⚠️ Trigger Warning:
(This chapter contains scenes mentioning of sexual assault, trauma, and its aftermath. It may be distressing or triggering, especially for readers with related past experiences. Please proceed with care and prioritize your well-being.)
When they arrived at Zuleika's chamber, Aquila gently guided her to sit on the bed. She lingered for a moment, her eyes scanning Zuleika's trembling hands.
Her brows furrowed—not in anger, but in a kind of unsettled worry.
Is she… having a panic attack?
Aquila swallowed, her mind running through possibilities, desperate for anything she could do to ease her. But then she noticed: though Zuleika's hands still shook, her breathing was already beginning to steady.
She was fighting to calm herself. Fighting to endure.
Aquila grit her teeth at the thought, her chest tightening. Slowly, she crouched before the bed, pulling something small from her pocket. Zuleika's bleary eyes flickered down, following her.
"It's your favorite… a fish," Aquila murmured, holding up a little carved trinket.
Zuleika blinked. Her parted lips trembled faintly as her vision began to clear. The haze was lifting, though her hands still trembled uncontrollably.
Tentatively, she reached forward. Aquila released the trinket into her hand, but her gaze never left Zuleika's face, studying every shift, every flicker of her expression.
"…It's a fish," Zuleika whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Yes. Your favorite," Aquila said softly.
Zuleika raised her eyes, faltering crimson meeting silver. For a heartbeat, the air stilled.
"Your face didn't change," Zuleika murmured absentmindedly.
Aquila's brows drew together, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite the tension.
"Would you prefer if I changed it?" Her tone was serious, but the faintest lilt betrayed her attempt at humor.
Zuleika pressed her lips together, suppressing a laugh. And that tiny shift—that tiny spark—was enough. Aquila noticed. Her hands had stilled. The trembling was gone.
Her little distraction had worked.
Silence fell again, heavier this time. Aquila straightened abruptly and turned toward the door.
"I will take my leave, then—"
But before she could step away, a voice halted her.
"That day… where were you?"
Aquila froze. Slowly, she turned. Zuleika was watching her, eyes steady despite the fragility in her voice.
Aquila blinked once. Then her lips parted.
"I was waiting," she said quietly.
"…at my own chamber."
Zuleika's lips parted. Something flickered in her gaze—a ripple of emotion she could not explain. Relief. Yes, relief. Because at least she had been right all along. Aquila hadn't known. Aquila hadn't been part of it. For all her flaws, for all her arrogance, she had not betrayed her.
But why did it matter? Why was she clinging so desperately to that single truth? What could it possibly change?
"When I found out what had happened," Aquila continued, "you were already gone. Zejidiah told me."
Zuleika stilled. She remembered Zejidiah being there, too. So… he hadn't known either.
"I'm sorry," Aquila said suddenly.
Zuleika's eyes widened. She hadn't expected it. She didn't even want it. Aquila had done nothing wrong, and yet—hearing her apologize hurt in a way she couldn't name.
"I'm sorry," Aquila repeated, her voice cracking faintly. "I really think I should take my leave."
She turned, but before she could step away, a hand caught her wrist.
"Stay," Zuleika whispered. Fragile. Barely a sound.
But it was enough. Enough to stop Aquila cold, her heart tightening painfully at the vulnerability in that one word.
For a long, suspended moment, neither spoke. Zuleika sat clutching the trinket in one hand, her other still holding Aquila's wrist. Aquila stood motionless, in front of her Zuleika's head were looking down so she couldn't see her expression at all.
And silence, heavy and unbroken, stretched between them.
Aquila couldn't do anything but stay there.
"…Are you… falling asleep?" she asked after a long stretch of silence, noticing that Zuleika hadn't moved at all.
"I want to lay down," Zuleika said quietly, almost like a child.
Aquila blinked. This was Zuleika's own chamber, her own bed—yet the words sounded like she was asking permission. It threw her off balance.
"…Sure," Aquila replied awkwardly.
Slowly, Zuleika lowered herself onto the bed. A moment later, her soft voice followed:
"Will you lay down too?"
The question froze Aquila. Her lips pressed into a thin line as an odd awkwardness spread through her chest.
"…If you want me to. And if it's okay with you."
Zuleika gave a faint nod and shifted back, leaving enough space for her. Aquila lay down stiffly at her side, staring straight up at the ceiling like a soldier unfit for rest.
Then, beside her, a faint chuckle broke the silence.
"You still look serious as ever…" Zuleika whispered.
Aquila let out a sigh, irritation threading through her tone.
"And you are still irritating as ever."
Zuleika smiled faintly at the retort. Slowly, almost shyly, her hand tugged at the edge of Aquila's sleeve. Her eyes stayed lowered.
"…I hated it," she said suddenly.
Aquila stilled, sensing the weight in her voice. She said nothing—only listened.
Then it came, fragile and breaking: the sound of Zuleika's quiet sob. It pierced deeper than any blade, and Aquila felt her chest constrict painfully.
For months, Zuleika had borne this weight alone, enduring it, fighting against it. And now, the dam cracked.
"It felt… disgusting," Zuleika whispered, her voice cracking as tears stained her cheeks. "I feel like no matter how much I try to wash it away, it clings to me. Like it's carved into my skin, into my blood… and I can't escape it. Every time I remember, I feel filthy. I feel like I'll never be clean again…"
Her words faltered into broken sobs, her body curling in on itself as if to hide from the world.
Aquila's lips parted, but no words came. Instead, she turned fully toward her. Her hand reached out, tentative at first, before resting against Zuleika's head. Gently, she drew her closer, wrapping her into the warmth of her arms.
Zuleika trembled against her, her sobs shaking through her fragile frame. Aquila held her tighter, her voice low but steady.
"You're not filthy, Zuleika. What happened to you… it wasn't your fault."
Her eyes softened, though her voice carried the weight of steel.
"You don't have to carry this alone anymore. Even if the memories haunt you… even if the scars remain… it doesn't define you."
She brushed her hand lightly against Zuleika's hair, grounding her.
"Because no matter what was done to you, no matter how much it hurts…"
Aquila leaned closer, her voice soft, almost trembling with sincerity.
"…you are still you. And you are still worthy of being loved."
Zuleika stilled.
Aquila's hand lingered against her trembling shoulder, her tone firm yet unbearably gentle.
"But Zuleika, listen." Aquila spoke her name as though it was something fragile and precious, as though she didn't own the right to it.
"Whatever happened… it will never make you any less of a person."
Zuleika's breath caught. Her eyes widened through tears, and for the first time in months, something inside her loosened. A heaviness lifted, if only a little.
For so long, she had buried herself beneath silence, beneath the weight of shame and disgust. She had smiled for her family, laughed when she needed to, painted herself as strong so no one else would crumble because of her. Yet in the solitude of her chamber, she had always broken—alone, unheard, unseen.
And now… here was Aquila, the person she thought she could never face again. The one tied to every bitter memory of the Empire, the one whose presence should have cut her open further. But instead, her words had stitched something shut, however briefly.
It was just a handful of words. But to Zuleika, they were everything. They were proof that maybe she wasn't ruined beyond repair, that maybe she wasn't what her nightmares told her she had become. That someone—she—still saw her, not as broken, not as tainted, but as Zuleika.
Her chest trembled, but for the first time, she felt like she could breathe without choking.
After the long silence, the princess trembled against her, shivering with the release of emotions long held in check. Aquila held her tighter, rocking her slightly until the tremors subsided, until Zuleika's breaths found a steady rhythm.
Did she… fall asleep? Aquila wondered silently, her silver eyes softening as she looked down.
Zuleika's face, peaceful and unguarded, rested against her chest. The sharp edges of fear and shame that had haunted her were gone, if only for now. Aquila's chest tightened with a mix of guilt and sorrow—guilt for what Zuleika had endured, sorrow for all the nights she had spent alone in torment.
Gently, Aquila pressed her lips to Zuleika's head, a silent promise, a reassurance, a touch of comfort that words could never capture. She closed her eyes, letting the weight of the day, the battles, and the nightmares slip away.
And there, in the quiet, for the first time in months, they slept together.
For the first time, Zuleika's dreams were no longer haunted by shadows. For the first time, she slept in peace.