The Cost of Pride (Ch. 7)
Chapter 7: A Devastating Discovery
Summary: A devastating discovery must be hidden, lest you suffer Morpheus' wrath once more.
Tags: pregnancy, angst, slight fluff, hurt/comfort
Series Masterlist
A/N: The timeline in this fic differs from the canon. Here, Orpheus' death occurs in the modern era, and the fic takes place in the early 20th century, just before Dream's imprisonment.
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The trees rustled in the warm wind that bushed past you and carried the nostalgic scent of home. You smiled, a fond but plaintive thing, as you watched a bustling city from your people’s golden age. The markets bustled, the streets filled, the families celebrated – and it all reminded you why you were here. So with a sigh, you stepped forward to pull Vantaros from this comforting dream.
He was with a group of men – sailors, fresh from the port and eager for stable footing of ground – who shared stories of lands exotic and far, treasures priceless and unbelievable. He listened closely to their adventures, content to simply listen to the explorations of his people without any mention of his own.
“Have you been to the lands they speak of?”
He turned at the sound of your voice. He watched the dull light of your eyes and knew this was a dream: during this golden age, your eyes and soul were alight with your people’s prosperity. But now they had been dulled by centuries of regret and longing, a hallmark of your time here in the Dreaming.
“I have,” he responded, as he approached you. “But it always thrills me to hear of the aspects they find most amazing.”
“Just as it always pleased me to hear the excitement of couples as they vowed themselves to each other and cemented their bond,” you smiled. But you caught a flicker of pity in his eyes, and you continued, eager to dissuade such a feeling. “It’s been so long, Vantaros!” You breathed, with a grin. “Where have you traveled to now?”
“Nowhere,” he smiled, and his eyes glazed over with a sense of affection. “I’ve actually grown quite fond of where I am now.”
“The god of exploration content where he is?” You wondered, your brows high with surprise. “You must have found quite the adventure, wherever you are in the Waking World,” you teased.
“She is,” he breathed, and a soft gasp fell from you as your grin widened.
“Oh, you must tell me everything about her!” You squealed, before grabbing his hand and leading him away from the crowd and towards a plot of greenery at the city center. You folded your legs beneath you as you sat upon the grass and pulled him down after you. “Who is she? Does she know who you are? When did you two meet? How did you two meet?”
“Patience, my friend,” he laughed. “Her name is Gwendolyn,” he began. “She does know of my origins, my divinity, and despite being mortal herself, she has no qualms about it. We met at her family’s inn a few months back,” he smiled fondly as the memory resurfaced. “And, before you ask, I do plan to marry her.”
“Oh, Vantaros!” You exclaimed in delight before leaning forward to wrap your arms around him. “I’m so happy for you!” You cried, as your hold around him tightened. “And I’m sure she must be quite something if she could convince you to stay in one place for more than a few weeks,” you teased.
“Actually,” he began, with a sharp inhale. “I may be staying there for longer than few weeks. Or months,” he trailed off.
Your excitement faded as the pit in your stomach grew.
“You’re planning to stay there,” you realized. “You’ll – you’ll stop exploring. You’ll no longer adhere to your divinity, and –”
“And I will become mortal,” he finished for you. He watched the haunted look you wore and reached for your hands. “Like her.”
“Then you will die,” you whispered. “And I will be alone.”
“If I were to maintain my divinity, I would have to watch her die and that is something I dread far more than the loss of my position,” he explained. “And I will regret leaving you, my friend, but you will never be alone. You’ve told me so many tales of the wonderful folk who inhabit this realm! Every one of them can offer you the solace I have,” he assured you.
“But none of them know me as you do,” you added, with a harsh sniffle.
“Then perhaps you should let them know you,” he suggested, squeezing your hands lightly. “I know you worry about befriending those under your husband’s rule, but it is a risk you must take. After all this time in the realm, certainly you’ve met some companions who will not betray your confidences.”
“I suppose so,” you murmured. “And, I suppose I understand your wanting to become mortal like Gwendolyn,” you sighed. “I don’t think I could bear the death of my love, either,” you explained, with a sympathetic smile.
He watched you for a moment, unable to speak as he considered the meaning behind your words.
“Please tell you’ve decided to forgo your divinity as I have, and you’ve found a new love?” He asked, slowly.
“No,” you chuckled. “It’s still him,” you added, as your gaze dipped low and your fingers moved to sift through the grass.
“Have you forgiven him?” He breathed, watching you carefully with an unmoving stare.
“Well, not exactly,” you responded, sheepishly.
“I should hope not!” He exhaled sharply, and you watched his outrage with confusion. “After everything he’s done to you, accused you of, I should hope you’re not so quick to forgive him.”
“Quick?” You wondered with a breath of laughter. “It’s been centuries, Vantaros. There’s nothing ‘quick’ about this.”
“Offering him forgiveness even centuries later is still far more than he deserves!” He fumed, rising to his feet to pace before you.
“I agree!” You cried out as you stood before him. “And I’ve told him the very thing!”
Vantaros turned to you at that, waiting for you to continue with a calculating gaze.
“I think he might actually be trying to make things right,” you explained, after taking a breath. “He’s asked that I give him the chance to deliver on every oath he’s made me. To prove his word to me by repairing our bond.” You watched his breath even and his tense shoulders relax, so you continued with a hesitant smile. “And that’s why I came looking for you today. One of the promises he made me – that he’s now delivered on – was that I carry his child,” you explained, sheepishly. Your cheeks warmed and your gaze hit the ground as a flustered smile covered your face. “We’re having a baby,” you finally confessed with a soft laugh.
“That’s wonderful news,” he breathed, his prior outrage fading at the sight of your excitement. He pulled you into him then and you sighed in the comfort of his hold. “I know how dearly you’ve wanted this, my friend.”
“He’s hosting the celebration for me, since it’s my first child,” you began. “He even asked me to invite you,” you added, with an eager grin. But Vantaros’ smile faltered at the invitation.
“I wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble,” he refused, politely. He recalled your tale of Morpheus’ jealousy in Faerie and he had no wish to have you repeat such an event.
“You won’t be,” you assured him, sensing the reason for his apprehension. “He knows we’re nothing but good friends, Vantaros. He’s – he’s different now,” you tried to explain, but with this strange metamorphosis of his, you found it impossible to. “I – I think he might actually love me,” you admitted, shyly. A bashful smile warmed your skin as you recalled your conversation under the pagoda just the other day: the way vowed he would do anything for you, how he sought to please you, why he had allowed your friendship with Vantaros to continue.
“You thought that before, as well,” he sighed. He had no wish to ruin your happiness, but he feared the despair you might find yourself in if Morpheus were to break your heart once more. “How can you be sure he truly means it this time?”
You swallowed thickly then, and he worried you would take his apprehension as ridicule. But you continued in a low voice with a downcast gaze that told him you had already considered such an option.
“Vantaros, I don’t have a choice,” you sighed. “Either I refuse him this chance to make things right and I am hurting and alone for the rest of my existence, or,” you paused to close your eyes and visualize the far happier outcome. “I forgive him and have a chance at love again. I have the opportunity to be happy again, Vantaros, and I will seize it.”
He stepped closer to you and held your hands in his. “Then I hope he truly means it this time,” he nodded, and you smiled at his agreement. “And I shall attend your celebration,” he decided. You squealed your excitement at his words by wrapping your arms around him, and he chuckled at your joy before holding you close.
He had tried to wait. And his restraint had been truly admirable, considering how he desperately he longed to see you again. He couldn’t possibly wait another month before seeing you, though, so two weeks after your meeting under your pagoda, he found you in one of the smaller dining halls. He approached silently, hesitantly, as every possible scenario of you throwing him out once more played in his mind.
“You must be the one enjoying this, because I certainly am not.”
But the sound of your voice, heavy with a teasing irritation, spurred him on. He continued soundlessly, careful not to interrupt your conversation, but stepping close enough to spy who you were speaking with. He turned slightly from the corner then to find you sat at a table surrounded by a rather diverse set of dishes. There were pages strewn before you – the files he had sent this morning, he assumed – but there was no one else in sight.
He watched as you pulled a pickle from one platter and dunked it in a bowl of vanilla ice cream to your right. The corners of his lips twitched as he recalled your earlier conversation regarding cravings, but it was the way your nose scrunched after a repulsive bite that widened it to a proper smile.
“Ugh!” You exclaimed in disgust, before staring down at your belly. “The pains I am already going through for you, little one,” you shook your head in faux-anger before your scowl softened and a soft breath of laughter left you.
And the sweet melody of your joy soothed him as he finally realized whom you had been talking to. Before he could wonder how often you spoke to her, what topics you spoke to her of, you continued in a gentle tone that had him leaning closer.
“I can hardly wait to see you, love,” you sighed, as your hand smoothed over your belly. “You know, your father can hardly wait, too. In fact,” you leaned closer as you continued in a whisper. “I think he might be almost as excited as I am.”
“I am,” he whispered, from his hidden position just behind a corner. “More than either of you know.”
He stepped forward then, feigning ignorance to your conversation as he approached you with deliberate steps.
“Oh!” You inhaled at the sight of him. With your hands pressed flat against the table, he knew you meant to rise out of respect for him, and he was quick to dissuade the formality.
“No, it’s alright,” he assured you, with an outstretched hand to keep you seated.
You watched him with a contemplative gaze as he approached. You had seen him just two weeks ago and he had given no warning of his presence or offered an invitation to join you. So you frowned as he neared the table and spoke quickly to determine the reason for his appearance.
“I’m still finalizing a guest list for the celebration,” you informed him, recalling the topic of your last conversation. “I met with Vantaros yesterday,” you continued, at a slow pace as you watched him for any sign or irritation. “And he agreed to attend the celebration. If that’s alright,” you added, quickly.
“Of course it is,” he assured you, as he took the seat beside you. “You may invite whomever you’d like to.”
He fell silent then, content to simply look upon your beauty in the warm light of the dining hall. Your chest tightened under his continued gaze, and with a shallow breath, you tried another possible reason for his presence.
“I haven’t finished with today’s files yet, I’m afraid,” you added, before glancing down at the pages you had set down. “These reports of war and combat are rampant throughout the realm, and I worry that something truly terrible must be occurring in the Waking World for so many dreamers to torment themselves in such a way.”
“Much of the Waking World is at war now,” he explained, as he took the seat beside you. “‘The Great War,’ they call it. I expect many more reports of warfare in the time to come, unfortunately,” he sighed.
“If so many of these dreamers are in battle, could you not offer them some comfort as they sleep? Perhaps some memories of home, or the lives they may look forward to after the war?”
“It is not my place to alter what their dreaming minds seek out,” he explained. “If war torments their waking minds and seeps into their dreams, I must not interfere.”
Your lips pressed to a thin line at his concise refusal.
“Do you know of Belan?” You asked, after a moment.
Of course he knew the story. But he waited for you to continue, eager to hear the story of one of your kind through your eyes.
“He was the first of us to fall. To become mortal after violating his divinity,” you explained. “He was the god of conflict, of the battle for one’s rights and life. For so long, he thought his divinity was the most important, the most just of us all. Our people were never a warlike race, but we had our conflicts, as every populace does. And as he watched generals and leaders send innocent men to their deaths, he realized his divinity had been warped into something beyond justice – something cruel and pointless,” you recounted. “He refused to be worshipped for something so needlessly bloody, and he fell that day. Most of my kind was furious,” you recalled. “But I was in awe. He held such deep respect for the soldiers’ lives, for his divinity, that he rejected worship after seeing how his divinity was perverted to assign some sense of justice and divine providence to such pointless bloodshed. It was such a devastating sight for him to see, that he rejected everything he was. And after seeing the dreams of these soldiers, I can’t imagine what he’d think of the savagery of this Great War,” you swallowed thickly. “There must be something you can do, Dream. Something to comfort these soldiers in their sleep.”
He listened to your reserved wisdom, your humble request of his aid to these dreamers, and he couldn’t possibly refuse you.
“Perhaps I could sway more dreams to visit them,” he conceded. “And encourage the more insidious nightmares to let them alone for some time.”
“I think that would be a great relief to them,” you smiled. He leaned forward then, and his voice dropped low as he spoke.
“But I must admit that I did not come here for these files,” he began. “I came to see you.”
“To see me?” You blushed a smile at his sweet confession, and you couldn’t help but think of your words to Vantaros yesterday: “I – I think he might actually love me.”
“Of course,” he breathed. “I couldn’t wait another month to see you, as I have these past few months. I couldn’t wait that long to speak to you. To know how you are. How our daughter is,” he added, and his gaze drifted down to your abdomen as a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
“I’m alright,” you assured him with a soft smile. “But this one,” you glared lightheartedly at your belly as you continued. “Is truly testing me,” you sighed, and he breathed a laugh at your struggle. “That pickles-and-ice cream combination you mentioned is absolutely disgusting, but she can’t seem to get enough of it,” you frowned. You looked up to find amusement glinting eyes and stretching his smile, so you let out an indignant breath. “It’s not funny, Morpheus!” You whined. “It’s disgusting and I hate it, but I can’t stop eating it,” you sighed.
“I know, and I’m sorry,” he soothed, leaning forward to place a comforting hand over yours. “But there’s only a few months more to weather,” he reassured you, as his finger traced lines over the back of your hand.
“A few months?!” You repeated, incredulously. “Six months!” You corrected with a breath of indignation. “If I have to eat this for six months more,” you threatened, as you gestured to the revolting combination. “I will lose my mind, Morpheus!”
“Will none of these other dishes do?” He wondered, scanning through the partially-eaten dishes.
“Black Forest cake and roasted peanuts came close,” you recalled, with a glance to the chocolate cake. “But this monstrosity seems to be her favorite,” you grumbled.
“Well, seeing as it’s her favorite, perhaps you could stomach it for just a few more months. For her,” he encouraged, with a light squeeze to your hand.
“She’s not even born yet, and you’re already spoiling her!” You exhaled. But your fingers moved to interlace with his, and your tone softened. “But I suppose you’re right: it’s only a few more months.”
“And it’ll all be worth it when we hold her in our arms in just a few months,” he reminded you.
“I know,” you sighed fondly, as you considered the glorious moment. And as you pictured the day you would hold her in your arms with Dream by your side, the words seemed to tumble from your mouth without the censor of your guarded heart. “I never thought I’d have this,” you admitted, with a terse smile. “A baby,” you laughed, and the joy of the news seemed to finally hit you, as your eyes lit anew and your laughter sung through the hall. “Thank you, Dream,” you whispered, as you looked up at him.
“I do not deserve your thanks,” he breathed, as his gaze fell to the table, eager to break free of your devotion. “You should have had this centuries ago,” he admitted in a pained whisper. “And I had deprived you of it. Denied you the right, as my wife. Tied you to me for all existence, only to betray and neglect you. To abandon you,” he cried softly. You watched his eyes redden, his voice tremble, and his throat strain against the crushing confessions. And you couldn’t bear it.
You squeezed your eyes shut, letting fall the tears as you finally let it go. The centuries of heartache, the betrayal, the pain, the anger. It all left you in a shaky breath and washed your heart clean of the hurt that clouded your feelings for him. The pride that barred you from ever forgiving him. That ignited your steadfast refusal to ever love him again.
“We have to let go of it,” you realized. You reached for his hand then, squeezing his as tightly as the heartache had held you. “We cannot change what’s happened. We cannot change the centuries of hurt. But we can move forward together. As we were always meant to be. As we always dreamt we would be,” you added, with a sniffle to keep your tears at bay.
He watched you carefully then, scanning your eyes only to find unrelenting adoration in them. And his lips parted as he longed to tell you how undeserving he was of your grace, your forgiveness, your love.
“My lord.”
You both turned then at the sound of Jessamy’s caw. Your hand fell away from his as leaned back in your chair and wiped quickly at your nose.
“Jessamy,” Dream cleared his aching throat as the raven perched upon the edge of the table.
“I’m afraid there is a rather insistent audience awaiting you in the throne room, my lord,” she explained, as her wings fluttered to a close.
“They can wait,” he decided, looking back to you as he reached desperately for your hand. “I have more pressing matters to attend to here.”
“It’s alright, Dream,” you smiled softly. “Go,” you encouraged him. “You can come find me when you’re finished.”
He left with great reticence, abhorring the way he had to leave your sight, but heartened by your promise to see him shortly.
The rest of your day was strange. Peculiar. Off.
By the time you reached your chambers, you were completely exhausted, seeking respite at your desk immediately as you entered. You found your body aching far more than usual, but you pushed your worry aside, assuming your initial excitement had finally worn off and given way to the punishing ache of your pregnancy.
But the time seemed to drag on painfully, strangely. Everything seemed duller somehow: colors, sounds, even the very fabric of the realm seemed to fade somehow. And as you sat at your desk, reviewing the remainder of the day’s files, you frowned as you found your ink pot empty. You stared at it for a moment before directing your magic to refill the small pot at your whim. But you felt nothing then. Your magic seemed immovable, and when you looked within yourself, you found there was no magic to manipulate at all.
Your heart beat faster as the pit in your stomach grew. You held the pot in your hand then, desperately willing it full to no avail. You let out an erratic breath as you focused more closely on the pot, but when it remained empty, you tried to squeeze the glass container and crush it in your hold. But your hand simply closed around it, too weak to break the pot in your once forceful grip.
With a shaky breath and distant gaze, the ink pot fell to the ground and finally broke in a mess of inky shards.
You swallowed thickly, reaching for one such shard and holding it to your fingertip. You pressed it against the soft pad of your finger, and as the scarlet bubbled at your skin, you knew only one thing could cause you to injure so easily. You were mortal.
You could run, you thought. You could escape into the Waking World and return to your anonymity, embracing your obscurity to hide from him.
No, you realized, with a harsh scoff. He would never stop hunting you. The woman he had given his heart to, who took it and burned it to ashes with her betrayal. And once your child was born? He would stop at nothing to take her from you then.
For a moment, you were distracted by the cause of your mortality. Certainly you hadn’t violated your virtue by lying with someone other than Dream, so it must have been an oath you violated. But which one, you wondered for a moment longer before realizing that it did not matter. All that mattered was what he would think. What he would assume. Especially after meeting with Vantaros only a day before the loss of your divinity. He had assumed such with far less to go on, centuries ago.
You tried to steady and focus yourself with a breath as you calculated how long you could possibly keep your mortality hidden from him. Or the physicians, you realized with a gasp. They would visit you tomorrow, you remembered. And upon their examination of you, they would discover your mortality and report it directly to him.
You couldn’t order them to keep it secret from him. Despite whatever they agreed to you, you knew word of your predicament would eventually return to him.
Unless they assumed he already knew.
Yes, you nodded to yourself. You would tell them that you had already noticed your mortality and spoken to Dream about it. In the earlier weeks, such a statement would be difficult to pass as true, but these days, with the rumors of your amicability rampant through the palace halls, pushing this lie would be simple enough.
The lie wouldn’t last long, of course. You knew he would find out eventually. But perhaps by then you would have concocted a far more reasonable plan.
You would have to run, you realized.
Whatever advantages and disadvantages the plan had, your attentions were taken from them as you heard Dream’s measured knock at your door.
“May I come in?” He asked, and hopeful lilt at the end of his words pained you.
You stared blankly at the door; all of your plans were for later. After you had dealt with the threat the physicians posed. And certainly not now, after you had only just learned of your newfound mortality and so soon after you had agreed to move forward with him as you had always dreamt.
“I shouldn’t have left you for so long,” he realized, at your continued silence. “There were matters to tend to with the dreamfolk, and –”
“No, no,” you rushed, moving towards the door, but just short of the knob. “It’s alright,” you assured him. “But I,” you paused, searching for an excuse, any excuse. “I’m quite exhausted, Dream. Perhaps we could speak another time?”
His silence sat heavy with the disappointment you knew had lowered his gaze. “Would you like for me to call the physicians?” He wondered. “If you’re not feeling well?”
“No, that’s not necessary,” you replied, quick to eliminate the notion. “I think some rest is all I need.”
His hand moved to the doorknob, eager to offer you more comfort than his words, and your breath caught as you watched the knob shuffle under his hold. But he thought better of it and the handle stilled, to your audible relief.
“Then I shall leave you to your rest,” he decided. “But should need anything –”
“You shall be the first I call,” you assured him.
“Until I see you next,” he breathed, lingering still in your doorway. “My heart,” he whispered, unable to leave you without uttering some form of endearment.
“Until then,” you forced a smile, hoping it would make its way to your voice. It seemed to work, as the sound of his receding footsteps echoed outside of your chambers.
“I suppose we’d better ready ourselves, little one,” you breathed a sigh with a short glance at your belly. You frowned at the way the rounded mass obscured your feet, but you supposed it was to be expected after this sixth month of your pregnancy.
You weren’t sure how you managed to keep your mortality hidden from Dream for three months now. The physicians had turned out to be the easy part: they were relieved to no longer act as middlemen, delivering reports to you and him separately, so they took your falsity quite well.
The worst was Dream, though. He returned the next morning to see you, but you clung to your excuse of exhaustion and he accepted it reluctantly, before leaving you with the same term of endearment and the notice of an offering he had left at your door. You waited until the hallway was silent before opening the door and a soft, desperate breath left you as you spied the culinary monstrosity your daughter couldn’t seem to get enough of.
There were a few more days of wrenching heartache as you continued to cite exhaustion as a reason not to see him before he finally took your message. That you had thought better of your forgiveness, that you had realized he was unworthy of it, and decided you would have nothing to with him.
He had stopped his attempts to speak with you, but the culinary monstrosity continued to appear at your door every day.
And every day you would accept it with teary eyes and harsh sniffles, as you tried futilely not to picture him alone and hurt, feeling the bitter sting of your unintended rejection that would only reinforce how unworthy he felt to be the object of your devotion.
But the thought of him learning of your mortality, of assuming an indiscretion with Vantaros was the cause for the predicament devastated you further, so you willed the thought away as you stowed the dish aside and readied yourself for the physicians.
“My lord?” The meek voice sounded, and Dream frowned as the team of physicians filed into his study. He studied each face – some tried to hide it, some tried to pretend nothing was amiss, but most couldn’t help but allow the grave news to lie visibly on their faces.
“What’s happened?”
“There’s been a development, my lord,” one began. “The child’s heartbeat is weak. Intermittent.”
“We have concerns regarding the child’s oxygen circulation,” a second added.
“We’ve taken some tests and the results will have to be studied,” one chimed in.
“And more may need to be conducted, of course,” another added, optimistically, and the team seemed to nod their agreement.
“But we seem to have run into some difficulty there,” the meek physician resumed. “It seems my lady is,” he seemed to struggle with the polite wording, but luckily the first physician was capable of bluntness.
“The queen has thrown everyone out of her chambers,” he explained. “She refuses entry to all: us, maids, servers. We had hoped that perhaps you could convince her to allow us entry once more.”
“Completely understandable behavior, of course,” the second physician offered, eager to dissuade any notion that his colleague was critical of your behavior. “Especially considering her newfound mortality,” he added.
Dream’s distant gaze lifted then, flickering to the physician as the very fabric of the realm began to buzz.
“Her what?”
Your heart dropped at the measured knock. You stilled completely in a moment of utter shock as his voice called from outside your chambers.
“Would you let me in?”
The thought of him entering seemed to spur you on, as you tossed the covers aside and slipped out of your bed. You didn’t bother with shoes or proper clothing outside of your nightgown; you wouldn’t have time for any of that.
“I must speak with you,” he called out, but with the urgent way you moved towards the opposite exit of your chambers, you hadn’t noticed the shaking desperation in his voice.
He felt your presence at exit of your study, and with a thought he appeared at the other side of the door just as you opened it.
“No,” you whispered, with wide eyes as you stepped backwards. “No, please,” you begged in a shallow breath. You couldn’t seem to take your frantic eyes off of him, and when he took a step inside, you choked out a noise, strangled and pitiful, at the thought of him coming after you.
His brow furrowed at the sight and sound of your apprehension, but it was when you attempted to back away further that he truly broke.
You were so focused on his approach that you hadn’t noticed the chair leg at the back of your foot. A surprised yelp escaped you as you tumbled onto your backside, and as you looked up at him from your spot on the ground, all you could see was that night in Faerie.
So when he rushed forward to assist you, with concern trembling his outstretched hand, you assumed it shook with thinly-veiled fury. You shuffled backwards, your eyes wild and unable to tear away from him, your chest rising and falling erratically as you tried desperately to plead with him.
“I didn’t do anything, Dream! Please!” You cried, skittering backwards on your hands and feet until your back hit a wall. “I – I don’t know why I’ve become mortal, but please, you must believe me! I haven’t betrayed you! I would never! Please, don’t –”
And as he knelt down before you, your eyes squeezed shut as you placed a defensive arm around your belly. “Please don’t hurt me,” you wept, softly. “I’m sorry,” you cried.
“My heart,” he breathed softly, as his hand reached out caress your cheek. But you flinched then, turning in on yourself with shaking breaths, and it broke his heart. “That I ever made you fear me, made you think me capable of such brutality against you in this moment,” he breathed, exhaling in disgust of himself. “I shall never forgive myself for it,” he swallowed thickly, as he watched your frightened form backed into the corner.
Your eyes opened slowly, cautiously, at his delicate words. Your lips parted, trembling in fear and uncertainty as you pushed the words from your tongue.
“You’re – you’re not angry?”
“Oh, my love,” he exhaled, peering down at you. “No, of course not,” he assured you. He tested a hesitant smile then, as he continued. “And certainly not if you’ve become mortal for the reason I believe.”
“I didn’t betray you, Dream!” You rushed. “I haven’t lain with anyone but you! Vantaros or otherwise!”
“I know that,” he soothed. “You promised me something, centuries ago. Thirty years after that night in Faerie. That you would never love or care for me again. That you would hold nothing other than contempt and disdain for me from that day on,” he recalled with a plaintive smile. “You lied, my love.”
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