To hear Assyria speak of similar abuse cracked that facade in an instant. Wrenched my carefully crafted helmet right off my head. Exposed me to myself.

My mate leaned over the table, a tear spilling down her cheek. With the lightest of touches, she brushed the bump on my nose. “They don’t heal properly if they’re not set right away,” I told her. “I gave up trying after a while.”

“And your fingers?” she asked softly.

“I always told the healers that I smashed them into things,” I shrugged. “Those were important for wielding a sword.”

“And that’s why you tolerated the pain of the stakes so well,” she said, removing the empty glass from my hand and placing hers in it instead. She traced the white scar on my palm, then the A she carved into my wrist—the brand she’d given me to match the one I’d given her. That shared claim upon one another’s souls, more visible than the perfect circles resting between our shoulder blades.

The touch was soothing, and I basked in the comfort she offered me. So rarely had I indulged in this delicacy, thinking I was undeserving of it. That it was safer for everyone if I remained aloof.

Right then, Assyria was offering me a different type of safety. One I desperately wanted to lean into, yet I wasn’t sure how to surrender entirely. “He visited one time shortly before I came of age, and from the moment he exited the carriage, I knew it was going to be the worst visit yet. When the Kral arrived a few days later, Xannirin and I were already on edge. My father wanted to show off my powers for his brother. How well I’d learned to harness them.”

“What did he make you do?” Assyria asked, rubbing my fingers now as if she could ease the hurt from them, centuries later.

“A three on one fight, where I had to call upon the dead ones and use them to slaughter the others. I didn’t have nearly as much control over my power then as I do now,” I explained. Now, I could wield hundreds of bodies simultaneously. I’d raised several thousand at one point, but my magic tapped out too quickly at that scale. The number I chose at any given point in time was based on centuries of experience. The past decade had honed it even more than the years of my father’s abuse.

“He made you kill three other Demon soldiers?” she clarified, sorrow threading her tone.

“Aye. Afterward, he called me to his room. To beat me, though for what, I wasn’t sure. I’d executed every move perfectly. But I’d had enough. He closed the door.” I paused, jaw clenching as the memory surfaced, clear as the sky above the Paks Desert. “And then, I ensured he was too afraid to lay a hand on me ever again.”

Assyria hummed a sympathetic noise, letting me know she was listening.

I retracted my hand so I could pour the last of the scale into my glass. The next piece of information would be the most difficult to discuss. Fates, I didn’t even talk to Rapp and Xannirin about Thast, and they were both there.

Assyria watched me, still poised on the edge of her seat, ready to reach out and comfort me on a moment’s notice.

“He found another way to punish me after I really failed.” I tossed back the alcohol, relishing the burn in my throat. Then, I rolled tension from my shoulders. My stomach clenched, and my palms sweated.

Would Assyria look at me differently after I revealed my greatest failure? My greatest shame?

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad–” she started, but I cut her off with a shake of my head.

“Place,” I told Grem, and with a huff, he trotted to his bed on the opposite side of the tent. After a few turns, he curled up beside Zeec. I faced Assyria and splayed my arms across the table. I needed her grounding presence for this. She understood my silent request and slipped her warm skin against mine.

Dropping my head, I failed to steady my racing heart. She deserved to know everything, the whole truth. Yet I hadn’t spoken about the events since…ever. Rapp and Xannirin had both attempted to bring it up on multiple occasions, and I’d silenced them every time.

“That bag, the tattered, threadbare one…belonged to a male named Thast. I keep it as a reminder…” I trailed off, throat working. Then, emitting a shuddering breath, I lifted my gaze to find my mate’s. “Thast was the fourth in our group. Xannirin, Rapp, Thast, and I bunked together in Fured, and then again when we were assigned to a border outpost, every graduate’s first assignment. While we were there, I finally earned the title of Vezető. My first route with the promotion happened to be the day after the new year.”

My knee bounced under the table as the first wave of shame rose. I forced it to still, then forced myself to speak again.

“Of course, being young and ridiculously stupid, the four of us went out drinking the night before, despite our scheduled early departure for the wall. The entire unit was roaring drunk as we rode to the outpost, in fact. Our dulled senses allowed the Angels to attack. All but six of us died.” My grip on Assyria tightened, as if I could physically pin her in place should she attempt to reject me now.

“Oh, Rokath,” she whispered instead, squeezing back twice as hard. “No wonder you keep such strict rules.”

“That is part of it,” I admitted freely. A muscle feathered in my jaw as I tried to find the right words to convey what happened next. “The consequences are what solidified them.”

She nodded slowly, allowing me space to sort through it all. Her unwavering devotion was cleansing, like by baring my soul to her I was ridding myself of the centuries of dust caked to the memories.

“When the Kral and my father arrived, they were both furious. Never had I fucked up like that, and in the process nearly gotten Xannirin killed. The six survivors—Xannirin, Rapp, Thast, myself, and two others—knelt before them to beg for forgiveness. My father had a twisted version in mind. Only three of us could walk away from there, and since I was in charge, I had to be one of them, to live with my mistakes. My father offered me a choice: kill them myself using my powers and offer them a swift death, or allow him to do it as he saw fit. Had he…it would have been a slow, savage descent into the Reaper’s embrace for them.”

Assyria’s lips pressed together, and two tears leaked from her eyes. Her hands shook with how hard they held mine. Without breaking our embrace, she rose and drifted around the table to stand in front of me. With our size difference, we were nearly eye level. I brought our joined fingers to my mouth and kissed her knuckles. Then, I pulled her into my lap. She kneaded my shoulders, remaining quiet as I fought to contain my emotions.

“You don’t have to be strong for me, Rokath. I’m here to share your burdens, your pain,” she murmured. “I know what it’s like to be at the mercy of someone cruel.”

A choked sob escaped me before I brought my fist to my mouth to smother it. I gritted my teeth, trying to fight off the knife readying to flay me open. Not just for my pain, but hers. For what Vagach did to her all those years. Because of the changes I helped weave into society.

With a ragged exhale, I said, “I couldn’t kill Xannirin. The Kral saved me from that choice, along with Rapp, since he too had burgundy eyes. Which left Thast and the other two. He just let me do it.” My voice cracked, crumbled to pieces as the memory of his last words to me surfaced.

It’s okay, Rokath, he had said.

“He didn’t try to fight his fate, just accepted the Reaper was ready to take him. He didn’t cry out as I killed him. And when I had to Call his body…” a shudder wracked my frame, my temperature dropping even further, “and have him kill the other two, my father watched on with satisfaction.”

I gritted my teeth, and Assyria moved her ministrations to my jaw. She worked for a few moments while I attempted to regain control. “I’d vowed long before that to kill him. After what he forced me to do, Xannirin and I were in agreement that the brothers needed to die. With the rising threat of the Angels, they chose to slaughter three fully trained soldiers, and for what? So my father could prove he still had power over me?”