Chapter 153: Yearning For Death
Rhaegar wiped the bloodstained blade of his sword with the hem of his discarded robe, the crimson streaks smearing across the once-pristine fabric.
Killing Daro brought him no solace. If anything, it had stoked the fire of hatred burning in his chest, awakening a bloodlust he had thought long buried. The desire to kill had returned with a ferocity that clawed at his restraint, demanding more.
I can’t feel her, his inner wolf whispered, its voice trembling with despair. The misery woven into every word cut through him like a blade. All is empty now.
Rhaegar’s jaw tightened as he exhaled a slow, measured breath. His amber eyes flicked toward the distant royal palace, where the faint glow of torches lined the defensive walls.
Night had fully descended, but his beastly vision had already adjusted, sharpening the scene before him with unnerving clarity.
The flickering flames danced against the darkness, their long, orange tongues swaying in rhythmic defiance. The torches were a warning, a signal that the war was no longer at the horizon—it had arrived, enveloping the kingdom in its deadly grasp.
A painful conflict tore at his insides, threatening to split him in two.
His inner beast howled for him to shift, to give in to primal instinct and run toward Erelith with everything he had. He needed to find Lorelai, to bring her back, to hold her in his arms and never let go again. The urgency was suffocating, his wolf’s desperation clawing at his consciousness.
But his human mind, cold and rational, seized control. It reminded him of his duty, his responsibility as a king. And no matter how much his heart and beast protested, his head knew it was the right thing to do.