The hour was late before Tissaia finally made her way to the bedroom she and Azael continued to share. She had sat with Talarion for a few hours before he persuaded her to go join the others, though he denied her attempts to persuade him to come along.

He had last been seen by Vael returning to the temple's inner sanctum. That assured her that he wasn't doing anything stupid at least, and Tissaia was content to let him alone for now as that seemed to be what he desired. She reached the bedroom and eased the door open.

Azael was stooped over the rickety writing desk in the corner of the room, his maps still strewn out before him. "Gaelen and I are going to scout as far as we can tomorrow after the storm finishes itself off," he said in acknowledgment, but didn't lift his gaze from the maps. "To get a feel for what our path is going to be like, and see if we can pick up any traces of your father."

Tissaia perched on the edge of the bed and bent to remove her boots. "My father isn't the only one that needs to be discussed." Tension gathered in Azael's shoulders, though wavy locks of hair kept his expression hidden from her view. "Gaelen referred to you as the King. Do you intend to challenge Mavron when we go back to Arcan?"

He didn't answer immediately and massaged his forehead with a thick sigh. "I don't know. I've been trying to figure that out. There is so much that needs to be done. I have to address the bandits plaguing the Vidar refugees, not to mention the growing number of Blood Fae within the forest."

"And I believe we need to try to track down Astaroth, wherever he might be hidden or imprisoned. But there's only so much I can do while my father has the authority to overrule any decision I make." He lifted his gaze to hers, and she was surprised by the amount of guilt within it.

"Maybe it would be the right thing to do, forcing him to abdicate and taking his crown. But I don't think I can do that to him. That's not how I want my reign to begin, and he's still my father. He has his flaws, but he's not entirely a bad male. Perhaps there is a way I can let him remain a figurehead while granting his authority over to myself."

"And if not?" Tissaia asked.

"Then I'll have to make a choice whether to do what is in the best interest of my father, or Asterria."

"What will be in your best interest?

"I don't know." Azael swiped a hand across his face again, then shook his head. "Let's just focus on one thing at a time for now. Your father first, then mine." She smiled at that, but soon furrowed her brows as he gave her another conflicting look. His lips parted, but no words emerged. Azael swallowed, then hesitantly, he asked, "May I see your scars?"

Tissaia stiffened and dread wormed through her stomach until she thought she might be sick. The ugly marks hidden beneath her clothes almost seemed to throb as a shudder ran down her spine. He wanted to see them. The truth of her failures. The marks she had never been able to show him. The ones she couldn't stand to look at herself.

She met Azael's pale blue gaze once more and drew a few measured breaths. He had given her every vulnerable truth, every secret he'd ever kept from her, even those that might have driven her away. And she had chosen to remain with him regardless, because she loved him. If he truly loved her too, these disfigurements would change nothing.

Still, she found her hands shaking even as she nodded and began to remove the layers of fabric concealing them. "Most of them are on my back," Tissaia admitted, shrugging out of her vest.

She tugged at the laces of her shirt while Azael quietly came to stand beside her. She twisted on the bed so he'd be able to see her back, and pulled her shirt off. She could stop there, she knew. She could let her hair and undergarment hide the worst of the marks, towards the center of her back. But if they were going to make this work, she would have to learn to trust herself with him completely.

Her mouth ran dry as she slipped off her old camisole and set it aside. She parted her hair down the middle and drew both halves over her shoulders, letting the dark length cover her chest while fully exposing her back. Somehow, she felt even more naked like this than if Azael would have been in front of her. There was very little he hadn't seen there. But her back...

Her jaw trembled before she managed to compose herself and braced for his reaction. Azael was silent as he took in the dozens of marks that had been carved by the tongues of a whip. Tissaia folded her arms around herself, fighting the urge to curl up and hide beneath a blanket.

"There are some on my thighs too," she said instead. "And a few very pale ones that span down my legs. My arms as well, if you look close enough. I faded those to the best of my ability. Most of them didn't scar too badly to begin with so they were easier to fade. But the ones on my back were..." Her voice caught and she took a moment to steady herself again.

"They were reapplied the most," she rasped. "Usually with a whip, but sometimes by other methods. I...I try not to remember the other times. The whipping I could bear, but when they would...would torture me, to hurt Talarion...I've done my best to block those times from my memory. They're vague now. Mostly I only see those memories in my dreams."

"How many were because of me?" Azael asked. She barely heard the words. His voice was only a hoarse growl.

Tissaia closed her eyes. "I don't know. Many of them. It happened almost every time after we returned to Lochren from one of our visits to the palace, for a variety of reasons. But when Father was specifically angry that we weren't married yet..." She held up her left hand, knowing he would recall what Roshan had done before.

"He would break my hand. Every time. He was the monster that would come in the night. He would rip me out of bed and crush my hand over and over again until Talarion was able to fight him off or he grew tired of it." And after this last time, her pinky and ring fingers remained very slightly crooked. It had taken her and Talarion too long to heal her hand amidst everything else that had happened.

"But I would bear them all again, if I had to," Tissaia whispered. "I took all of them out of love for someone. For Talarion. For Kaius. For you. And that's partially why I never called off our betrothal. Doing so would have meant that I fear my father more than I love you, and that will never be true." She broke off abruptly as Azael grabbed her still raised left hand and pressed her fingers to his lips, then kissed her palm.

He let go and over her shoulder, she saw him drop to his knees. A sharp breath cut from her throat as Azael's fingertips skimmed over her scars and his lips followed their path. Warmth stung her eyes as he continued to layer kisses over the brutal marks, before his arms closed around her waist and he pressed his cheek against her skin.

"There will never be another," he swore in a rasping tone. "There will never be another, my Love. Tissaia. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for each one that was because of me. You didn't deserve any of them, but those ones least of all."

Tissaia let her hand fall on top of his and lowered her head. "I'm sorry they're so hard to look at. I still can't stand to either."

Her brow creased in confusion when he pulled away and shifted in front of her. His hands cupped her face and his gaze searched hers before he brushed their lips together. "They do not disfigure you, Tissaia," he attempted to assure her. "You are beautiful. They only make you more so in my eyes, and I thought you couldn't possibly ever become more beautiful."

A smile flitted across her lips. "You don't have to lie to make me feel better. I know they're hideous."

"They're not." Azael kissed her once more. A flutter filled her stomach as his lips dragged onto her neck. "You're not."

His hands fell to her waist and her skin tingled beneath his touch. She let her lashes droop as he continued kissing her neck and she arched into him. His silken mouth caressed the crook of her jaw, then the spot below her ear. He began to draw back, but she caught him by the shoulders.

"Don't stop," she breathed, not opening her eyes.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Don't stop, Darling."

She gave a faint sigh as Azael kissed the corner of her mouth and worked his way back to her neck. He trailed onto her collarbone, then began tracing a path up, his kisses growing heavy. At the first scrape of his teeth, Tissaia breathed a light moan and heard Azael's own breath stutter, before he hauled their lips together and pulled her flush with his chest.

He angled her head to the side, nipping at her bottom lip and she opened for him. Her hands found his shoulders and Tissaia pressed herself as close to him as she could, kissing him hungrily. Without restraint. When she caught his gaze, he was staring at her through smoldering half-lidded eyes with blatant desire.

His chest rose and fell against hers with uneven breaths while she threaded her fingers through his hair. He splayed a palm against her back, raking his eyes over her, and warmth cascaded through her body. "Don't stop," Tissaia whispered again. "Please."

"Is that truly what you wish, my Love?"

She nodded. "I've felt nothing but exhaustion and sorrow and fear for so many days now. But you make me feel safe. Loved. Content."

"If I keep going, more will happen than what we shared at the inn."

Tissaia's throat bobbed as she untangled herself from his arms and shifted further back onto the bed. She gave a quick toss of her head, letting her hair pool behind herself while she propped back on her elbows and arched her back, leaving her chest in full view. A smirk wound onto her lips as she tipped one of her legs sideways. Azael's face caved with a need and he let out a slight groan.

"I want more," Tissaia murmured. "I want everything."

He was already inching towards her. "I will give you everything," he whispered, bracing one hand by her hips while the other gently cupped her face. He swept his lips across hers and amber magic shone beneath the doorway as he cast a shield over the room.