Chapter 144
“My opposition was… personal rather than political.”
The confession costs me more deeply than I could have anticipated.
Admitting my pettiness, admitting my inability to separate emotion from responsibility–it feels like peeling away a carefully maintained facade, exposing wounds I’ve long worked to conceal.
For so many years, pride had blinded me to my own faults, my insecurities cleverly masked behind a veneer of political strategy and stubborn authority.
Now, laid bare before her, I feel vulnerable, exposed in a way that nearly terrifies me.
But Siena deserves the truth, no matter how ugly it is.
She lifts her gaze slowly, studying me with quiet intensity. Her amber eyes, still guarded but softer now, search my face, carefully assessing the sincerity behind my words.
I force myself not to look away, allowing her to scrutinize every flaw, every unspoken regret etched across my features.
“I suspected as much,” she finally murmurs softly, her voice carrying quiet wisdom I once failed to appreciate. But hearing you admit it is… unexpected.”
“Unexpected?” I repeat gently, a faint, humorless smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “I suppose that’s fair. I’ve given you little reason to expect honesty from me.”
She doesn’t contradict me, her silence echoing louder than any words could.
I swallow roughly, feeling the weight of my past mistakes pressing down upon me. The room around us fades into insignificance, the noise and movement becoming little more than a distant hum. All that seems to exist now is Siena–her quiet strength, her carefully maintained composure, and the aching regret I feel so keenly whenever I look at her.
“I was wrong,” I whisper earnestly, the words tumbling out before I can reconsider or stop them.
“Wrong about so many things–about you, about myself. I was blind and arrogant, Siena. Refusing your requests for those territories, dismissing your diplomatic efforts–it was a way of punishing you for being right, for daring to challenge my pride.”
She draws in a slow breath, absorbing my confession silently, her expression carefully neutral once again. Yet beneath that practiced mask, I sense quiet turmoil.
Her fingers tremble slightly against the edge of her wineglass, betraying emotions she’s clearly fighting to
suppress.
“I don’t say this to earn your forgiveness,” I continue quietly, voice thick with sincerity. “I know I don’t deserve it. But you deserve this honesty, at least. Perhaps it’s too little, too late–but it’s the truth.”
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Siena remains quiet for a long moment, her gaze drifting thoughtfully across the room, observing the guests gathered for Windhowl’s formal farewell dinner.
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A range of emotions flickers subtly through her eyes–sadness, regret, perhaps even quiet acceptance. Finally, she turns back toward me, her voice steady but soft as she speaks.
“Honesty is never too late, Ralden,” she murmurs gently, her words unexpectedly generous. “Perhaps it won’t change what’s happened, but it does matter. It matters to me.“.
“I’m grateful,” I reply softly, the words feeling inadequate against the weight of everything between us. “More than you know,”
She nods slowly, her gaze briefly softening, allowing me a rare glimpse beneath her carefully constructed
barriers.
For just a heartbeat, the distance between us narrows, fragile and tentative. Then she carefully straightens, the diplomatic mask sliding smoothly back into place, signaling an end to our quiet exchange.
But the moment–brief and imperfect as it was–leaves behind a small, hopeful warmth in my chest, a tiny spark amid the darkness.
Her steps falter for the briefest moment, surprise flickering across her features before she regains her composure. The music swells, the final notes signaling the end of the dance.
As we step apart, I know this is my last chance to say what I’ve been rehearsing in my mind for months.
“Siena,” I begin, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.
She looks at me, her expression guarded but expectant.
“I know it changes nothing,” I say, the words tumbling out before I lose my nerve. “But I need you to hear this once I love you, Siena. Not as a political arrangement or a convenient alliance, but for exactly who you are. I’m sorry I realized too late.”
–
The silence that follows feels endless, her amber eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my chest ache. I don’t wait for her to respond. I can’t.
Instead, I bow formally, a gesture of respect and finality, and walk away before she can say anything that might shatter what little composure I have left.
Horace howls in protest, but I force him down, each step away from her heavier than the last.
I don’t look back.
It’s done. I’ve said my piece.
But the ache in my chest tells me it will never truly be over.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
