Totoka River You are exactly what I want: kinda cool and kinda not

he doesn't love me.
not truly
"y-you absolutely w-will not leave blossom early," lestan countered, but the bite had gone out of his voice, his eyes, his body.
"you told me you were dying. i left for you. i w-went to her, for you!" an inhale.
everett called him cruel.
reverie denied his feeling — as if everything lestan had ever done in the last several months had not been for her! the wandering, the crying, the bleeding, and yes, now, the death she said would come.
not truly
"you don't need me to live, reverie," he said in a low cold tone. "just choose to live, the way you're choosing to give them life."
movement, out of the corner of his eye — one of the children, swallowing down one of the accursed berries. lestan lunged for her, clattering the branch out of reach of all of them; he held the babe in the crook of his arm, refusing to remember when blossom had been this small, and tried to prise the miniscule jaws open. but the fruit was gone, and now he stood trembling in assumption reverie too would blame him for this.
"everett," for that was the other's name. "everett, if you believe so much in god's goodness, and maybe even in theirs, then you take them. we have a daughter, and we need to get back to her." 
that same monotone of speech, and lestan saw its ability falling away even as he clung for its edges.
he doesn't love me. not truly.
he doesn't love me.
the mayfair shoved the child in his arms toward the man who had called him cruel, but if the seawolf would not take her, lestan would only set her down among the others and return to reverie, a citadel that motioned softly. "let's go to blossom."