Drakovitch met her gaze, his expression hardening into that of a King who had accepted his role as a villain.
"You fight and die to reach Valhalla, to finally see the parents you never knew. That is your wish. My wish is to stay here, to live for my people and my blood. Even if my wish causes the world to grieve, I will not stop. Your Valhalla is a dream of the dead, Gin. Mine is the reality of the living."
Gin lay in the mud, her spirit finally breaking under the weight of his words. A wave of bitter self pity washed over her. She didn't blame the King anymore; she blamed herself. She felt unworthy of the very heaven she had fought for.
In her mind, she was weak—not just because her body was failing, but because she had tried to use her own femininity to seduce and deceive him earlier, and even that had failed to bring him down.
