Halfdan's pov.

(His End)

The bottle of whiskey was cold in my hand, the burn of the liquid a distant sensation as it slid down my throat. I could barely feel it anymore, barely cared. All I could think of was her. Camilla. My mate. My cunning, twisted, evil mate.

How did it come to this? The memories of that night still clawed at my mind, gnawing away until I felt like I might go insane.

I closed my eyes, but the image of her face filled my head—the way her eyes locked onto mine in those final moments, full of both fear and acceptance.

She was in my arms,...