There is no sympathy left in his deadened, hollow breast to care for the way she stumbles, the hurt and ache in her voice. Even as he hears her crumple to the sand, far too soft an impact for the despair and hatred still bubbling inside of his adrenaline-hot veins, he does not turn to her. She deserves this. To stare at his back, as he had always been staring at hers; a mentor far above him, a retreating mother in ghostly parallel to the one who had abandoned him on the sands, a disappearing figure bound to return after seasons of betrayal without a word of explanation or apology. She doesn't deserve to see anything less than his own retreating heels, to cry after him as he had cried after her. 

Croaking vocals draw one ear back, frozen like a statue where he stands. Incapable of walking away, because a part of him cannot exact that same betrayal against her. Not when she is still part of the Throat. Still family, even if she'd never been family in the way he'd wanted. The way he would never, ever be with anyone but Bellanaris. Even to Midas he had not been the golden son the Gallant had always wanted, and Gaucho and Sohalia had never had room in their large family for an older, bloodless son like Cera. No matter how the Prince had tried, the only royalty he'd ever been awarded was a facsimile, a title he didn't understand the reasoning behind. He was no Prince. He may have been born and raised on the sands of the Throat but that had never mattered to anyone else before. 

Sohalia's hiccuping sobs finally turned him violently on his heel, disregarding the blood and his muddled vision and his burned skin. Stared down upon her like a damning archangel, unforgiving of her sins. 

"Even now you still don't apologize. All of you, every one of you, you take my forgiveness and you spit on it. I will live and die as the Forger of this land, and nobody will ever question my existence. Nobody will ever ask if I wanted more than this, if I ever thought of leaving for all the thanks I've ever gotten. Because nobody cares about those who don't put up a fuss. Loyalty means nothing to those like you Sohalia. Those who leave without thinking or caring about the consequences. Loyalty means nothing to this herd." And his voice was so full of anger that he could feel his skin shaking with the desire to burst out of it. To be free from these emotions he had never wanted to feel. When had the world turned him so cold? 

The scar on his chest ached, giving that quiet, stoic answer. 

"Get up," he said quietly, voice like iron but far softer in tone. "If you want to fix this, Sohalia, get up. We can't just stand around and fight, or cry. That fixes nothing." The Prince strode toward her in all his bloodied, golden glory. Dropped his head to hers and offered himself, the strength of his neck and his body to lift her from the sands. The first step to forgiveness that she had never asked for, but that he was offering her nonetheless. 

"I can't forgive you immediately. You'll have to earn that. But we'll start here. You and me. Help me fix this family." Single emerald stared down into her tearful blues, passing the torch of his fires to her wavering coals, asking her to build a stronger flame with the pair of them in unison. "If you want to stay, if you want to prove yourself to me...then help me now." And maybe she would earn his forgiveness a little more with each day she stayed. Each day she didn't turn and run, as she had so many times in the past. Maybe he could teach her about loyalty, for he had been born by the sand, and it had raised him fair and true. Perhaps his steadfastness would rub off on her, in that way.

DONT MIND ME I'LL BE OVER HERE CRYING YET AGAIN