Page 219 of Emylia

The clearing dimmed with dusk. The air chilled, stretching golden shadows across the earth. The sky slowly turned molten, honeyed hues stretching across the grass like a promise I couldn’t reach.

I stayed kneeling, hands raw and stained with blood and magik, jaw locked tight.

Then—

“Princess.”

Maalikai’s voice. Low. Rough silk. The kind that always found me.

I didn’t look up.

“It’s enough for today.”

I shook my head, slow and stubborn. Just enough to defy him.

He moved closer, boots whispering through the grass. He crouched beside me, the dying rays of sun painting his skin in firelight, the warmth of him brushing against my shoulder. The last edge of sunlight caught the cut of his jaw, his eyes shadowed—watching.

“You’re bleeding,”he said again. “And exhausted. Come rest.”

“Not until I get it right.”

“You’ve already done more than enough.”

“It’s not enough,”I snapped. My voice cracked around it, sharp and raw.

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

“You’ll learn,”he said gently. “But not like this. You’re hurting yourself more than you’re healing.”

My hands curled into fists. My throat ached. I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear the softness in his voice. Not when all I felt was failure.

Then—he moved.

His arms wrapped around me from behind, strong, steady, grounding. He pulled me close, holding me like I might shatter. His breath ghosted the shell of my ear.

His voice, when he spoke again, was lower. Barely a whisper. “Just because you haven’t succeeded doesn’t mean you’re a failure.”

“That’s exactly what it means.”The words flew from my mouth—more vicious than I intended.

He didn’t recoil. He shifted so I had no choice but to meet his gaze.

And Gods—when obsidian met mine, it hollowed me.

“Your worth is not measured in your healing,”he said, each word deliberate. “You are already everything. You’re perfect, even when you’re not.”

But I didn’t feel perfect. I felt empty. Like this failure proved every dark thing I believed about myself.

“Let me take the pressure off,”he said gently, his eyes darkening.

I knew what he meant. I burned for it. Gods, I wanted it. But still, I hesitated. Giving up felt like ruin.

I broke.

But not into pieces—into surrender.

He threaded his fingers through mine, lifting me to my feet, his other hand steady on my waist. I leaned into him without thinking, without permission. Because I needed the comfort. The danger I’d already chosen. At least for tonight.

We walked toward the path, dusk curling around us in shades of amethyst and steel. He guided me slowly away from the cliff. The sky now shades of lavender, the air crisp with night’s promise.

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