Zevryn stepped into the vast forest just behind his castle. The night air struck his face like a cool blade, for the first time since the night in the abyssal hold, he felt something like breath return to his lungs.
In that immense, breathing silence, he felt, painfully, alive again.
Inside the chamber his chest had been a cage, every breath cramped, every thought a weight. Even now, the echo of Seraphina's poisoned words skittered through his mind, relentless as moths at a flame. They circled and stung: "You have been bestowed a second chance mate." The phrase tasted of iron and rot every time it replayed.
"What should we do if the one I felt is not Liliath?" came Zeyrak's voice, low and rough in his mind.
Zevryn started, then let out a humorless bark. "You are finally talking? Where were you till now?" he asked, though his words skirted the question. He had no desire to entertain that possibility, not even for an instant. To name it was to feed it.
