Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I’m in our chambers in Aretia, getting out of the bath when Xaden finally wakes up.

I gaze at myself in the mirror for a little too long, at my damp hair that desperately needs a trim because even braiding it up is hardly enough to contain it, at the dark hollows under my eyes, and at the faint outline of an ashen handprint wrapped around my left bicep. Then, bent over to towel off my hair while still dripping on the tile floor, Tairn alerts me.

“He wakes.”

I stumble and barely catch myself on the sink in time so I don’t bust my head open on its side. Tairn makes a sound that’s somewhere between a growl of annoyance and a disappointed sigh. I scramble to grab the towel and wrap it around myself in order to have any semblance of being put together when seeing and speaking to my husband—really speaking to him—for the first time in eight months.

As I move to the door, Tairn speaks again.

“Silver One, wait.”

Wait? There is no waiting. I’ve done eight fucking months of waiting to be with Xaden again, and I will not let another second pass. I toss the door to the bedroom open, trailing water behind me.

“Xaden?”

Xaden is sitting up in bed, gazing down at the golden band on his ring finger. My heart stutters and is so light it feels like it might fly away. He startles at my entrance, eyes widened a fraction as his gaze flickers down to my towel and then back to my face. Gods, his eyes—his gorgeous golden-flecked onyx, no amber or red or—

Or any emotion, actually. His face is now carefully blank as he assesses me in the doorway, a look that’s recognizable but never sent in my direction, especially in our chambers. Even before we were together, any look he sent my way was usually accompanied by a sneer or a smirk.

Okay. That’s okay, I tell myself, even as a pang hits my chest and sits in each beat of my racing heart.

There’s a new scar on his chest that sits under the one he took willingly for me, fresh from the dagger I held in both hands, not even two days ago.

I swallow past my own pain and instead put my focus on only him. Making sure he’s okay is first. If we’re okay, can come after.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, trying for a gentle smile.

He blinks. “…Fine.”

Fine? “Xaden, please. You’re not hurting?”

I move to sit at the end of the bed, by his feet. He pulls his legs closer to himself and rests an elbow on his knee, feigning nonchalance, but his jaw tenses.

Another pang hits me, nearly making me flinch. I fold my hands in my lap, desperately trying to come up with the words to encompass my regret, sorrow, apologies, fears, anything that I can give him to dispel some of this tension.

“Xaden, I’m so—”

And then my scalp prickles, but there’s no fucking bond for him to tug on right now.

I slam my shields up. Tairn growls.

“Don’t you dare,” I spit out, my voice cracking.

It’s his turn to flinch back, his eyes wide.

Fury churns in my stomach. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then stares off over my shoulder, likely listening to Sgaeyl.

“Violet,” Andarna murmurs. “There’s something wrong with his head.”

My fury quickly turns to fear. “What do you mean?”

Did something not work? Did he come back…wrong?

There’s no hint of red in his eyes, at his temples, but as an Initiate…no. He can’t be. This can’t have all been for nothing.

I do not have the strength to kill him twice. I just don’t.

Andarna doesn’t answer. When Xaden meets my gaze again, an eyebrow raised, I prepare for the worst. And yet—

“You’re Tairn’s rider?”

Nothing could prepare me for this. A heavy pit opens in my stomach.

“…What?” I respond, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Tairn’s—”

“Yes.”

I can’t fucking bear to hear him ask that again. I press my trembling lips together, goosebumps rising on my bare arms. Droplets of water from my hair trail down my cheeks.

“Silver One, he does not—”

“Xaden,” I say, tuning Tairn out. Gods, no.

Xaden’s head tilts as he watches me, waiting for me to speak. I shift to pull my knees under me and crawl a few inches closer, wrapping a hand around his ankle and feeling the heat of him through the blanket that’s drawn up around his waist. He stiffens, but doesn’t move away.

I probably look deranged, trembling and dripping water all over our bed, in nothing but a towel. He doesn’t look exactly his best either, his face still gaunt and yellowed, and his frame a little thinner. But he’s alive. He’s home.

It takes everything in me to form my next words. I manage it, although my voice is thin and brittle.

“Do you know who I am?”

I am Violet Sorrengail Riorson. Third-year cadet. Fourth Wing, flame section, second squad. Duchess of Tyrrendor. Lightning wielder. Dream-walker. Tairn and Andarna’s rider. Your wife.

Your murderer.

I would take any single one of those answers. Any flicker of recognition in his gaze, because gods, he is looking at me like he’s trying to place me. His expression is bewildered now, between me clinging to him and whatever Sgaeyl has said to him. I hold my breath and try not to fall to pieces.

After the longest moment of my life, he shakes his head.

It’s as if a bucket of ice water has been dumped over me, and the cold seeps into my bones. I want to scream, but all that escapes me is a breathy, disbelieving giggle.

This can’t be happening. Before, all that was left of his shattered soul was me. He said it himself. And now he has it back but, what? I didn’t make it into the patchwork of himself that was pieced back together?

Xaden pulls his ankle from my grip, and I fist my hand in the sheet instead.

“Maybe you should go,” he says, flatly.

My head snaps up to meet his gaze. He’s cleared his expression of the confusion I know is still running through him, with the shadows unfurling from under the bed and wrapping closer to him a dead giveaway. His head is definitely not on right—until he gained more power from channeling the earth, I hardly ever saw his shadows so closely reflect his emotions, especially not anxious ones. That’s something Lynx is dealing with, but not Xaden.

“Go?” I respond. “Go where?”

“Does he think I’m some fucking one night stand?” I hiss to Tairn.

“I am unsure,” he grumbles, clearly displeased with Xaden’s attitude. “His soul is no longer damned. But if he does not correct himself soon I will send him back to damnation.”

Right. Tairn hasn’t been speaking with Sgaeyl much, after their return. He wanted to see what happened when Xaden woke before…recommitting? My poor old man dragon is not doing much better than me, in the heartbreak department.

“Do not attribute your human petulance to dragon affairs.”

“I don’t know,” Xaden scoffs. “Out of my room would be a great start, if you don’t mind.”

Perfect. There’s a bit of the snark I know and love, even if being asked to leave our room sends another stab straight to my heart.

“Can you get Brennan up here?” I plead. “Probably Garrick, too?”

I sit back on my haunches and curl my hands into fists in my lap. I don’t know how to approach this. I want to cry, or scream, but seeing as he thinks I’m just a strange woman in his bed right now, neither of those will be very helpful. Out of any possible ways for this to go, having to reintroduce myself was not one I’d rehearsed as I laid by his side and watched him breathe for the past two nights.

But I’ve never been one to just sit and take his shit, so I won’t be starting now.

I lift my chin to meet his glare. “Why would I leave my own room in nothing but a towel?”

He narrows his eyes as I climb off the bed and walk to our wardrobe. I take a steadying breath while grabbing my things out of it.

“And…my name is Violet,” I add, softly.

I glance over my shoulder at him; he’s watching me carefully, but there’s no recognition waiting there. His face scrunches for a moment, like he’s searching for it himself, and finds nothing. Goes back to watching me with vaguely annoyed apathy, and then distantly as Sgaeyl probably continues speaking to him.

He would recognize my last name—or, my middle name now, but I want him to remember Violet, not just relive the first moments we met, when he really wanted me dead.

I realize too late that maybe I should’ve taken my clothes to the bathing chambers and changed there since he thinks he doesn’t know me, rather than just dropping my towel and doing so in the middle of the room. When I hear him curse under his breath I don’t even know how to respond—say sorry? We’re married, for Amari’s sake.

I dress quickly in my loose training pants and corset, having a little more trouble than usual tying the latter up in the back due to my fingers trembling.

Behind me, Xaden clears his throat. When I turn, holding the front of my corset to my chest, he’s slung his legs over the side of the bed, resting his weight back on his hands.

“Need some assistance?”

The lightness in his tone sounds forced, but I find myself nodding anyways, craving him in any way I can get.

He crosses the room to me, barefoot and with just a pair of loose cotton pants sitting low at his hips. It feels wrong to stare right now, no matter how much I want to, so I turn my gaze to the ground and hold my hair over one shoulder, still damp and tangled from my bath.

He doesn’t speak at first as his hands make quick work of tying my corset up. His warmth so close to me is soothing, despite the situation, and he hovers close after finishing, his knuckles brushing the inside of my bicep and making me shudder. I opted for a sleeveless undershirt today, and just the hint of his touch leaves me buzzing and then aching for him to hold me close.

“Sgaeyl says you’re trustworthy,” he mutters. “That I…owe you my life.”

I swallow hard, wrapping my arms around my midsection.

“That’s probably the kindest thing she’s ever said about me,” I say. And a funny way of describing recent events.

“He wouldn’t be standing here without you,” Andarna adds, a fierceness to her tone that almost makes me smile.

“Without the others.” Sloane, Dain, Cat. “My job was the exact opposite of saving.”

Xaden snorts in response to me, and I turn to look up at him, lips curving up at the sound. He’s so close to me, staring down confused and thoughtful. I want to reach up and trace the scars on his chest, feel the tangle of his hair in my hands, cup his face and stand on my tiptoes for a kiss and for him to inevitability scoop me into his arms so he doesn’t have to bend down so much to kiss me back.

Instead, he crosses his arms in front of his chest and I feel the inches of distance between us like a physical blow.

I have to clear my throat before speaking again. “I asked Tairn to get Brennan and Garrick, so you can—”

There’s a loud knock at our door, and then Garrick’s voice carrying through.

“Sorrengail,” he snaps. “Come get your fucking dog before I—”

I dart to the door and throw it open, to both save Garrick from whatever he’s going to say about my lovely personal guard I’m sure is outside, and to escape Xaden’s sharp, furious gaze as he stiffens and realizes whose daughter I am.

Garrick is standing there in his flight leathers, scowling, with Captain Aspen Farroway standing close behind, one hand resting lazily on the pommel at his hip. A corner of his mouth lifts at me, like he can’t be bothered to smile fully.

“Violet,” Aspen greets, and I bite back the correction on my title. He’s not worth the effort, as the past however many months have reminded me.

“Captain,” I respond. “I asked for Tavis to come here.”

“And I was escorting him.” He shrugs. “Trying to make conversation, even. Wondering what someone on house arrest is doing in their flight leathers.”

“It’s a rider thing—”

“Need to do some fucking laundry—”

I wince. Garrick sends me an exasperated look at my attempt to help. Aspen clicks his tongue.

I continue on quickly. “I asked him here because Xaden is awake. Can you bring some water and breakfast from downstairs for him?”

Garrick perks up, gazing over my shoulder, but Xaden isn’t in view from the doorway. I know because I can feel his fucking glare from the corner of the room that’s growing more lethal with each passing second.

Aspen tilts his head, a single dark curl falling onto his forehead. “Don’t know if fetching pastries is in my job description.”

“You useless little—”

“Brennan!” I shout down the hall as I spot my brother reaching the top of the stairs.

The two men in front of me turn to him at my greeting, and I send a desperate look that hopefully screams hurry the fuck up before Garrick loses the little bit of patience he has left. He never has a lot of it, but since returning from the isles with Aaric a few months ago and getting put on leave due to abandoning post for so long, he’s had trouble even being allowed to go for a flight for Chradh, and any rider knows that’s fucking torture.

Still better than the alternative that Aaric somehow talked his father out of—which was a dishonorable discharge and being thrown in the brig at Calldyr.

Thankfully, Brennan does read my face and puts some pep in his step. When he reaches my door, I grab him and Garrick by the wrist before he can even say hello.

“Maybe you can be useful and get someone else to bring that stuff up, Captain?” I ask, plastering on a fake smile.

He looks me up and down, considering, and before he can reply, Brennan does so.

“That’s an order, Captain,” he snaps. “And a dismissal.”

Aspen straightens and smiles, suddenly the picture of a perfect infantry officer. “Of course, Colonel.”

I tug the two of them through the door and throw it shut without another word.

I blow out a sigh and run my hands through the tangled mess of my hair, trying to gather myself before daring to face Xaden. Brennan and Garrick are greeting him, anyway.

“Riorson,” Brennan says. “How are you feeling?”

“Glad to see you back in the realm of the living,” Garrick adds, grinning wide.

“Is this a fucking joke?” Xaden hisses.

I glance up at him and press my lips into a tight line at the fury in his gaze, the lump that’s been forming in my throat threatening to choke me now. If he decides to kill me, I guess this time it’s really only fair.

“He will not lay a hand on you if he knows what his life is worth,” Tairn growls.

“Well, there’s not really anything stopping him, this time,” I reply.

Even if he remembers the favor my mom called on, she’s dead now, and with no mating bond between Tairn and Sgaeyl, there’s nothing tying our souls together. Nothing bringing value to my life over his revenge, really.

“Violet,” Andarna chides.

Garrick is trying to say something else to him, but Xaden cuts him off.

“How is Violet Sorrengail in my fucking room? In Aretia?”

Garrick glances back and forth between us, brows furrowed. “Xaden, c’mon. You can’t blame her. Violet had to—”

“He doesn’t know what you’re talking about!” I yell, my voice cracking as the tears that have been waiting bubble up and fog my vision.

Silence stretches across the room.

“Oh, shit,” Brennan mutters.

“He doesn’t recognize me,” I continue in a small voice, trying to blink back the moisture in my eyes.

“…What?” Garrick asks, looking back at his friend in disbelief, and Xaden’s jaw pops.

“Got it. Okay,” Brennan says, holding his palms out. “Listen, Riorson, you’ve been…missing for a while. And you were badly hurt. I need to check your head.”

Xaden turns to him, considering for a moment, and then slowly nods. At Brennan’s urging, he moves to sit at the desk that’s behind me, and grows even more confused when Garrick shifts to shield me from him as he walks by us. When he sits, Brennan places one palm on his forehead, the other at his nape. Garrick squeezes my shoulder before going to stand at my husband’s side.

Maybe I should’ve put on my leathers. Or at least some of my daggers. I feel too vulnerable like this; I reach for the funnel of Tairn’s power in my mind, not pulling anything out, just letting the power rush through my veins to give me some strength.

Brennan’s brow furrows as he searches for any wounds, and by the tight look he shares with Garrick and I, followed by him dropping his hands to his sides, I already know the answer.

“Okay,” he sighs. “Physically, your head is fine.”

Xaden goes to stand, and Brennan pushes him back down by the shoulder.

Xaden scowls up at him. “What?”

“I still need to get some Healers to look at you and figure this out.”

“Figure what out? That I forgot meeting Violet Sorrengail last night? Who cares?”

I can’t hold back the flinch at his words this time. For fuck’s sake. Brennan’s hand on his shoulder tightens, and Garrick glares.

“You don’t need to be such a fucking asshole right now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Duke is usually one of my favorite humans,” Andarna mutters. “But he’s quickly veering into snack territory.”

“Andarna,” I chide. It’s still Xaden, he’s just…confused. And being a major asshole about it.

“…Don’t tell Sgaeyl.”

“Xaden,” Brennan interrupts. “I know you’re confused, and I’m probably going to piss you off even more in a minute. You’re misremembering more than you realize, right now, and I need you to answer my questions to help figure this out. With minimal snark, please?”

Xaden rolls his eyes, but leans back in the chair and waves him on.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

I gasp, feeling like the floor is falling out from under me, and Garrick curses. Brennan shoots a warning look our way.

Holy shit. That’s not just me that’s missing from his memories—that’s years gone. How could that happen? I could understand his time as a Venin being foggy when he returned, maybe, but three fucking years?

“Do you know what today’s date is?” Brennan continues.

“It’s…” He shakes his head as he comes up blank.

“That’s fine—”

“No, hold on,” Xaden snaps. “I know the fucking date.”

Brennan watches him carefully and waits.

His face twists in pain as he thinks, and I have to fold my hands behind me to keep from reaching out to him.

“We were just out flying with Bodhi for—” He glares at me, and if he notices my flinch at his cousin’s name, he doesn’t comment. “We were out for a flight. Garrick, what the fuck happened?”

Garrick swallows. “Xaden, we went—we’ve gone on a lot of flights with Bodhi.”

He winces and rubs his temple.

“I don’t—” He stops, his gaze catching on the wedding band on his finger. His jaw tenses, and his eyes dart to me for a moment. He looks pained, but there’s a flicker of hope in my chest that maybe some pieces are falling back into place.

“Where’s Catriona?”

My stomach plummets.

“Catriona?” Garrick asks. “Why the fuck does it matter where she is?”

“Because she’s my wife?” He spits out.

A wet, hysterical laugh bubbles out of my chest as I put my face in my hands. My ring from Xaden is still resting on the side of the sink, where I had left it in my haste to come out and greet my husband after he woke up.

“You’re not married to Catriona,” Garrick corrects, quickly.

“Who else—”

“Me!” I drop my hands and meet his confused expression with watery eyes, thunder rumbling in the bright blue sky outside. “You’re married to me.”

Xaden stares. Looks me up and down.

And laughs.

He might as well have taken a dagger and twisted it into my heart. My hands tremble as I watch him. Brennan rubs a hand down his face and paces away from Xaden, while Garrick takes my arm to steady me.

“What kind of joke is that, Sorrengail?” Xaden mocks. “You—”

“Xaden,” Garrick snaps. “That’s enough.”

I can’t hold them in anymore—tears run down my face in rivets as I fight to control my breathing. It takes all my focus, leaving my fingertips sparking with power and Garrick yanks his hand away with a hiss. My chest may as well be collapsing in on itself.

Xaden watches me closely, the mocking smile slipping as lightning crackles in my hands, like he’s reassessing me.

And it’s not as someone to love. It’s as a threat. I don’t need a mental bond with him to recognize that.

“Violet,” Brennan says, softly.

“I’m leaving.” I spin on my heel to walk to the bathing chambers, entering quickly to grab my ring from the sink and make a show of slipping it on my finger when I return. Xaden’s eyes widen. “I’ll send some fucking Healers.”

When I leave our room, slamming the door shut behind me, I’m immensely grateful that Aspen is off doing whatever he does when he’s not up my ass. Writing his latest report to King Tauri, probably.

It means the hallway of the family wing is empty, and I hurry to my office, where a pile of endless paperwork and missives waits for me to drown in.

I reach for Tairn and am met with a wall of onyx. I take a shuddering breath.

“Andarna?” I try.

“I am here,” she assures me. “Tairn and Sgaeyl are…arguing, I think.”

“Shouldn’t Sgaeyl be there for Xaden?”

He’s being a total ass, but his mind is probably a disaster right now. And if she has him blocked off like Tairn does me…Who else does he have to keep him steady?

“I know. I don’t think they’ll be long. Things were just getting a little heated, for a moment.”

Okay. Got it. The five of us are doing superb right now.

I wipe the tears from my face and compose myself enough to stop the first guard I see and have them send some Healers to our room for Xaden. Hopefully between them and Brennan, they can figure out how to fix this. Fix him.

He’s alive, I remind myself. He’s home.

The last time I spoke to Xaden, I was dream-walking, and he was surprisingly forward in his intel, much more than he had been for the past few months he’s been gone and I’d been able to briefly find him in dreams.

He couldn’t avoid this fight that was coming to us, he said. Stay away from the border. Stay safe.

Yeah, right.

We had an emergency meeting; I got a small group to come with me on my allotted few days of leave to deal with Tyrrendor affairs and bring them on a rescue mission, full of daunting steps that included me putting a dagger into Xaden’s heart.

I did it. I pushed a blade through skin and muscle up into his organ—and the worst part wasn’t the physical strength it took to do so. It was the brief moments after, watching his expression melt into relief, his final act reaching up to grasp at a strand of my hair before he collapsed. Hearing Sgaeyl’s wail. Having to lay over his unmoving body and hope and pray that the half-assed plan Dain, Brennan, and I put together actually worked.

But Xaden’s alive. His soul is intact. We can get through this. I can deal with the apathy, the snark, even a bit of cruelty while he recovers. I’ll just add it to the list of things he has to grovel about when he has his memories back.

Like proposing and getting married to me after turning Asim, leaving me in charge of his province, and then going off the grid for eight months.

I can’t bear to think of any other possibilities. Of our history, our struggles, our love, just being…gone. Not to mention every other piece of him from the past three years he’s collected and fought for. The friends he’s lost.

When I reach my office, I lock the door behind me, sink to my knees, and sob. Full, shaking sobs that wreck my entire body, until my eyes and throat all the way down to my toes ache and burn. Until I’m wrung out and hollow, feeling my pulse in my palms and ears.

And then I get up, and get to work.

Chapter Text

“So you’re saying this is a chance to reinvent myself?” Ridoc grins, leaning back in his chair.

I give a half-hearted smile at his attempt to lighten the mood in the room.

I’ve been cooped up in my office all day, hardly realizing it was after dinner time until I started to feel nauseous and woozy at my desk. Because they’re all wonderful, my friends came to check on me and brought food. Ridoc is in the chair across from me, lightly kicking me under the desk like he’s a child. Dain and Sloane take up the chaise by the floor length windows on the wall to the left, the view overlooking the front courtyard in the early winter evening. Sloane’s feet are propped up in Dain’s lap while she nurses the last of her wine and bread roll, and he has a hand on her ankle where her pants leg rides up, stroking his thumb over her skin.

Cat sits in the recliner next to them and has been silently staring out towards the mountains in the distance—towards Poromiel—since I updated them on Xaden’s condition.

Sloane was the most difficult to get leave approved for the rescue mission, but we had to have her siphoning for it to be successful. With the aristocracy power of myself, Cat, and then Aaric combined, we made it happen. General Aetos still wasn’t very happy about it, so I can only imagine what she’s in for when she returns. As if the Marked Ones haven’t been dealing with enough backlash during Xaden’s disappearance.

No one really knows that Xaden turned—there were no witnesses and thanks in part to my memories being wiped, I couldn’t confirm to them with a truth-sayer that I’d seen him turn, at least that night. The rumors, though, still brought plenty of trouble.

Dain was stationed here in Aretia after graduating, thanks to Brennan requesting him. He fits in well here; he’s more settled than I’ve seen him in a long time. The locals love speaking Tyrrish with him, many having never really stopped speaking it behind closed doors, and it was far enough away from everything (namely, his dad) to give him a fresh start.

I don’t think the him and Sloane have stopped touching since we arrived here a few days ago. Ridoc makes fun of them to no end, but I think it’s sweet.

Ridoc has been called to the frontlines more times than I can count this year, with a harsh new scar peaking out from the collar of his shirt to prove it. His leave was well-earned.

The rest of our squad will be here at the end of this week for our turn in the two week Aretia rotation, our new first-years included. We have five of them—two fliers and three riders. Rhiannon is trying to switch her time around so she can make it for this one, too.

“We could probably at least redirect if he gets pissy,” Sloane remarks, speaking about Xaden’s ire towards me. “I can crawl into Dain’s lap to announce our relationship.”

Dain winces at the thought, and Sloane tosses the last of her roll at him.

“Don’t make that face when I’m talking about showing you affection!”

“With the ulterior motive of trying to get Riorson to kill me?”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” I interrupt. “We didn’t exactly get along when we first met. I’ll manage.”

Now that the hate between us isn’t mutual like when we first met, it’ll hurt more, but I can handle it. He’ll be pissed at himself when he gets his head on straight, anyway.

Ridoc frowns at me, and leans over my desk to glance down at all the scattered reports, most of them marked up beforehand by either Lewellen or Brennan with suggestions.

“You’re probably done for the day, right, Vi?”

I’m really not—being at Basgiath greatly limits anything else I’m able to get done for the province, especially things we’re trying not to share with the rest of Navarre, but I’m saved from answering by a quick knock at the door and Garrick entering, shutting the door behind him.

I’m standing before I realize it, but his grimace doesn’t bode much hope. Not that the lack of answers Tairn and Andarna have been able to give me throughout the day have done much, either.

“He’s outside,” Garrick starts, taking stock of who’s in the room with me. “About the same as when you left this morning, Sorrengail.”

I swallow down the bile churning in my stomach and nod. “But he can get better, right?”

“Since there’s no injury causing the amnesia, Healers said he should just start to remember shit on his own. As long as whatever trauma that’s caused it isn’t still in his day-to-day life which—”

He throws his hands up in the air, and we all gather what he means.

“But if it’s tied to that, why is he missing so much time?” I ask. “There’s no way it’s random.”

“Yeah, that’s what they said too. He keeps mentioning something about a flight we took with Bodhi so I have to remember what the fuck he’s talking about and make sure there isn’t something we’re missing.”

“Would you want me to help?” Dain suggests.

Garrick shakes his head before Dain is even finished speaking, and then narrows his eyes at him like he’s considering it. Dain keeps his expression schooled into a cool indifference, but his grip on Sloane’s leg tightens. She places her glass of wine on the side table and shifts to curl up next to him, carding a hand through the curls at the nape of his neck.

Finally, Garrick sighs. “Not yet, Aetos. I can’t even fucking think straight enough to give you anywhere to look.”

He nods, relaxing back into the cushions.

“What about for Xaden?” Sloane asks. “Would it—”

“No one is going in Xaden’s head,” he snaps. His sharp gaze starts on Dain, and then moves to Cat, who rolls her eyes. “The Healers and Brennan recommended against it, but Xaden had Sgaeyl try to show him something anyway and it—” He runs a hand down his face.

My chest aches. I feel so useless, knowing Xaden has been across the manor, in pain, and I have nothing to offer him but more of it.

“He got super agitated and even more confused. He can’t control his signet for shit right now, even less than when we were actually second years. And after he calmed down he couldn’t even remember what she’d showed him, anyway. So because we told him, he knows of the general state of the war, that he’s been missing for a few months, he has his title back, and he’s married to Violet. No real details of anything else…or anyone. They said he needs time and to not be distressed, but also needs a familiar routine.”

Ridoc barks a laugh. “Okay, great. How do we get him that? With the, you know—” He waves his hand around. “Everything.”

“Following Violet around before the rest of your squad is here for rotation is the best we got,” Garrick responds.

I take a deep breath. “And if he finds me…distressing, right now?”

He shrugs. “I told him to get the fuck over it.”

Okay. Perfect. No pressure.

Garrick saunters back to the door, speaking over his shoulder. “I already warned him who would probably be here—”

“Do they think he’ll actually get them all back?” Cat asks. “His memories, with how much time he’s missing?”

He stops to glare at her, but doesn’t respond.

“Cat,” Ridoc hisses.

“What?” She scoffs. “Everyone is going to be mad at me for asking what you’re all thinking?”

I sigh, having in fact been trying to avoid thinking of that possibility this whole time.

“Garrick?” I prod.

“The Healers said that on average it takes a day or two for things to gradually come back with some prodding,” he starts. “We were trying all day, and he was just getting more pissed. He doesn’t recall shit. If things don’t start to look up in the next day or so, they’re estimating a longer recovery of a few weeks. Once it goes longer than that…it’s not impossible. Just, unlikely.”

“But we’re not there yet,” I add, and he nods.

“Exactly.” He opens the door to call for Xaden. “Hey—for fuck’s sake—hello, Captain.”

Xaden shoves his way into the room, scowling, with Aspen right on his heels. I barely hold back a groan.

“Who the fuck is this?” Xaden asks, seemingly to no one in particular.

Xaden looks a little better, at least— his coloring has returned its normal tawny brown, and he’s clearly bathed and put on fresh clothes, although his shirt is a little loose on his frame. Aspen has his usual bored facade on, slouching slightly and making Xaden looking even taller, but there’s a curious glint in his cool blue eyes that does not bode well with his malicious streak.

Panic seizes my chest, and I exchange a tense look with Garrick. Xaden is way too vulnerable right now without his memories, and we cannot have Aspen writing off to the King about it. They’ve been trying to find and dig their nails into any cracks in our power since Xaden disappeared, so they can give the seat of power away to someone else. Someone with undying loyalty to Navarre as it currently stands.

“Xaden,” I greet, while Ridoc mutters something under his breath that rhymes with Captain Slack-off. “Captain Farroway is my personal guard assigned to me by the King after some turmoil around the continent over the summer, and the Duke of Luceras’ assassination.”

“Violet and I go way back,” Aspen adds, shirking my title as always, and clearly trying to get a rise out of Xaden.

I don’t expect Xaden to have any reaction to Aspen’s goading, since he couldn’t care less of me currently. But he surprises me by giving Aspen a harsh once-over before turning away, clearly unimpressed.

“Captain,” I snap. “The Duke is still recovering, and his memories of when he was missing and the Battle of Draithus aren’t all there. It’s best not to agitate him right now. Healer’s orders.”

Aspen hums. “I’m surprised you left your chambers so quickly this morning, then. You seemed upset.”

Was he waiting around a damn corner to watch me? Slimy bastard.

“Just a lot to take care of,” I answer. “Running a province and all.”

“You work in your room, sometimes,” he counters.

Xaden narrows his eyes. “Is it so hard to believe that my wife would find me too distracting to get work done?”

I dig my nails into my palms, fighting to keep my face neutral. Not exactly the first way I wanted to hear him call me that. There’s ire in his tone that can be attributed to Aspen being annoying, but it more obviously sounds like calling me his wife is physically painful. Ridoc turns back to my desk, glaring down at it in effort to keep his mouth shut.

I don’t know if Aspen catches the tension or not, but he still gives Xaden a lopsided grin like he’s won.

“Apologies, Your Grace,” he says to Xaden. “I see my presence is agitating as well. I can make myself scarce while you recover.”

Aspen gives a nod, and then turns on his heel and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.

After a beat, Xaden turns to Garrick.

“How often is that asshole sneaking around the manor by himself?”

“He’s not very good at sneaking around,” Garrick mutters.

“But he’s smarter than he lets on,” I add. “We have people keeping tabs on him. He only sees what we let him.”

Xaden raises an eyebrow at me, and I wait for any other smart remarks my way, but he decidedly takes stock of the others in the room instead. He hardly spares Ridoc a glance, and when his gaze catches on Sloane, my heart nearly stops.

Oh, please don’t ask about Liam.

But when he greets her with a tight, “Sloane,” he’s glaring at Dain, and the way she’s pressed up against his side, with his hand resting on her knee.

She smiles in greeting, and Dain stares like he’s bracing for impact.

“What am I looking at,” Xaden continues, his tone flat.

“One of the reasons alongside Violet that Aretia has its own riot and wards,” Sloane chirps. “But don’t worry, I’m keeping close tabs on him just in case.”

Xaden’s eyes flick to me and then back, eyebrows furrowed. Cat snorts, and his attention jumps to her. His expression works into something unreadable, and it makes my mood sour even more.

“Cat,” he says. “Is your sister all right?”

Cat eyes me over his shoulder. I shrug, trying to stay composed, and she purses her lips in thought before responding.

“Syrena is fine, last I heard,” she answers. “Is there a reason you think she wouldn’t be?”

“She was in the…” He stops, and then runs a hand through his hair and glares up at the ceiling. Shadows swirl around his feet. “I don’t fucking know. Nevermind.”

Watching him be so unsure of his own thoughts is absolute torture. If not for me, he needs his memories back so he can be his usual, confident self.

Sloane bites her lip and turns to Dain, probably thinking about his signet again. He shakes his head slightly at her in a silent conversation.

A sharp, stabbing jealousy shoots through me that I shove down. So not helpful right now.

Cat sits up suddenly. “Wait, are you thinking of my birthday?”

Xaden frowns at her, but Garrick’s face lights up.

“Oh, shit. That’s probably it,” Garrick says. “Tecarus threatened you—”

“Kindly requested—”

“—about getting to Poromiel for her birthday, and we managed to bring Bodhs on his first flight out there.”

“And a venin crashed the party,” Cat sighs. “Syrena took care of it.”

Xaden is frowning at Garrick now, his face scrunched as he tries to recall it on his own.

“That was the first time we actually saw a fucking venin,” Garrick adds.

“Lucky you,” she mutters.

Oh, gods. After recovering from turning venin, his head decided to block out all memories back from when he’d first seen one? Seems…drastic, but hopefully this means that being human again and given time to rest up at the manor should let things come back to him.

“We saw a venin?” Xaden asks, incredulous.

“You know what that is, right?” Ridoc quizzes.

Xaden sends him a scathing glare. “Yes, I know what a fucking venin is. Who are you and why are you here, anyway?”

“Part of your rescue mission and one of the reasons you’re standing here right now—no need to thank me.”

“Ridoc,” I chide. So much for not agitating him.

“Oh, right,” Cat responds. “Whatever would we do without you standing lookout, Gamlyn?”

He grins at her. “Be bored as fuck with just your frigid ass around, princess.”

She scoffs, and fires something back I don’t really pay attention to because of the light, cool touch of a shadow at my ankle. I look down and see the shadows under my desk are reaching out, curling around me almost like a child reaching for something steady. I glance back up at Xaden warily.

The line of his shoulders is tense as he tries to observe the room while the conversation continues on without him. He looks around at the others and then the various books I’ve left open on tables or updated maps on the walls. The shadows in the room have been growing longer as night falls, and he must be reaching out to them without even realizing. Fuck. This technically was his office, and his dad’s before that, and I don’t know how much time he remembers spending here after Aretia was burned. This is too much.

“I think it’s maybe time to turn in early,” I say, halting whatever bickering was going on with my squadmates.

At least none of them are too oblivious, and take the dismissal for what it is, leaving fairly quickly—except for Garrick, who pauses to see if I need back-up, I guess. I wave him off. He claps Xaden on the shoulder and mutters something in his ear that earns him an eye roll.

And then I’m alone with my husband, who would much rather be anywhere else than here with me.

“Have you eaten?” I ask, hesitantly making my way around the desk towards him.

“Yes,” Xaden answers. “Sorry, is eating dinner apart a break in our—routine?”

He doesn’t sound very sorry at all. Now that there’s no one else around, he seems to have given up on holding back his disgust towards me.

While Xaden was gone, there was a near-constant hole in my heart and in the Archives of my mind, where our bond used to shine. As I went through each day, the absence of him was always there with me—sometimes nearly drowning me, depending on where I was. The worst was in our chambers here, where his absence was physical as well: in his clothes hanging in the armoire and extra weapons waiting by the door and letters on the desk.

He’s here now, standing in front of me, devastatingly beautiful as always, and the hole of his absence is now filled with a thick, clogging mass of pain. It aches and aches.

But this is not the first time we’ve had to put each other back together, and it probably won’t be the last.

I stop a few feet from him, straightening my shoulders. “Not necessarily. We spend as much time as we can together, but war is hard.”

We had a nice routine when we first deserted a little over a year ago—when I wasn’t splitting my time between here and Basgiath and before he had his title back. But there’s no way Xaden can go out on the front lines, or even help with most of the paperwork and planning for Tyrrendor without all those memories. So we’ll just have to be as close to his normal as possible.

But it’s a lot easier to find a routine with someone who, you know, actually wants to be around. Xaden currently looks down at me like I’m about to tell him to try cleaning Tairn’s scales.

“Would you like to go sit on the roof?” I offer, holding my hands behind my back. “I can try to share some things about how Aretia and Tyrrendor are doing, apart from fighting a war.”

He blinks at me, surprised. Then gives a wary nod. A small victory, but I beam up at him all the same.

Sitting on the roof does not help as much as I’d hoped.

I thought it might be calming, overlooking the city in the chilly winter air; I keep a blanket from our room wrapped around my shoulders as I sit curled up on the ledge, Xaden sitting too far from me to share in any of his body heat. I give small updates on citizens in Aretia whom were particularly worried about Xaden’s disappearance—under the impression that he was missing in action, and not turned into a soulless thing of nightmares like many in the military assumed. Those who are rebuilding parts of their lives that were stolen from them by the King, whom I’ve had the privilege to learn more about over the past few months.

It does center him, I suppose, compared to how he’d been struggling to keep his composure in the office with the others. But centering him means he’s now solely focused on how much he does not want to be around me, and I find myself trailing back after him to our chambers after he abruptly stood and went back inside while I was mid-sentence.

Being in our chambers together only compounds his annoyance. All of my things scattered about and mixed with his are like a scourge to his patience as he gets ready for bed. He has a moment where he inspects and then clearly recognizes the make of the daggers he gifted to me. When he returns them to our weapons corner, he places them as far away from his things as possible.

I wait for him to say something, but he continues pointedly ignoring me—the silence between us harsh and palpable.

I give him some mercy and take my things to the bathing chambers to change there, giving my face a much needed wash after sobbing for the better part of the day and dressing in a modest nightgown before returning, sitting cross-legged on the bed and brushing out the bird’s nest that’s become of my hair.

He changed before I did, and took up residence at the desk in the corner, frowning at a few missives I have there like they’ll mean anything to him right now.

I’m nearly done brushing out the tangles when Xaden finally can’t hold his snark in anymore.

“Is there nowhere else you can be?”

I sigh and set my brush down on the side table, flipping my hair over my shoulder. His eyes track the movement, and there’s a vicious, twisting victory in my gut that even if he hates me, he still thinks my hair is pretty—or at least intriguing.

“This is my room, Xaden,” I answer. “I’ve never stayed anywhere else here.”

He scoffs and crosses his arms. “You don’t have another room, or you’ve just never gone to it?”

“I don’t have another room.”

His jaw clenches, and I steadily hold his gaze. When he doesn’t say anything else, I continue on, keeping my voice light.

“You brought me here to Aretia, took a dagger to the chest when making my case to the Assembly, and this became our room.”

“I have two scars on my chest.”

I flinch at the reminder. He narrows his eyes.

Shit. I shouldn’t have said that.

“The other one is more…distressing.”

I don’t know how well he’ll take to the truth right now. And, selfishly, I don’t want to speak with him about it when he’s like this.

Coward, I think to myself.

“Never,” Andarna hums back.

Xaden has turned inward as well to Sgaeyl, and then lets out a bitter laugh. He leans an elbow onto the desk and puts his face in his hand.

“Sgaeyl isn’t even saying shit about it,” he mutters.

My chest tightens watching him.

“Garrick said that earlier when she tried—”

“I know,” he snaps. “I was there.”

I shut my mouth and wring my hands in my lap. I’m floundering here. Maybe we should’ve come up with a different plan of action—Brennan had pulled me aside after we’d left my office and suggested against the two of us sharing a room right now, but if Xaden needs to try his normal routine, that would be a no-go.

I think my brother is actually worried Xaden will say fuck it and try to kill me. But I doubt it.

“Rest is good for healing. You should try to sleep, and then maybe in the morning—”

“I’ll be in love with you?”

I press my lips together when he cuts me off, lifting his head to sneer at me.

“You’ll feel better,” I whisper. Fucking hell. He is not making this easy.

I want to curl under the covers into a ball and not speak to him again until he remembers me and all that we are—so I don’t have to hear him make light of what we both have known to be an all-encompassing devotion to one another.

I keep my expression open and earnest, deciding not to hide how his words hurt me. He loses the spiteful glare when I don’t rise to his bait. He looks as tired as I feel. There’s a few moments where we simply sit and watch each other across the room, neither willing to break first.

Then, he stands and stalks towards me, stopping right at the edge of the bed where I sit and leans down, bracing one knee on the mattress. I stare up at him, not breaking his dark gaze as he studies me. He reaches down to cup my cheek in his hand. His every movement is slowed, like he thinks I’ll be startled, but that’s impossible. His warm, calloused touch on my skin feels like home, and I lean into it before I can stop myself.

“And what about a goodnight kiss?” He murmurs.

I swallow, my mouth dry. “What about it?”

“I’m supposed to follow routines, right?” He smirks. “If we’re so in love, wouldn’t I at least get a kiss goodnight?”

My heart pounds—his teasing is still too sharp and barbed, and I’m afraid if I move first he’ll laugh at me, like when I told him I was his wife just this morning. I can’t handle that again.

“You would,” I respond.

Neither of us moves. I raise an eyebrow at him in a challenge. “Well?”

Annoyance starts to sneak into his nonchalant expression. His hand still rests on my face, but he doesn’t budge an inch.

I knew it. Asshole.

I start to pull away, ready to crawl under the covers like I’d planned earlier, when he tugs me back with both hands in my hair and bends to kiss me.

My gasp of surprise is muffled by his lips, moving sure and soft against mine. I brace myself with one hand behind me and tangle the other in his hair, relishing in the familiar feeling of the soft strands through my fingers.

Except it’s both familiar and…not. It’s both Xaden and not.

It’s a wonderful kiss because it’s Xaden, but it’s not my husband.

He’s confident and hot, using just enough pressure and teasing with his teeth and tongue that my body heats and gut coils with need instantly, but then everything runs cold. Because underneath it all, there’s no love or passion—just a thinly veiled frustration and hate.

My eyes prickle with tears and I taste salt before I realize it; I move my hand to his chest and push him away.

He hovers close, his heavy breathing mingling with my own, and blinks down at me in confusion as a few tears run down my cheeks and onto his fingers.

“That bad?” He jokes.

I can’t even manage a chuckle. I’m crying in front of him for the second time today, and he is completely unfazed.

“When you’re kissing me while thinking about how much you hate me? A little.”

His jaw ticks, and it takes him a moment to respond.

“Perceptive, aren’t you, Sorrengail?”

His lack of denial cuts right through to my heart and twists, lodging into my every breath like a broken arrowhead.

I shove his hands away from my face. “Let’s not do that again.”

I turn away again, but I still must’ve upset him somehow, because he decides to goad me again.

“If you know I hate you so much, you’re not afraid I’ll decide to kill you? In your sleep, just like that?”

Tairn and Andarna both growl at the threat, and scalding anger of my own shoots through me. I freeze, keeping a lid on my power that threatens to burst out.

Then I whirl back to him to glare. He hasn’t moved an inch, his large, powerful body arched towards me, looking for a fight.

Maybe we should’ve suggested he go with Sgaeyl for a flight tonight, or spar with Garrick—something else to give him an outlet for the flurry of emotions that he’s having to sift through since waking this morning. But now, the moon is high, I have more shit to do tomorrow at the crack of dawn, and he doesn’t want to hear any of my suggestions anyway. So right now, I just need to get him off my ass. Lovingly, of course.

Taking a steady breath, I gently reach up to brush my fingertips against his jaw. His eyes are sharp with anger as I tilt my head up to him.

“If there’s one thing you need to remember, and quickly, Xaden Riorson,” I say. “It’s that I am not afraid of you.”

To prove my point, I let a flicker of Tairn’s power out, like clicking a dial, and a single spark jumps out from my thumb, just barely brushing his lips. Xaden sucks in a breath, his gaze growing impossibly darker.

“Goodnight, husband.”

I’m able to curl under the covers without interruption this time, putting my back to Xaden and face towards the window. The mattress shifts as he stands. I can feel him watching me—the emptiness at my back a stark difference to how I’ve laid beside him the past few nights and watched him breathe, waiting for him to wake.

I don’t know exactly how I imagined our first night back would be, after all he’s been through, but I thought at the very least I would have the comforting weight of him up against me. My heart is an open, bleeding wound after today’s events, and it hurts so deeply I almost wish I had let Xaden continue to kiss me just now, and take me to bed. But I know, I know it would hurt worse and feel even emptier, because during it there would be no whispers of adoration from him against my skin, no giggles escaping me from his featherlight touches against my sides, and no lovesick grin from him in the afterglow.

I made the right choice, even if the opposing one would’ve been a longer, welcome distraction.

I eventually manage to fall asleep, and when I do, the bed is still empty.

Chapter Text

Xaden does not get better the next day. Or the ones after.

He’s getting increasingly frustrated about it—his mind is so jumbled it’s making it difficult for him to remember things as he goes about his day. The few times he’s tried to walk the halls on his own, he’s ended up in a completely different wing than he meant to be, and unable to remember why he had gone there. We don’t have any repeats of the first morning he woke after being rescued, but we do occasionally have to remind him that yes, he’s graduated, and that yes, this squad from First Wing is supposed to be here in Aretia having lunch during their rotation.

Yes, there are fliers fighting with us.

Yes, you earned your title back.

No, you’re not still betrothed to Cat.

No, Dain and I are not here to steal your state secrets. Aspen might be. We’re working on it.

Yes, you and I are married.

Brennan ends up telling a single Healer about the truth of Xaden’s condition so he can share that we think we nailed down exactly what the trauma causing this stemmed from. Her name is Naomi, and she’s an older woman whose family has been close to the Riorson’s for a long time. She’s been meeting with him each day to try and help with his mental state, but Xaden still doesn’t know the extent of what happened in the past year, himself. Not for a lack of trying, but she hasn’t given us the all clear to start sharing more extensive or distressing things with him yet.

Xaden gets annoyed with the others about it, too, when he tries and fails to get certain answers from Garrick, myself, or even Sgaeyl. Brennan stops by occasionally, but he’s trying to keep the Assembly off our asses for a little bit longer, hoping that Xaden doesn’t have to deal with them until he’s back to normal.

So our days before my squad arrives are filled with me waking to an empty bed—Xaden having already gotten up to drag Garrick out to spar, and then he usually goes on a flight with Sgaeyl while I’m cooped away in the office, working on a backlog of paperwork. That concerns everything from our trade routes, any major city projects or unrest, more specific Aretia rebuilding, finding more people we trust to work here in the Riorson House while we take on more and more responsibilities as the capital of the province…it’s endless updates and signings and questions that I wasn’t raised to deal with whatsoever.

It’s Saturday now, and as the low morning light filters through the windows, I’m accompanied in the office by Dain and Cat; the smell of old parchment rich in the air as we’re surrounded on the floor by old historical texts from Poromiel—texts preceding the Great War that were in the late Queen Maraya’s library, discussing “witches” in the land to the far east. It’s in Krovolish, so Dain and I are slowly translating with occasional input from Cat on any discrepancies we run into.

Cat isn’t on the floor with us; she sits perched in the armchair with a still-steaming mug of coffee cupped in both hands. Most days, I view her as a fighter alongside us, but she’s all aristocracy now as she peers down at the two of us hunched over these texts. Her eyes are bright and hair falling around her shoulders in a dark wave, while I have mine pulled hastily back into a braid, and my eyes are watering from staring at the old text for so long.

We’ve made good progress this morning, but for the past five minutes Dain has been more distracting than helpful with the way he’s glancing out the window, then to the door, and then back down.

“If you need to leave, Aetos, just say so,” Cat says.

Dain’s gaze snaps to hers with a frown. “I was just—thinking about breakfast.”

“You already ate,” I argue. He brought muffins from the kitchen for the three of us, actually. It was bittersweet in how it reminded me of the weekends as children where we would sneak snacks up to his room and read the day away on some new stack of books my dad brought to us.

“That was hardly a breakfast.”

“Oh.” Cat rolls her eyes. “You need to bring Mairi breakfast.”

I bite back a smile at the way he scowls up at her, offended that she figured him out so quickly.

“You don’t think she’s gotten up already?” I add.

Dain lets out a short laugh.

“Honestly, Sorrengail,” Cat scoffs. “No sane person is up this early, if they can help it.”

There’s a single knock at the door and then Xaden enters, slowly taking in my company and the chaos we’re sitting in.

“Case in point,” Cat continues.

I straighten and give him a small smile in greeting that he doesn’t return. But it’s much earlier than he usually decides to grace me with his presence.

“Riorson,” Dain greets, shuffling awkwardly to a stand. “We were just finishing up with Vi.”

“Finishing up what exactly?” Xaden asks, peering down at the booklet closest to his boot as he stops just outside our circle of papers.

“A Violet project that’s sure to save us all, once again,” Cat remarks, somehow managing to sound insulting as she takes another sip of her coffee and rises to her feet. “Still no memories, I take it?”

“No,” he responds, his gaze still on the papers before rising to mine.

Cat watches him carefully, her expression unreadable, and I’d bet money she’s probably peering in to his emotions even if she’s not supposed to be.

“We’ll leave you two to your rekindling, then,” she says, sending a wave over her shoulder as she pads away. “Let’s go, Aetos.”

Dain grumbles something about taking orders, and then gives me a sympathetic look before following after her. Cat stops in the doorway, mouthing, good luck with one of her sarcastically sweet smiles before closing the door behind them.

“Are you two friends?” Xaden asks, after a beat of silence.

“Dain and I—”

“Not the bootlicker.”

I press my lips together, not in the mood to try defending Dain right now, and then I realize what he meant.

“Me and Cat?”

He raises an eyebrow at way my voice pitches up.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he says, sounding a little amused.

I need to change the subject quickly, my face heating with embarrassment just from the thought of hashing out anything between his ex and I right now. I would feel obligated to share if he poked further, since most of our history is probably not off-limits compared to other things he’s asked about. Cat and I have grown closer over the past few months, tragically bonding over having our new seats of power and each losing our partners in the span of a few months, but I don’t think we could call ourselves friends.

Whatever we are, if she heard him ask that I’m sure she would’ve burst out laughing. If anything, I’m pretty sure she thinks most things about me are grating, and vice versa.

“Definitely a no. What brings you—” I cut off with a wince, and let out an annoyed sigh as my hip locks and flares with pain from the way I decided to fold my legs under me on the floor. I take a moment to wait for the wave to subside enough for me to try standing again.

“What’s wrong?” Xaden demands.

Before I can answer, he steps carefully around the papers to get to me and holds out a hand. I meet his steady gaze in surprise and take it to let him pull me up.

I don’t want to let go first, so I don’t. He holds his other hand up, like he’s waiting to steady me, and I gasp as I notice the bracelet on his wrist, taking it in my hand as well.

“You’re wearing this?” I ask, running my thumb over the clasp on the inside of his wrist.

“Sgaeyl said it was made from pieces of the house,” Xaden replies tightly.

So he doesn’t recognize it. My heart deflates, but I try to keep the disappointment out of my gaze.

“I had this made for you,” I say. “As a birthday present earlier this year.”

He’s staring down at me with his mouth in a thin line. He hasn’t pulled away yet, though.

“She didn’t tell me that part,” he mutters.

I’ve never wanted to have Sgaeyl in my mind as much as I do now. She’s been trying to help him while also giving me opportunities to share things with him, but I’m sure he’s gone back to her all pissed off about it each time.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he hisses.

I frown. “Like what?”

“Like you’re waiting for me to say something else. It’s how you look at me every time I walk in the room.”

I swallow hard. I don’t know how else to be. I can’t possibly smother all the hope in my chest that this might be the time, that this is the day he’ll well and truly return to me.

When I don’t answer, he continues on, the corner of his lips dragging up.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure the moment all of the happy memories come flooding back, I’ll find you and spin you in my arms and kiss you senseless, not a single thought of how much I can’t stand you to be found.”

Despite the snark in his tone, my palm is still in his, and my thumb resting just by the pulse point there. His heart is racing.

I step closer to him until our bodies are nearly flush—Xaden still in lighter sparring gear and me in my corset. I reach up on my tiptoes and force a smile, just so I can watch the way his pulse jumps in his neck as he stares down at me.

“Can’t wait,” I murmur.

His eyes flick to my lips, like he thinks I might actually kiss him, and then I step away from his embrace to make my way to the desk before I stupidly follow through on it.

Xaden hasn’t tried to kiss me again since the first night. But I know he wants to, despite everything. I know his tells like the back of my hand, and it’s maybe a little mean of me to tease him, but I couldn’t help myself.

“You’re not going for a flight this morning?” I ask, leaning on the edge of the desk.

He stays right where I left him, and crosses his arms over his chest.

“She and Tairn are talking,” he sneers. “Any insight to share on why our dragons no longer have a mating bond?”

Okay, so Sgaeyl finally told him about that. He hadn’t asked me about it, but I’m sure he’s known something is off with them.

And sure enough, when I check my bond with Tairn, it’s completely walled off.

“They’re making progress,” Andarna chimes in.

“Nothing that isn’t distressing,” I answer.

His jaw ticks. “Of course. Strange that when I go missing, a bond that could be used to track me down is now gone.”

“Andarna says she can put it back just as it was.”

“Andarna?”

“Yeah, she—” I gasp. “Oh, shit. We haven’t mentioned her?”

Xaden takes a deep breath before replying through his teeth. “No. I don’t know who that is.”

The times I’ve been going out flying this week have been while he’s been seeing the Healer, and I guess Sgaeyl had only introduced me as Tairn’s since Xaden recognized him.

“I am slightly offended,” she says.

“Sorry. I didn’t even think about having to re-introduce you.”

“Andarna is my other dragon.”

“…Your other dragon.”

He doesn’t bother to hide his visible disbelief.

“I have two dragons. Andarna’s an Irid.”

“A—what?”

I take a step forward as he continues to stare, asking him, “Would you like to see her?”

And then I ask Andarna, “Can you be nice?”

She has not been taking kindly to the way Xaden has been speaking to me lately.

“I will if he is,” is her answer.

So, probably a no.

But Xaden nods, so we go.

Andarna waits for us on a small hill close to the house, but far from where we usually prepare for flight maneuvers while stationed here. Thin white frost covers the ground, crunching under our feet as we approach, and Andarna’s scales are a midnight black to match Tairn while she rests curled up at the peak.

She’s grown a bit since Xaden last saw her, even if he were to remember. Changed a lot.

She hasn’t spoken much about her time with the Irids, yet. She returned briefly during the Battle of Draithus and “paused” the mate bond on Tairn and Sgaeyl so Xaden could be away from us. Her relationship with time itself seems to be out of the ordinary, and she hasn’t deemed it the proper time to explain it all.

She kept tabs on Xaden and Sgaeyl during her time away, and had only officially returned to us a few weeks before we had to rescue Xaden.

When she restored our bond, it was like I could finally breathe again, even if I almost had to relearn her. It’s like she’s lived a lifetime in the months she was away.

She’s still on the smaller side, for a dragon, and has trouble with her wing, but Xaden comes to a slow stop a healthy distance away from her, keeping his eyes low. She preens, letting the colors of her scales ripple like flowing water, her scorpion tail swishing behind her and head held high to assess my husband.

“You can look at her,” I whisper. He gives me a wary glance, but follows what I say, drinking in the sight of her with awe.

I explained the basics of the seventh breed (or, really all we know) and how we used to only know her as a feathertail on the walk over. He hasn’t been getting a lot of information on anything right now, so he listened with a restrained eagerness, asking questions and taking in my answers greedily.

“She’s beautiful,” he says.

Andarna blinks down at him. “Trying to win me over, I see. Tell him to come here.”

She could do it herself, but I guess she doesn’t feel like it.

“She says you can get closer.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. I hold out my hand to him, and he takes it, allowing me to pull him along until Andarna can easily lower her head to reach us. Xaden is the picture of polite stillness when she does so, narrowing golden eyes at him.

And then she snaps her teeth, hard, inches from his face.

He curses and steps back, leveling a glare my way.

“Andarna!” I chide.

She chuffs and sits back on her hind legs with her nose in the air, looking quite proud of herself.

“Sorry,” I say to Xaden. “She’s usually not so—”

A high-pitched whistle cuts me off, and I flinch despite being familiar with it, while Xaden covers his ears for a moment. My heart pounds as I peer up at his eyes, despite everything, but there’s no shift there. They stay their deep onyx, only growing with confusion as he stares up at Andarna.

“This is—her?”

I don’t hear a word.

“Are you blocking me out?” I snap up at her.

He looks between us with furrowed brows. Andarna snakes her head back down to him, a light growl in the back of her throat, and he tenses as she must continue speaking to him. I take a step in between them as they commence their silent conversation.

“Andarna,” I prod. Even if momentarily, I hate having both her and Tairn blocked—all while Xaden and Sgaeyl are non-existent in the Archives of my mind.

Sometimes my mind felt too crowded over the past few years since Threshing, nearly overwhelming, but I would take the chaos any day over the odd quiet I felt when it was just Tairn and I these past few months. I know Tairn felt it too, even if he never admitted it.

“If we needed to frighten the Duke, someone should have alerted me,” Tairn cuts in, the familiar low timbre of his voice grounding me.

“I have it handled,” Andarna replies, sounding quite pleased with herself.

She launches into the air, the wind from her take-off flattening the grass and causing both Xaden and I to stagger back. His expression is contemplative as we watch her figure grow smaller in gray winter sky.

“Two dragons, lightening wielder, a Sorrengail…” Xaden mutters, still staring away into the sky even as I turn to look up at him. “What an asset to Tyrrendor you are.”

My stomach sours. I take a step closer, until I can feel the heat of his body through his thin, long-sleeved shirt. Although I’d grabbed an extra coat on our way out, the biting winter air still makes me shiver, but he seems unaffected.

“You didn’t marry me because I’m an asset to Tyrrendor, Xaden,” I say softly.

His gaze flicks down to me, looking unconvinced.

“We married in the middle of a war, while you’re still at Basgiath, for no other ulterior motives? We just what, couldn't bear to wait another day until you graduated?”

Anger flares in me suddenly, and my hands ball into fists at my sides. Xaden catches the movement, but waits for my answer—he almost looks upset at my reaction. But it’s not fair of him to question me about the marriage when he was supposed to be the one that remembered what happened. He doesn’t realize that, though; I can’t even begin to tell him of the circumstances I do know about, so I shove the anger down, down, and lock it away for later.

“I didn’t say there weren’t any other motives. But we would’ve married even without them, just like I would’ve continued to aid Tyrrendor and the rebellion without a ring.”

“Because you love me?”

“Yes.”

The conviction in my tone makes him flinch. He keeps bringing that up, our love, like he’s waiting for me to slip up or admit otherwise. He can try to bait me and make me stumble on anything else, but the unwavering, boundless love I have for him will not be it.

“I love Tyrrendor, too,” I continue. It’s hard not to after how much I’ve learned about it and its people while trying to lead, and being brought into all the ways we’re still trying to ensure our independence, at the end of the war. “But I could do without most of the paperwork.”

His shoulders relax a fraction, and satisfaction warms my chest at the sight.

“Consider that off your plate, then, once I can read one of the damn things without my head wanting to explode.”

“I won’t hold my breath.”

He huffs a laugh, surprising both of us. I beam at the sound, and he stares down at me, lips parted. I don’t move a muscle while he watches me, standing here together in the snowfall.

Finally, he shakes his head and steps back like he was trapped in a trance, and then raises a hand to his head in a manner that’s grown all too familiar in the past few days.

“I’m supposed to be meeting with Naomi,” he says.

“Right, of course,” I respond. “We should get back.”

He’s already started walking away. I trek after him, rubbing my hands together and then crossing my arms to tuck them into my sides, trying to ward off both the cold and the hollow feeling in my chest.

Xaden glances over his shoulder, eyeing my hunched posture.

“Not made for the cold?” He asks.

“Not particularly.”

He surprises me again by stopping just long enough to wrap an arm around my shoulders and pull me into his side. The warmth of his embrace spreads all the way to my bones, and I can’t stop myself from wrapping my arms around him in turn, fisting my hands into his shirt.

He stares straight ahead as we walk back. He has no other questions for me right now, so I let myself bask in his familiar embrace and pretend that for a moment, he knows how much he cares about me.

When we arrive in the courtyard, Xaden’s arm is still around me, and Aspen is waiting at the gates with his hands behind his back. His eyes dart between us for a moment before resting on me.

“Violet,” he greets. “Sneaking off without a guard?”

“I wouldn’t call it sneaking when you—”

“Do you have no value for your rank, Captain, or are you just that fucking dense?”

Aspen startles a bit at Xaden’s outburst, and I fight the urge to stare up at him. When Aspen doesn’t immediately respond, Xaden continues, glaring daggers his way.

“I’m going to pretend we all believe that not using the title of a ruling duchess in address was a mistake, and not purposeful insubordination, which is a much more serious write-up. Instead, you have a verbal warning. And this will be your only one.”

Any sane person would be withering from the steel in Xaden’s tone, and while Aspen keeps his mouth shut, giving a low bow in apology, there’s a spark in his eyes that spells trouble, like he’s found a fun new game to play.

“Of course, Your Grace,” he says upon straightening. “My deepest apologies.”

“Unless you had something else, I can escort my wife back inside.”

My heart races, warm with his defense of me and his use of the term wife without the addition of sounding like he wants to vomit. The suddenness of it makes me feel off-kilter, and I’m glad that he hasn’t dropped his arm yet.

“I have a missive for Lieutenant Tavis—”

“I’ll take it.” Xaden holds out a hand.

Aspen gives a tight smile and passes the envelope over. “Of course.”

“And you’re dismissed.”

Xaden leads us around him as he bows his head.

“Oh, but Your Grace?” Aspen calls out when we reach the door. “If the Lieutenant asks, let him know I vouched for him.”

Xaden pauses, giving a glance over his shoulder for an extra moment before we continue.

“Sounds wonderful,” I mutter. I spare a glance up at Xaden as we walk. “And that was quite the defense, back there.”

I try to keep my tone light, and not let any of the burning, desperate hope seep into it.

“An insult to you is an insult to Tyrrendor,” he answers, like it’s obvious.

My heart drops, but I continue to cling to the hope that flickers, anyway.

“Of course,” I say.

When we get to the hallway leading to our room, he drops his arm from my shoulders and shoves his hands in his pockets. There’s no winter breeze to pass through inside, but the loss of his embrace still leaves me with a chill.

Naomi is waiting with Brennan at our door; she’s about my height, with dark brown skin and white curly hair pulled back into a bun, and kind brown eyes. Brennan eyes the distance between us as we arrive, and rests his worried gaze on me. I give him what is hopefully a reassuring smile. Xaden may not have his memories, but he also hasn’t insulted me in a few hours, so I’ll take that as a win.

They give polite greetings, and then Xaden leads the two of them inside our room, while I resign myself to another hour or so sitting outside with my flickering hope.

Normally I’d have a book or more papers with me while I wait, but since we arrived from outside, I’m empty-handed.

I should probably find something to do and come back, with my to-do list being endless and my squad arriving tomorrow for our rotation, but instead I slide down the wall and sit, staring at our door. I’m so tired—any of the relief I thought my heart would have by having Xaden back still frustratingly out of my reach.

It’s been a long week of dealing with my husband barely tolerating me. I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here with my knees pulled to my chest when I hear footsteps echo from down the hall, and I straighten at the sound, lifting my head.

But it’s just Garrick, and I let my shoulders slump again at the sight of him. He doesn’t look much better than I feel, really—although Xaden obviously hasn’t forgotten their entire relationship together, they’ve been through a lot in the past few years. Lost a lot, and while Xaden is currently unaware of any details, Garrick is supposed to just not say anything.

I wrote Imogen a few days ago, to see if she could get leave to come back to Aretia after being stationed over in Sumerton. I’d assumed Garrick would write her at first, but when I brought it up so Xaden would have some other support, he’d very quickly told me we’d get a better response if it came from me. Which sounded crazy, but he wouldn’t budge on any details. Apparently the one time they’ve spoken since Garrick has been back did not go well.

I haven’t heard anything from her yet.

“Sorrengail,” Garrick greets, sliding down to sit next to me. “How’s he been?”

“Slightly less antagonistic, I guess,” I answer solemnly. “For you?”

We’ve asked each other a variation of the same thing every time we’ve sat together while Xaden has his sessions.

“Still pissed that I can knock him on his ass a lot right now,” he says, referring to their sparring. “He also hadn’t tried his signet in a few days so we got dummies out for that, and…”

“Bad?”

“Fucking awful.”

I sigh. If he’s having this much trouble with his shadows, I worry for his inntinnsic ability, too. Hopefully he’s able to keep things blocked out, at least. I haven’t found a good time to ask him.

We chat quietly about other things, too, updates on the frontlines and about Aretia. Since he’s been on house arrest he’s offered to help a lot with organizing things and educating me on the inner workings of Tyrrendor and the city. When I voiced my surprise to him, he’d simply shrugged.

“Xaden and I weren’t supposed to be riders, remember? Most of my family wasn’t even military.”

And now it’s strange to think of them as anything but—when they’re easily some of our best.

Naomi slips out the door a little while later, with Brennan behind her. She gives Garrick and I a gentle smile that isn’t exactly reassuring, and then murmurs something to Brennan.

“No, I got it,” he answers.

She nods, and then gives me a small tip of the head in goodbye before leaving. Garrick and I stand to approach Brennan, who leans back against the door and sighs.

“Anything to report?” I ask carefully.

“We can start telling him about more things. Even the bad stuff.”

“Thank fuck,” Garrick says.

My heart pounds. “That’s not a good thing though, is it?”

Brennan takes a moment before answering. “It’s a different strategy.”

“Any suggestions on—”

The door opens behind Brennan and he curses, nearly falling back into Xaden, who scowls.

Xaden looks exhausted, as he always does after a session with Naomi. His hair is falling into his eyes and he leans against the doorway to feign nonchalance, but I can see how the day is already dragging him down in the way his shoulders dip, like just standing here before us is pulling at the little bit of sanity he has right now.

“What a lovely congregation outside my door,” he drawls. “Talking about me?”

“You’re our special man, forever and always,” Garrick responds, shoving him lightly in the shoulder.

Xaden rolls his eyes, and then passes over the missive from Aspen. “At least I didn’t have to go far to find you.”

“That was in the possession of your favorite Captain,” I add.

Garrick rips it open, muttering under his breath. I resist the urge to peek over his shoulder and instead watch him read the brief message inside and let out a bitter laugh, crumpling the paper in his fist.

“I’ve been reinstated to active duty,” he says.

I suck in a breath. My relief lives for only a moment before it mixes into dread—being on house arrest has been torture for him, but very helpful to be able to stay at Xaden’s side.

“Effective immediately, I assume?” Brennan asks.

“Of course,” he answers. “Right to Chakara.”

“Then you have to leave, now, Tavis.” My brother rubs his temples and looks for a moment like he’s twenty years older than he is. “You get one hair out of line, and you’re done for good.”

“And I start my rotation Monday morning,” I say.

“Oh no,” Xaden says. “Not all my babysitters.”

Sarcasm drips from his tone, but there’s tension in the line of his body when he crosses his arms across his chest.

“Very wonderful fucking timing,” Garrick snaps.

“Aspen said he vouched for you,” I add bitterly.

“He was being truthful,” Xaden says, and Garrick scoffs, Brennan shakes his head with a sigh, but I frown up at him. He meets my gaze steadily, all the confirmation I need to know that he must’ve picked up on something when we talked to Aspen before. I guess his is using his second signet a bit.

I miss our mental bond so badly; there’s a sharp pang in my chest just like there is every time I blindly, futilely reach for it.

Garrick says some goodbyes, Xaden pulling him into the room for a minute to talk before he leaves. They both look increasingly more tired and annoyed after a brief conversation, and then Garrick ruffles my hair like a pest before he’s gone.

Xaden continues standing in the doorway to our room like he has no intentions of letting me in.

“Did you need anything from the room?” He asks.

I swallow and give what is hopefully a neutral smile. “No, I’m fine. Get some rest.”

He nods, and then our door is closed in my face, Brennan hovering behind me as we stand in the quiet hallway.

I don’t know if he’ll actually nap, but he needs it.

“It’s not looking good, Vi,” Brennan says.

I stare straight ahead at the dark wood of the door. “That’s okay. We’ve been through worse.”

If I can help him through slowly turning venin and then taking charge of his province while he goes missing, we can get through some memory loss.

“But you don’t have to.”

I frown, spinning around to look at him. The worry and caution shining in his amber eyes reminds me too much of our dad; it almost makes me flinch.

“What do you mean?”

He speaks slowly, like he’s trying to search for the right words. “I just don’t think you should have to put yourself through this.”

“Through—helping him?” Just the suggestion of walking away from Xaden when he needs help is unfathomable, and anger sparks through me at the mere suggestion. “Then what? What do I do?”

“All the other things you have to do right now, Violet. Be a Duchess, fight a war—”

“You said he needed routines, he needs familiarity, and for him, both of those things include me.”

“And that’s obviously not working!” He snaps.

I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to quell my power surging electric in my veins and starting to burn under my skin.

“So what are you suggesting?” I demand. “I divorce him?”

“No,” he says, quickly. “We’re in enough of a political nightmare and he can’t hold the title by himself right now. We’d lose—”

“Alright,” I cut him off. I don’t feel like hearing a rehashing of all the political shit in this conversation, too. “So no divorce, obviously. And I’m not abandoning him. Not when I’m so close to having him back.”

“It seems like right now, he couldn’t be further from you.”

Oh, please. He wasn’t around at Basgiath, Xaden being an asshole isn’t new to me.

“Brennan, you don’t—”

“He was kinder to you when he didn’t have a soul, Vi,” he hisses. “Than he is right now.”

“Because he doesn’t remember loving me yet.”

“And what if he never does?”

I lift my chin, despite the way my heart aches and wants to shrivel away to ashes at the thought. “Then I wait for him to fall in love with me all over again.”

Brennan sighs. “Vi—”

“I have a lot of things to do.”

I turn on my heel to stride away from him, leaving him standing in the hall with his pitying gaze burning a hole in my back.

I have no idea where I’m going. It’s only early afternoon, so I probably need to eat; maybe I can find Ridoc and demand we get lunch and then spar to get some of this energy out.

I can’t believe my brother had the audacity to try and—I don’t even know exactly what his goal was. Have me give up on Xaden? Like that’s ever been in the realm of possibilities here. We’re supposed to have closer to a month until things feel impossible, anyway.

“I’m not being stupid, right?” I ask in my mind. A dangerous question, but I can’t help it.

“I would never tell you to not follow your heart,” Andarna answers. “It’s your greatest asset, moreso than your mind sometimes, I think.”

Tairn makes a grumble that doesn’t feel like a resounding agreement.

“You have proven yourself to be able to perform your purpose despite the turmoil the Duke often surrounds himself in,” he answers.

“I’ll…take that as support.”

“As long as you do not let that change, Silver One.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

I won’t have to. Because maybe not today, and maybe not next week, but whether it’s in our history or our future, Xaden loves me. I just have to keep my bleeding heart beating until he realizes.