She had come here looking for him, but the Gods were desperate to turn her.

What Ronin had said at the challenge had hurt her in ways beyond compare; a friendship shattered all at once, blatant and brooding and awful, and that night Tinúviel had cried until the cruel curl of her stomach caused her to relieve herself of whatever food she had managed to keep down before. Even the still and lulled form of the Lagoon's challenger had not been enough to deter the Scillan Queen from her woes, from falling all apart.

She had relented to finding him the very next day. The hallowed fury of the former Andal King's words resonating cruelly in her head, over and over: You never came to see me. And who else had she neglected in her times stolen away? Had she been paying attention, would she not have found Wither in time to save her, would she not have rescued the kinmanship she had let slip through her very fingers? Would Ronin have cheered for her and Tiamat, instead of Fernweh?

She would not let it happen again. She could not bear to see the disappointment on Alexander's face as she watched her pride wage its war against him.

Tinúviel stood, battered by wind and rain and the sound of thunder unfurling all about her. The sky illuminated with bright-white lightning, its spindles traveling from cloud to cloud before eventually falling to the earth. Beautiful red sprites burst above the cloud line in the far-off distance, a promise of an end eventually, but not now. She stood a distance from the Andal border, large rock pillars reaching into the sky far above her head, half-concealed by the heavy steam as rain quenched the dry Badlands. She could not see the gates of the Oasis from here, but she were close enough to be heard above the rain; gentle chuffs called out for him, a thundering in her heart she wasn't sure how to describe quite yet.

It felt awful, either way.

Tinúviel had never felt lower.

He had not expected to see her again for some time - and he would not have gone looking. After everything with Nazonal, he had needed time. Time to think about everything he felt, all that he'd come to learn. About himself, others - and someone he thought he had loved. No...he did love her, it was she who did not love him. Even still, as he sat within the dark confines of his den, it made his heart ache. Alexander had always been a confident, almost arrogant man with the vanity of a God. No one could outdo him, and yet someone had. Someone who seemed so small and insignificant now held the woman he loved and there was nothing he could do.

How helpless.

How weak.

He did not like this feeling, nor did he wish to dwell on it. He was beginning to overcome it when he'd gone to Scilla, in hopes of seeing her. The gentle Queen that ached for his rough, wild passion to consume her. Upon arriving, however, Alexander had been rushed back to that moment. Of feeling helpless, of feeling like he was not enough. And it was not that there was another, no. He was not a selfish, jealous man. His lovers were free to be with others as long as in the end their dedication and loyalty came back to him, to their love and what they shared. It was unfair to demand a life of singularity from those he loved when he could not promise it in return.

No, it was that familiar feeling of being used that blossomed into a full bloom in his chest. Building, growing and planting seeds of doubt.

It was two now, two that came to him only when they needed something. When their lives were in turmoil, when they were so consumed by their own grief. He was a warm embrace; quiet, gentle words and an unconditional acceptance of all the burdens they held. Alexander had offered this freely, allowed himself to fall into the familiarity of their faces, their voices, their smiles. And each night they plagued him in his dreams. Taunting him, mocking him for thinking he was anything but a tool.

A tool to use until they would return to the knight-in-shining armor that couldn't give them what he could.

Scilla was not on the best of terms with Andal anymore, so he was surprised when he heard the gentle chuff of @Tinúviel - it pulled him from his damned thoughts. Reality came crashing down and his heavy heart squeezed tightly. Sleep was not easy to come by these days, and so as he emerged from his cavernous den, the beast falls into step mindlessly, following her call. His curiosity driving him. Why, why had she come here to see him? Had she not had her fill? The man beside her - Alaric, he had seen him before, fought his children, watched him fight his brother.

And she was married to him.

Nose wrinkles as her scent grows stronger, and finally he finds her outside the borders, looking as beautiful as the day he met her. Features are gaunt, unreadable as the beast comes to a stop a few feet away. Blue eyes stare down at her, their depths empty as he speaks, "Tinúviel, what are you doing here?"

She could barely hear him over the rain, could barely see the massiveness of his form against the backdrop of darkness. Her fur lay slick against her cheeks where it had grown wet with the storm, the despondent look in her eyes hidden under the haze of steam bursting forth from the wet ground. Even the sands seemed to give way in their wake, as if bending to their silent grief. But even the storm, deafening and demanding, could not keep back the thoughts that flew through her head upon the sight of him. The way Lyric's claws found the blissful crimson of his fur, the lump stuck in her throat as she couldn't, but should've called out to him. How often she fell short of this impossible perfection, how every single bit of her was watched and scrutinized and undressed and bare.

Had she known of his heartbreak, she never would have called for him. She would have kept her distance, she would have known better.

Had she known that the careful puppeteer strings she pulled would lead to such a brutal heartbreak, she never would have played his heart.

But Tinúviel had not known any better. She loved with abandon, feasted off whatever glimpses of it she could grasp for she had never known love tender, nor soft. She had loved as freely as she had in that first breadth of liberation; where the entirety of Caladan had seemed like some distant dream, and her midnight splendors with the Ecrosian King a far-flung fairytale. The emptiness in his eyes nearly kills her, a sinking of her heart that confirmed she was not quite invincible, she was not quite steeled against the unrelenting blight fate seemed to have thrust upon her.

Tinúviel— She sighs, Al— —what are you doing here?

Her lips close; tight, thin. Her eyes suddenly cast downward, a shameful, sheepish facade reaching over her. She senses a dread akin to that she'd felt with Ronin, but it is not with anger she comes to him; @Alexander ♔ is blameless, and perhaps that is what makes this harder. Whereas the former had been deserving of her unkempt ferocity and bursting emotions, Alexander had been a bystander in the wake of it, and had been punished for his concern. His was something she was far more unwilling to let slip through her fingers, whatever it was; his softness, his wrath. His everything.

So she steels herself, and wears the guise of a Queen because it is all she has left.

I wanted to apologize... Not for Lyric, but for myself. I should have called off the attack but I did not. There are many more things you have failed at, Tinúviel. You're...hurt, because I hesitated. Because I was—was so consumed in this pointless feud and somehow found everything to be bigger than you. And Gods, how hard it was to have all of this at once, to have so many things to balance that it seemed near impossible. Tinúviel had suddenly been torn between the fancies of two men and the loyalty to two women who desperately needed her. She had let Wither slip through her fingers, had disappointed Tiamat for a second time.

She had angered Alaric. She had saddened Alexander.

What have you done, broken little bird?

I don't want us to be enemies.

Though she wasn't so sure of anything anymore. Ronin was in Andal, after all, and that was a relationship unable to be saved. Certainly whoever lead it now had heard all about the weeping and washed away Scillan Queen.

More than that I—I... She paused, held her breath, swallowed hard.

I love you?

How undeserving you are, silly Tinúviel.

As a Queen I am expected to handle these things with grace, she finally relented, hoping that he could not see her tears through the rain. She straightened, steeled herself, but she could feel herself crumbling at her seams. An eye for an eye, right? she begins again, awkwardly, restraining the choke in her voice. She took a shaky, nervous step toward him. I don't want to lose this. Us.

The rain. When had it started raining? As if the world pressed play, the sounds of the thunder, the rain, the winds that began to pick up — it all came into focus as she began to speak. Suddenly he could feel the the wetness seeping into his coat, drenching the thick tresses of his seemingly endless mane. Alexander could feel the cold down to his bones. A shudder bore through him, causing his skin to tingle and muscles to reflexively tighten.

Pupils dilate then, focusing on her face — on that careful, yet flawed mask she adorned. The beast is silent in his observation, watchful gaze giving away nothing. No emotion, no hint of what was racing through his mind.

Apologize? For the attack? How little that mattered. War was war. It was simple in all it's complication — in the heat of battle the laws and tooth and claw were the only things that mattered. Life...life itself was messy, complicated. Alexander was growing weary. He understood now, all of that rage Teodora kept nestled on her shoulder like a loaded gun.

Every syllable she spoke felt like claws on his back. Toes curl into the shifting sands, they sink further and further as a result. Did she not know, did she have no idea what she was doing to him? Surely this little Queen, this little bird had some idea.

She stammers, pausing and with baited breath does he wait, stomach churning with what she might say. But love? No, he did not expect such confessions — did he even want them? Was love a word those in this land threw around without care for the consequences? Nazonal had. So casually had she told him she loved him, that she was sure — no doubt.

And in the next moment had she cast it aside in favor of another. The very boy he had saved her from. Foolish, pitiful beasts, they were. Was this sweet, gentle woman before him the same? So easy was it to cast this shadow onto Tinúviel and expect the same disappointment and heartbreak.

His view on her was complicated, and what he felt could not be explained in a few simple words. Perhaps he felt too strongly, too quickly — a foolish prince with foolish dreams of love.

She finishes speaking and Alexander can only sit and stare at her, body tenses as she draws ever so slightly nearer. The beasts knows not what to say, the subject matter seemed trivial. Unimportant. He didn't want nor care for an apology about the happenings at Scilla. What he wanted was an explanation.

"I do not hold it against you." His words felt hollow to his own ears, but perhaps that was the rain drowning them out. Jaw clenches as he looks down to her paws, then back to her face and those earthen eyes that called to him. He couldn't let her close, by the Mother, Alexander knew he would not be chosen again. And there...there would always have to be a choice with the men in these lands.

"Where is your husband, Tinúviel?" The words came out harsher than expected, that baritone voice usually so soft, tender and inviting a graveled growl. Anger erupts into his heart, causing him to inch closer as she did not, the sand giving way to the immense weight of him. The braid in his mane had come undone, the full extent of those thick, heavy tresses framed his face in a halo of white.

He is silent, at first, and it drives her mad. It is only the unyieldling cacophony of the rain and the thunder rolling in the close distance that keeps her fettered to some sort of tranquility, some stasis only half-alive. Every burst of lightining from the sky illuminated them in a split-second of blinding, white-hot light. Even in that brief half-second she can see every rigid turn of his frame, the creams of his tied-back mane mingling with the reddish of his shoulders, his braid curled tight against his neck, weighed down by the heaviness of the rain.

She did not know what she was doing to him, she could not see the small nuances written into his every action; every twitch of his lip, every tightening and untightening of his jaw. She had been so consumed in what she thought was right, what she thought was diplomatic, compromising. Where once she might have groveled at his feet and beggared his forgiveness, she knew now that it was not what kind men wanted; what all she had once known had been challenged, and it had taken her years (months now, as a Queen), to begin to break the wheel.

And yet, she still fell short at every turn.

She did not know the strange sort of mercy she might have given him by holding herself back. Dare say Tinúviel herself did not quite know the parameters of love: What it all meant, what it all entailed. Viridian had loved her in his own way, as did Alaric, and both of their loves meant different things entirely. What it meant to Tinúviel was an unknown altogether, a blissful nothingness, tangible yet untangible, yet always there.

In his silence, there is no mercy, there is no surrender. There is only the suspended intensity, a held breath, burning lungs, the sound of thunder and rain. Tinúviel's speech leaves her breathless, mouth half-parted and gasping for the wet air as it fell all around them. The lack of illumination from a moon hidden behind stormclouds kept it dark, barely visible beyond the pale light of lightning sprawling the skies in the distance. The sand beneath their feet had gotten wet, sunken in, hardened against their feet. And oh, how delightful a feeling it would have been to have crawled into his den behind him, to listen to the rain from the safety of shelter and the warmth of his bed.

Her reverie fades when he finally speaks.

She wanted to take that step forward, to test that resolve fettering @Alexander ♔ to his convictions and relinquish herself to whatever may come after. But she stops as her paw is half-raised, the next words to leave his mouth stopping her, letting her blood run cold. He takes that step, instead, and Tinúviel's gaze lifts with a shocked intensity. My husband—? she stammers, at first taking offense, thinking he may have turned up his nose at her diplomatic offer in favor of her Kinghusband. But after a few drawling moments, the deeper sense of it finally kicks in.

What does he have to do with this? She asked, crinkling her nose a little. The nuances of love unfurled again; what was natural for others was lost on Tinúviel, and it is only in the following silence does it finally begin to take hold. Unless you mean...him? Us? Me and him? Me and you?

Is that what has upset you?

Oh, Alex—

I don't— She stammers, trying to find the right words, trying to find anything to say that would convey what she was feeling, thinking. And at every turn, she struggled. Should I have...said something before? I didn't know, I didn't know. I don't...I don't know what I'm doing, Alex.

There is a profound slump of her shoulders, a resignation as she sat in the sands, her gaze cast downward; plush fur slickened with rain and gaunt, tired, she appeared far smaller than her already small frame. She had loved and lost countless times before; she had felt the distant ache of a blossoming crush cut at the neck, felt the resounding heartbreak of once-love recognized as abuse, as cruelty. She had felt a love so fervent that she had known nothing else, a heat that still sent her heart aflutter, her thighs trembling. And yet, suddenly, it all felt wrong, skewed, blighted.

I had never been allowed to love before.

I never knew all the mistakes that came with it.

The pause, the hesitation - it is then he knows it to be true. Without a doubt. @Tinúviel was married and it was likely not an open one, if anything could be indicated by how possessive the Mire King had looked at the challenge. Like a dog with a toy reluctant to share. She dares to ask what he has to do with this, as if she has forgotten all that has gone on between them.

Him. Us.

An admission that they were something. Anything at all, and it filled him with both relief and dread. A dread knowing that an angry husband might come for him. His family. That Tinúviel herself might be at risk for such an affair. A scorned man was only half as bad as a scorned woman, but scorned they still were.

Oh, she is so clueless. So innocent in her love, her reckless abandon. In her naivety she does not see and in some ways, Alexander can hardly fault her for such. It is within his nature to nuture, to protect and uplift those in his life so they might live the best life possible. Even now, as they stood within the downpour of the rain, the crackle of lightning lighting up the sky - the Savante wanted to go to her.

To hold her, to reassure her that everything would be all right. To protect her from the harsh rains that pelted them mercilessly. The sand gripped his feet, pulling him down - and while most would find this inconvenient, Alexander could only find comfort in the cool embrace. Toes splayed beneath, before he finally let out an exhale of sound - barely audible above the storm.

"You put yourself at risk, you put my family at risk. My kingdom. You asked for something that you had no right to ask for," The beast pauses, his chest tight. More than anything he wanted to pretend there was nothing between them, that all the complications were make believe and he could pull her into his form and promise her the world. Yet outside the cool caves and the heat of the springs, all he was faced with was reality.

A reality that was punishing. That took it's pound of flesh with no remorse. He had the weight of his entire family sitting on his shoulders and in this moment it was bigger than them.

Us.

"Come." A soft, quiet command, but there is no doubt that in the depths of those blue eyes it is more so a pleading suggestion. He moves closer, the mass of his form curling around hers protectively as he attempts to block most of the rain from her, a gentle touch of his nose to her shoulder ushers her forward to a large mammoth skull that seemed to jut out of the sand.

Alexander would lead her, then, to the cave his family had turned into their sacred place. It was carefully hidden beneath the skull, within the sands, the entrance a tunnel of sorts that led into darkness. A trickle of water cascaded down it, but there was a faint, ever so faint light at the end that could just barely be seen past the wall of shadow. Without much warning, the Savante would nudge her forward into the entrance.

The end of the tunnel would open up into a massive cave that was alight with color and filled with warmth. A flame burned atop a large stick, casting shadows on the walls that seemed to dance and come to life at their arrival. Down along another path was a more open area that revealed holes, as well as an area littered with crystals. At the very opposite corner was a small, trickling waterfall that seemed to gush harder as the rains spilled in. It fell into a small pool of water that had an unknown depth.

Moving forward, Alexander's mane trickled with water - his braid long gone and his tresses brushing the earth. He shook slightly in an attempt to rid himself of the excess water, but then turned to look at the Lagoon woman. Features were impassive, though there was an undeniable sadness in his eyes he couldn't hide. "What is it you want, Tinúviel?" The beast suddenly asks, bluntly - to the point. He had always been honest with her and while she may not have been purposely trying to be deceitful, it still hurt.

He had already lost one he cared deeply for because of the jealousy of another man. Alexander mentally braced himself to do so again.

All this time, she had thought it was because of the war.

She had chided herself for not stopping Lyric, had relived the punishment of her betrayal night after night, wondering how she could have done things different, thinking through every possible scenario where she had stopped, breathed, and focused; instead, she let her emotions consume her, and the very thought of Ronin's blatant support against Tiamat's challenger brought a heavy hurt to her heart. Would he have cheered if Fernweh had won, and cast Tinúviel from the pride as usurpers so often did? Would he have rejoiced in Tinúviel's loss?

She bore the thoughts away, finding relief in the soft icy blue of Alex's eyes, even as they too carried that weight of ire and sadness. There was an almost selfish relief that came with the fact he was not upset about the attack, but what he was truly upset about was still about her, and the fault of it rested on her alone. They linger in that shaky silence, only the sound of the pouring rain accompanying their aching thoughts. By now, she is saturated, a cold chill causing her to shiver, her thick fur flush against her too-skinny, too-bedraggled form.

Then, he finally, finally speaks.

Tinúviel's face fell as he chided her, a red-hot embarrassment swelling her cheeks yet it could barely be seen against the dark backdrop of mist and rain. She had felt Alaric's possessiveness but had always assumed that was what love simply was. Even Corinthian had shown that desperate, urgent need when he pulled her body from the sea, she had felt his feral instinct in every touch that day; she had not known the implications behind it all, what intricacies she had abandoned, what atrocities she had committed in keeping everything a secret.

I-I'm sorry, is all she manages, unwilling to defend herself, unwilling to accept anything but the heavy weight of this defeat. She knew, deep down, that if Alaric threatened Alexander's life to her she would have stopped him; but perhaps she had already stoked the coals enough to start the fire. As the tears slipped free of her eyes and her bleary gaze finally lifted to meet him, his sudden shift, his breathy command, causes her to freeze. He ventures closer but when he does it is soft; demanding, yet gentle. Tinúviel squeaks in surprise as he shields her against the rain, and hastily begins to guide her into the petrified skeleton of a mammoth; it's mouth parted wide, a large and gaping cave appearing from beyond the crest of its flat teeth.

Eyes flung wide and wild as he guided her into the cave system. A sudden burst of warm, dry air greets her, freeing her from the bitter chill of the wintry thunderstorm just outside. She can hear the muffled howl of the wind, but it does not penetrate here, and the flickering light of a fire in the short distance covers them in a warm glow. The light flickered in crystals that lined the floors and the walls, the gentle tickling of a small waterfall accompanying the cacophony of rain outside the den. Were she not so disheveled and melancholy, she might have reveled in its sacred beauty. It felt like a sin to be here, now, drenched and keening.

What is it you want, Tinúviel?

She turns to face him; here, she can see the reflection of warm light against his cheek, the droplets of water that glisten from his free hair, its full length easily reaching the floor. His fur is just as slick and damp, sticking to every muscular curve of his frame. A fervent blush reddened her cheeks, but the reality of their conversation settled in once more, and she lingered starstruck for only a moment.

I don't want this to end. Us.

Tinúviel had given up far too much of her youth to not be selfish now; and yet, it still felt wrong, it still felt sinful to want and to have and to take. It were as if she'd become the very thing she feared, the very thing she had always aspired to be. Free. My heart is the same as yours and his, she insists, taking a step forward; it is the only thing she can manage, for if she moves any closer, she might fall into him completely. It is not a sin for me to love you both. She swallows hard, but keeps her hazel gaze steady on the icy blue of his. She'd known of Alaric's conquests and she was certain @Alexander ♔ had others, too; such an ideal had never bothered her, for it was all she'd ever known. She had long begun to find the prospect of giving all of herself to one who did not do the same felt a far grimmer fate.

And if it is, I still don't intend to stop.

She is silent - perhaps contemplative as she considers the words he speaks. The first syllables to leave her lips are an apology, one Alexander felt almost guilty about. Yet, the beast knew he could not waver in this. He could not tell her it was okay, when it wasn't. As they had entered the cave, silence consumed them and all he could hear for a time was the crackle of the flame that burned brightly along the wall of the cave.

In here he felt whole, in here she would see the real him and know what it was to know him. In that same vein, however, this was where it either began or ended. A paw raises to run his digits through his thick mane, sweeping back in a slick look that made his handsome features look even more defined than before. Blue eyes watched as she spoke again. Us. Lips purse softly as he remains silent, observant.

He had no idea what they even were. There was so much between them, but so little as well. Did she even know him, and vice versa? Perhaps love didn't need to be that complicated, but he knew that with Alaric as her husband - that made things infinitely more complicated. I have never once said your love of others is a sin, He murmurs, brows furrowing as it finally hit him that she had spoken those words. Indirectly or otherwise.

She loved him.

It felt almost unreal. Their first encounter had been a sin against his beliefs, but one he knew the Mother would forgive him for if he atoned and righted it. Yet how could he ever if she belonged to another that no doubt wanted the same as he? I have never kept those I love from having others. It is a mutual understanding, of respect - a love that goes beyond insecurity and greed. He murmurs, explaining carefully before approaching her slowly, though still not touching her.

Your husband, he is not a man I can ally myself with. He and his children are callous, claiming women against their will and treating them like mere toys to play with. My brother intends to free a blind woman from the Mire's grasp after she was taken by them. So, this was not about who she could or could not love - nor was it about her actions being a sin. If it were anyone else, Alexander would not waste a single breath speaking of it.

The Savante could still, even despite all this - not shake the feeling he'd had with Nazonal. Of being used, of being told he was loved only for someone else being chosen. And so, Alexander was guarded, he would not speak the words back - even if it hurt, because he couldn't. If she chose Alaric and Alexander was left exposed, alone - abandoned...again. He was unsure if his heart could take it so soon.

This was a house of the Savante, something familiar and unfamiliar, warm and welcoming as it was strange and novel. Where @Alexander ♔ may have found strength and resilience, Tinúviel shirked, a nervous energy radiating from her in waves. The crackle of fire was a blissful accompaniment to the silence otherwise lingering between them, the heat of shared intensity causing the already-small lioness to shrivel up, to appear even smaller. Suddenly, she feels as if she was entirely in the wrong, as if everything she said was a misunderstanding of the deeper meaning behind his words, as if she missed what all was hidden, woven into each and every sentence that slipped past his lips.

Alaric had not quite yet afforded her this same mercy, one that she had been unaware of, and now feared facing. For so long had she always known belonging to only one man, knowing his nature much like others but so far detached from those she had met in Amaryllis. The clashing of cultures had left her caught unawares, her guard lowered where it may have been more beneficial to raise it. She had let herself love, and lose, and continued that cruel cycle even here, even now. She opens her mouth to speak, but closes it as Alexander continues, the second half of his speech causing the steady flutter of her heart to nearly stop. She sucked in a breath, and did not expel it.

Luther's reach went far beyond what Tinúviel initially thought, his transgressions bred and bleeding far beyond her reach. What little damage control she had accomplished could not stop; Luther's greed knew no bounds, and she had bore witness to it more than once. It was only Alaric's immediate punishing of his own son that had lended to her continued devotion, to the belief that he was not like what he had raised, that Luther truly were the black sheep.

I know, is all she says, her breath still held, her lungs beginning to burn. There is a steeliness in her eyes that bites back the tears, and where once Tinúviel might have crumpled at his paws, she now stands, unsure and uncertain if she could ever find her way out of this cave, unable to see past the here and now. That is the only life I've ever known—being the property of stronger men. And, when Tinúviel and Alaric had first met, that is all she had ever expected it to be. But things had changed, they both had changed.

But he has never hurt me, and I have never seen him harm another undeserving, she continued, though knows there is little she can say that can ease this tension between them. Alexander would be completely in the right if he did not believe her. And I believe him capable of change. He... she paused, swallowing hard, ...he punished his own son for holding women prisoners, for hurting them... She couldn't continue, for the thought of what happened to Wither continued to play in her head, again and again and again. Had Alaric done anything short of banishing his son, Tinúviel might have found herself far more conflicted. But he had chosen her. He had chosen her.

She hoped, desperately, selfishly, that Alexander would choose her, too. What a greedy girl you are.

Must I choose?

In that moment, if she were to be faced with such a decision, she is certain she would sooner renounce herself as a Queen and slink into the depths of the sea; where she could not be touched, where she could not be seen.

Alexander did not want @Tinúviel to be his property, nor did he want her to feel that way. Never once had he presumed to have claimed her heart. Their union had been...not a mistake, but it had been something unexpected. Something the Mother no doubt looked down on him for.

They were a family who had been taught early on that pleasure was a luxury. Duty was the most important thing and as the Patriarch he had to prioritize that above all else.

He had an obligation to provide for his family, to build them back up to their former glory. More than anything he wanted that, he felt the need growing every single day deep within his soul. Yet, there was an undeniable draw toward this small, seemingly delicate woman before him.

She wasn't though...delicate.

Since the first day they had met, Alexander knew there was something behind those tender eyes. A fire waiting to grow, wings that ached to unfurl. A tempered soul aching for freedom. He was not a warden or a jailer, he would not clip those beautiful, magnificent wings. He only wanted to see her fly.

He hurts others indirectly. I saw him with my own eyes look the other way in the face of cruelty. This was not about Alexander trying to turn her against her husband. No, it was simply that the two men she loved were fundamentally different in every way. How would something so broken ever work?

His throat felt tight, his tongue too big for his mouth and mouth dry like the dunes that surrounded the Oasis.

Must I choose?

It hit him hard, those words. They caused a hitch in his throat and the memories of a once upon a time drifting back into his mind. Brown eyes, a lopsided smile and a lilting laughter that flooded the jungle like a nightingale's song. His heart ached in that moment, brows furrowing as the beast looked away from her finally.

The fire flickered, crackling softly, casting shadows on his features, lighting up the pale blue of his eyes - revealing the depth of emotion swirling within. No, but I know...eventually he will make you. And I will be left feeling broken again...alone.

An afterthought.