Page 4

“Brother…” His voice was barely more than a whisper, rough and broken, no longer carrying the unnatural edge that had twisted every word before.

“What… what have… you… done?” He stammered out, and Atlas froze. Lazaros looked down at his bloodied hands again before his gaze darted wildly between Atlas and me. Horror slowly spread across his face as understanding dawned. His lips parted soundlessly, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing.

A shudder ran through him.

Confusion.

Fear.

Disbelief.

All of it battled across his features as he stared at the blood coating his hands from the wound at his throat. He looked like a man waking from a nightmare only to discover he was still trapped inside it. My chest tightened painfully, as all I could feel was pity as I watched the realization dawn on him.

The way his eyes widened as the truth finally settled over him before he asked…

“What have I done?”

Lazaros eyes widened as the truth finally settled over him.

“What have I done?”

It sounded more like a horrified plea for answers, yet Atlas didn’t respond. Instead, his arms tightened around me, one hand remaining firmly pressed against my side as though he still wasn’t entirely convinced, I was really there.

That I was real.

I felt the warmth of his breath against my hair before his chin came to rest on the top of my head.

“Alexandra.” The sound of my name on his lips made something inside me ache. There was so much wrapped up in that single word that I almost couldn’t bear it. Relief. Fear. Anger. Hope. All of it tangled together beneath the surface, as though he didn’t know which emotion to cling to first.

Slowly, he eased me back just enough to look at me properly, one hand rising to cup my chin. His fingers were gentle despite the tension radiating through his body as he tilted my face upward, forcing our eyes to meet. The moment he looked at me, I saw everything he was trying so desperately to keep contained. The joy that I was alive, the fear over how close he had come to losing me. The pain from everything that had happened, and the fragile hope that this nightmare might finally be over.

And beneath it all lurked anger.

I just couldn’t tell whether it was directed at me for ignoring his order to stay on the other side of the Rift, at Lazaros for everything that had happened, or at himself for nearly driving a sword through his own brother.

“I don’t understand,” Lazaros choked out, his voice trembling.

Atlas barely seemed to hear him. His attention remained fixed on the wound at my throat as his jaw tightened and his expression darkened at the sight of the blood staining my skin. Whatever restraint he was holding onto seemed painfully fragile, stretched thin by shock, guilt, and the lingering fury still simmering beneath the surface.

“What do you mean? What have you done? You started a fucking war, brother!” The harshness in his voice made me flinch, despite the tender way he treated me.

“No…” Lazaros whispered, shaking his head as he took another step backward. “I… I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t start a war.” The words sounded less like a denial and more like a man desperately trying to convince himself that the nightmare unfolding around him couldn’t possibly be real.

Atlas’s jaw clenched.

“Wouldn’t you?” he snapped, finally dragging his attention away from me.

But then, when Lazaros started shaking his head, continuing his denial, Atlas growled,

“See for yourself.”

He gestured sharply towards tall doors at the end of the room, but his gaze returned to me almost immediately. It was as though looking away for even a second was more than he could bear. As Lazaros stumbled past us, Atlas barely seemed aware of his movement at all, his focus lingering on my face. As though reassuring himself that I was truly standing before him and not another cruel illusion.

Righting himself, Lazaros all but sprinted towards the tall arched doors at the far end of the throne room. Atlas didn’t fully release me as we followed. His hand remained firm against my side, guiding me forward, though I couldn’t help noticing how measured his pace was compared to his brother’s. It was almost as if he were deliberately maintaining distance, unwilling to let Lazaros too close until he understood exactly what had happened.

The moment Lazaros threw the doors open, sunlight flooded the throne room, driving back the shadows that had gathered in its corners and confirming that Demetrios no longer lingered amongst them. The unmistakable sound of cheering drifted inside, growing louder as we stepped forwards and looked out across the battlefield beyond.

Soldiers celebrated below us.