Page 79 of Realms of Swords and Storms
“Safe from what?” Livia shot back, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. “From love? From happiness? Or were youtrying to keep me safe from the truth, Septimus? The truth that you’ve been fucking him for months.”Septimus stared at her, his face blank. I couldn’t read him at all and that worried me.
“I can’t believe you let that… thing… touch you. Come inside you.”
His voice cracked on the last word, and his gaze flickered to me, filled with a hatred so pure it was almost beautiful. “All those months I kept my distance, trying to protect you from what I was becoming, from the filth I felt after being with…” He couldn’t even say my name. “And you were already tainted.”
The word was a brand, sizzling on the air between us. Tainted. He’d called me that a hundred times, and while it had stung, it had never felt like this. Hearing him spit it at Livia was like having my own heart ripped from my chest. My hands curled into fists, my knuckles screaming in protest, the urge to tear him apart a living thing inside me.
But before I could move, Livia did.
The sound of her palm striking his cheek cracked through the suffocating silence. He stumbled back a step, more from shock than the force of the blow, his hand coming up to touch his cheek where a red mark was already blooming.
"Don't you ever," she snarled, her voice a low vibration of absolute fury, "call me that again. I am not a victim. I am not some fragile thing you needed to protect. I am a woman who makes her own choices. The only filth here," Livia said, her voice dropping to a deadly calm that was far more terrifying than any shout, "is the poison you carry in your own heart. The hate you wrap yourself in like a shield because you’re too much of a coward to feel anything else."
She stepped forward, invading his space, forcing him to look at her. "I am not tainted," she snarled. "I am loved. By him." She jabbed a finger in my direction. "And by you, though you'd rather die than admit it. This isn't about me. This is about you.You look at him, and you see everything you hate about yourself. You're not protecting me, you fool. You’re just trying to take your fury out on me, so you don't have to look in the mirror."
"Love," he repeated, the word dripping with contempt. "Is that what you call it? Spreading your legs for a monster's spawn?"
I moved to her side, placing a hand on her arm. She was trembling with rage. "He's not worth it," I said softly, my eyes on Septimus. The anger in me had burned away, leaving only a cold, hollow pity. "He can't see it, Livia. Because if what you and I have is real, then what he and I have is real, too. And he would rather burn the world down than admit that."
Septimus's head snapped toward me, then back to her. "You're not disgusted? That I've been with... him?"
The genuine confusion in his voice pierced through my anger. He truly couldn't fathom that she would accept this part of him, that she wouldn't reject him for wanting me. It was a stark reminder of how deeply Imperial indoctrination ran, how thoroughly he'd been taught to hate himself for desires that fell outside the Empire's narrow definition of acceptable.
"The only thing that disgusts me," Livia said softly, "is that you've been torturing yourself all this time. That you've been so afraid of your own heart that you'd rather hurt the people who love you than admit what you really feel."
Love. There it was again, that dangerous word. I watched Septimus's face as he processed what she was saying, saw the conflict raging behind his eyes—hope warring with fear, longing with self-loathing.
"This is insane," he said finally, running a hand through his hair. "You can't possibly expect me to believe that you're fine with... with this. With what we've done." He gestured between himself and me, unable to even name it.I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to me. Septimus’s eyes narrowed instantly, but I didn’t give a fuck.
"Septimus hates himself for wanting me," I explained to Livia, though his words were clearly meant for me. "He can fuck me in the dark, but he can't bear to acknowledge me in the light. I'm good enough to satisfy his lust, but not good enough to be seen with. Not good enough to be respected. Not good enough to love."
Each word was a blade, precisely aimed to draw blood. And gods, they hit their mark. Septimus took an actual step back, as though my words had wounded him. The worst part was, I wasn't wrong. I had used him, true, but there had always been something deeper for me, but Septimus had always taken what he wanted while giving nothing in return but contempt.
"Is this true?" Livia asked, her gaze now fixed on him.
Septimus met her eyes directly. "Yes."
She didn't flinch, didn't look away. She simply studied him, as if seeing him clearly for the first time. "Why didn't you tell me?"
A harsh sound escaped him, not quite a laugh. "Tell you what? That I've been fucking a half-breed? That I hate myself for wanting him? That every time I'm with him, I feel like I'm betraying everything I've ever believed in?"
“Septimus…” She reached out, taking his hand in hers. "I love you both. I always have. The only thing that's hurt me is watching you tear yourself apart trying to deny what's between you. Watching you pull away from me because you thought I wouldn't understand."
Septimus stared at her as if she'd started speaking another language. "You love me," he repeated, the words seeming to catch in his throat. "Even after this? Even knowing what I've done?"
"Especially after this," she said. "Because now you can stop hiding. Stop pretending. Stop hating yourself for something that isn't wrong."
Hope flickered across his face, a candle flame in a storm—fragile, wavering, on the verge of being extinguished. I held my breath, suddenly desperate for him to believe her, to accept what she was offering. The realization struck me with startling clarity: I wanted this to work. Not just for Livia's sake, but for my own. Despite everything—the insults, the violence, the rejection—I still wanted him. Still loved him in a way that defied simple explanation.
But then his gaze shifted to me, and the flame died. His expression hardened, the walls slamming back into place with an almost audible crash.
"It is wrong," he said, his voice flat and cold. "Everything about this is wrong. He's Talfen, Livia. The enemy. The reason our village burned, the reason your brother died. And now you're telling me you love him? That you expect me to what—share you with him? To admit that I—" He broke off, his voice cracking.
"That you what?" I pressed, unable to stop myself. "That you feel something for me too? That it's not just lust or shame or self-hatred? Say it, Septimus. For once in your life, say what you actually feel."
His eyes met mine, and for a heartbeat, I saw it—the raw, naked truth behind all his defences. The longing, the confusion, the desperate need he couldn't bring himself to name. My heart lurched painfully in my chest, hope rising despite my better judgment.
Then the moment passed, and his expression shuttered closed.
