Reubinon, Pellarmus.
The day after the Third Corps execution.

I ran until the world narrowed to only my heartbeat and the thud of my shoes against stone—until my lungs cried out for oxygen, until the salt air stung at my eyes and I couldn't tell if it was sea air or my tears I was tasting. My legs shook and my entire body was coated in sweat, but I did not stop.

I let my power snake from me, let it dip invisible hands into each stove, each hearth, every burning barrel and dying kiln. I felt ash shift in fireplaces, felt the heat in my blood echo the flicker of candle stubs and oil lanterns. I pushed the rising tension from my bones—forced it away from me.

That power in me wanted to cast blame. It wanted ruin and wrath. That whisper in my soul wanted to rage. But I—I was tired. I was broken and all I could think of was my mother and how she didn't know. Mama was off tending to someone else's baby having no idea that her own were dead somewhere, their bodies left out to...to...

I stumbled to a stop and leaned against a brick wall, skinning my palms as I collapsed into it. Behind me, Jaxon was panting, his own breathing as ragged as my own. My legs were shaking and I could taste blood. Each inhale was like needles piecing my throat and lungs.

But I couldn't stop.

My hands stung as I pushed off from the wall and staggered back onto the street. I took two steps before a hand caught my wrist and pulled me to a halt. Jaxon's face was dripping with sweat, his guards uniform damp enough that it clung to his chest and arms. I pulled away from him, nearly tripping on my own feet as I tried to steady my shaking legs.

"What—" He bent over and placed his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. "What the hell—" I started to move away from him again but he lunged forward and caught me by the wrist, his grip tighter this time, more insistent. "Please, for the love of the goddess, stop running. You're gonna kill me."

My hair had come lose from the leather band I'd used to tied it up and I paused to fix it, shirking his grip once more as I shoved wet strands from my eyes. Each word was labored as I said, "Go back to the palace if you can't keep up. I don't need an escort."

He snorted at that. "Well," he said, his own words coming out in gasps, "too damn bad. You've got one."

I shook my head, stepped out of his rang and took off again. It hurt—goddess—it hurt. My legs were on fire, every muscle tight and screaming for me to stop, but it was better. This pain was better than having to face the reality of my life being forever different. Changed entirely and all within a matter of hours.

Yesterday morning I'd believed my brothers were fine. If anyone could help the people stranded in Third Corps, it was Ambrose. I believed in him. He had never failed me, not once. And I needed to believe he could do this.

There was so much on the line.

If he could've gotten them out, it would free Kai to make a move against Caine. Yes, Ruthie was in the palace and he would worry for her, but I knew him—I knew the man I loved—and I knew that if he could be free of the threat of Third Corps, he'd be able to fight his uncle.

And now he was free.

He was free and my brothers had died for it.

But Ambrose hadn't gone to Third Corps for Kai. He'd gone for Ellora and their baby and now—now she was gone too. His future with her, their child's life, was gone forever. And Kace...

He'd gone for me.

"Enough!" Jaxon grabbed me from behind and hauled me to a stop. I spun, caught him with a punch to the stomach and swiftly followed that with knee to the groin. He gasped in pain and buckled at the waist, spitting out words that could only be curses as I stepped away from him preparing to run again.

"Someone break your heart or something?" Jaxon gasped, still bent at the waist. His brown eyes glinted in the moonlight as he said, "What? What the hell happened? Whatever it is, you can't run from it forever. If some guy hurt you, then say so. I'll kick his ass and we can all be done with it. Hell, with maneuvers like that, you can kick his ass."

For a moment, I was too stunned to do anything but stare at him.

When I said nothing, Jaxon straightened, rubbed at the rib I'd punched, and said, "And who the hell taught you to do that?"

"I—" I stepped away from him, needing space. Suddenly, the world was too small. "I—I just want to go back to the palace."

He shook his head. "No. Not yet. You—You look ready to kill someone. And after that little stunt, I feel confident you could."

My hands caught in my hair as I turned my gaze upward, towards the overcast sky above us. I wished it would rain. The air was heavy with the expectation of it. And I could feel the shift in the wind, the way the entire city seemed to inhale, as if waiting for the downpour.

"You gonna an answer my question or what?"

A sob caught in my chest, swelling until I thought it would burst from me—crack me open like a stone. Over the past few weeks it had felt like I was being chiseled away bit by bit and now, standing on that cliffside next to a stranger, I'd hit the real breaking point. But I didn't want to cry.

I was so exhausted with tears.

They did nothing, saved no one. They wouldn't bring my brothers back. They would never bring Uri back. I knew because I'd wept and wept and wept and I no matter what I did I couldn't bring her back. And I thought if I cried anymore, I might drown.

Just then, standing there looking out from such a height, seeing the darkness of where I knew that ocean lay, it was tempting. The edge of this cliff and the relief of the fall...The idea of being done with it all was tempting. And yet—

"You didn't tell me your name. Let's start there."

I turned to look at Jaxon. My breathing was still ragged, still coming in gasps as I said, "Monroe Benson."

He nodded, as if he'd known or suspected. "Do you enjoy torturing everyone you go on runs with or is this a rare pleasure?"

I swallowed, trying to fight past the threatening tears as I whispered, "I—I—um...I'm sorry."

He winced as he took a step towards me. "It's—I'm not gonna say it's fine, 'cause running like that hurt, but..." he shrugged. "Apology accepted, I guess."

Jaxon had moved to block my path now, successfully pinning me between the guard rail of the cliffside overlook and himself. It wasn't predatory or intimidating, his stance was casual—hands in his pockets, legs slightly off balance, as if one leg was bothering him. He didn't want me to run again, but wasn't dumb enough to try restraining me.

My eyes watered and I blamed it on the cold wind and salt air coming from the coast.  "Can we go back to the palace now?"

Jaxon nodded down the hill. "You see that light down there?"

I peered down the cliffside but saw only shadowy cityscape beyond.

"No?" He said. "That's because the palace is too far away to see. Now, I don't know about you, Monroe—I can call you by your first name, right?" When I didn't respond, he smiled. "Anyway, Monroe, I don't know about you, but I don't feel like walking back right now. My legs hurt. I got a knee that a took a beating a few years ago and it's given me trouble ever since. Especially when a storm's coming on. So, how about this: you sit on that bench over there and tell me why the hell we just ran six miles. I'll listen and do my very best not to strangle you out of frustration." When I didn't move, he shoved a finger in the direction of the bench. "It wasn't actually a question."

I blinked at him. "You're—You're my escort, not—You aren't my commanding officer."

He laughed. "We're at least six, maybe seven, miles from the palace—Out here, I'm whoever I want to be. And right now, I'm tired. So, let's sit."

He walked past me to the bench and collapsed onto it. The wood creaked under his weight and I heard him pat the other side of it. I gazed out at the pathway he'd left open to me. I could run. Or I could jump.

Either way, if I took off right now, he wouldn't be able to stop me.

But for some reason, I sat.

The bench was cold against my legs, the chill of it biting through the thin layer of my leggings and soothing the ache in my muscles as I eased back. Jaxon didn't say anything to me, he just gazed out at the blackness beyond the railing. I knew there was an ocean there. A steep drop and then water for miles and miles. On a sunny day, it might be beautiful, but it was scary to me—too deep, too dark, too endless.

The silence between us stretched on the way I knew that blackness did.

And just when I thought I might fall into it, he said, "Is it the sort of heartbreak you can fix or the sort you have to live with?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and whispered, "I have to live with it."

He nodded, just once, as if that explained everything. "You want to talk about it?"

I shook my head.

"Well, whatever it is, you know you can't run from it."

Tears stung at my eyes and tried to blink them away. Always running, Isla had said about me all those weeks ago. Maybe she was right. But I couldn't imagine facing this head on. I didn't know how to even begin to process it. I'd known loss, but nothing like this.

My brothers were dead.

Executed by Caine.

Jaxon's voice was quiet as he said, "I'll admit, I liked the running better than this. I never know what to do when girls cry."

I choked on a bitter laugh and leaned my head back against the bench, letting the tears fall freely now as I gazed up at the heavy, black clouds. There were no stars tonight, but the moon fought the clouds.

He sighed. "Whoever he is, he isn't worth this. He's a bastard. You—You shouldn't let him make you this upset. It's his loss."

I shook my head. "It isn't a boy."

His brows rose and he straightened slightly in his chair, surprised. "A girl then?"

I huffed out a laugh and whispered, "Who says it's that sort of heartbreak?"

Jaxon pulled a leg up onto the bench, hugging one knee to his chest as he turned to look at me. "What sort of heartbreak is it then?" This question was quiet, all teasing gone.

For a moment, I couldn't get the words to come. My lips parted but no words were there. I couldn't say it. Couldn't explain what had happened. If I said it aloud, would it become real? And could that solidification of my new reality hurt any more than it already did?

"My—" I swallowed and shoved hair from my eyes. The saltwater air stung at my lungs as I inhaled a deep, quivering breath. "My brothers—My brothers are—They're dead."

He just gazed at me for a moment before he cursed under his breath and turned to look out at the black expanse ahead of us. "I'm sorry."

I only nodded.

Jax cleared his throat. "I—I've been an asshole this whole time. I thought...I thought you'd been dumped or something. I thought it was something stupid. I didn't... I never imagined...I'm sorry, Monroe."

I turned my gaze skyward again. The moon was fighting the clouds, but it was losing. We were both losing tonight. "They—There's a rebellion happening in Erydia. And my brothers—my brothers were a part of it. They died in Erydia—Or well, Vayelle, I guess. At a rebel camp near the border. My brothers—" I had to pause, collect myself, make my heart settle in my chest, before I said, "They were trying to save some of our friends and they were captured and...They were executed yesterday. All of them. My two older brothers and my friends."

Jaxon cursed again, this time in Pellarsh. He sighed heavily and leaned his cheek against his bent knee, his arms tightened as he said, "It sounds like your brothers were very brave. And like they died for something they must have believed in a lot."

I closed my eyes. "They were and they did."

"It doesn't fix anything, but I am sorry for your loss."

A raindrop hit my cheek, cold and crisp. "I want—" I stopped myself, unsure even what I'd been about to say. What did I want? Kai? To burn everything? To make someone else hurt the way I hurt? To kill Caine? To be dead myself?

The sudden onslaught of those desires left my palms sweaty.

"What?" I could feel his eyes on me, waiting. And we weren't friends. I didn't know him at all, but there was enough passion in that one word, that I thought Jaxon might do whatever I wished if it were within his power—if only to quell my tears.

I sighed and stood up from the bench. I walked to the railing and braced my hands against the cool metal of it as more raindrops hit the stone pathway beneath my boots. A storm was brewing, one larger than even the one contained within those clouds above my head. I knew it, I could feel the rising echo of it in my chest.

Behind me, Jaxon still sat on the bench, watching me. He'd leaned forward now, his elbows resting on his knees as he waited to see what I'd do. I was waiting to see too. The goddess and every dead goddess-touched girl seemed to hold their breath—I felt the pause of it in the settling of my ability, the way that darkness in me seemed to sit back on its haunches.

I heard stone shift under Jaxon's boots as he stood and walked to my side. "What do you want, Monroe?"

The vision of Ambrose fighting for me on the platform of Demarti Station flashed through my mind. I'll find a way to save you. And Kace—he'd warned us.

That note he'd left for me: look to the sea—that hadn't been because Pellarmus was coming to aid Erydia against the Culled. No. He'd seen Darragh coming. Kace had known that Pellarmus was entering this fight and that they were in it for themselves, not the Warwicks. He'd been trying to give us an ally against Larkin. He may have chosen the Crown over me once, but it wasn't a choice he'd made twice.

I turned to look at Jaxon. He was handsome, his brown eyes deep and rich in the dying moonlight above us. But I longed for a different set of brown eyes. I was so mad and so hurt—did he know? Did Kai have any idea what had happened? Was he fighting Caine? 

"What do you want, Monroe?" Jaxon asked again.

I wanted to scream at Kai. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted my mother. I wanted to go home. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to curl up in bed and never be bothered again. I wanted to burn Oredison Palace to the ground. I wanted to see Caine's head on a damn platter.

I wanted a lot of things.

The rain was falling heavier now, rolling down my face and mingling with my tears until I couldn't tell which was which. The words stung my throat as I said, "I want to go back."

Jaxon nodded. "Then let's go."

***

We didn't run back.

The anger that had driven me to try to outrun my grief was gone.  Now I was just bone-weary. By the time we reached the gates of Reubinon Palace, my legs were shaking and we were both soaked to the skin. Jaxon wished me well as I left him to go inside.

He waited until I was nearly halfway to the massive doors before he called after me— "Monroe! You may have to live with the heartbreak, but you don't have to let it rest there. Fight back. Pick up where they left off."

I didn't turn around; didn't even nod to show I'd heard him. He had been kind to me, this stranger. So, kind and patient, yet I couldn't even muster a thank you.

I doubted he cared very much, but after the fact—after I'd pulled myself up the stairs and crawled into bed, not even bothering to shrug out of my wet clothes—I realized that I should have been more grateful for him. It was only then, buried beneath piles of blankets, that I knew the truth. If Jaxon hasn't been there, I might not have come back.

That drop from the cliffside had been steep.

And I had been unafraid of it.

But Jaxon, he'd kept my feet planted. He'd kept me talking, even as we walked back to the palace. He hadn't let me stew in my own silence—even if that's what I'd wanted. As we'd walked, he'd told me of his family and how he'd come to be here, in a city so far from home.

I couldn't remember his story, only pieces of it.

An Erydian princess he'd agreed to help. A redheaded girl he'd left back home with only a promise to return. A dead mother. A father who had raised him to fight for those who couldn't fight for themselves. A sister who had been beaten in the streets after she'd been caught playing a piano in the house she'd been hired to clean. A little brother who looked up to him and watched his every move.

And even though we'd come from different cities, our lives held parallels within them. And as the night faded and watery sunlight began to stream into my bedroom, clearing away last night's storm but not my sorrow, I realized that Jaxon hadn't told me those things to compare heartaches—only to make me feel less alone.

It had worked.

I was still here.

Still alive.

***

If you enjoyed this chapter, leave this emoji 🔥 and tell me if you'd be interested in joining a discord for The Culled Crown series. I think it would be a place for us to communicate, a place where I could keep you updated on all things TCC, a place where I could do a few Q&As, and a place where I my post extra Culled Crown related content. You know, like some super secret deleted Uri and Dellacov scenes. Comment here and let me know if that's something you'd be interested in. I'm also considering doing some sort of live chat/write-with-me on Zoom or Google Hangout. Give me your thoughts on that too.

My schedule has been a mess recently and my mental health has been a constant struggle. Ahhh pandemic! 😅😔 BUT I think things are starting to even out. I hope not to miss any more uploads. To make up for last weeks missed chapter, I'll post another one tomorrow night. Thank you all for your patience. 🧡

For more information on The Culled Crown series and other projects, follow me on Instagram (@briannajoyc) or check out my website (www.briannajoycrump.com).