Chapter 10
Dorian didn't leave.
He stayed at the border for three days and three nights, not eating, not sleeping, just standing in the snow like a statue of his own punishment.
Caspian posted guards around the clock and told me bluntly, "Say the word, and I'll remove him by force."
I said nothing for those three days.
On the fourth morning, I found a letter at the border gate. The guards said Dorian had left it before finally collapsing and being dragged away by his own wolves.
I opened it with cold fingers.
The handwriting was barely legible — shaking, uneven, nothing like his usual precise script.
"Elara,
I removed my own eye the week I learned the truth. You lost yours to protect someone you loved — your sacrifice for the blood curse was traded through your sight in ways I only just discovered. Barbara told me everything. She told me you went blind in your left eye for three days after absorbing the curse, and that you hid it from everyone.
I took my eye because I finally understood. I made you suffer without anesthesia when I couldn't even see the truth standing directly in front of me. I don't deserve both eyes when I was this blind.
I transferred the curse back onto myself. Barbara said it would destroy my wolf and shorten my life. I don't care. You carried it for me when you owed me nothing. The least I can do is carry it back.
I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm not asking you to come back.
I'm asking for five minutes with my daughter. Not as her father — I haven't earned that. Just as someone who wants to know she exists. That she's real. That something good came from the worst thing I ever did.
If you say no, I'll accept it. I'll never come back.
But Elara — she has your eyes, doesn't she? I heard she has one silver eye.
The same color I looked at every day for three years and never once appreciated.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
— Dorian"
I read the letter twice.
Then I folded it carefully, placed it in my drawer, and closed it.
Caspian found me in the garden later, staring at the snow.
"You read it," he said. Not a question.
"He transferred the curse back onto himself," I said quietly. "He removed his own eye."
Caspian's jaw tightened. He knelt beside me, his grey eyes level with mine.
"And does that change anything?"
I looked at him — this man who had never once asked me to sacrifice a single thing. Who had protected me without conditions. Who had held my hand through labor and looked at my daughter like she was his own miracle.
"No," I said firmly. "It doesn't change what he did. It doesn't erase the night he rejected me. It doesn't undo the months I spent alone, terrified, carrying his child while he paraded another woman as his Luna."
Caspian's shoulders relaxed slightly.
"But," I continued, "she deserves to know where she came from. When she's old enough to decide for herself — she can choose whether she wants to meet him. That's HER right. Not his."
Caspian nodded slowly. "And until then?"
"Until then, he stays away."
I reached for Caspian's hand. He took it instantly, his fingers interlocking with mine like they were made to fit.
"You're her father, Caspian," I said. "In every way that matters."
Something broke open in his expression — joy, fierce and overwhelming. He pressed his forehead against mine and breathed, "I will spend every day earning that. I swear it."
Inside the cabin, Lyra began to cry — hungry, impatient, demanding attention with the full force of her impossible little lungs.
We both smiled.
He stayed at the border for three days and three nights, not eating, not sleeping, just standing in the snow like a statue of his own punishment.
Caspian posted guards around the clock and told me bluntly, "Say the word, and I'll remove him by force."
I said nothing for those three days.
On the fourth morning, I found a letter at the border gate. The guards said Dorian had left it before finally collapsing and being dragged away by his own wolves.
I opened it with cold fingers.
The handwriting was barely legible — shaking, uneven, nothing like his usual precise script.
"Elara,
I removed my own eye the week I learned the truth. You lost yours to protect someone you loved — your sacrifice for the blood curse was traded through your sight in ways I only just discovered. Barbara told me everything. She told me you went blind in your left eye for three days after absorbing the curse, and that you hid it from everyone.
I took my eye because I finally understood. I made you suffer without anesthesia when I couldn't even see the truth standing directly in front of me. I don't deserve both eyes when I was this blind.
I transferred the curse back onto myself. Barbara said it would destroy my wolf and shorten my life. I don't care. You carried it for me when you owed me nothing. The least I can do is carry it back.
I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm not asking you to come back.
I'm asking for five minutes with my daughter. Not as her father — I haven't earned that. Just as someone who wants to know she exists. That she's real. That something good came from the worst thing I ever did.
If you say no, I'll accept it. I'll never come back.
But Elara — she has your eyes, doesn't she? I heard she has one silver eye.
The same color I looked at every day for three years and never once appreciated.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
— Dorian"
I read the letter twice.
Then I folded it carefully, placed it in my drawer, and closed it.
Caspian found me in the garden later, staring at the snow.
"You read it," he said. Not a question.
"He transferred the curse back onto himself," I said quietly. "He removed his own eye."
Caspian's jaw tightened. He knelt beside me, his grey eyes level with mine.
"And does that change anything?"
I looked at him — this man who had never once asked me to sacrifice a single thing. Who had protected me without conditions. Who had held my hand through labor and looked at my daughter like she was his own miracle.
"No," I said firmly. "It doesn't change what he did. It doesn't erase the night he rejected me. It doesn't undo the months I spent alone, terrified, carrying his child while he paraded another woman as his Luna."
Caspian's shoulders relaxed slightly.
"But," I continued, "she deserves to know where she came from. When she's old enough to decide for herself — she can choose whether she wants to meet him. That's HER right. Not his."
Caspian nodded slowly. "And until then?"
"Until then, he stays away."
I reached for Caspian's hand. He took it instantly, his fingers interlocking with mine like they were made to fit.
"You're her father, Caspian," I said. "In every way that matters."
Something broke open in his expression — joy, fierce and overwhelming. He pressed his forehead against mine and breathed, "I will spend every day earning that. I swear it."
Inside the cabin, Lyra began to cry — hungry, impatient, demanding attention with the full force of her impossible little lungs.
We both smiled.