CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Where the Line Is Drawn
358 Words
They give me a blade before they give me answers.
It’s laid across a stone table in the council chamber—old steel, rune‑etched, the kind meant to kill something that doesn’t want to die. Astridr stands at my back, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, but not touching.
That matters.
“Is this for me,” I ask quietly, “or for what I’m holding back?”
The elders don’t answer. They don’t need to.
I turn to Astridr. “You knew this would happen.”
“Yes,” he says. No hesitation. No lie.
Anger flares sharp and sudden. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because knowing would have made it harder for you to choose,” he replies. “And the choice had to be yours.”
I step away from him then, putting deliberate space between us. The air feels thinner where he isn’t. That frightens me.
“Do you know what terrifies me most?” I ask. “Not the thing under the ground. Not the villagers. It’s that when you look at me, I don’t know if you see a person… or a solution.”
His jaw tightens. “Do not reduce yourself to that.”
“Then don’t stand so close,” I snap.
He does step back.
The restraint costs him. I can see it—the way his hands curl, the way his breathing changes. Not hunger. Control.
“I will not touch you unless you ask,” he says, voice rough. “I will not feed from you. I will not command you. If you are to be something new, it will not begin with me taking what you didn’t offer.”
The room is silent.
I hadn’t realised how tightly I was holding myself together until then.
The elders murmur, displeased.
I pick up the blade.
“If I’m going to be the line,” I say, meeting Astridr’s eyes, “then I decide where it’s drawn.”
And for the first time—
He bows his head to me.
Not as a monster.
But as an equal.
- Writer
