#captainvonchan

Arum wakes to softness and warmth and the smell of humans on his tongue. He nuzzles closer against the body nearest his, all but purring his contentment. 

This is how things should be. How they will be, forever.

And then he opens his eyes. His arms are twined with a warm, supple body. 

Only one body. 

And he knows. 

He sits up abruptly, disentangling himself from Rilla. Without her against him, the air feels unbearably cold and sharp against his scales. 

Beside him, Rilla blinks in bleary confusion. “Arum? What is it?” And then her eyes fall on the empty space where another body should have been. The sleep drains from her voice. “Arum? Where’s Damien?”

But it isn’t a question. 

She knows, too.

But she shouldn’t know. Neither of them should. This shouldn’t be happening at all. They bartered with the Queen. They escaped to his swamp. They defeated the sorcerer. They’re safe and free and they have everything they could possibly need, so why is he gone?

And why are neither of them surprised?

“We need to go after him,” Arum says. “We can still catch him, and we can talk him out of this idiotic plan.” He stumbles to his feet, his claws flexing against the floor. “Well?” he demands. “Are you coming, or am I going alone?”

But Rilla hasn’t moved. Her eyes are on the window, and on the sun streaming through the trees, high overhead.

“Damien usually wakes around dawn,” she says quietly. It’s logical and reasonable and he hates every syllable that comes out of her mouth. “He probably left hours ago.”

“Then we’ll go to the Citadel and take him back by force.”

“We can’t do that.”

He rolls out of the bed, already grabbing at his clothes, almost tearing them in his haste. “Then stay here for all I care. If you won’t save him, then I will.”

He hates the hurt in her eyes when she looks up at him. He hates that she still isn’t moved to join him. “That isn’t going to work.”

“It will!” Arum snarls. “I don’t care how many knights there are. I’ll fight them all. I’ll level that wretched city if I have to!”

“It won’t work,” Rilla says, harsh but brittle. Her words feel like they’re caving in on themselves. “I don’t care how hard you storm in there, it won’t make a difference if he refuses to leave with you. This is his choice. You can’t save him from it.” 

Arum tries to look for an argument, a fault in her logic, anything that will prove her wrong. He finds nothing but the pain in the pit of his chest. 

“Damn him,” he hisses. “Damn him and his title, and his duty, and his stupid, self-righteous honor, and his– his–” 

Rilla’s hands wrap around his arm, and he isn’t sure if it’s meant to restrain him or brace him or shut him up. But he doesn’t want to shut up. Not here, not now, not when Damien is gone after everything.

“Why?” he demands. “How could he just leave? Wasn’t this enough for him? Weren’t we–” His voice cracks, and he doesn’t have the dignity left to pretend otherwise. “Weren’t we enough?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Rilla says quietly, her vibrant voice gone dull. 

“Then how does it work?” Arum demands. “You’re the one who always has the answers up your sleeve, aren’t you? You’re the one with all the explanations. So explain it to me!”

Rilla doesn’t answer. Her head is bowed, her hair fallen over her eyes. Her grip on his arm is painfully tight. She might be shaking– or maybe that’s him.

“Amaryllis,” he snarls, but it loses its edge, chips and breaks and turns into shameless begging. “Amaryllis, please.” 

He pulls her close, and he doesn’t know anymore which one of them is comforting the other. His arms are tight around her, his hand is petting her hair like it’s under a compulsion, and he’s all too aware of how small and fragile she really is, and that terrifies him, and yet he’s clinging to her like a whelp in its first thunderstorm, desperately hoping that she knows something doesn’t.