Page 114 of She Who Holds My Wrath

“No, you’re avoiding me,” I snap. “And I’m done letting this go on.”

He exhales sharply, bracing his tightly curled fists on the table. “I don’t want to fight with you, Daisy.”

“That’s a shame,” I say coldly. “Because we’re doing this, Aran. Right here, right now.”

He finally lifts his head, emerald eyes blazing. Grief lives there. Rage lives there. Something so sharp and broken and dangerous. “You don’t get to tell me how to feel.”

“I’m not,” I say. My voice stays level, though my chest feels cinched tight. Gods, I hate confrontation. I hate the way it makes my pulse race, and how my palms go all sweaty. “I’m telling you to stop taking it out on the wrong person.”

He lets out a laugh so bitter it scrapes across the archive hall. The sound bounces off stone and shelves, harsh enough to make me internally flinch. Thankfully, I made sure Lyvia cleared this level before I came down here. No one else needs to hear us break apart.

“The wrong person?” he repeats. “She burned herself out of existence for him. For you. And he doesn’t even want to stand beside you. He doesn’t even want to rule.”

Something inside me snaps taut. “I understand you’re angry,” I grit out, stepping closer to the desk. “I was angry too. For a long time. When he left. When he died. When I had to wake up every day knowing the world kept turning without him.”

Aran’s jaw flexes once again, that same muscle jumping hard enough I’m surprised his teeth haven’t cracked. His fingers curl into the edge of the desk. But I don’t stop.

“But she made her choice, Aran. Velentha knew exactly what she was doing.” I inhale slowly, trying to keep my temper brindled. This would not be the place for my flame to make an appearance. “And I am sorry—truly—that you’re not happy with how he’s dealing with things.” My voice drops, sharp as a blade. “But just because he’s back, doesn’t mean he has to be okay.”

His mouth opens, but I cut him off before he can speak, because if I let him talk now, I might scream instead. I can feel the heat licking at my veins, my fire stirring dangerously close to the surface.

“He had to watch me suffer,” I continue. “Do you understand that? The Void let him watch everything.”

That gets his attention. Some of the fury drains from his face, replaced by stunned attention.

“He watched me chained in Aurora’s Veil,” I say, every word precise and controlled. “He watched Kaelith drug me. Hurt me. Break into my head.”

Aran goes very still. These are things I haven’t told anyone. Not in detail. I don’t even allow myself to think about them.

“He watched Kaelith force me into dream-states.” My hands shake, so I clasp them tightly in front of me. “Make it feel like I was with him over and over again.” My voice is barely steady. “He made it look like I was enjoying it. Did you know that?”

Silence.

“He watched me get beaten. He watched me beg. He watched me kill Kaelith.” My breath comes faster, the memories trying to force themselves to the front of my mind, but I hold his gaze. “So don’t you dare think Velentha’s sacrifice was in vain,” I snarl. “And don’t you ever imply that Korithax doesn’t deserve the right to fall apart after that.”

“Daisy—”

“You do not get to decide how people handle their grief,” I continue, cutting him off. My voice is softer, but no less deadly. “Be angry. Be hurt. Gods know I am.”

My throat burns with tears threatening to fall. “I miss her too. I loved her too, Aran.”

I curl my hands into fists, nails biting crescents into my palms desperately trying to distract the tears from falling.

“But do not punish him for surviving something none of us can even begin to understand.” I take another step closer, desperate to reach out and pull him into me. “There is a force living inside of him that nobody truly understands. All we know is that it thrives on hurting. And instead of hurting people… he’s choosing to be alone.”

Aran audibly swallows, his throat working around the motion, eyes glassing over with unshed tears as mine finally spill free.

“After months of being away from me, from all of us, he’s choosing isolation.” I wipe angrily at my face. “So for one second—just one—think about how he must feel too.”

The silence stretches between us as my words settle. Dust drifts through the shafts of lantern light as somewhere far above us, soft footsteps echo faintly through the tower.

And in the quiet, I realise I needed to hear the words I just spoke, just as much as Aran needed to hear them. Despite the heaviness of the words, I feel lighter. It’s like I needed this conversation in some capacity, to stop holding the resentment I felt towards Korithax.

He didn’t deserve my bitterness. He deserved my love. My patience. My strength.

“I love you, Aran,” I finish, exhausted but unyielding. “But this needs to stop.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move. And brace in fear he’s going to fight back against me again. Instead, his shoulders sag, as if someone cut the strings holding him upright. His eyes fill, tears glistening but not yet falling.