Chapter Text
Callum hadn’t asked questions.
Not yet, at least.
Rayla stared into the mug of tea he’d pressed into her hands shortly after she’d shown up at the castle gate, rain-soaked and road-weary.
Bringing the mug to her lips wasn’t painful—not yet—but the discomfort when she swallowed was...growing.
Refusing to wince, she watched Callum dig around in his wardrobe, muttering about how his old pajamas might still fit her.
She wasn’t going to be able to keep it from him—not completely—and she’d known it as soon as she’d seen him sprinting across the courtyard towards her, barefoot, pajama-clad, and teary-eyed.
She’d told herself that she’d shield him from it, though, that she’d keep the details to herself.
That she’d say her piece and be off.
That she absolutely wasn’t going to use this curse as an excuse to stay.
She couldn’t. Staying—letting him watch her waste away like she knew she was going to—was possibly the only thing that would hurt more than leaving him twice.
But, she also couldn’t just...not see him again, not after hurting him like she had.
She’d disappeared—leaving him with nothing more than a note and not so much as a letter since—and for what?
So she could stumble home three years later, doomed and defeated?
It would’ve been easier, she thought, if he hated her, but so far there’d only been that initial flicker of hurt when he paused, inches between them.
Then, his furrowed brow, his narrowed eyes, his balled fists...had just vanished, along with every ounce of resolve she’d spent the last three years hardening.
She wasn’t sure who had reached first—whether she’d stumbled into him or whether he’d lunged for her—but she’d quickly found herself wrapped up in his arms, every piece of her that’d been aching for him all of this time immediately soothed.
The peace hadn’t lasted though, and it was the tenderness that broke it.
The way his hand had stayed planted on the small of her back, ushering her to the shared room that he’d—apparently—never stopped sleeping in…
The way he’d sat quietly at her side, rubbing her cold hands between his, asking what she needed…
The way his fingers had lingered on hers as he passed her a towel, then a blanket, and how his eyes had pointedly not lingered as she shrugged off ill-fitting old pieces of armor…
All of it should have been a comfort—and it was—but every little show of concern just did more to convince her that she shouldn’t have come.
How could she possibly leave again?
The alternative was equally impossible, though. No temporary comfort was worth what Callum would see if she stayed.
He turned back to her, a folded pile of clothes in hand, eyes so green and gentle and loving after all this time, solidifying for her how deluded she’d been to think that there could be some version of this reunion in which it wouldn’t matter to him what was happening to her.
She couldn’t just...not tell him. He deserved—well, more than that, but—that much, at least.
Callum’s lips moved. Something about him getting her more tea while she changed.
He needed to know, and she needed to tell him—
His head tilted to the side. She was probably supposed to say something.
—and then she needed to leave, she resolved.
It seemed that he’d given up on her response, and put the bundle of pajamas beside her before turning to go.
She couldn’t sleep here if she was leaving.
“Wait, Callum,” she started, the mug of tea thudding down against the nightstand as she caught his elbow. “I…I have to tell you something.”