Saving the Immortal

Chapter Forty-Eight: The Place He Dreads

"We cannot simply go anywhere," I said, watching him pace still, the earlier resignation now giving way to the practical difficulty of the plan itself. "It must be somewhere truly safe. Not one of your own holdings — your brothers would find us there within days. It must be a kingdom powerful enough to offer real protection, ruled by a family you can genuinely trust."

Ruselon stopped pacing.

His jaw tightened, and something crossed his features that I had not expected — not simple reluctance, but something considerably closer to dread.

"There is one place," he said slowly, "that would meet every requirement you have named."

"Where," I asked.

He did not answer immediately.

Instead he began pacing again, faster now, and a string of curses left him under his breath — words I had never once heard from him, sharp and vicious enough that I felt my own eyebrows rise despite the gravity of our conversation.

"Cursing," I said, unable to fully suppress the small, incredulous smile tugging at my mouth despite everything, "is rather ungentlemanly, Ruselon."

He scowled at me.

"Forgive me," he said, "if the particular kingdom you are unknowingly forcing me to consider warrants rather more than simple cursing."

"You know the place," I said, my curiosity growing now. "You simply do not wish to tell me where it is."

"I know it," he confirmed, dragging a hand through his hair with visible frustration. "It is precisely the sort of place you describe — powerful, well defended, ruled by a family whose loyalty I have never once had cause to doubt. And I would rather face my brothers' contest entirely unprepared than set foot there again."

"Why," I asked, though something in his expression already suggested the answer carried a history considerably more complicated than simple reluctance.

"Because," he said, finally stopping his pacing entirely, "the family who rules there knew my mother. They were her closest allies, before her marriage bound her to my father's kingdom instead of remaining among her own people. And every single time I have visited them since her death, they have looked at me with an expression I have spent my entire existence trying to avoid seeing again."

"What expression," I asked gently.

"Grief," he said quietly. "Grief for what they lost when she died, layered over disappointment for what I became instead of whatever they had hoped her son might grow into. They loved her fiercely, Ivy. And I have never once managed to feel, in their presence, that I properly honor whatever memory of her they still carry."

I crossed to him, taking his hands gently.

"Perhaps," I said, "this is precisely the opportunity to prove them wrong. To show them the man you have truly become, rather than whatever fear or disappointment they carried when you were younger and less certain of yourself."

"Or perhaps," he said, "I will simply confirm every doubt they have ever held about me, exactly as I nearly confirmed my own father's fears in that garden weeks ago."

"You will not," I said firmly. "Ruselon, I have watched you master far greater trials than a difficult reunion with old allies. Whatever grief or judgment awaits us there, I believe in you completely. And more importantly—" I squeezed his hands. "It is the safest place available to us. Whatever discomfort the visit costs you, it is a price worth paying to keep us both alive."

He was quiet a long moment, clearly still warring with himself, before finally exhaling a long, weary breath.

"Very well," he said. "We go to Aldmere. Though I want it noted, Ivy, that I am agreeing to this entirely against my own better judgment, and purely because your safety leaves me no reasonable alternative."

"Noted," I said, unable to hide my small smile now. "For whatever it is worth, I appreciate the sacrifice."

"You should," he muttered, though something in his expression had softened slightly despite the lingering dread. "It is considerably larger than you properly understand."

I did not press him further on the particulars, content for the moment that he had agreed at all, and began, with quiet relief, to consider what preparations our departure would require.