Kassian stood in the center of the ruined room, surrounded by shattered glass and melting ice. He looked at her retreating back, and for the first time in his life, the Red Tyrant felt small. He felt like a boy lost in the dark.
He wanted to stay. He wanted to fall to his knees and crawl to her. He wanted to scream that he was sorry, that he would change, that he would tear the palace down if it would make her smile.
But the look she had given him—the cold, absolute rejection—was a barrier he couldn't burn.
He turned around, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed. He walked toward the heavy oak doors, his footsteps sounding hollow on the stone floor. He didn't look back. He couldn't.
The doors closed with a soft, final thud.
Vera stood on the balcony, the cool air hitting her face. She looked out over the city. She felt the violet light beneath her skin settle into a steady, mournful hum.
