The smell of blood clung to the air like a curse.
Yara's weight hit his arms before his mind could register what had happened.
One moment she was standing—defiant, wild-eyed—and the next she was collapsing forward, crimson soaking through the linen at his side.
"He's dead," she breathed.
For a moment, the words didn't make sense. They floated between them, fragile as glass, until they shattered against his ribs. He's dead.
Damien froze.
His fingers found Yara's pulse, trembling, pressing too hard against her throat. It was there, faint but stubborn, like everything else about her.
He swallowed hard, his vision stinging with something dangerously close to grief.
"Yara. Stay with me."
A noise came from the fortress, and more rose in response.
He didn't wait for dawn or reinforcements or explanations. He just lifted her and rode off on his horse.
Behind them, the empire burned.
*~*~*~*~*
That was days ago.
Damien had begun his slow climb down the mountains with Yara.
