost so much blood that my hands are turning pale.

Until my fingertips can't remember what it was like to touch her.