The party from Sunspear had departed just as the first blush of dawn kissed the horizon, the desert sands still cool underfoot. Dorne had bid them farewell with its golden dunes and the soft sigh of its warm breezes, but also with the watchful eyes of its people. The towering gates of Sunspear, once a symbol of shelter, had grown distant in their journey, replaced by the rugged terrain of the Dornish Marches. The sand gave way to hard-packed soil and sparse vegetation, a subtle shift that marked their gradual departure from the lands they called home.
Travel had been steady, marked by an uneasy rhythm of hoofbeats and the creaking of carriages. The entourage—a mixture of lords, knights, and their servants—moved with practiced efficiency, though the tension was palpable. The royal procession carried with it the weight of purpose, bound for King's Landing and all the perilous intrigue that awaited them there.
The royal company was led by Prince Oberyn Martell, whose commanding presence ensured an air of confidence even as they traversed unfamiliar lands. Accompanying him were Daemon Sand, Lord Dagos, and Ser Myles, along with Dagos's two sons, Mors and Dickon. Their presence lent an air of martial strength to the group, though for Edric, Daemon Sand's inclusion was a personal affront. The Bastard of Godsgrace had been Arianne's sworn shield for years, a constant reminder of her past affections and alliances that gnawed at Edric's pride.
Arianne Martell, veiled in shimmering silk of green and yellow, traveled in a gilded carriage alongside Tyene Sand. Tyene's soft-spoken demeanor belied the sharp cunning Edric had come to associate with Oberyn's brood. Daemon Sand rode alongside the carriage, his presence a thorn in Edric's side. The sight of the bastard knight—a man who had once courted Arianne—was nothing short of an insult, a pointed reminder of Doran's ability to twist a blade without lifting a finger.
Edric himself rode further back, flanked by guards who bore the Martell sigils, for now, to his pleasure he would be joined by a Northerner soon enough. His thoughts churned as the party crossed the last stretches of Dornish soil. Soon, they would enter the lands where allegiance to the Iron Throne was unshakable, and every pair of eyes would measure their worth—or seek their downfall.
The weight of his purpose felt heavier with each passing league. He was no diplomat by choice, but necessity had thrust him into the role. He would soon meet Torrhen Karstark, the North's own blood sent to serve as his sworn carriages creaked to a halt as Oberyn raised a hand. Edric slowed his horse, pulling to the side. The faint chatter of birds and the rustling of leaves filled the air, a sharp departure from the barren stillness of Dorne.
The Dornish Marches were unforgiving terrain, the jagged hills and sparse vegetation giving way to the soft greens of the Reach in the distance. It was here, on the edge of the desert sands and fertile plains, that they would pause before pushing further into the heart of Westeros.
Edric's gaze flicked toward Arianne's carriage. Her veil fluttered in the breeze as Tyene whispered something, drawing a soft laugh from her cousin. Daemon Sand rode close, his presence an ever-present irritation. Edric tightened his grip on the reins, his jaw setting in a way that betrayed his mounting frustration.
The Red Viper's voice broke through the din, sharp and commanding. "Rest here. We'll ride against dawn."
The entourage began to dismount, the guards forming a loose perimeter as servants bustled to prepare a brief respite. Edric slid from his saddle, his boots crunching against the dry ground. He exhaled slowly, letting the momentary quiet wash over him
The early evening sun spilled over the camp as Edric Stark stood at the edge of the gathering, arms crossed loosely over his chest. The faint hum of activity—horses being fed, tents being pitched, orders being barked—provided a steady rhythm to the scene. Across the clearing, a figure dismounted, tall and broad, his northern features unmistakable even in the soft Dornish light.
"Torrhen Karstark," Edric called, his voice calm but firm, cutting through the din.
"Lord Edric," Torrhen greeted, his voice deep and steady as he offered a respectful bow. "I come to fulfill my oath, as agreed upon with your lord father. I am yours to command, from here to King's Landing and beyond."
"You're to be my Sworn shield." Edric said, his lips curling into the faintest semblance of a smile. "You've come far."
"Farther than most men would, for an oath," Torrhen said, his tone dry but not without humor. "My father insisted I was to see this through, and I've no cause to argue with him—or you, my lord."
Edric nodded, glancing briefly at the Karstark sigil embroidered on the man's cloak. "I trust the journey south wasn't too grueling. The Dornish roads aren't known for their hospitality."
Torrhen smirked. "It's not the roads, my lord, it's the sun. I've not sweated this much since chasing a horse thief across the Last River."
Edric allowed himself a brief chuckle, though his expression quickly returned to its measured calm. "You'll find the sun less forgiving as we travel further south. Though I'll admit, having a Northerner beside me will be a welcome reprieve."
The Karstark studied him carefully, his weathered face softening. "The North watches, my lord, even when it's far from its borders. Your father chose me for this task, and I mean to see it done well."
Torrhen straightened, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "The south is a far cry from the cold winds of the North, my lord. But I suppose you'd know that better than most."
Edric allowed himself a dry chuckle. "A truth I've been reminded of more than once. "And how fares your father? I assume he had thoughts about sending you this far south."
Torrhen's expression darkened slightly, though his voice remained composed. "My father sent me with no fewer than five admonitions about protecting his honor and his kin, but beyond that, little else. He trusts in your father's wisdom... as do I."
Torrhen's smirk faded, replaced by a grim determination. "I've faced worse than snakes, Lord Edric. If I fall, I fall fulfilling my duty. But I have no intention of falling."
For the first time, Edric allowed his expression to soften, if only slightly. He extended a hand toward Torrhen. "Then I'll hold you to that. You'll have your work cut out for you in King's Landing, Karstark."
Torrhen clasped his hand firmly. "And you'll have your shield, my lord. No matter what."
The camp was alive with the sounds of the entourage settling in. Horses snorted, their hooves crunching against the dry earth as stable hands led them to temporary pickets. Servants moved with purpose, setting up tents and preparing the evening meal. The faint clang of steel rang out from the guards sharpening their blades, a reminder of the ever-present dangers of travel.
Edric had just concluded his meeting with Torrhen Karstark, a stoic and broad-shouldered Northerner who bore the sigil of the sunburst of Karhold. Despite his brusque manner, Torrhen was courteous enough, though his loyalty to the Starks remained unspoken but evident. Edric showed him to the tent pitched next to his own before excusing himself, craving a moment to clear his head.
The sun dipped low in the sky, painting the world in hues of gold and crimson. The air carried the faint scent of spiced Dornish wine and roasted meat, blending with the earthy tang of the Marches.
It was then that his gaze fell upon Arianne. She lounged in a high-backed chair, her veil discarded, the warm light casting her features in soft relief. Her dark eyes sparkled with amusement, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. Opposite her, Daemon Sand sat hunched over a cyvasse board, his brow furrowed in concentration. The black and white pieces glinted faintly in the fading light as they moved under his careful hand.
Tyene Sand perched on a nearby crate, her golden curls catching the sun's last rays. She watched the game with a serene expression, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Despite her calm demeanor, there was a knowing sharpness in her gaze as she observed every move.
Prince Oberyn Martell was further away, speaking with a cluster of riders and attendants. His tone was low but firm, his sharp gestures emphasizing his words. Yet, even as he conducted his business, his gaze occasionally flicked toward his niece, a faint smirk betraying his amusement at the scene.
Edric slowed his steps as he approached, lingering just out of sight. The scene before him was a tableau of contrasts—Arianne's languid ease, Daemon's intense focus, and Tyene's quiet scrutiny. For a moment, he simply observed, his emotions caught between annoyance and detachment.
Daemon's voice broke the quiet. "You're too bold, my princess. The spear shouldn't move so freely."
Arianne frowned, her tone edged with challenge. "And you're too cautious, Daemon. A battle is won by those who dare, not by those who hesitate."
Edric's lips pressed into a thin line as he watched. Arianne had a way of commanding attention, of drawing people into her orbit. It was a skill she wielded effortlessly, often without care for its effects.
Tyene glanced up then, her pale blue eyes catching Edric's presence. A faint smile curved her lips, and she tilted her head slightly, wordlessly acknowledging him. Arianne, too, must have sensed him, for her gaze shifted, her dark eyes meeting his with a look that was at once curious and amused.
"Edric," Arianne called, her voice carrying easily over the hum of the camp. "Come to join the game? Or merely to observe?"
Edric stepped forward, his expression neutral as he replied, "Neither. I was just passing through."
Daemon's lips twitched in a smirk, though he kept his focus on the board. "A pity. You might have learned something about strategy."
Edric paused in his tracks, the words striking a chord deep within him. His jaw clenched briefly, and he turned slowly, his gaze sharp as he leveled it at Daemon. The anger that had simmered beneath his calm exterior now flickered like a flame, but he controlled it with a practiced effort, his voice low and controlled.
"Is that so?" Edric's tone was calm, but it carried an undercurrent of irritation, a tension that was hard to miss. "I assure you, Daemon, I know far more about strategy than you think. The difference is, I don't waste my time with games."
He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air between them. "In the real world, strategy isn't about moving pieces on a board. It's about surviving, adapting, and knowing when to strike, when to wait, and when to avoid the game altogether." His voice was cool but edged with a quiet venom.
"Ah, so we've taken the high road now, have we?" Daemon's words followed Edric, the tone almost playful but carrying an edge. "You know, I've met men who claim to be above games, but all they really do is miss the point."
"Don't mistake me for a fool," Daemon said "but I do find it curious that you'd dismiss something so... revealing. In this world, we all have our roles to play. Even you. You might be too proud to see it now, but your position... well, it's precarious, isn't it?" His gaze flicked to Arianne for a moment, then back to Edric, as if the words held a greater meaning.
"So you want me to play the game Cyvasse? For Strategy?" Edric said, tilting his head slightly, as if considering the word. "You mean the kind of strategy where one places their personal pride above their duty? Or the strategy of ingratiating oneself to those they have already insulted to maintain a fragile sense of self-worth?"
The words hung in the air, sharp and deliberate. Arianne's playful smirk faltered, and even Tyene's serene gaze shifted to something more intent.
Daemon's fingers stilled on the cyvasse piece, his jaw tightening imperceptibly. But Edric wasn't finished.
"Perhaps," Edric continued, stepping closer to the table, his tone still unnervingly calm, "I've learned enough strategy from observing those who mistake arrogance for wisdom. The kind of men who play games with lives as easily as they move pieces on a board."
His eyes locked on Daemon's, unwavering and cold. "I don't need to learn your kind of strategy, Daemon. I prefer actions that matter, not the empty moves of a man trying to prove something to himself."
Edric took a deep breath, his tone momentarily softening as he turned back to Daemon. "Perhaps though, I'll humor you for a moment, Daemon," he said, his voice laced with reluctant amusement. "I'll let you think you've got the upper hand here."
He turned to Arianne, who was focused on the board, unaware of how her pieces were falling into place for a loss. Her brow furrowed in concentration. Edric saw it clearly, the subtle yet decisive advantage Daemon had gained, and he couldn't help but feel the urge to intervene, if only to avoid the satisfaction on Daemon's face when Arianne lost.
As Arianne lifted her hand, preparing to make her next move, Edric acted swiftly. His fingers closed gently but firmly around hers, halting her in mid-motion.
She looked up at him, surprise flashing across her face. "What are you—?"
Edric's voice was quiet but steady. "Don't," he murmured, leaning slightly closer, his eyes briefly flicking to Daemon, who was watching the exchange with mild interest, knowing full well that Arianne was about to make a fatal mistake.
"You're about to lose," he said, his voice low and composed, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Let me help you with this one."
He leaned in closer, his fingers brushing over hers as he gently repositioned the pieces on the board, guiding her hand with deliberate precision. It was a subtle maneuver, a quiet shift that would turn the game in her favor, but one that Daemon, of course, would recognize.
"Now," Edric continued, his voice just above a whisper, "let's see how well you can play after all."
His grip on her hand lingered for a moment before he released it, stepping back and watching as she took the next move, the board now shifted in her favor. Daemon would know exactly what had just happened. Edric didn't need to look at him to know that Daemon would be aware that the game had just changed.
Edric stood beside Arianne, his eyes flicking between the board and Daemon's increasingly frustrated expression. He wasn't an expert, but his mind worked in patterns, calculating the possibilities in a way that made him a formidable player despite his inexperience. His guidance was subtle, his touch gentle but firm as he nudged her into making the right moves. With each piece placed just a little more expertly than before, the tension in Daemon's jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line.
As the pieces fell into place, Edric would occasionally push or pull her elbow gently, guiding her to the right position without disrupting her flow.
Daemon's irritation was palpable, the usually calm, calculating man beginning to show signs of frustration. His fingers tightened around the cyvasse pieces, and his eyes narrowed as Arianne, with Edric's subtle help, started to turn the tide of the game. He had been confident moments before, but now he was visibly struggling, his mind racing to find a way to salvage the match.
Edric caught Daemon's gaze for a brief moment, his own face betraying nothing but a cool, collected indifference. There was no satisfaction in the moment for him—this wasn't about winning a game, but rather about something deeper, a quiet test of control.
"Careful," Edric said, his voice low, addressing Daemon more than Arianne. "You've got yourself into quite a bind."
Daemon's lips twitched, his hands freezing mid-motion as he realized just how precarious his position had become. It was clear now—he was no longer in control of the game. Arianne, and by extension Edric, was winning. And the slight intervention from Edric, though not blatant, had ensured that she stayed on course.
Edric stepped back, folding his arms, watching intently as Arianne moved the final piece into place—a move that would inevitably checkmate Daemon's strategy.
"You should've thought of that earlier," Edric muttered, almost to himself, though loud enough for Daemon to hear.
Edric allowed a faint, knowing smirk to tug at the corner of his mouth as Daemon stared down at the board, his fingers twitching with barely concealed irritation. It was clear now that the game had slipped from his grasp, and despite his usual composure, Daemon was failing to mask his frustration.
"Ah, Daemon," Edric said, his voice smooth but laced with a touch of mockery. "It's a pity you let such an advantage slip through your fingers. Perhaps you could learn something about patience from Arianne's game, though I doubt it would do you much good."
Daemon's eyes snapped up, his gaze hardening at the jab. He didn't respond immediately, but the tension between them was palpable. Edric, however, wasn't finished.
He turned to Arianne, his expression softening just slightly, though his eyes still held that faint calculation.
"I'll leave you to your victory. I'll be retiring for the night. Sleep well, Arianne." he said to her, his tone genuine enough.
Without waiting for a response, Edric straightened, giving a final glance to Daemon, whose clenched fists and strained features spoke volumes. Edric's smile was brief but pointed, before he turned and walked away, his footsteps steady as he made his way toward his tent, leaving the tension behind.
Edric entered his tent with a quiet, measured step, pulling the flap aside with one hand. The air inside was cooler, the faint scent of leather and damp earth mingling with the residual warmth of the day's heat. The space was sparsely furnished, a simple cot with dark linens occupying one corner, and a low wooden table in the center, covered with rolled maps and documents. A candle flickered on the table, casting shifting shadows on the walls of the tent.
He moved with purpose, lighting another candle beside the small desk where a few items lay scattered—his journal, a map of the journey ahead, and a letter he had yet to send. For a moment, he stood by the desk, his fingers brushing over the paper, his mind still replaying the encounter with Daemon. The tension from earlier lingered in the back of his mind, but it faded as he focused on the task before him.
His movements were deliberate as he undressed, stripping off his outer layers, his mind momentarily distracted by the image of Arianne, sitting across from Daemon, looking serene despite the game. The idea of her intelligence, her patience, and her beauty—however much it grated on him at times—flitted through his thoughts as he adjusted the bedroll on the cot.
He was about to sit down to write, but the sound of the tent flap shifting alerted him. He paused, turning toward the entrance, his expression unreadable. He knew who it was before she even entered.
Arianne stepped inside without hesitation, the soft rustle of her silken garments barely audible. Her veil, which had been draped delicately over her face during the journey, had been removed, leaving her features more exposed in the soft glow of the tent's candlelight. She moved with grace, the fluidity of her movements never losing the confidence she exuded in every step.
Edric didn't immediately speak, his eyes briefly flicking over her, noting the way she carried herself. There was a slight tension in her posture, a quiet acknowledgment of their earlier encounter. Arianne didn't wait for an invitation, stepping closer as if she had every right to be there.
"Is this how you spend your nights, Edric?" she asked, her voice soft but with an edge of amusement. She stood just a few feet away now, eyeing the mess of maps and papers on the desk, before her gaze returned to him.
Edric raised an eyebrow, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the desk, still standing as though prepared for whatever came next.
Edric glanced at Arianne, his expression still calm but a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. He turned back to the desk, his fingers briefly brushing over the maps again before meeting her gaze once more.
"You seem to think I spend my nights differently from anyone else," he said, his voice low but steady,
"If you've come here for something other than my company, Arianne," he added, the tone a mix of weary acknowledgement and lingering frustration, "you might want to make it quick. we've got a long journey ahead."
Arianne's voice broke the silence, cool and calculated. "What if I wish to talk about how you acted in the study seven days ago?" Her words hung in the air like a challenge, though the edge of her tone suggested something more—something deeper that lingered beneath the surface.
She stepped closer, her gaze steady, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and something else, something unreadable.
Edric didn't immediately respond. Instead, he simply stood there, his posture tense for a moment as he weighed her words. His mind flickered back to that day—both the words spoken and the silence between them. He had never been one to shy away from confrontation, yet the memory of that moment still stirred a twinge of something he had no intention of confronting just yet.
After a long moment, he finally met her gaze, his voice quieter than before, almost measured. "If you must," he said, his lips curling into a semblance of a smirk, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "But I'm not certain there's much to discuss, Arianne. I said what I said, and I meant it."
Arianne's eyes narrowed slightly, her lips pressed into a thin line as she considered his response. The words didn't matter to her as much as the reasoning behind them, the force that had driven him to say what he had in that study. She took a small step closer, a flicker of something inquisitive passing through her gaze.
"It's not what you said, Edric," she began, her voice quieter now, less confrontational. "It's why. What pushed you to speak like that? What made you react the way you did?"
She paused, searching his face for some sign of vulnerability, something beyond the guarded exterior he so often wore. "You're not as cold as you try to be. Something inside you broke that day. You can pretend otherwise, but I saw it. And that's what I want to understand."
Arianne's tone softened as she spoke, her voice almost a whisper as she carefully chose her words. She moved slightly closer, her presence no longer as imposing, but her intensity still evident.
"I know you're mad about Daemon, Edric," she began, her gaze steady on his. "I've seen it in your eyes every time he's near. But believe me when I say, even I don't want him here. I've taken it up with my father more times than I can count, but father refuses to budge. Daemon is... a part of the plan, whether we like it or not."
Edric's gaze hardened, and he crossed his arms, leaning slightly back in his chair as he regarded Arianne. His voice was laced with skepticism, cold and detached.
"Why should I believe you, Arianne?" he asked, the words deliberate. "You've never given me any reason to trust you. You say you don't want Daemon here, but you also don't seem to care enough to stop him. You've always been more about playing the game than actually changing anything."
He looked her over, his expression distant, as if searching for any sign of sincerity. "So forgive me if I'm not inclined to take your word for it. You've done nothing but prove to me that you'll do whatever is most beneficial for yourself, no matter how it affects those around you.
Arianne's gaze softened, though there was a trace of defiance in her eyes. She leaned back slightly in her chair, her posture relaxed but deliberate.
"Maybe I don't want to be completely open with you just yet, Edric," she said, her voice calm but laced with a hint of something unreadable. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to figure you out. I see something in you, something I can't quite place."
She paused, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her glass as she considered her words carefully. "You're not as simple as you think you are. And I don't like leaving things half-understood. So maybe, for once, I'll take my time with this."
Her lips curled into a faint, almost teasing smile. "But you're right about one thing, Edric—no one has given you any reason to trust them. Perhaps its time that I change that."
Edric's tone was flat as he looked up at her. "There's nothing to explain, Arianne. You already know why I acted the way I did that day. Don't pretend you don't."
His words hung in the air, his voice devoid of the sharpness that had marked their earlier exchanges, but still firm in its certainty. He shifted slightly, leaning back into his seat, a silent challenge lingering between them.
"I don't need you to figure me out," he added quietly. "I've made my intentions clear. If you choose to understand them, then that's your choice, but don't expect me to explain myself."
Arianne tilted her head slightly, her expression both amused and contemplative. "You're bitter, Edric," she said, her voice soft but tinged with an edge of insight. "And not just in the way you think." She leaned forward, her gaze steady as she studied him. "It's not just about what's been done to you, or what you've lost. It's something deeper than that. Something about how you carry yourself, how you keep everyone at arm's length, even when you crave understanding."
Her fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the table, eyes never leaving his.
"You let your anger fester, like an open wound, and you wear it like a cloak. It makes you cold. Detached. And you think it makes you stronger, but all it does is make you more alone."
She leaned forward slightly, her voice still low, but piercing. "You act like you don't care, but you do. That's the thing. You care too much, and you can't even admit it to yourself." She sighed, shaking her head. "I'm not asking for you to be different, Edric. But I think you're tired of hiding behind that wall you've built. Maybe you don't want to let anyone in, but I can see it. I can see how it eats at you. And that bitterness—it won't get you anywhere but trapped in your own head."
Her words hung in the air, lingering like a weight, but there was no malice in her tone. Just an observation—one that, perhaps, she wasn't sure he was ready to hear.
Arianne stepped closer, her presence filling the space between them. Her hands, warm and gentle, cupped his cheeks, tilting his head upward so their gazes locked. Her fingers lingered on his skin, the touch almost tender, as if she were trying to reach beneath the armor he had so carefully built around himself.
"Edric," she whispered softly, her voice a low, soothing murmur. "I know it's hard... but you can't keep carrying this weight forever. You don't have to hide behind your bitterness, not with me."
Her eyes searched his, trying to find some crack in the wall he had erected, some part of him that was still willing to open up. "You're not as lost as you think. You don't have to be alone in this."
Her thumbs brushed lightly against his skin, as if trying to smooth away the tension etched into his features.
Edric twisted his neck downward, breaking the contact between Arianne's hands and his face. He could feel the heat of her touch lingering, but he fought to suppress it, the words heavy on his tongue.
He knew, deep down, that if she didn't step away, he wouldn't be able to pull away from her himself—not without breaking something fragile inside him. The thought was enough to make him tense, to make him want to distance himself, even as her touch lingered like an unspoken promise.
"Step away, Arianne," he said, his voice calm but firm, though it carried an undercurrent of something deeper, a restraint that had long been his companion. "Please, I can't pull away, but I need you to step back. For both of us."
He kept his gaze fixed downward, refusing to meet her eyes, knowing that if he did, he might just let the walls he'd built around himself crumble.
"I can't do this," he added, quieter now, his breath shallow.
Her lips parted, as though she might say something, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she took a step back, her gaze still locked on him, but softer now—less challenging, more understanding in its own way.
"You think I'm a threat, don't you?" she murmured, her voice quiet but piercing. "That I'll push you, try to pull something from you you're not ready to give. But I'm not asking for anything. Just... a chance." She hesitated for a moment, looking at him as if gauging whether he might say something more. "I don't push, Edric. Not unless I'm certain it's worth the effort."
Slowly, she withdrew her hands, the softness in her touch replaced by a faint air of resignation. She straightened, though her gaze remained fixed on Edric for a moment, reading the conflict written plainly on his face. "I'm not going to force you," she said quietly, her tone steady, as if she understood the silent plea behind his words.
But there was also something else, something she couldn't quite place. A curiosity, a desire to push him, to understand him better. "You know," she said after a brief pause, "there's more to you than just this... coldness you wear so well." Her voice was soft, almost contemplative. "But if you want me to step away... I'll respect that."
She took a small step back, giving him space, but her eyes still held his, as if waiting for something—perhaps for him to break the silence that had wrapped them both in its grip.
Edric let out a sharp breath, his face falling into his hands as if trying to block out the world around him. His fingers dug into his hair, tugging at it in frustration, his movements harsh and erratic, as though the pain could help him make sense of the storm inside him. His voice was low, but the tension in it was undeniable, rising with each word he spat out.
"Everything you've ever done, Arianne, it's always been a game," he said, his tone biting, filled with the weight of bitter truth. "A charade, a way to manipulate, to move pieces around like it doesn't matter who gets hurt in the process. You can't even help yourself." He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white, as if trying to hold back the storm threatening to erupt.
"I want to believe you, I really do," he continued, his voice breaking slightly, "but how can I? You've made it impossible. Every word you say, every action you take, it all feels like part of some larger scheme, some plan that I'm not meant to see. How am I supposed to trust you when I've seen nothing but games from you? How do I know that this isn't just another move in your endless dance, that I'm not just some pawn to you?"
Edric's breath hitched, the weight of his frustration pressing on him as he turned away, unable to meet her gaze. "You talk about understanding me, about wanting to figure me out... But who are you, Arianne? Who are you, really?" His voice dropped to a whisper, almost to himself now. "I don't know how to trust you. I don't even know if I want to."
Edric's voice faltered, growing weaker with every word as the exhaustion of it all washed over him. His hands dropped from his hair, falling limply at his sides. He seemed smaller now, drained by the weight of everything he had been carrying inside.
"It's... it's exhausting," he said quietly, his breath shallow, as if just speaking was too much. "This—this whole... whatever this is between us. It's so tiring, Arianne. You wear me down. All the time. And I can't even tell if it's because of me, or if it's just... everything you do, the way you keep playing at it. You make me feel like I'm on the edge, constantly trying to figure out which way to turn, never knowing if I'm going to fall or if I'm just waiting for the next move." He shook his head, frustration lacing his words. "I don't even know anymore if it's me or if it's you, or if it's both of us. But it's draining. And I can't keep doing it. I can't keep pretending this is... whatever it is, and keep pretending that everything's fine when I can't even trust my own thoughts about it."
His voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't even know how to feel anymore. It's all just... too much."
"I don't want to keep feeling this way, but it's so damn hard to stop. Every time I try to... every time I try to believe in you, it's like I'm betraying myself." He leaned back, the weight of the moment pulling him further down, his head heavy.