Page 23 of Nansar
"She runs warm," Nansar said quietly from his position in the shadows. I could hear the understanding in his voice, the acceptance of my boundaries even as he found another solution. "And she won't mind keeping you company."
I hesitated only a heartbeat before leaning into Starfield's warmth, burying one hand in her thick fur. She was like a living furnace, heat radiating from her in waves that immediately began chasing away the worst of the chill.
"Thank you," I whispered into the darkness, unsure if I meant it for Nansar or Starfield. Maybe both.
The rustle of leather and the soft compression of moss told me Nansar had settled nearby. Even through the darkness, I tracked his movements—the deliberate way he positioned himself directly between me and the shelter's entrance. A sentinel at the threshold.
The thought should have unsettled me. Instead, warmth bloomed in my chest that had nothing to do with Starfield's furnace-like body pressed against mine. For the first time in months, I felt... protected.
The forest breathed around us—distant calls, rustling leaves, Starfield's rhythmic purring. Then Nansar's voice cut through the darkness, careful as footsteps on broken glass.
"Chloe..." He paused, and I could almost feel him weighing his words. "Why you? The Alliance has soldiers, entire battalions at their disposal. Why would they send you after Hewes?"
My fingers froze mid-stroke through Starfield's fur. The question I'd asked myself a million times.
"Because he'll come for me." Each word felt like swallowing glass. "He thinks I'm his property."
Bile rose in my throat. I pressed my face into Starfield's side, her warmth suddenly the only thing anchoring me to the present moment.
"Chloe—"
"He won't stop. Ever." The words came out muffled, distorted. "That's what makes me valuable. That's what makes me perfect bait."
Shame crashed over me in waves—hot, suffocating, relentless. Shame that I hadn't been strong enough to fight him. Shame that I'd been weak. Shame that I'd let him—
No. I couldn't go there. Not now. Not ever.
"What did he do to you?" Nansar's voice dropped to barely above a whisper, but underneath it lurked something feral, something instinctive and protective.
"I can't—" My voice splintered. "Please don't make me talk about it."
Silence descended, heavy and charged. Then movement—Nansar shifting closer, though he was careful, so careful, not to breach the invisible walls I'd erected around myself.
"Chloe. Look at me."
I lifted my head slowly, reluctantly, turning toward his shadow-draped form. Though I couldn't see his features clearly, the weight of his gaze pressed against my skin like a physical touch.
"I vow this to you." His tone shifted, taking on a ceremonial quality that raised goosebumps along my arms. "While breath fills my lungs and blood flows through my veins, Hewes will never lay hands on you again. This I swear on my honor, on my life."
The absolute conviction in his voice cracked something open inside my chest—something raw and aching and desperate to believe.
"You can't promise that," I whispered, hating how small my voice sounded.
"I can. I do." His silhouette leaned forward, and I felt the earnestness radiating from him like heat. "You are not bait, Chloe. You are not a weapon to be wielded. You are a survivor who has endured the unendurable, and you deserve safety. Peace. I will strive to give you both."
The wall I'd been building brick by brick since this nightmare began shattered to dust. A sob tore from my throat before I could stop it, and I buried my face in Starfield's fur, desperate to hide the tears streaming down my face.
But Nansar heard. Of course he heard—the broken sounds I couldn't contain, the tremors wracking my body that had nothing to do with the cold. Yet he didn't speak. Didn't push. He simply remained there, a guardian in the darkness, standing watch between me and the terrors that lurked beyond.
And God help me, it terrified me how much I wanted to believe him. How safe he made me feel. How desperately I wanted to trust in the oath he'd sworn, even knowing that trust was the most dangerous thing I could feel.
Chapter 8
Nansar
Dawn crept through the purple canopy in threads of pale gold, painting the forest floor in a shifting mosaic of light and shadow. My eyes opened before the sun fully rose—a habit carved into me during my years on Palaydium. Strange how exile changed you. Back when I was the Duke's pampered son at the citadel, I'd have slept until the sun stood high overhead. Now I woke before it breached the horizon.
I remained motionless, letting the forest's morning song wash over me. Unfamiliar birds called to one another in the distance. Leaves whispered secrets to the breeze. Something small and unseen rustled through the undergrowth, hunting or being hunted.
