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Chapter Text

The goddess woke to the feeling of his body beneath hers. Hard and strong, with the slow steady rhythm of a sleeping heart pulsing beneath her ear. 

As her eyes blinked open, she took in the massive room around her. She’d never stayed in a place as grand as this, with its vaulted ceilings, tall windows, and plush velvet curtains fringed in gold. This was not like the homey cottage she shared with her sister, Solara. 

Carefully, so as not to wake him, she sat up. Her body ached pleasantly after their nighttime activities. She’d finally given in to him, after a millennia of his attempts to woo her slowly but surely succeeded in winning her heart. He’d chased her since the day she fell from the blank night sky, it seemed. She was no fool, of course. She knew he was beauty incarnate—delicious, devious darkness wrapped within a temptingly charming shell. He’d always charmed her, one way or another. She’d always enjoyed the thrill of the chase too much, though. 

Except for last night. Last night, she finally let him catch up to her.

She watched the slow rise and fall of his chest for a while, appreciating how the early dawn sunlight gilded his pale skin and made it look like it was crafted from her moonlight. She’d designed the stars and stitched each one in the sky, but she’d never made a creation quite as breathtaking as he.

Centuries upon centuries of circling around one another in their little game had softened her heart enough to allow him to slip inside and burrow deep. She supposed she’d loved him from the start—he was so powerful and his words were so sweet—but she liked knowing she gave him purpose, so she’d refrained from admitting it. 

But after last night, when he’d been so gentle and said such lovely things…she might be in trouble.

She slipped out of bed and padded to the bath just as a troubling realization began to take root in her mind. 

Something wasn’t quite right. With every step she took, it got worse, until alarm bells were ringing inside her skull and her pulse raced beneath her soft, ivory skin. 

She gazed at herself in the looking glass by the tub, poking at her face to see if anything was amiss. Her long, night-black hair was still the same, still glittering with starlight. She pulled up on her upper lip and found her teeth were the same, too—the canines were still perfectly sharp and only a little elongated, just as they’d always been. Her black horns still curled upwards from her hairline, ending in sharp, glittering tips. Her eyes were still black pools with only the moon-white halo of her iris glowing brightly within their inky depths. 

She looked down at her hands, at those blackened palms. The shadows etched into her flesh, which covered her hands and crawled, smoke-like, up her forearm, ending near her elbow. She twisted her wrists around and found that it all seemed perfectly intact, but those alarm bells were still ringing. They’d gotten worse.

So she summoned her magic, for she knew it would reveal that which she could not see. 

Shadows peeled away from the walls and gathered together in her palm. It appeared right, but it didn’t feel that way. There was something untethered about these shadows—something wrong. They were heavy and oppressive. They were angry. They were pure violence.

The magic within her flailed and writhed as though mortally wounded. She began to panic, searching for the source of the injury and not finding anything immediately. 

“This is not my magic,” she moaned to herself. “These are not my shadows.”

And then she saw it—just a tiny, barely visible flash, but she caught it in her mind and turned it over. 

Her knees crashed to the floor just as an agonized moan fell from her lips.

The edge of her magic, splayed out like a well-loved tapestry in her mind, was discoloured and limp—frayed. The putrid stench of death—of rot and decay—clung to her magic like a sickly perfume. She tried to brush it away, to scrub it out, but it was for naught. The disease spread, gutting her beautiful night magic and twisting it into something malevolent and volatile. It was death. 

“No…” she sobbed, golden tears rolling down her cheeks. “No…”

“Is everything alright?”

As soon as she heard his voice, she knew. This was his fault. 

He did this to her.

Betrayal sank its poisonous claws into her heart and shredded it to tattered, aching pieces.

She spun around and bared her teeth at the god of death, her beautiful face contorted in rage and stained with gold. 

“What have you done?” She snapped. Her cold anger coated the room like punishing frost. 

He tilted his beautiful head at her and his long, uniquely-coloured hair slipped over his shoulder.

“What do you mean, Nos?” He asked innocently. But she saw the sympathy in his eyes for what it really was: lies.

“My magic,” she snarled. “You’ve corrupted it. Why? Why would you do this to me?”

He stared at her for a moment, as still as a statue, while his haunting eyes cut straight through her. Then, slowly, a smile pulled on his lips. Malice glinted in his eyes as a dark chuckle trickled out of him like hot honey.

“I didn’t corrupt it. I made it better. Don’t you see?”

“You touched it with your own! It reeks of death!” She screamed.

“And death is what it should have been all along,” he said coolly, still smiling. “Death is what lurks in the shadowy places, after all. You know it is where you and I like to hide most. Now your blessing is also my blessing. I have made your magic— us —so much more powerful. The other gods will fear us. They’ll fear what we can do.”

Her heart shattered in her chest as he looked down at her with such malicious greed in his face. He’d only ever wanted her so he could do this. So he could take what wasn’t his and destroy it, then force her to carry on despite it. She’d never been important to him. He’d only ever wanted her power.

He’d only wanted to claim her so he could break her.

“I didn’t want this,” she cried. Her hands trembled at her sides as the rot spread within her. She could feel it covering her bones. It will damn everything she touches, she’s certain of it.

“I know,” he said with a saccharine smile. “But you’ll thank me for it eventually. You’ll see.”

He stepped close to her and she shrunk back, snarling. But he only laughed under his breath. His fingers tucked some of her hair behind her ear and traced the sharp line of her jaw. She shivered in disgust beneath his touch. Shame was a living, breathing thing inside of her. It whispered in her ear, telling her if she’d just kept running away from him, if she’d never fallen for his carefully crafted charm, she would still be whole.  Why did she give in? Why was she so weak?

She shook her head in an attempt to rid herself of these thoughts and to force his touch away from her. 

This is not my fault. None of this is my fault. Please don’t let it be my fault.

“Oh, Nos,” he sighed. “You should be happy. Everything is as it should be now. Your Blessed Ones will be the most powerful creations to exist. And you and I…we are bound together for eternity.”

“No, Bàs,” she growled as her anger returned. “We are nothing . You will never touch me again. You will never see me again. And you will pay for what you have done to me.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Stars swirled up her arms, sparking dangerously along her skin. The room swelled with her power—it filled the air with the scent of jasmine and earth. Bàs went eerily still as it crept over his body with the scrape of a hundred knives.

“A Blessed One with the power to corrode your hold on my magic will one day come,” she said, speaking the prophecy into existence. The earth itself rumbled with her words. 

Bàs’s eyes widened just before anger began to distort his beautiful features into a hideous mask.

“No,” he snapped. “Stop it!”

But a prophecy could not be halted once it had begun.

“They will have the twin blessings of both me and my sister beneath their skin and they will turn your influence over me to ash. And then…then I will come for you. I will no longer be the one who runs.

“You will be.”

Bàs roared as she slipped away from him, her form fragmenting and dispersing as she returned to her realm.

But he still made sure she heard his final words.

“There will come a day where you must face me again, Nos. And when that day comes, your power will become my power. We will rule over all the realms side-by-side as we were always meant to.

“So hide if you must, my darling. You know I’ve always loved the hunt.”

Chapter Text

“Stay here, my little love. Hush, now. You must be silent and still for me, alright?”

“But mother, I’m scared—”

“I know, my sweet. But it will be alright. Everything will be alright. Mummy and Daddy love you.”

The feeling of something warm, round and small being pressed into my palm. The hot wetness of tears spilling down my cheeks. Hidden in a lonely shadow, small and secret.

I can’t make sense of the words being spoken. All I see are my parents’ backs atop a tall flight of black marble stairs.

The horrible noise of steel on bone echoes through the throne room and a small scream escapes me. When it fades, I see my father’s blood, pooling and pooling until it slowly trickles down those dark steps like water over river stones.

“NO!”

A thousand eyes on me. A shadow at my back. My mother’s terrified face, tears dripping from her forest green eyes. And then I’m being grabbed by what feels like dozens of hands, pulled and thrown and passed along until I’m at the base of those stairs, and I can see my father’s blood coming straight for me.

The words are a jumble of noise in my ears. All I can focus on is my mother’s face and the way her quivering lips form my name over and over. I recognize the true fear in her expression and cold hysteria grips me.

Then the world goes black.

I feel myself falling but I don’t know when I hit the floor. I can’t see anything; the world around me is silent, but the pain is excruciating. It burns across every inch of me, inside and out, and I scream and scream. And then…

Cold. Cold like I’ve never experienced before seeps into my bloodstream. My lungs seize, my heart stutters. I shiver compulsively and every sob that racks my small body feels like a mortal injury. Everything is still pitch black, and though my eyes cast around for anything discernible, they don’t see past the wall of shadow. All I can hear is my mother’s voice in my head, speaking the last words I will ever hear from her:

Reyvan…Reyvan… run.

***

“Reyvan? Rey! Open the door!”

I jolt upwards from my pillow with a sharp gasp. The interior of my small hut gradually swims into focus. Sweat dampens my skin and makes my hair stick to my forehead and neck, and I can feel my rapid pulse in my fingertips and toes.

A dream…just another dream.

Another heavy bang at my door makes me jump again, and I hastily leap from my straw mattress and pull my thick wool cloak around my body before yanking the wooden plank door open and greeting the chill of the autumn morning.

Aurore stands there holding a tray piled up with food, the expression on her fair, freckled face nothing less than disdainful. 

“Took you long enough,” she mutters, pushing her short, curvy body past me into my hut. The smell of sausage and fresh bread trail after her, automatically making my mouth water.

“Sorry,” I say pathetically. “Slept in.”

“No kidding?” She fires back sarcastically. “And here I thought you wanted to miss out on freshly-baked sweet rolls.”

I smile broadly and sit across from her at the small wooden table. “Never! Thank you for making sure I didn’t.”

“What else am I good for?” She sighs, tossing her wavy copper hair over her shoulder, those blue eyes piercing me to the bone. Despite her attempt to not sound amused, a cheeky smile still toys with the corners of her mouth.

I moan in ecstasy as I pop my first bite of the most delicious rolls I’ve ever tasted into my mouth. Aurore makes them once a week at her bakery, and she’s always cleaned out of them by noon. Thankfully, she always makes sure to leave an extra half-dozen for me. The small, warm buns are just slightly sweet on the tongue, with a hint of cloves woven into their fluffy insides. They pair perfectly with a hunk of sharp cheddar cheese and a bite of fatty sausage. It’s enough to make my eyes roll into the back of my head.

“Are you joining everyone on the forage today?” Aurore asks before taking a bite of egg.

Ah, yes. The forage. This time of the year, after every field has been harvested, all the women and some children trek out into the sprawling wilderness around Varia to hunt for mushrooms, berries, wild root vegetables, and whatever else can be stored up or preserved for winter, while the men go hunting. It’s a month-long event that always ends with a raucous celebration underneath the harvest moon. I’ve only participated a handful of times, but I quickly learned it wasn’t much of a bonding activity for a child who everyone looks at with trepidation or outright venom in their eyes.

“No,” I give her the same answer she’s received for the last twelve years or so. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Aw, it’s been so long since you’ve joined, though! It really is lots of fun,” Aurore whines, pouting.

“I don’t think the rest of the village women would appreciate my presence,” I mutter around a mouthful of food. “They’d probably think I’m a curse, and that everything they pick will turn black with rot as long as I’m nearby.”

“That’s—that’s not true,” Aurore replies quietly. I can hear in her voice though that she knows I’m right. “Well…I’d enjoy you being there, at least.”

“No. Sorry, Aurore,” I sigh. I swirl my last roll around on my plate, using it to clean up the yellow-orange pools of egg yolk. “I don’t have the energy for that right now.”

“But you do have the energy to try and channel Solara for the hundred-millionth time, don’t you?” She looks at me hopelessly.

“That’s not—” My eyes flare, and it takes a surprising amount of effort to keep cruel words from flying past my lips. We’ve had this fight so many times, and it never gets easier. “The two aren’t comparable, Rory. I have to keep trying. You know that.”

She sighs, resigned. “I know. I’m sorry, I just—I’m afraid for you, Rey. This curse you live with…I worry the more you try to purge yourself of it, the more damage you’re causing to your body. A blessing from Nos is well-known to be a death sentence. I’ve seen what it does to your mood and to the earth around you—what if that desiccation backfires on you one of these days?”

I set my fork down on my plate and speak quietly. “It won’t. The purpose of the curse was to make my parents’ bloodline suffer. If it took me, the suffering would end far sooner than it’s meant to.”

“Rey, I’m sor—”

“Thank you for bringing me breakfast,” I interrupt her, plastering a smile on my face and speaking as brightly as I can manage. “I really do appreciate you, you know.”

At first she looks like she wants to get back to the subject matter at hand, but she backs down and offers me a small, relenting smile of her own.

She knows not to push me today.

“I know.” She chews her bottom lip before adding, “Please be safe in the forest today.”

“Always.”

***

I walk between the trees on quiet feet. I can hear other villagers off in the distance, talking and laughing together as they forage for food.

Part of me had always wondered what it would feel like to be accepted by these people who were supposed to be my neighbours. To laugh with them and join them for meals, or work alongside them. To get to know them, and to be known by them. But as I got older and their misconceptions about me got worse, that part of me died. They will never laugh with me or welcome me into their homes. They will never truly know me. I tell myself I’m fine with it—that it’s okay if Aurore is the only person in all the world that knows me almost as well as I know myself. But their reproaches still sting me. Their fear still makes me bleed, even all these years later.

At the heart of it, I am still the same scared, orphaned child, needing someone to love her but never quite knowing the meaning of the word.

The deeper I go into the forest, the quieter the world becomes. All I can hear is the occasional bird and the muted crunch of damp leaves beneath my feet. It soothes me, this blanket of silence. Others often find it too heavy. They feel the incessant need to chatter so they can lift the weight. I’ve never liked mindless chatter. 

I much prefer the peaceful tranquility of a silence that knows no bounds within a hiding place that consumes all within it.

I’m nearly where I want to be when I hear a twig snap somewhere nearby. My muscles tense and my hand automatically goes to the dagger strapped to my thigh. My eyes scan the trees. This may feel like my forest, but there are creatures in here that don’t like to share space with anything. And most of them have a wicked sense of smell.

I crouch down slowly to better hide myself amongst the shadows of the trees. I stay there for a little while, needing to make absolutely sure that it is safe to move about. The snapping of large wings amongst the branches above me nearly makes me jump out of my skin. My head cranes upward, and I can just see the tip of a wide, striped wing disappear through the treetops. It’s just an owl, I tell myself, confirming what I saw out of habit—a desperate need to be validated and comforted. Owls can’t kill you. 

I release a little sigh of relief. Just when I’m about to stand and keep on my way, I hear a pair of voices getting closer. I make myself as small as I can. My heart pounds when I recognize them as belonging to Aurore and Theodore Gray.

The only two people who’ve ever treated me with kindness.

Aurore is my best friend. I trust her with my life. She isn’t scared of me like all the other girls our age are. Aurore always knew I wasn’t capable of hurting her, that I would never so much as dream of it. 

Theo…Theo was a lot of things to me once. At first, he’d been a little boy with shaggy brown hair and mossy green eyes set in a dirt-streaked face, staring at me in horror as the ball he’d been kicking around rolled right up to my shoes. I’d kicked the ball back to him, and just like that he became a boy who played with me. A friend. But I didn’t see him as much as I saw Rory. Theo’s father had been on the village council, so he couldn’t be caught in my company or it would spell danger for both of us. So we’d played it safe. 

Then we’d gotten older. Our jokes didn’t land the same as they used to. Now there were hidden meanings behind them. Puzzles to figure out. Feelings to grow.

We were both seventeen when we’d met in the old, decommissioned barn alone on a warm summer day. The wood had been rotting in places and rats would scurry away to hide, but none of it had bothered us. As we’d sat in the dappled beams of sunshine that broke through the holes in the roof, Theo Gray kissed me for the first time. It was chaste and tender, but exciting all at the same time. I’d felt like maybe this was it. Maybe Theo was the person meant to love me.

Our meetings became experiments. With fumbling hands and swollen lips, we’d learned what the other liked. We’d taught one another. We’d each found pleasure in the other’s touch and the act of surrender. I thought his heart was mine, because I was certain mine was his. But what we did together was a secret that no one else could ever know, and that meant it would have an ending after all. I would never be the one he could or would choose. And the rejection damaged me in a way I’ve never really recovered from.

Seeing him now, long and lean with a bow in his hand, sparse hair on his face, and a quiver of arrows on his sturdy shoulder, walking alongside Rory, still hurt. Though the pain was lessened, the wound had been too deep to heal completely.

“So you missed out again this year?” Aurore asks him. She swings her woven basket full of berries and greens lazily back and forth at her side. 

“I was so close, Ror,” Theo groans. “That stag was no more than twenty feet in front of me. I would’ve had it if Mathias hadn’t followed me with his arrow notched and at the ready. Lazy prick can’t ever track for himself.”

“Well, he may be quick but no one ever accused him of being smart,” Aurore sighs. “What would he do without you?”

Theo grunts something I don’t quite catch. They stop walking for a moment and Theo stretches his arms above his head, raising the hem of his shirt over his navel, exposing the fine line of dark hair there that disappeared beneath his trousers. I know if I were to run my fingers through it, it would feel surprisingly soft. I grimace, ridding myself of the thought, and squint at them. I see Aurore’s eyes dart away from him. Am I mistaken, or was that a blush on her cheekbones?

Something uncomfortable rattles threateningly inside me.

“Looks like you were more successful than me.” Theo flicks  her basket handle with his finger, making her chuckle.

“I assume it’s easier to find and capture blackberries and onion grass than deer,” she replies, smiling. “It was fun. I might go back out again later. I only wish I could convince Rey to go with me.”

Theo stills. I can see how the mention of my name shocks him. He stamps down his surprise though, furrowing his brow instead.

“The witch?” He asks, and he’s so good at telling his lie, even I almost believe him. He says it as if he had no idea I even had a name. As if he hadn’t ever moaned it against my throat while he spilled himself inside of me.

Rory shoots him a warning stare. “She’s not a witch,” she says firmly. “She’s nice and she’s harmless.”

“If you say so,” Theo mumbles, kicking at a pebble with the toe of his shoe.

“Theo…” Aurore bemoans his name, like this is a conversation they’ve had before and she’s tired of revisiting it.

“Let’s not talk about her,” Theo begs, spitting out the last word like it tastes bitter on his tongue. “Let’s talk about how you and I are alone together, hmm? A rare occurrence, seems like…”

My stomach drops as I watch him wrap his arms around Aurore’s waist and drop his lips to her jaw, peppering it with slow kisses. I feel sick when I see her eyes flutter closed, her hand hesitating at the back of his head. Aurore has never mentioned Theo to me…she’s never even hinted that she was interested in someone. Why did it have to be him?

And why did I have to watch it all happen in front of me like a sick, devious play?

“We shouldn’t…” Aurore says. Her voice carries a soft, dreamy lilt that I’ve never heard before.

“Who’s going to catch us?” Theo asks huskily, trailing his mouth over her throat.

“Theo…”

I’m moving before I’ve even made the conscious decision to leave. I don’t know if they hear me through the trees, and I don’t care. They’ll think me a lone animal and nothing more. Maybe Theo will shoot one of his arrows at me and pierce me straight through the heart. It feels like he already has. 

I have no right to be upset about Aurore and Theo. Rory didn’t know about what Theo and I did all those years ago. And Theo was welcome to do what he wished with whomever he deemed fit. I have no right to care this much. But I do, because at its core it’s a painful reminder that I will never find that kind of relationship with someone again. There is officially no one here who would willingly kiss me or dare to touch me with intimacy. There never will be again. 

The recognition of that loss tears a chunk out of my soul.

I need a distraction right this minute, and thankfully I have one. I’d been on my way to practice my magic before that unpleasant interruption, and that’s exactly what I was going to do.

Maybe accidentally killing something would feel better than usual today. 

The small clearing is deathly silent when I find it. My pulse still thuds in my ears, but the worst of the pain has been pushed off to the side for now. I sit cross-legged on the grass and take a few long, deep breaths.

And then I begin.

An hour passes and as the sun breaks through the foliage above me, its warmth glances off my skin as though it can sense the shuddering darkness writhing in my soul. That inky black curse that crawls through my veins, slowly killing me like I always knew it would. And though I’ve tried so many times, I can’t bleed it out. 

Even so, I find myself here again, in the middle of the forest. Hidden. Where no one can see the circle of grey, withered death that fans out around me, claiming a fifteen foot radius in all directions.

Please, I mentally beg, pleading with Solara like maybe things have changed. I’m sorry. I’m so cold. Please just let me feel you…

I can imagine it, that tickling heat from the sun crawling across my flesh, somewhere in the back of my ruined mind. It’s so real I can nearly feel it—a memory, perhaps. But I can no longer tell the difference between dream and reality in my memories. 

For the thirteenth time today, I concentrate, reaching for that golden thread that’s always just a hair out of range. As always, just when I think I’ll have it in my grasp, it disappears entirely. 

And all that remains is shadow.

That damnable black mist is eager to answer my call. It swirls around my mind and spills out of me; its silken touch is equal parts gentle and grating, and it leaves behind nothing but a bitter cold that settles deep within me.

I feel it purling off my fingertips in smoky whisps, building in its intensity until it is a torrent of darkness that flows uninterrupted from my body. It screams through my ears, the sound of a thousand deaths, for what feels like a maddening eternity.

But in twenty seconds or less, it’s gone.

And when I open my eyes, the earth around me cracks and crumbles.

I can smell the rot—that putrid, sweet scent of decay deep in the ground. My darkness is growing roots here. I will have to move spots again.

Black tendrils of smoke rise off the ground around me. The dirt beneath me feels like ancient dust now. There is no life here anymore—I do not give life to anything I touch.

Every time I see the destruction that surrounds me—that I create—my heart sinks in my chest and it leaves me feeling nauseous. I had once hoped this feeling might ease with time, as if I could ever learn to accept this curse I was shackled with. That has yet to happen. 

It’s been eighteen years since I lost my ability to commune with Solara, the goddess of the sun and harvest. An ability which was granted to me at birth—a blessed inheritance from my famous parents. Eighteen years since I’ve felt her warmth and absorbed but a token of her power. 

I was six when I watched my parents die in front of me as a result of the king’s wrath. With their deaths, I felt the goddess leave me behind, too. I had barely even learned how to wield her sun magic into a spark. But just like that, a burning, violent darkness was all that remained within my soul. I remember looking up after my magic was ravaged to see a pair of unfamiliar eyes set above a menacing grin, and then I remember very little of anything at all.

I don’t remember how I got to Varia. I don’t know who brought me here, only that it was at my mother’s request. All I know is I was all alone, and friendly faces were suddenly few and far between.

Varia is a small agrarian village situated in the southwest region of Ebonreach. Snowy mountains border us to the west, and vast plains and birch tree forests surround us to the south and the east. It’s beautiful here, to be sure, but it rarely feels like more than a punishment to me. For nearly my entire life here I’d had to make it on my own, doing anything I could to make just enough money to feed myself. I’d toiled in the merciless fields in the baking heat of the late summer, ventured out hunting in wolf-infested wilderness. I’d nearly broken my back for these people and there were still only a handful that treated me with anything resembling kindness.

I look up at the sun and see its rays winking down at me through the gently swaying leaves of the birch trees. I can see them dance along my skin; their steps weaving a golden, glimmering path in their wake. 

I can see it, I know it is there. But I cannot feel it.

The sun, Solara, has forsaken me.

All that remains is what her sister, Nos, damned me with. Nos, the goddess of moon and shadow, has magic so volatile and dangerous that she only blesses a human once every century. They say she fears the havoc that could be wrought if her blessings were more common. I know it could very well spell the end of the world if there was ever more than one Shadowsmith walking around.

I pull my fox fur stole tighter around my shoulders to stave off the cold breeze that cuts through me. My calloused hand automatically finds the chain around my throat and my fingers trace the curves of my parents’ wedding rings that hang there. The only thing I have left of them. My most cherished possession. Feeling it, remembering them, grounds me. If I really concentrate, I can still hear my father’s hearty laugh. I can still feel its penetrating contagiousness—the way it would fill a room and lighten any mood in seconds. I can also feel my mother’s gentle fingers combing through my soft brown hair, coaxing it into a braided bun at my nape. I can hear her melodic voice humming a tune, soothing my nerves.

I take a deep breath. In through my nose, out through my mouth.

“Once more,” I mutter to myself, squeezing my eyes shut. “Just one more time. I can push the shadows away before they grab me, I know I can…”

Just as I find that elusive golden thread in my mind’s eye, I’m startled out of my head by a voice screaming my name.

“Rey! Reyvan! Oh, gods… Rey!”

Aurore . I’d know her voice anywhere. 

My heart pangs with the memory of what I witnessed earlier, but the pain is faint and distant. I stand, scanning the area for any sign of her coppery hair flitting between the trees. 

“Aurore?” I call back, startling a bird somewhere in the distance. “Where are you?”

“Thank the gods! I’m coming!”

There is an edge of fear in her normally soft voice. It spikes my pulse and my hands squeeze into fists at my side. 

When Aurore finally breaks through the tree line into my decimated circle, she is breathing hard. Her cheeks are stained red and her cornflower eyes are wide with panic. I run to her, grabbing her by the shoulders so she is forced to look at me.

“What is wrong?” I demand. Her panic is coming off of her in waves and it painfully crawls its way beneath my skin. “What’s happened?”

“A party from Marbhan has just come into town, not fifteen minutes past,” she pants. “I-I went to your hut to tell you, but you weren’t back yet, so I ran into the forest—”

“Marbhan?” An icy chill spears down my spine. Why would a party from the capital city come all the way down here? That was unheard of. Which means whatever reason they have cannot be a good one.

“The king’s assassin is with them—he’s their leader,” Aurore shudders as she speaks of him and her voice comes out as a petrified squeak. “And they…oh, gods, Rey…they told Malvaine they’ve come for the Shadowsmith.”

My stomach drops and my vision blurs; the world takes on a tinny sound as the weight of the situation smothers me. 

The king has sent his men here for me. 

And if Kylo Ren, the king’s cruel Enforcer, is leading the men who’ve come to Varia, their objective is frighteningly clear: they’re here to kill me.

“What…?” The word escapes me on a shuddering breath and I barely register that I’ve spoken. My mind swirls at a dizzying pace.

It’s now Aurore’s turn to grab me. Her pinching hold snaps me back into focus, and my wide eyes lock onto hers. 

“Rey, you must run as fast as you can. And when you get past the forest, you must keep running,” she urges, her voice shaky and low yet firm. “Do not stop for anything. Go. Go, now!”

She shoves me away from her and I stumble, but I catch myself and take off at a sprint heading northeast, weaving through the narrow tree trunks and narrowly avoiding a collision. My hair catches on a few errant branches and I feel the strands rip free from my scalp but I don’t stop. One branch even scrapes painfully across the flesh of my upper arm and even though I feel the blood bubbling to the surface, I keep running until I reach my hut.

I’d always known this day would come, despite how fiercely I’d hoped it wouldn’t. It was only a matter of time before the king learned I didn’t die as he intended me to when he sent me away—a part of me is just shocked it took this long for someone to rat me out to him. Solara knows I have more enemies than friends in this village of mine. My mother had been born here; the villagers’ general ambivalence was afforded to me because they’d loved her. They mistrusted me. They feared what I was. What I could do. 

And they were right to.

My lungs burned and the muscles in my legs screamed at me to slow down, but I didn’t stop running. I cleared the distance from the woods to my hut in six minutes—record time, but would it be enough? When I got there, I burst through the door and slammed it shut behind me, bolting it for good measure. I needed to be quick, but I still couldn’t guarantee I’d be quick enough.

Motes of dust swirled around me in miniature storms, dancing and sparkling in what little sunlight had managed to seep through the moth-eaten holes in my perpetually closed curtains. I didn’t have much in the way of personal effects, so my home was rather barren: it held little more than my lumpy bed, a rickety wooden table and two chairs I’d done my best to make, a few cushions strewn along the floor, an ancient washstand, and an array of books. I caught my breath for a mere second and looked at it all, knowing I wouldn’t see any of it again. What did I take? Was any of it worth it anyways?

Hastily, I pick up a change of clothes and run to my bed, where I lift the straw mattress. I grab the two daggers hidden beneath it and slide one into the second, empty sheath on my other thigh, the other into my boot. I sling my quiver, only a quarter full of arrows, over my shoulder and wrap my hands firmly around my bow. 

With one last, fleeting look around the hut, I turn my back on it forever and dart towards the door. 

I take one step over the threshold and stop dead. A scream threatens to strangle me just as my heart begins racing at a dangerous pace, but I swallow it back down. My heart rate, though? There’s absolutely nothing I can do about that.

The male is so large he casts a foggy black shadow over me as I instinctually crouch into a defensive position. He’s easily the tallest person I’ve ever seen, with broad shoulders and arms thick with muscle. The sudden realization that he could kill me very easily settles like an icy stone in my stomach as dread pools, thick and heavy, in my chest. The ebony handles of two twin swords peek out over his shoulders, blood red rubies winking at me from the pommels. Black armour that’s clearly custom made covers every inch of his body.

But he’s left his face exposed.

Dark, thick windswept hair curls around the sides of his throat and falls in unruly strands over his brow. His eyes look black as night as he stares coldly down at me—it feels like they are devoid of all emotion, at any hint of a soul existing behind them. His full lips, held in a distasteful sneer,  are framed by dark facial hair—the result of the month-long trek down here from Marbhan. 

My eyes quickly trace the jagged, defining pale scar that cuts across his face like a fine crack in a porcelain doll. A wound that likely should have killed him, but chose instead to mark him for life as a wild animal beaten into submission. A wound that identified him to everyone he met as Kylo Ren, the king’s most deadly pet.

I feel like I could vomit all over his boots. My body is trembling, just barely, and I scream at myself to stop showing weakness. I am a rabbit cornered by a wolf. One wrong move and he’ll lunge for my throat.

This man standing before me is how I die. I realize that with perfect clarity. 

“There you are,” His voice is a deep, rumbling purr that jolts my nerves and sets my teeth on edge. 

It sounds like pure danger wrapped in silk.  

“I’ve been looking for you, little witch.”

Chapter Text

“How fortunate you’re right where they said you’d be.”

I don’t speak. I don’t take my eyes off his, no matter how much his penetrating gaze unsettles me. It’s him. He’s real. He isn’t just a horror story told under the cover of darkness. He is a terrifying, real man, and he’s intent upon me.

His posture is casual—almost relaxed. His hands don’t twitch towards his weapons; his jaw is unclenched; his half-lidded eyes give him an air of arrogance that annoys me greatly. It tells me all I need to know about whether or not he sees me as a threat.  

My fingers curl around the rough antler hilt of the dagger at my left hip. I begin pulling it out of its sheath in achingly small increments, positive he won’t see me doing it until it’s too late.

His eyes don’t leave mine as he asks, sighing, “Must you?”

His brows rise and he looks…bored. Like I’m too predictable, and he was hoping to see a different show today. Well, fuck it. If he wants a show, I’ll give him one. He already knows I have the dagger in my hand, somehow. Might be worth a half-cracked shot.

I hold the knife in my hand tightly, confidently. This is my weapon, and I know how to use it well. Slowly, I sidestep around him. He tracks me first with his eyes, then with his body. I set the bow and quiver down on the ground—they won’t do me any good here. With my free hand, I allow a portion of my magic to seep through, just not enough to wreak total havoc in case anyone innocent is standing nearby. Smoky tendrils of inky black rise through my palm and curl around my fingers like a glove made of nightmares.

His eyes finally leave my face to look at it, and they flash as the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. It’s not a reaction I expect to see. Normally, people react with fear or panic. This man, on the other hand, looks intrigued. It all happens in the blink of an eye, though, and then he’s back to looking at me like I’m just wasting his time.

“Pretty trick,” he murmurs with that voice like icy velvet. “Too bad it won’t help you here.”

I beg to differ. I almost say it out loud, but I don’t want to give myself away just yet. This man from the capital city likely has no idea what my magic can do. Shadowsmiths are few and far between. If I can catch him unawares, it might just be my only chance at saving my life.

My mind is racing as he tracks my every movement and breath. It feels as though I’m face-to-face with a nightmare, which I essentially am. Stories of his mercilessness are told strictly to terrify people into behaving. For years now, I’d never been able to determine fact from fiction when it came to tales of the king’s Enforcer. I usually stuck with the more comfortable option: that he didn’t truly exist. That he’s nothing more than a legend. Because how could any human do what he’s allegedly done and feel no remorse for any of it? 

Then again, I suppose that’s not a difficult feat for someone without any human emotions to speak of.

He takes a casual step towards me and my breath hitches. I raise my hand, ready to strike him with my magic, but before I can even blink he’s knocked my arm to the side and thrown me to the ground in one fluid motion.

He’s fucking fast.

Pain explodes in my rib cage as I land and I gasp, struggling to haul in a full breath of air. He looms over me, apathetic, and though I try to scurry backwards he grabs me by my ankle and drags me roughly towards him. Small, sharp rocks scrape against my back. I kick with my other leg, hitting his shin, his knee, his thigh. But it makes no difference. He barely even reacts. With one hand he reaches down and grabs my stole, yanking me roughly upwards into his front. I lash out, screaming and hissing, doing anything I can to try and escape his unyielding grip. He has to use his other hand to try and stop me from fighting, but the second I feel his gloved fingers biting into the flesh of my upper arm, I begin fighting harder. 

I somehow manage to get my left hand free and slash the dagger across his throat. It makes noisy contact with a black gorget and nothing more. His fingers clench tightly around the wrist of my escaped hand and my breath quickens as he finally holds me still.

His face is mere inches from mine, and though he still wears his mask of annoyed boredom, I can see a glimmer of anger in the burning vastness of his eyes. 

That glimmer alone is enough to bring the entire world crashing down to its knees.

He tuts at me. “Well. You tried.” 

His breath smells like peppermint. It’s the last thought I have before he twists his hand and I feel the bones in my wrist break with a muted snap.

The dagger tumbles to the ground and I scream in agony, bucking against him no matter how futile it may be.

“I’m afraid my patience has run out, little witch,” he growls loudly over the sound of my screams. His breath tousles my hair where it’s fallen over my eyes. “I suggest you stop fighting.”

Through the haze of terror and pain, my eyes catch an armoured man passing him a length of rope. With what little energy I have left, I wriggle and scream, even though my throat feels bloody and raw. If he’s taking me to the king, then this could be my very last chance to try and escape. I know in my heart it’s pointless, but my body obeys my instinct to run nonetheless.

The second I feel the rough scratch of the rope against the skin of my hand, I spit into his face. He stills for a terrifying second and I swear that glimmer of rage in his eyes grows to a spark. Slowly, his mouth spreads into a cruel grin. And then he shoves me backwards until my body slams into an ancient oak tree so hard it rattles my teeth. My broken, useless wrist throbs, emptying my head of any and all thoughts other than burning agony. I barely have time to comprehend my position before he’s pinning me in place with his hard thigh between mine and my wrists held painfully above my head by his tightening grasp.

My chest burns as every rapid breath I take sears through my raw lungs. I don’t even have the energy to kick my feet. 

He ties the rope roughly around my wrists above my head and I scream and scream as he tightens it. The pain of my broken bone races up my arm, white-hot. My vision blurs and goes dark for a moment, during which time I can only pray for unconsciousness to take me. 

He leans into me and wraps his hand around the underside of my jaw, squeezing hard, making sure I stay awake. I can barely hold his gaze with my own; his hateful eyes promise nothing less than my own horrific death. 

“You know, the king never asked me to bring you to him whole and unharmed,” he warns, his voice a flaming threat. “I wouldn’t recommend tempting me any further.”

I whimper pathetically as the fight leaves me and the fear takes hold instead. His other hand coasts casually down my side, where it finds the handle of my second dagger strapped to my thigh. He removes it, throwing it away like trash. He watches me intently as he lowers my wrists, holding them in place between us as he bends down and swiftly grasps the last blade tucked into my boot. I don’t even know how he knew it was there, but it doesn’t matter now. He examines it, testing its weight in his palm, before looking back to me.

“I think I might keep this one for myself,” he says with a sharp smile, his eyes gleaming maliciously. The blade is fiery hot as its edge presses against my cheekbone. “Just in case.”

The blade bites and I feel the sting of blood on my cheek. It isn’t the searing pain of a deep cut; it’s the dull throb of a warning slice.

His eyes fall to my chest, attracted by something I don’t even want to think about at first. But then he removes the dagger from my face and sheathes it before grasping the chain carrying my parents’ wedding rings between his gloved fingers.

“What’s this?” He asks in a tone that doesn’t require an answer.

My eyes go wide and my heart jumps into my throat.

“No,” I choke, my voice a hysterical rasp. “No, no…please, no…”

“Oh?” He raises his eyebrows, intrigued. “This matters to you, doesn’t it?”

“Please…” I beg, any and all sense of pride leaving me at the threat of losing the last reminder of my parents. “Please don’t…please don’t…”

“Shh, don’t worry,” he purrs. “I’ll keep it safe for you, little witch.”

He snaps the chain with one sharp tug and I yelp, hot tears finally spilling from my eyes. I watch through the blur of wetness as he examines the rings with little to no interest before tucking them away in the one empty leather sheath at his hip. 

I feel like my entire soul is ripped from my body as I watch the necklace disappear. The thought of it being stored on his person makes me feel physically ill. Desperation tells me I’ll never get that necklace back. He didn’t even care why it was important to me, he took it simply because it was. Because he knew it would break me. And he was right.

He backs off of me then, leaving me shaking against the rough bark of the tree. Every part of me hurts as he grabs my arm and hauls me forward, but I bite my tongue to keep from crying out. I’m still swaying on my feet, trying to keep my balance, when he grabs the long tail of the rope binding my hands together and uses it like the humiliating leash it is to make me walk the path to the village. 

Tears fall shamelessly from my eyes as he leads me through the village square. I keep my gaze on the uneven cobblestone path until we walk by the ancient, oxidized copper fountain. Only then do I dare to look up at my surroundings, and what I see makes my insides burn with anger and embarrassment.

Varians—all the people I’d grown up with—line the streets in front of their shops and their homes and watch me walk by. Some of them look upset, their eyes watery and their cheeks red. Others look fearful, likely due to who was holding my bindings. But mostly, the eyes that look back at me are entirely apathetic; relieved, even, that I was finally being removed from amongst their ranks. Rage bubbles up inside me. I want to scream at them all, to tell them how ashamed my mother would be to know how her people treated her daughter like a pariah. Like something to fear and shun. I was only a child when I came to them. A child. I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask for any of this! I didn’t do anything to them!

But I hold my tongue. They aren’t worth the effort of screaming. They know they’ve failed my mother by failing me. They just don’t care.

Kylo Ren doesn’t speak a single word as we walk, choosing to opt for stony silence instead. Part of me assumed he’d gloat about capturing me—that he’d make a big show of it, just to rub more salt in my raw wounds. But he does nothing of the sort. He’s gotten what he’d come for, I suppose. What else was there for him to say?

As we reach the end of the rust-coloured square, I can hear someone sobbing. I know at once it’s Aurore, and my heart breaks all over again. She’d tried to warn me and did all she could to help me escape this fate, and I’d failed anyways. She’d always risked so much, just to be kind to me, and instead of repaying her for that just this once, I’d ruined everything. I’ll probably never see her again. Maybe that’s her repayment. She’ll never again have to make excuses for me or sacrifice her comfort in Varia because she’s my friend. Maybe the whispers behind her back will finally stop. Maybe she could marry Theo and be happy with him.

When I see her face, I can’t help the small sob that slips out of me at last. Her eyes are red-rimmed and her lower lip is bleeding from being caught between her teeth repeatedly. She shakes her head slowly while her shoulders tremble with heart-wrenching sobs. I can hear her voice in my head. No. It was never supposed to end like this.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her as I pass. The two words sound pathetic to my ears, but they’re all I can manage in the short moment I’m near her. They’re the only thing that comes to mind. An apology is all I can offer, and it will never be enough.

In my peripheral vision, I swear the Enforcer’s hand tightens around the end of my rope. 

“Will you not tell me why the king wants to take her now, at least?” 

Malvaine. Varia’s chosen leader. Our Allmother. I turn my head to look at her bronzed, creased face. Those amber eyes that are still so vibrant and demanding despite her short stature and advanced age. Her curly grey hair is thrown up in a bun atop her head, rogue pieces billowing in the breeze. The hand that grips her cane is bone white with tension.

My captor stops, leaving me with no choice but to come to a halt directly behind him. He looks down at the little woman, tilts his head, and doesn’t answer her right away; it’s as though he’s assessing whether or not she is worthy of hearing his reply.

But Malvaine is not one to back down. Not even now, when it seems Death himself is glaring at her in front of all of Varia. She straightens her spine and raises her chin half an inch, daring him to question her authority in her own village.

“The king never had a need for her before,” he answers curtly. “He does now.”

Malvaine blinks—once, twice. The only sign of her growing concern.

“And what might that need be?” Malvaine queries, barely managing to keep the anxiety from leeching into her strong voice.

Kylo scoffs. “Do you really think I have permission to tell you that?”

Malvaine’s eyes narrow, her lips squeezing into a tight line. “No,” she says with a shake of her head. “No, I don’t suppose you have permission to do much of anything, do you?”

I can hear his violent grin in his voice and it sends a terrible chill down my spine, enough to rival the cold that lives within me.

“Would you like to find out what my limits are, Malvaine?”

I’d never in my life seen Malvaine wither in the face of a threat. Not once. But she does so now, slinking back a step. I watch pure terror flash across her normally stony features, caused by whatever she saw in Kylo’s face just then. 

My eyes widen, and my heart beats a furious pace once more.

“Good choice,” Kylo says, his voice a quiet snarl. 

“Will—will he let her live?” Malvaine’s voice is so small, it doesn’t even sound like hers. There’s worry in her words and it confuses me. 

“Don’t tell me you’re concerned about the witch’s well-being, Malvaine. We’ve heard the stories. We all know you couldn’t care less.” 

When Malvaine doesn’t argue the point, he straightens, his dark voice hinting at a smirk once more. “We’re done here, then. I’ll be sure to let the king know you handed her over to me without even putting up a fight.”

Malvaine’s eyes flit to mine, and I could swear I see regret swimming in them. Maybe a little pity, too. Well, it was far too late for either of those things now. 

I meet her stare and shake my head. I let all my rage and heartbreak and disappointment show on my face, so that it may be the last thing she remembers of me. I hope she sees my face every night when she closes her eyes for the rest of her life.

My mother would be ashamed of you, Malvaine. 

My mother put her trust in the wrong people, and look where it’s gotten me.

The rope tugs sharply against my throbbing wrist, reminding me of the excruciating pain I’m in, and I wince, stumbling forwards as we begin to move once more. And we keep moving, all the way down the winding, quiet streets of Varia. I take one final look at the rickety houses, built one on top of the other in some cases, with their pretty thatched roofs. I breathe in the scent of a fire burning somewhere in the village—that delicious, comforting scent of pinewood, the satisfying sounds as it pops and snaps. I can visualize the red-orange sparks spiralling up into the sky, swirling around each other higher and higher until they become indistinguishable from stars.

The woods of birch and pine trees that curl around the village beckon me to come back home—to return to the solace of their shadowy spaces, to my life hidden beneath their shielding branches. But I cannot. I feel the wetness gathering on my cheeks as I admire them one last time before they begin to thin out around me.

We stop walking once we reach the stables at the very northern end of Varia. Some of Kylo’s men retrieve the horses and I watch as they are paraded out one after the other, all with shining coats and healthy bodies, all baring the king’s crest on violent red caparisons: a roaring lion’s head, its mane a circlet of licking flames. They chuff and stomp their hooves in the dry dirt, raising clouds of dust. I do not look at any of them too closely. I am not foolish enough to think I will be given a horse to ride. No, if they want me to suffer on this journey, I’ll be walked or dragged behind one instead.

The final horse they retrieve from the stable is a monstrously tall, night-black stallion. Its wavy tail swishes quickly from side-to-side, almost agitated. It’s the biggest horse I’ve ever seen, and I’m immediately afraid of it. It could kill me with one strike from its front leg. Easily. My heart lurches in my chest as the beast is walked towards me. I can feel its inky black eyes on me, sizing me up. Am I worth the effort to kill? Hmm…

I’m not surprised when Kylo Ren takes the reins. Of course the most terrifying horse would be his horse. Who else could it possibly belong to? I am surprised, however, when the man himself turns around to look at me with a cold, growing smirk on his face. Surprised, and horrified.

“Get on the horse, little witch.” 

My stomach flips. My eyes widen against my will and I shake my head very quickly.

“No,” I answer automatically.

One eyebrow quirks up with an air of amusement I do not like. “Get. On. The. Horse,” he says again, his voice low and commanding all at once. 

His men are all looking at us—at me. They must think I’m stupid, arguing with the Enforcer. Maybe I am. Or maybe I’m crazy. Either way, I can’t fight the urge that makes me keep fighting against him. The less I bow to him, the less he wins.

“No. I will not.”

He sighs like an exhausted adult who’s been forced to watch a feisty toddler all day. I bristle at the idea. But then he steps towards me, holding my rope close to his body, until he has me trapped only a couple suffocating inches away from him. I gasp, slowly raising my eyes to his face.

“Just remember, you could have avoided this if you just did as I told you,” he says flatly.

Before I can formulate a snappy response, his hands are firm upon my waist and the ground is no longer beneath my feet. I scream involuntarily, and I’m about to start kicking, when it’s over. The hard leather of a saddle crashes against my ass just as the bastard lets go of me, and I yelp. 

Gods. He just manhandled me onto his horse, and…and…and I think I could vomit as I look down. The earth is so far below me, I feel like if I fell I’d be dead instantaneously. Solara, this horse is fucking huge. It doesn’t help that I don’t have very much experience with riding.

The men in the party laugh and chatter under their breath all around me. They think this is all so humorous. What a stupid little witch, thinking she could make a scene and get away with it. Look at her now. She’s pathetic.

Heat stings in my cheeks, but to my horror, my humiliation isn’t over yet. No sooner did I adjust to not only the beast beneath me but also the height of said beast, another, far worse kind of beast seats himself behind me.

His armour is sharp and hard against my back, which is now ramrod straight. I can feel his thighs firmly against my own, and nausea rolls my stomach. His gloved hands reach around me and take hold of the reins. I am acutely aware of every part of him and every move he makes. I’m even aware of his breath, as he huffs out a low laugh that ruffles the hair on the back of my head.

“Relax, little witch,” he murmurs by my right ear. “You’ll scare my horse with all this tension.”

I say nothing, but the fingers of my unhurt hand grip the pommel so hard they crack.

“It could be worse,” he continues speaking as his horse slowly begins to move down the dirt road. “I could make you walk behind me. By the end of this journey, your shoes would be more horse shit than leather.”

“That might be preferable,” I chew out the words through tightly clenched teeth. 

He laughs, and it’s almost light enough to sound genuine. But I am not fooled by this man. I will never be fooled by him.

“I would, but you’re special cargo,” he replies. “King’s orders and all that.”

“And who are you to disobey your king?” I snap, unable to stop myself from bickering with this monster. “You’re such an obedient little dog. Do you roll over and play dead when he asks you, too?”

He doesn’t laugh at that one.

Suddenly his voice is right next to my ear, and I jolt as I feel his warm breath curl across my cheek. That smell of peppermint briefly overwhelms me. 

“Is that what you tell yourself you think of me, little witch? That I’m just a dog?”

His low, gravelly words raise the hairs on my body.

“No, actually,” I murmur, “I think you’re an evil bastard.”

“Ahh,” He leans back again. The horse shakes its head, ears twitching. I breathe in the scent of it—hay and oats and sun heat—to try and calm myself. It was a beast, yes, but it was still just a horse.

“Don’t wear that one out too quickly, Shadowsmith,” he warns. “It’s a long way to Marbhan.”

If I even make it there. One screw-up on your part and I might just slip away, dog. Then what will you do? I bite my tongue. He’s too close to me right now. If I say anything that could allude to my potential escape, I worry he’ll stab me in the back right here and now. Or perhaps he’ll throw me from this horse. I don’t think he’ll kill me, but there are far too many ways for him to maim me, as he’s already proven. Perhaps he’d choose to put me in a cage or something similar for the rest of the trek. Then I’d really be screwed.

No, I might have a temper, but I’m not stupid. I need to play it safe as best as I can, for as long as I can. Until a good opportunity presents itself to me.

I hope a good opportunity presents itself to me, sooner rather than later. I am determined to escape this terrible fate and this man at my back. 

As the dirt road beneath us is gradually overtaken by grass, I risk one small look over my shoulder. I shouldn’t be so sad about it, but fresh tears build in my eyes nonetheless as I watch the only home I’ve known for the majority of my life become nothing but a shadow in the distance.

Chapter Text

We keep riding until the sun is close to sinking beneath the surface of the horizon. Solara always takes extra care to paint the sky with such a pretty palette before she slips away so her sister, Nos, can come to replace it all with glittering stars.

I look to the west, where the Alvrioth mountain range glows a soft lavender purple as dusk sets in. If I am travelling to my death, at least I can try and appreciate the beautiful things along the way. 

Eventually we come to a clearing amidst the scattered pine trees, and my captor commands everyone to set up camp for the night. He doesn’t help me off the bloody horse; he just hops down, smooth as water, and stalks off. One of his men stands by the horse’s front leg, looking up expectantly at me, waiting not very patiently for me to get down so he can take the horse. I groan, and do my best to slide off the back of the great beast. With only one functioning hand, it’s not an easy task. I land without any grace to speak of, and my legs give out, my knees striking the earth hard. Pain rockets up my legs to my spine and I wince. No one helps me stand, either. I falter and grumble my way through it until I can straighten out and examine my surroundings.  

I watch with mild interest as the men mill about, all tending to their assigned tasks as efficiently as possible. Some work on laying out the bedrolls, others work on a fire and food. A few begin chopping trees down in earnest, just to have enough wood to burn through the night. 

And they all seem so very, very afraid of Kylo Ren.

I watch the Enforcer as he talks with another only a few feet away from me in low tones I can’t decipher. Rage is like a cloud that hangs over his head—I can almost see it. My own personal tempest thunders in response, and before I realize what I’m doing I’m stepping towards him, closing the distance between us, ready to sink my teeth into his throat.

“You.”

I halt immediately and flinch, but muted relief seeps into my bones when I realize Kylo isn’t talking to me. He is pointing one gloved finger at a rather weasley man with short brown hair roughly six feet away. The man jumps and then races to Kylo, offering him a firm nod of respect. I roll my eyes at the display of allegiance. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have your medical kit close by?” Kylo demands.

“Y-yes, sir, I do,” the man nods quickly. “How can I be of service?”

Kylo jabs his thumb at me. Icy cold dread seeps into my bloodstream. Despite my foolish reaction just now, I truly didn’t want to be acknowledged by him. When we’d left Varia behind, I’d hoped to just be neglected for the duration of this journey, like the burden I no doubt was to him. I’d hoped he’d simply…ignore me, quite on purpose.

Clearly, that was not to be the case.

“She has a broken wrist,” he snaps. “Fix it. And follow the rules.”

I can’t keep the shock and confusion from showing on my face. He broke my damn wrist. Now he’s asking for it to be fixed? And what were these rules? What is happening? It doesn’t make any sense. With a broken wrist, I can’t wield shadows as easily. If he lets the bone set wrong, there’s a chance I’d never be able to wield much of anything ever again. I wouldn’t be a threat. Does he even realize how stupid this decision is? I’m not about to tell him, if not.

The healer looks at me apprehensively with watery grey eyes for just a second before turning back to his leader.

“B-but, sir…if it’s her wrist, that will involve me having to, uh…cut the rope binding her. What if—what if she tries to use her magic?”

I know it’s the wrong thing to say the second he says it. So I’m not surprised when Kylo gets in his face, one large hand wrapped around the man’s throat, all before I can exhale my breath.

“Then I guess you’d better be quick on your feet, you fucking moron,” he snaps. “What good will she be to the king if she’s permanently crippled?”

Ah. Yes, of course. It’s the king who wants me. I’d forgotten for a moment what I had been kidnapped for. Or maybe I was ransomed? Judging by the guilt-ridden expression on Malvaine’s face before I left, it seems likely.

“I gave you an order to fix it, so fucking fix it.”

He shoves the bony healer to the ground. I can commiserate with the sharp wince that appears on the man’s features; I now know how it feels to be thrown by the king’s almighty assassin. It certainly doesn’t give a person butterflies in their stomach. But the healer stands quickly and scurries towards me, and all feelings of sympathy disintegrate. 

I bare my teeth at him, twisting my aching face into the most menacing grimace I can manage. He hesitates, but only for a moment. Though I notice the way his hands shake as they reach for my wrist.

He doesn’t ask my permission. He doesn’t even look me in the eye before he touches me. His fingers are icy cold and the minute they probe my wrist I huff a growl. My spine straightens as sharp, burning pain lances through me. I struggle to keep my reaction to it from showing on my face, despite the fact that no one is looking directly at me. I half-expected my captor to be standing nearby watching, enjoying every second of my agony, waiting on tenterhooks to watch me squirm because of what he did to me. But when I cast my gaze upwards, he’s nowhere to be found.

A trembling breath pushes past the healer’s lips. “I-I’ll go get my supplies,” he murmurs to me. “Just—just stay here.”

“Not many other places for me to go, are there?” I reply mockingly, incensed by the fact that he thinks he can order me to do anything on his behalf. I will not allow him to think I stayed here simply because he told me to. There is already one man in this party that seems confident that he controls me, I will not suffer another.

When he returns, he has short wood boards not much wider than my dagger blades, a bundle of gauzy, grey material, and a short brown bottle filled with what I think is some kind of liquid. 

He lays it all down atop a wide, mossy log and bades me wordlessly to sit. Slowly and cautiously, I do, because despite all my anger and grief, I would quite like to have full function of my wrist again. 

If that’s what was even really happening here. Only one way to find out, unfortunately.

He pulls a short dagger with a slate grey handle from his pocket and I stiffen. Only then does he finally let his eyes land on my face. They’re bloodshot and have distinctive dark circles beneath them, but they hold no outright malice.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says quietly. His voice still shakes, but I can tell he’s trying to sound calm. “I just need to remove your bindings if I’m going to be able to help you…”

Reluctantly, I let my shoulders drop slightly and lower my chin, directing my gaze to my bound hands in my lap. He picks up on the cue and sets to work sawing at the thick rope. Every jerk of the knife jostles my wrist, and I have to bite into my lip to keep from making any noise. But eventually the rope falls away, and my raw, reddened, and swollen wrists are finally free. I slowly roll the good wrist in circles, stretching and clenching my fingers as the blood begins to circulate at a more appropriate pace.

Then I nearly jump out of my seat when he grabs my injured wrist and starts to probe at it again. 

“Gods! Could you not have warned me before you did that?!” I snarl. 

He looks up at me without really looking at my face, but though there’s an apologetic tilt to his eyebrows, he says nothing. Then he bends over and gets back to his work. 

He delicately prods me with his fingers, carefully moving my hand and arm. With each movement it becomes more and more difficult to withhold my screams. But thankfully it’s over before I can lose my grip.

“I’m going to set the bones now,” he says, still in that same near-whisper, like he didn’t want anyone else hearing him speak to me with something that could be mistaken for kindness or patience. 

“Plural?” I ask. 

He sighs. “From what I can tell, you have a scaphoid fracture, and maybe a small ulnar styloid fracture, too. Luckily for you, I can’t feel that the bones are misaligned at all. So we can use a splint to immobilize it and I won’t have to bring out any of my scarier tools, or my stronger liquor.”

So that’s what the brown bottle was for. He picks it up just then, uncorks it, and passes it to me. I take it and eye it with a healthy dose of suspicion. 

“What is this, exactly?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Does it matter? Its burn will be far less than the pain you’re about to experience in your wrist. But if you’d rather do this sober, I can—”

I don’t give him time to finish his sentence. The liquid that pours down my throat tastes like fermented blackberries and bile, and the burn is truly atrocious. I cough and splutter and nearly vomit, but luckily avert that crisis by spitting profusely into the grass. 

“That is awful,” I wheeze. My throat feels like it’s on fire.

“Isn’t it? Probably makes you feel better about not doing this sober, huh?”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and glare at him, but he doesn’t see it. He’s too focused on measuring the correct length of the wood boards. 

After about five minutes the nausea in my gut and the pain in my throat fade and I’m left with a strange numbness, paired with a head that feels light and floaty, though I still have that foul taste at the back of my tongue. 

He positions my wrist where he needs it, and although there’s still a prickling pain there, it’s severely lessened. 

“Let me know if this starts to hurt too much. I have more of that stuff in my saddlebags,” he mutters.

I pray to Solara I won’t need to drink more of it tonight.

“What’s your name?” I don’t think I mean to ask the question, but after ten minutes of silence, it spills out of me.

His brows pinch together and I can tell I surprised him. 

“Uh…it’s Dónal,” he answers stiffly. 

I commit it to memory for reasons I’m not fully aware of yet. Just seems necessary somehow. 

“Do you know my name, Dónal? Or just what I can do?”

Faint colour floods his cheeks. “We weren’t told your name, no.”

The unspoken words hang between us, heavy and ominous. He doesn’t know my name, but he knows of my curse. He knows I’m a blight on society. A blight on Ebonreach.

“But he knows my name?” I ask. There’s no need to explain who he is referring to. 

“I assume so,” Dónal answers flatly. “I don’t know.”

“I see.”

I watch as he meticulously wraps the gauzy fabric around the splints, readjusting as he goes to make sure it’s perfectly tight around the injury. My eyes narrow at this man. He seems…malleable. Maybe I could let my shadows wind around his hands, just enough to startle him. Maybe he’d tell me anything I wanted to know if I did.

But I have no energy left in me. The adrenaline from earlier has vanished from my body, and I just feel tired and sore and weak. So maybe not today, but it’s an idea I lock away to revisit later.

“Do you know why the king wants to bring me to Marbhan?” I ask in a raspy whisper. 

Dónal’s eyes blink up at me, wide with alarm. 

“I-I don’t really—I can’t—”

“Does he wish to make a spectacle out of killing me? Is that it? All his petty wars and skirmishes aren’t enough excitement for him? He has to kill Ebonreach’s last known Shadowsmith to prove he cares about the safety of his people, I bet. He wants to make sure they believe the lie that he isn’t the one killing their children and starving their families. And they’ll lap it up like the hungry little flock they are.”

“Please, keep your voice down!” Dónal hisses, fear seeping into his expression once more. “You should not speak like that here, not when K—”

“Are you nearly finished, healer?”

Dónal jumps out of his skin and drops my significantly heavier wrist onto the log with a distinctive thud. He stands and pivots towards Kylo Ren, who looks down at me with scornful disinterest. Although my heart rails frantically against my rib cage, I scowl right back at him.

“Y-yes, sir,” Dónal nods so quickly I think his head might fly off his scrawny neck. “I just have to secure the wrappings.”

Kylo huffs. “Be quick about it, then. And make sure she eats something. I don’t need to deal with her getting sick due to her own mulishness.” 

“How dare you—”

“Yes, sir. I will, sir,” Dónal speaks over me as loudly as he can manage. I glare at the back of his head, hoping he can feel it burning through his skull, but at the same time I can understand that he doesn’t want to be trapped between myself and the boorish brute across from me.

The corners of Kylo’s lips twitch, and for a maddening second I think he’s going to show me another one of those self-righteous smirks of his. Then I may really throw myself at him clawing and biting, broken wrist or not. But he keeps his expression carefully blank as he nods curtly once at Dónal before throwing him a thin, hinged metal circle that the healer barely catches. It’s dark grey with a barely perceptible black line forged into the middle that goes all the way around, and a small silver ring juts out on one side. I dislike it the second I see it.

“Oh, and put this around her neck when you’re done. Careful, though. I believe she bites.” His dark eyes glint smugly at me before he stomps off to go make someone else’s night miserable.

I loathe his cruel arrogance but I brush off his weak comment, content with the understanding that I would love nothing more than to kill him in his sleep, as my eyes fall to the collar.

I just know that’s not a regular collar. If it were, there’d be wrist or foot binds to accompany it. Something to shackle me here and make it so I physically can’t run. I eye it with contempt as Dónal carefully sets it down on the grass by the rest of his supplies, frustration writ all over his face. 

But I hear Dónal’s relieved breath escape him before he turns back and kneels down to finish tending to me. I scrutinize him closely.

“You’re afraid of him.” I state the fact outright, seeing no reason to skirt around the truth.

His grey eyes flick to my face and for the first time I see a firm seriousness in his expression. Almost akin to a backbone, but not quite.

“Yes, I am,” he admits without a hint of sheepishness. “You should be, too.”

“Why?”

He gives me an astonished look. “You have to ask?”

I chew the inside of my cheek, debating my next words carefully. 

“In Varia, he was discussed as more of a legend than a real person,” I explain slowly. “He was a bedtime story for kids, with a moral attached. We’re so far south of the capital city, no one ever thought they’d actually be in his presence one day. So, yes, I have to ask, because I don’t know fact from fiction when it comes to him. I only know enough to know I’d like to see his corpse someday.”

A shiver runs through Dónal’s thin body and I can practically hear his thoughts screaming at me to shut up, but he doesn’t speak them aloud. 

“He’s a professional assassin,” he says simply. “He kills whomever the king tells him to, and he has fun doing it as far as anyone can tell. He’s burned entire settlements to the ground before; he’s led a charge of seven hundred men across a battlefield and decimated the enemy, who had a horde of thousands. He is a legend. And everyone fears him because he doesn’t hesitate. Ever. If the king wants you dead, he’s the one to do it. And he never misses a mark.”

My brow pinches together as I mull this over. “So, since he hasn’t killed me yet…and because he’s even demanded you mend my wrist that he broke…am I correct in assuming that means the king doesn’t want me dead? Or just that he doesn’t want me dead by Kylo’s hand?”

Dónal finishes with my wrappings and starts gathering his supplies. When next he speaks, it’s a whisper.

“That’s what we all find strange about this mission. It’s the first time that he’s been given an objective and expressly forbidden from causing serious harm to the target. Which, in this case, is you. Obviously the king thinks you’re too important, but none of us know why.”

Something strange and uncomfortable crawls its way down my spine, settling like a heavy, cold lump in my stomach. But why? Why me? I know Dónal doesn’t have an answer for me, but I am close to demanding one anyways. The only thing special about me is a death curse. A blight that made no one want to have anything to do with me. So I have a tough time imagining that the king wants me for anything other than killing me to prove a point.

I didn’t even notice Dónal pick up the collar from the ground before he’s holding it up to my throat. I jerk backwards, inhaling a sharp breath through my teeth.

He looks at me, pleading. “Please…I don’t have a choice here. It won’t hurt you, I promise. Might even help you, come to think of it…”

I am loathe to trust him, but I also can’t really escape it, so I go still and watch him through narrowed eyes as he clips it closed around my neck.

Immediately, my entire body hollows out. I gasp, eyes blowing wide, as the strange, unsettling feeling washes over me. It takes me a minute to figure out exactly what’s happened, but then it hits me, and I nearly scream.

I can’t feel my magic.

The collar has nullifying properties that force the cold shadows within me down into a secret little box somewhere in the back of my mind. I don’t feel warmer or any less afraid because of the absence of it, I just feel…empty. Quiet. Horrified.

I can see now why Dònal had looked so frustrated when Kylo brought it over. He’d been worried about me using my magic while he mended my wrist, when Kylo had the remedy for that problem with him the whole time. Obviously the Enforcer liked watching the healer squirm.

“C’mon,” Dónal says softly, standing up. “I’ll get you some food. It’ll make you feel better.”

My stomach feels nauseous rather than hungry right now. I’d never felt a day without the magic roiling inside of me, tormenting me, waiting to be let loose so it can wreak havoc. My mind is screaming at the vacant void within me, at the sheer amount of self-control I no longer require. When I stand, my legs tremble and I worry I’m going to collapse. Somehow, thank the gods, I stay upright.

On weak legs, I follow Dónal through the camp. A bonfire is raging, casting golden sparks twenty feet into the quickly darkening sky. Most of the men appear at ease now, having shucked some of their armour off. Some are gorging themselves, others are playing some sort of game with glimmering stones, a few are laying in their bedrolls staring up at the moon, and one is…whittling, I think? One large tent has been erected at the north end of the camp, a flickering orange light glowing through the cream-coloured canvas. I know without asking that it’s Ren’s. Of course he’d have a whole fucking tent to himself. Pretentious bastard. If I had my magic, I could disintegrate that tent and the man within it. But, strange as it is to think, the vacancy provided by the collar is kind of…calming.

I follow Dónal over to a stump, several yards away from the fire, which is surrounded by king’s men. Probably best I’m situated over here, with all the other loners. I sit down on the uneven, uncomfortable seat and groan when my hips and thighs throb in displeasure, sore from riding on a horse all day. He walks away and leaves me alone for an uncomfortable few minutes. When he returns, he sets a chipped, worn plate featuring a chunk of hard bread, steaming meat stew, and fried mushrooms onto my lap unceremoniously. A bent fork is situated precariously on top of the bread. I hasten to catch it as it tries to slip from the plate to the ground.

“There’s your food,” Dónal mutters, and I can hear the unfamiliar coolness in his tone. Now that he’s around others who could potentially hear him when he speaks to me, he has to treat me like he was expected to. Like I am a prisoner. A nuisance. Another monotonous task and nothing more.

“There’s extra bedrolls and blankets over by the tent,” he finishes, then quickly scurries away.

I make a mental note of his behaviour and look down at the warm plate in my lap. I didn’t want to eat this food, made by and for these people around me. It seemed tainted somehow. It was Kylo Ren that did it. He made it all seem so very unappealing. The mere thought of him makes me want to revolt. But my stomach rumbles loudly, and I’m reminded that I haven’t eaten anything since this morning. With a resigned sigh, I pick up the piece of bread.

As I lift it to my mouth, though, I very quickly notice several pairs of eyes trained on me, and I freeze before I can take a bite.

All the men sitting around me are watching me closely, and they don’t look away when my eyes meet theirs. My heart thrums with anxiety but defensiveness seeps into my bones and I glare at them all.

“Waiting for a show to start?” I snap, making sure my eyes meet every single fucking pair looking in my direction.

“Maybe,” a tall man with deep, unnaturally red hair pulled back in a long ponytail answers me, eyebrows raised. He has a strong jaw, bronzed skin, and a narrow but muscled frame. His eyes are cat-like and deep gold in colour. They spear me like knives, and I know this man can see straight through me, no matter how quickly I scramble to hide myself away.

“Well you’re shit out of luck,” I fire back, flicking the collar at my neck. “There’s nothing to see. Unless you just take pleasure in watching me eat, like the fucking pigs I’m sure you are.”

Some shoulders straighten. Some finally turn away and go back to what they were doing. Some are staring at me like I have a second head. But the man with the ponytail throws back his head and laughs.

I snap my head in his direction, ready to throw my piece of bread as hard as I can right at his throat. His shoulders still tremble as he wipes a tear from the corner of his eye.

“Ahhh…” he sighs. “I do love when they have a personality.”

“What the fuck is that supposed t—”

“Relax, would you?” He waves an errant hand at me and I have an urge to gnaw it off of his arm. “I just mean you’re not what I thought you’d be. You’re…refreshing. Isn’t she, boys?”

Some of the men grumble a response, others turn away.

I turn to my food, tearing a piece of the bread off with my teeth. It’s tough and chewy, but it has a warm, spiced flavour that makes my mouth water.

“My name is Rowan.” He continues speaking like I’m not purposely trying to ignore him. “Do you have a name?”

I take my sweet time chewing before I reply. 

“Does it matter?”

“If we’re going to have a conversation, it might.”

“We’re not going to have a conversation.”

“We’re already doing it, though.”

My fork clatters loudly against my plate. I imagine setting him on fire as I catch sight of his broad, arrogant grin which puts his two sharp canines on display. 

“Do you make a point of annoying everyone around you as quickly as you can?”

Some of the men chuckle to themselves at this but I pay them no mind. Rowan laughs too, swiping a long-fingered hand across his mouth. His eyes are golden and fiery, twinkling with mirth. 

“Mmhm,” he nods. “I’ve been trying to beat my personal best of ten minutes. Would you say I succeeded?”

“Gods, you’re tiresome,” I roll my eyes and get back to my food. I’ve already nearly consumed the entire plateful, and I still hate how delicious it is.

“So they tell me.” Rowan smirks. “I see why our Enforcer has such a vested interest in you. He’s always had a soft spot for spitfires.”

Another man laughs heartily at this but I don’t deem to look at him.

“I have no fondness for your Enforcer,” I snarl through bared teeth. “He is an evil bastard and nothing more. I will make his life a living hell before he ever gets me close to the capital.”

Rowan nods, his smile growing even wider somehow. “Oh, I do like you, No Name,” he says. “I look forward to watching.”

***

I wait for everyone to make it to their bedrolls and begin snoring before I walk over to the fire. After using a long, thick stick to stir the embers and my breath to bring it back to life, I throw a couple more small logs on it. Before long, it’s crackling and glowing, spreading heat throughout my extremities.

The “drink” Dónal had given me has worn off, and my wrist throbs dully, setting my teeth on edge. The fire’s warmth helps alleviate the worst of it. 

The moon is high in the sky, three-quarters full. In a few more days, my village will be celebrating the end of harvest and the coming of winter. And I won’t be there. A strange twinge of pain encircles my heart at the thought. I never cared about being present for any Varian events before, but now I find myself longing for them. Dreaming of the hefty mugs of chilled ale and the warm spiced taste of mulled wine; the bawdy songs played on the fiddle after the children go to sleep; the delicious scent of roasting meat, apple jelly, and freshly-baked honey buns. Tears prickle the backs of my eyes and I furiously blink them away. What’s the use of dwelling on something I’ll never experience again? I’m in enough pain as it is. I don’t need to torture myself with more.

Coyotes howl somewhere in the distance, their yips and barks an overlapping cacophony of sound, making it impossible to determine the size of the pack. Goosebumps pepper my arms and the back of my neck and I sigh, casting my gaze to the white tent where extra blankets and bedrolls remain stacked up outside of it. Relenting, I stand up stiffly and walk towards it. At least two candles still sputter with life behind the canvas, and as I get closer I can hear papers ruffling. I don’t want to draw attention to myself right now, though. Not where the Enforcer is concerned. So I quickly snatch a tartan blanket from the pile and pull it around my shoulders as I hurry back to the warm safety of the fire. 

As I sit and watch the flames crawl across blackened wood and coal, I can feel the exhaustion seeping into my body. I can feel its hands on my shoulders, trying to pull me down into slumber. Whispering at me to close my eyes. But my sense of danger keeps me from obeying. If I sleep, I become defenceless. Someone could hurt me then. Take advantage of me. Do far worse to me than what’s already been done. So I fight against the soothing coercion of sleep, pinching my thigh with my good hand until I feel the burn of my fingernails digging into my skin.

I’m not sure how much time passes as I stare into the fire; I only know I didn’t hear his footsteps in the grass. His voice makes me jump and a scream tries to claw its way up my throat. My skin prickles as my nerves give me a shocking jolt.

“Everyone else is asleep, little witch. Why aren’t you?”

My head snaps to the side to find Kylo standing a few feet away from me, his darkened gaze burning a hole in my mind. The glow of the dying fire casts deep orange shadows across his hulking form. He’s ditched his armour for the night and now wears a loose black tunic and black breeches. His thick hair is a tousled mess, as though his fingers have raked through it countless times in the last few hours. Speaking of, he’s no longer wearing his gloves, and I notice fine black ink lines curling along the backs of his hands, snaking out from beneath the long sleeves of his tunic. 

I don’t respond to him at first. I just sit completely still, not yielding an inch, and I don’t break eye contact with him. As the silence between us swells, he slowly smirks at me.

“Do you truly believe one of these men plans on attacking you in your sleep?” He casts his arm around, gesturing at the dozens of sleeping bodies scattered on the ground. 

“One man in particular,” I mutter poisonously. 

“Ah.” I can see the sharp point of a crooked canine between his lips. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

“Is it self-restraint that bars you from doing so? I thought it was an order.”

His smile fades, but the dangerous glint in his eye remains trained on me. “A little of both, if you must know.”

I scoff and finally return my gaze to the fire pit, drawing the blanket tighter around my shoulders, as if it could not only ward off the cold, but the attention of this monster, too.

“I’d prefer not to have to keep you upright in the saddle come morning, so I’d appreciate if you’d sleep—”

“What does the king want with me?” I interrupt him without hesitation and he stills, raising his eyebrows infinitesimally, but I know I have nothing to lose by asking and potentially everything to gain. I don’t expect him to give me an answer; I do, however, expect it to rankle him.

If he is so damn determined to pester me, I’ll make it worth my while.

“Is it not already obvious to you?” He asks. The words rake down my spine with sharpened claws. He might as well have said “Are you naturally so vapid, or willfully so?”

I just stare at him, trying my best to keep my expression blank.

“He wants your magic,” he replies, as if it’s the simplest answer in the world.

I can’t keep my brow from furrowing, or the frown from tugging on my mouth. A terrifying, barbed weight settles into my chest, spearing me with anxiety. My magic is a curse. If the king wants it, that means nothing good for me, or for anyone else.

“Why…?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead he walks around the fire and picks up a large tin bucket by the handle. He looks at me through the weakened flames when next he speaks.

“I guess you’ll have to wait and find out, Reyvan.”

The sound of my full name spoken in his voice sends a strange, cold thrill down my spine and I shiver automatically. I wish to never hear him speak it again.

He upturns the bucket over the fire, and water douses what remains of the flames with a sharp hissing scream. Smoke clouds my vision and I gasp, using the edge of the blanket to cover my nose and mouth. 

I don’t see him anywhere, but I hear his voice in my ear as though he’s right next to me and it frightens me. 

“Now go to sleep, little witch.”

Chapter Text

Rowan Morrigan is a gods-damned pest. A thorn that has embedded itself so deep into my side, I’ll need to cut myself to get it out.

But he is also nice. And maybe that’s the worst part.

He chats with me regularly when we make camp, despite my unceasing rudeness—he thinks it’s funny, so it just entices him more. He laughs and jokes and smiles, and damn if it doesn’t lighten the atmosphere of this unfortunate journey, just as he intends it to. He doesn’t care if people overhear him talking to me. He doesn’t seem afraid of the repercussions—of Kylo Ren’s wrath. In fact, he almost seems to have a death wish in that regard with how often he jokes at the Enforcer’s expense behind his back.

Though I’ll never say it out loud, not even under the worst torture, Rowan has coerced a smile out of me twice now. A small thing each time, barely a twitch of my lips, but I know it’s there. And given the observant gleam that appeared in his burnished gold eyes both times, I’m pretty sure he knows, too. 

He also broke me and got me to tell him my name—part of it, anyways—if only because his constant use of “No Name” when addressing me was beginning to make me want to claw his eyes out. But then he changed tactics and started calling me “Sparrowhawk” because he said I remind him of the bird: small and loud, yet fierce and merciless. I don’t hate the comparison. I’ve certainly had worse.

But it annoys me all the same. I don’t want him to know my name, or feel familiar enough to give me a nickname, and I don’t want to smile right now. Not here. I don’t want another thing that makes me feel even the tiniest bit better, because I know at the end of this I’ll lose it all anyways.

Still, it’s hard to resist the temptation, when you’ve been lonely your whole life and someone suddenly treats you like a human worth knowing.

Despite it all, though, I tried to be careful with what I said around Rowan. It’d only been four days on the road; I could not ensure that he was trustworthy.

“Well, how was your ride today, Sparrowhawk?” Rowan asks, sitting down next to me on the ground. His wet hair is the colour of mahogany as it falls loose over his shoulders. 

It had been a long day. We’d only just set up camp after trekking through rain and mud for hours on end. Plus, Ren had been in a foul mood during the entire ride. He didn’t speak a word to me, which was a blessing, but I could feel his percolating anger like a hot brand at my back from start to finish. Only the gods know what made him so angry, and I don’t care about nor want to know the answer. 

“Terrible, same as it is every day,” I grumble. I loathe the fact that he asks that question every day. He knows I despise sharing a horse with that monster. He’s just tormenting me at this point.

 “Couldn’t have been that bad!” He exclaims. “I didn’t hear much bickering from you both this time around. Seems like an improvement to me.”

He reaches around behind his head, gathering his hair in his hands, and secures it with a leather strap. Then he looks me in the face and grins.

“Have I told you yet today that I hate you and that I really wish you’d leave me alone?” I ask in a low growl.

“Not yet. We haven’t had the time.” He says, shrugging. 

I roll my eyes and ring more rainwater from my hair. Thankfully the rain and subsequent mist has let up, though the sky still remains a murky grey colour that screams don’t take your eyes off me.

“Oh, well, in that case—”

“Rowan.”

That voice. Sharp and deadly, like a blade that could cut with just a glance. My spine straightens and the hairs on the back of my neck and my arms prickle as they stand on end. I remember how my name sounded on the edge of that blade and my body tightens.

Rowan, on the other hand, is still smirking as he slowly looks over his shoulder to find Kylo Ren glaring down at him. The idiot doesn’t even stand up to greet the Enforcer and I’m screaming internally at him to just do it before he gets himself killed right here in front of me.

“Yes, sir?” Rowan drawls. His tone is so unserious and I can feel cold sweat breaking out along my back as my anxiety mounts.

“What the hell are you doing over here?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m just having a chat with our lovely captive here,” Rowan answers cheerily. “She’s really quite entertaining when you get to know her. Have you tried?”

Kylo’s jaw clenches and I swear I can see the promise of death coiling off his body like a dense fog.

“I’m sure she’s thrilled with your presence, as much as we all are,” Kylo deadpans. “We’re a day’s ride from the Witching Wood; any manner of cursed creature could be out there waiting to attack us. Shouldn’t you be on guard duty, or passing out food, or doing anything else at all?”

Rowan’s eyes go wide and he feigns shock. I truly hate wherever this is going. 

“Oh, you’re not afraid that we’re talking about you, are you, brother?”

My heart falls through my stomach. Brother? But…they can’t be…can they? They look nothing alike, as far as I can tell. If Rowan is actually his brother…oh, gods. I’ve said some truly terrible things about Kylo to Rowan. I meant every one of them, but suddenly the threat of exposure is overwhelming.

A muscle jumps in Kylo’s jaw and I notice his fingers twitch with a menacing threat. He looks incredibly—dangerously—annoyed.

“I couldn’t possibly care less,” Kylo says flatly. “What I do care about is you neglecting your duties so you can pester the witch.”

Rowan’s eyes light up like a brilliant realization has just struck him. I know by the barely-restrained smile playing on his lips that whatever is coming next can’t be good. This may yet end in bloodshed.

“Goodness, but you aren’t jealous, are you? Feeling a little…what’s the word…possessive?” 

Kylo’s gloved hands curl into tight fists. I watch with morbid fascination as a muscle ticks beneath his left eye and his jaw clenches. I brace myself for the worst.

“I will only warn you once: get off your ass and go do something before I murder you where you sit. Now.”

“Alright, alright,” Rowan throws his hands up in submission and stands. “Just stop breathing down my neck, won’t you?”

Kylo glares sharply at him before his dark eyes flicker to me, and I can’t quite puzzle out the expression on his face. I don’t have time to dwell on it before he turns around and is gone.

“Sorry our visit got cut short,” Rowan says with that ever-present smirk. “I’ll find you again later.”

He’s walking away when I shout, “Wait.”

He stops, turns back to face me, an inquisitive look in his feline eyes.

I blink, suddenly unsure if I even heard him right before, but my anxiety is threatening to make me pass out if I don’t ask.

“Did you…did you just call Kylo Ren your brother?”

He laughs, and I could strangle him. I’m shocked, and for some reason I feel…betrayed? I’ve never had more than one or two friends in my entire life, and though I’m not even sure I think of Rowan as a friend, it still feels like a slap in the face to think he was lying to me every time he was nice to me. Did he do it just to see the look that was undoubtedly on my face right this minute? Or did he do it just to be purposely cruel, because I was a “witch” and a prisoner and nothing more?

“Calm down. We’re not related by blood,” Rowan says. “We’ve just known each other since childhood. Plus, we’ve fought every battle in the last ten years side-by-side. I’m his second-in-command, he’s my brother-in-arms…am I making sense? Do you know what that means?”

A strange sense of mild relief settles in my chest, but I recover in time to snap, “Yes, I know what that means.” 

“Glad we cleared that up,” he chuckles before turning to walk away. “I’ll see you later, Sparrowhawk.” He waves over his shoulder at me.

I grumble something behind his back and look down at my hands like I couldn’t care less, but I can’t deny the heat that floods my face. Why am I embarrassed? And more importantly, why am I labouring under the delusion that Kylo Ren’s second-in-command is a friend to me?

I’d kick myself for falling for it if I wasn’t so tired and sore from traveling on a giant horse through the rain and mist all day.

It’s at this moment I remember something Kylo just said. I’d glossed over it, having been preoccupied by the temporary shock and my habitual anger from just being in his presence, but it comes back to me now and it sends a shiver down my spine.

We’re a day’s ride from the Witching Wood.

How could I have forgotten? In order to get from Varia to the narrow pass known as Làirig, and on to Marbhan, one had to travel through the Witching Wood, a dark and dangerous forest that spanned acres—a haunted place full of bloodthirsty, mutated creatures. I have a vague recollection of passing through it once before, when I was sent to Varia after the deaths of my parents. All I can see in my mind is an overturned carriage and blood. Great crimson puddles of blood, and an echoing crunching noise.

They say it’s always dark in the Wood. They say because it’s land that’s been cursed, Solara does not shine upon it. And so the trees grow in twisted, gnarled shapes—some even crawl along the ground, looking for the sun they will never get to see.

My trembling fingers run along the edge of the nullifying collar around my neck—a physical reminder that I have no power here. I can’t access my magic; I don’t have my daggers or my arrows. If something happens in the Wood, if it all goes terribly wrong, I can’t protect myself. And I highly doubt anyone in this camp will protect me. They all avoid my eyes, except for Rowan, and I can’t even guarantee his compassion for me, or if he truly has any at all. 

The realization of just how alone I am out here finally sinks its claws into me. Painful pressure squeezes in my throat.

The damp breeze cuts straight through me then and I hunch over, shivering. I don’t know how long I stay like that, only that my teeth start chattering eventually. But then a shadowy presence falls over me, and when I look up, Kylo Ren is standing before me with a steaming bowl of soup in his hand and that same stony, apathetic expression on his face. He thrusts the bowl at me and all I can do at first is blink at it. There’s something so unnatural and confusing about this scenario. It’s the fact that he is the one bringing food to me. While ensuring that someone is fed is normally considered a caring gesture, it doesn’t quite ring the same when it’s him.

He’s supposed to be uncaring towards me. I want him to just ignore me, so why isn’t he? I can’t help but feel like he’s playing a game with me, except I don’t know the rules.

It’s so fucking infuriating. 

After he makes an annoyed grumbling sound, I reluctantly  take the bowl of soup with my numbed good hand. Even once he’s released it, though, he doesn’t walk away. I chance one more look at him, rueful and confused. His head is tilted slightly to the right as he looks down at me, and I can feel his burning dark eyes assessing me. 

“You should be sitting by a fire,” he says quietly, in that deep, rough voice of his. The sound of it ripples over my skin and the shiver it gives me rivals the chilly air between us.

“C-can’t,” I grumble, just wishing for him to leave me here in the cold like he absolutely wants to. “The wood’s soaking wet; they used what was d-dry for the cooking fire and haven’t got a larger one st-started yet.” 

“Hmm.”

I watch, eyes wide with surprise, as he twists his wrist slowly in front of his body. It’s darker out now, and the action is blurred by nighttime shadows, but there’s suddenly a thick tartan blanket there in his hand. 

I know he didn’t have that when he came over here. Even though I couldn’t see the action clearly, I know the truth. It hits me like a rough shore, thrashing me repeatedly against the rocks.

He has magic. But what kind of magic? What god dared to bless this monster? And how?

He thrusts the blanket at me much the same as he did the food, and I cautiously take it from his fingers. I’m shocked to find that it’s incredibly, deliciously warm somehow, as if he’d summoned it from a drying rack near a blazing fire pit. 

“Wh—how did you…?”

But when I look up again, he’s already gone. I remain frozen like that for a minute, just trying to process what happened. Then, I slowly set the bowl down beside me and wrap the blanket tightly around my shoulders. I can feel my entire body sigh at the relief of the warmth, and I try to hate myself for it. I try to loathe the fact that I suddenly wish he was still standing here, looking at me in that maddening way he does, just so I could try to wring an answer from him. But my denial doesn’t quite reach the depths of me, and so I begrudgingly start to eat what he brought me.

***

His presence seated behind me is nearly overwhelming after what I learned last night. I want to bring it up so badly, but I’m having to bite my tongue. I don’t know the extent to which all these men are aware of their Enforcer’s abilities, and I’m not about to be the one to unveil the truth.

I hate Kylo Ren with every fibre of my being, but I know opening my mouth about this subject at the wrong time is not a smart move.

I waited all morning, and for the last five-and-a-half hours of riding, but now I have my chance. Finally. Kylo has urged his horse ahead of the group, scouting for signs of danger as we get closer to the Witching Wood. My proximity to that place is enough to have the hairs on my arms rising. Sitting with my back pressed to his front atop a horse, with a thousand questions burning in my mouth, is making me feel fucking insane.

I tighten my grip on the pommel of the saddle and keep my eyes scanning forward and my voice as quiet and even as possible.

“You have magic.”

I don’t ask it as a question because it isn’t one. I know the truth—he willingly showed it to me, whether he meant to or not. Now I want to know the details.

After a long, tense silence, he replies, “I do.”

I swallow. “Do any of your men know?”

“…A few.”

“What kind of magic is it?”

“Not the kind favoured by the king. That blessing lies solely with you, Shadowsmith.” Though his words seem bitter, his voice drips with nothing more than boredom.

My brows pinch together in frustration. “What can you do with it?”

“What I need to.”

“You’re being vague.”

“I know. I’m doing it quite on purpose.”

“Why?”

“Are you trying to get to know me, little witch?” This is spoken close to my right ear, and I shiver in response. His deep voice, quieted so that I am the only living thing able to hear him speak, echoes around my head.

“No,” I grind out the word. “I—I’ve never met someone else with magic before. Sorry I asked.”

He’s quiet for only a brief second. “If you’ve never met anyone else, how have you trained your magic?” A genuine question, spoken with genuine confusion. 

“What do you mean by training, exactly?” Something inside me sinks. I have a feeling his version of training doesn’t involve sitting alone in a forest, failing repeatedly.

“…Don’t tell me you don’t know how to control your shadows.”

I can’t ignore the way my heart suddenly races with anxiety. I’m sure he hears it, or, if not, he’s certainly close enough to me to feel it. Building embarrassment warms my face.

“My shadows,” I spit, “do nothing but destroy everything and everyone around me.”

“Reyv—”

“Do not use my name.” I snap. At this moment I know I can’t bear to hear him speak it again.

“You need someone to teach you how to control it—how to tell it exactly what you need it to do,” he mutters quietly as his horse slows, giving time for the group to catch up. “There’s so much you need to learn.”

I don’t speak. Angry, frustrated tears have sprung up in my eyes. They choke me. I fear if I try to speak, he’ll hear them in my voice. I refuse to let him see any more of my weaknesses. I blink furiously, trying to force the wetness away before it can cascade down my cheeks. 

After a long, painful silence, I can hear the others catching up to us. Before they can close in, Kylo speaks four words that are the equivalent of shoving me off a cliff. My stomach bottoms out. 

“I can help you.”

Fear and anger rise within me on instinct, even though I can hear a small voice in the back of my head telling me “this might be my only chance to help myself.” And I hate that little voice, almost as much as I hate him.

He takes my chilled silence as the sign that it is and doesn’t pursue the conversation further. His offer hangs in the air around us, heavy and tempting all at once, but I force it out of my head for the time being. There are bigger things to focus on right now.

After all, he might not be able to help me at all if we don’t make it out of the Wood alive.

Chapter Text

The last night before we officially entered the Witching Wood was tense, and no one got much sleep, myself included. Men were switching out guard duty every few hours. Between that and the haunting, distant howls that sounded more like screams, I could barely keep my eyes closed.

This morning, camp is uncomfortably silent. No one can speak very much around all the fear and apprehension clogging their throats. I woke up tired and anxious, and both feelings are only intensifying the longer it takes to tear down camp. 

We are about ready to start moving out when I see Kylo approaching me with Dónal at his side. The healer looks extremely pale and nervous. He keeps wringing his hands and his eyes dart in every possible direction. What is this about? Was now really the best time to examine how my wrist was healing? 

They stop a couple feet away from me and I eye them warily. Kylo gestures to me while looking at Dónal, who seems more than apprehensive. Nerves coil tighter in my gut.

“Get on with it,” Kylo barks.

“But the king said—”

“I don’t care what he said right now. I’m not dealing with a half-crippled witch in this damned forest. She needs use of both of her hands or she will die in there. Which do you think the king would prefer: you following his orders or his Shadowsmith getting torn to shreds before we’ve even made it halfway to Marbhan?”

Dónal gives him a confused look but then hangs his head in submission. “Yes, sir.” Defeat is sewn into the fabric of his words.

As he reaches for my hands, I pull them in tighter to my body, afraid of whatever he’s about to do. These men never explain anything before they just go ahead and do it, and it’s driving me insane.

“Don’t be difficult.” Kylo’s voice is dangerous, like a beast’s warning growl.

Unhappily, I let Dónal take my wrist, still wrapped tight in his bindings. With deft but shaking fingers, he peels away the gauzy material and then the splints. I hiss when my wrist is revealed to me. An array of deep blues and pinkish purples stretch for three inches up my forearm and cover the back of my hand, wrapping around my wrist like a macabre bracelet. Faint, ugly yellow borders it all.

Dónal hovers one hand above my wrist and the other below it, then closes his eyes. I feel a tingling sensation beginning in my palm, which builds to a stinging burn as it encases my wrist and hand. I screw my face up and whimper. I try to pull my hand away but I can’t seem to move it. Whatever he’s doing to me, his magic has me trapped without him needing to touch me at all. 

Magic. This fucker has magic, too. This whole time. Confusion and anger rumble through me like an oncoming storm.

I almost begin to scream as the pain crests; it feels like I’ve stuck my hand deep into a raging fire. But just then, it stops. I slump forward, gasping, and nearly lose my balance along with my meagre breakfast. Dónal steps away from me very quickly, as though I was the one who burned him. 

I’m still shaking uncontrollably when Kylo demands me to move my wrist.

No, I think, staring at the bruise that still remained there. Although, somehow, it looks fainter than it did a moment ago, as if some of its saturation had been quickly drained from it.

Curious and aghast, I roll my wrist in a slow circle. The joint feels very stiff, but there is no pain. 

“What the fuck did you just do…?” I whisper.

But Dónal doesn’t answer me and Kylo just pins me with a hard stare.

He’d just healed my wrist with magic. But he didn’t want to. Kylo had mentioned the king’s orders. The king didn’t want me to be magically healed, only functionable, because logic says that the weaker I am the easier I will be to control. But that’s authoritarian logic from a power-hungry king, and it doesn’t apply to me. 

But Kylo…he had to be under the same orders. He’d ordered my wrist be “fixed” in the first place. And yet he willfully went against them now, forcing Dónal to heal me faster. Did it have something to do with my confession regarding my training or lack thereof? Was it truly just so I stood a chance at surviving in the Wood, saving him the headache of keeping me alive? Or was he perhaps regretting his decision to injure me in the first place? I quickly decide that I don’t want to think too hard about it. 

When everything has been loaded up and secured, we all prepare to move forward. I begin my sullen trek over to Ren and his horse, whose fitting name, I’d learned, was Azrael. 

As I step within range of his sight, Kylo shakes his head at me, forcing me to come to a sudden halt. Confusion is no doubt written across my face as I glare up at him.

“You’ll ride with Rowan today.” It’s all he says to me before he looks away, securing Azrael’s harness and bit.

I don’t argue; I’ll take Rowan over him any day. I turn and walk over to where Rowan stands with his roan horse named Duncan, who is a much more reasonably-sized gelding.

“You didn’t tell me I’d be riding with you today,” I remark coolly. 

He raises his eyebrows at me and shrugs. “I only just got the notice myself. Seems he wishes to share you after all.”

“Don’t joke like that. I am not his. Nor am I yours.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” He waves me off and gives me a smirk that I know he intends to present as lighthearted, but I can see the way the corners of his mouth appear just a little too stiff, and how it doesn’t touch his golden eyes at all.

“He’s taking the lead into the Wood,” Rowan explains idly. “Didn’t want you on the front lines of any potential danger, I guess.”

I have to physically prevent myself from rolling my eyes. “Yes I suppose it is fairly important to keep the king’s bounty in one piece, isn’t it?”

Rowan doesn’t have a retort for me. He simply helps me up onto Duncan’s back before joining me on the saddle. Unlike Ren, he tries to keep as much space between us as he can manage. But Rowan is smaller than Ren, too—a fact I loathe to spend too much time considering. 

“You went through the Wood to retrieve me,” I say. “What was it like then?”

“Much like it is now,” Rowan answers ominously. “Still and foreboding, a little too quiet. Until it wasn’t.”

My mind momentarily blanks as fear consumes me. Once the mental fog clears, all I can see is that upturned carriage in my memory and the way the moonlight reflected in the blood pooling all around me. 

The silence is oppressing. The closer we get, the more it swells in my ears and nearly makes me scream just so I can end it. Gradually, the trees begin closing in, their gnarled shapes becoming increasingly unnatural the further we go. Soon, there are so many of them that we’re forced into two parallel lines. The horses are weaving through the strangely-shaped tree trunks, and we’re ducking our heads beneath curved, blackened branches that threaten to tear the hair from our scalps. There’s a distinct, unpleasant smell here. Sour and sweet, burning my nose and clinging to the back of my throat. It’s the smell of rot and decay.

It’s the smell of that which surrounds us. It’s like Bàs, the god of death himself, has walked upon this ground and left his familiar ruin in his wake. 

The world darkens. I look up at the canopy of knotted, chaotic branches, and I can’t find the sun anywhere. It wasn’t quite midday when we entered this forest. It should be directly above us now, but it’s not, and although I haven’t felt its warmth for many years, I yearn for it more than ever in the face of such penetrating darkness and terror. 

Being in this forest feels like we’ve all been buried alive. Every instinct in my body is yelling at me to get out now. Even Rowan has gone completely stiff behind me. I can barely hear him breathing, but I can feel the fear emanating from his body as it’s taught as a bowstring. I realize I didn’t think Rowan could experience fear. Witnessing how very untrue that assumption was now only heightened my anxiety. If Rowan’s afraid, I think we should all be fucking terrified.

After what feels like an eternity in the darkness, we come to a small clearing and Kylo silently orders everyone to stop. All the horses and men come to a tense and sudden standstill. More than one horse shakes its head and pounds the dirt with anxious hooves. And I see every man’s head is on a swivel, not just looking for danger, but anticipating it.

But I don’t focus on those men. I look to Ren. He’s leading this mission, and he has some type of magic—and I’m extremely confident he can do much more with it than summon blankets at will. Whatever it is he can do, I regretfully know it’ll be a lot more helpful than anything I could muster if I could access my own magic.

I watch him as his head slowly turns side-to-side. Azrael is perfectly still beneath him, aside from his ears twisting this way and that. Then their movements cease as they both freeze, and dread seeps through my veins like the plague.

Rowan is rigid as a statue behind me.

“Do you hear that…?” He asks in a near-silent whisper.

At first I hear nothing more than the lungs of the horse beneath me. I strain my ears to listen closer, but still, there’s no birdsong, no twig snapping, no talking…nothing. I’m about to shake my head no when I hear it: the faintest of sounds, somewhere deep in the Wood. At first it sounds like a clicking noise, but the foggy memory of my last journey here flashes in my head for the hundredth time that morning and realization grabs me with its icy talons.

It’s the sound of dozens of bones snapping between vicious teeth. The rending of a corpse long-since scavenged. And beneath it all, there’s a nightmarish sucking noise. It’s barely audible, but I know I hear it.

Shaking, I nod my head. I tell myself it’s okay—that the thing we’re all hearing is far away, and it won’t bother us if we keep our distance. Pure delusion is the only thing keeping me on this horse when I want nothing more than to run for all it’s worth.

Rowan urges Duncan forward slowly until we’re beside Kylo. The Enforcer doesn’t take his eyes off the direction of the sound at first.

“We need to keep moving,” Rowan whispers urgently, “before that thing notices we’re all sitting here.”

Kylo is silent for a painful minute, during which I can feel Rowan’s annoyance mounting. I know he’s frustrated and anxious to make it through this hellscape, but I’d just like him to remain calm for a little bit longer, because I feel like the second he’s no longer calm, I won’t be, either.

“It’s too late for that, Lieutenant,” Kylo says ominously. I watch in horror as he reaches behind his head and pulls one of his gleaming swords from its scabbard. “The noise is only a distraction. Don’t you feel their eyes on us?”

The hairs all over my body rise, and my eyes are wide as they quickly scan the dark shadows between warped tree trunks. My stomach churns, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. 

We’re being watched. We likely have been from the moment we stepped into the Wood.

Rowan tenses and then unsheathes his own sword. I feel so fucking helpless. I have no magic, no daggers, no arrows. I have nothing but my body and the clothes upon it. Anything could happen here. Sure, they’re under oath to protect me until they can get me to the king, but who can say that will be possible in this scenario? 

All around us, men ready their weapons and prepare for battle. It’s difficult to do when one doesn’t know what the enemy is. What horror will we face here? How many won’t make it out of this place alive? How many corpses will be left behind, just another pile of bones for a monster to consume?

“Can you see them, little witch? Hiding in the shadows?” Kylo asks me.

I start at his acknowledgment. How was I to see them without access to my magic?

“No, I—”

“Focus.”

I clamp my mouth shut into a tight line, and then I choose two trees and focus on the seemingly empty space between them. That yawning black and its hidden secrets, masking the danger to worsen the blow. I think only of the shadows—I clear my mind of everything else. I ask them to part, even for just a second, and somehow they listen. They obey. And I catch a glimpse of a nightmare.

A bollag wolf. I see its massive, hulking form, its shaggy hackles raised as it sits poised to jump. Its head and body resemble that of a direwolf, but its face is exposed bone—two black eye sockets set in a skull as white as the moon. One of its paws is the size of my entire head. But in that split second I can see it, I notice right away that something is wrong. There’s something off about it. While bollag wolves can dismember a human with one bite from their powerful jaws, I never knew them to have canines quite that long. They grow past the lower jaw by about an inch, extending downward in a menacing, serrated curve. I notice too that the pinhole of light within its eye sockets is red rather than the typical yellow or orange. And perhaps most haunting is the fact that it’s missing large patches of fur on its body, leaving scabbed skin exposed, slowly oozing blood. It looks as if it’s been hunted by something much larger and deadlier than it, and barely escaped with its life.

“What do you see?” Rowan asks quickly.

“W-we need to move,” I whisper, my voice shaking noticeably. “We need to run, we have to—”

“The moment we take one step further, they’re attacking,” Kylo interrupts. “That’s all they’re waiting for. Once we move, we appear to have let our guard down. Bollags like the element of surprise.”

He spoke like he knew they were bollag wolves, even though I never said that. That means he sees them, too. But I don’t have much time to ruminate on that before a terrible noise rips the world in two.

Growls of dozens of the beasts reverberate amongst the thick trees and rise to such a pitch that some men slap their hands over their ears, grimacing. The horses react instantaneously—most are no longer able to be restrained by their riders. Even Duncan begins to shift beneath Rowan and I, despite Rowan’s attempts to settle him. He whinnies and throws his head around as if he’s trying to dislodge the reins from Rowan’s white-knuckled hands.

“Brace!” Kylo yells, holding his sword aloft.

And then all hell breaks loose.

The wolves burst from their hiding places, their bony maws open and awaiting our flesh, their dagger-like teeth dripping with foamy saliva. I scream, but it can hardly be heard over the yells of the men and the screeching of horses.

One leaps at us, and I see its red, gaping eyes lock onto my face as it targets me. I squeeze my eyes shut, not wishing for its steaming mouth to be the last thing I see, but when I hear a sharp yelp and feel the fine, warm mist of blood spray across my cheeks, I open them to see Rowan’s blade buried between the wolf’s eyes. 

“Oh, gods,” I cry. “Oh, gods!”

The wolves nip at the legs of the horses, and Rowan clearly knows he can’t fend them off as effectively from Duncan’s back. They want him on the ground because he’ll be easier to target, but he’ll also be far deadlier.

“Fuck! This isn’t—Rey, stay on the horse!” Rowan yells in my ear before he dismounts and is swept into the cramped fray, just like I anticipated.

“No, no, no, no…” I mutter, twisting my head in all directions, highly aware of the fact that I am not safe here. 

I try to make it to the edge of the fray, but then one wolf, smaller than the rest, approaches us and nips at Duncan’s foreleg. The horse rears back and I scream, trying to hold onto the reins but failing. They slip through my sweat-slicked hands, and I tumble off the back of the horse, landing hard on the ground. When I look up again, Duncan is beating his hooves against the head of the beast repeatedly, but he’s also moving so frantically I have no hope of mounting him again. 

So there I sit: no weapons, no magic, no hope. For a split second that feels like hours, I watch the chaos unfolding around me. Dead wolves lay in furry heaps throughout the meadow. Of those that aren’t yet defeated, three are already feasting on the bodies of the men who didn’t move fast enough. I can hear their growls stuttering between bites of flesh and bone. I don’t know who’s died, and I’m not about to try and see for myself. It’s all too much, and I’m simply sitting there, taking it all in, essentially asking to be mauled. 

But no one is looking at me. 

In all the madness, everyone seems to have temporarily forgotten about me. And suddenly, a crazed idea plants itself in my head. I know the way in which we came into this cursed forest; if I can run fast enough, perhaps I can make it back out. And if I keep running, there’s a chance I’ll make it to one of the farms scattered across the plains, and someone may be willing to hide me if they don’t know what I am. 

I feel I have no other options. With numb extremities and an aching back, I haul myself to my feet and scurry off into the trees, where any horror could be awaiting me. But I have nothing else to lose. 

That’s what I tell myself anyway, as the darkness envelops me. As I run, I’m buffeted by rough tree trunks, and my hair snags on low-hanging branches, but I keep going. My lungs burn in my chest and I can barely see in front of me. I realize how stupid I am, but I won’t turn around. I can’t. This could be my one chance to escape and find a new life somewhere quiet and solitary with no wolves, bloodthirsty or otherwise—

The toe of my shoe catches a thick root protruding from the earth and I careen towards the ground. I barely have time to scream before my face slams into the rank, mossy forest floor. My healing wrist screams in pain when I try to use it to brace myself. Tears rush into my eyes as stars trickle across my vision, but I barely have a second to collect myself before I hear it.

Heavy, muffled footfalls and a deep, dark growl.

I spin around and see the giant white bollag wolf approaching me slowly, its nose angled towards the ground upon which I ran, and I can feel it when its eyes lock onto me. 

It tracked me. 

I push myself backwards with my feet as fast as I can, until my back finds the hard, knobbly resistance of a tree. And then I am trapped. It’s close enough to me now that if I make any sudden movement, I know it will lunge, and I won’t stand a hope of outrunning it.

My throat goes dry and I shake all over, watching it get closer. Its elongated canines shine in the darkness. I can tell it enjoys watching me squirm. It can smell the fear consuming me, and its bloodstained tongue licks its teeth.

“Solara, please…” I whimper. “Please help me…”

Even in my final moments, I still long for the comfort of the god who abandoned me.

This is what I deserve, I think in the back of my mind. This is what I get for choosing to run. No one knows I’m here. I’m about to die simply because I’m an idiot. 

The wolf is within ten feet of me when it jumps, its claws aimed at my face, its jaw open and ready to consume me whole. This is it. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for the painful end, but it doesn’t come when I expect it to. Instead I hear a horrible ripping sound joined by a loud, animalistic scream, and then I feel the hot splatter of fresh blood upon me—but it isn’t mine.

Trembling with fear, I open my eyes. The wolf lies dead not two feet from my boots, a bleeding hole in the back of its head. Kylo stands over it, holding his sword that is saturated with blood from its tip to its pommel. The man himself is peppered with dark red splashes, and his hair is wild enough to match the wide-eyed look on his face as he stares down at me.

The moment of stunned silence we share is short-lived. 

His face contorts with anger and he snarls, “You.”

He steps over the dead heap and grabs me by the front of my leather vest, hauling me painfully to my feet until my chest is pressed firmly against his hard armour. I see the dangerous, unchecked rage in his eyes as he looks at me, but for once I don’t have anything to say. I don’t provoke him. I don’t immediately try to defend myself or fight back. I just stand there, limp in his hands, as he begins to yell.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” He screams. “You seriously thought you could run? That you could escape me here, in a forest that promises death?! Do you want to die that badly?!”

The tears streaming down my face make me feel pathetic, but I can’t stem their flow. Fear and disappointment and relief coalesce inside me, causing a nauseating swirl of emotion that I can’t quite comprehend to consume me entirely.

“ANSWER ME!” 

“I don’t know!” I scream hysterically as he shakes me in his grip. “I don’t—I have nothing! No weapons! I was left alone! I can’t use my magic, I—”

“Do you honestly think I wasn’t watching you?” He hisses, his voice a low rumble. “That my eyes weren’t locked onto you that entire time? Do you?”

“Yes!”

“Then I fucking pity you and your commitment to willful stupidity.” 

He releases me, and with one look into his furious face, I know deep down I shouldn’t say anything more if I want to keep my body in one piece. But I’ve been insulted my entire life. It’s habitual now to react accordingly.

“You don’t—” I start, intending to go so far as putting my finger in his bastard face, but I’m cut off by a horrifying reminder of how we find ourselves alone in the Witching Wood with the sounds of howling and clashing steel as background noise.

There’s a growl that grows in volume until it becomes an overlapping hum. Then there’s the crunching of leaves and twigs under oversized feet. I see them first, and my eyes go wide with terror. Slowly, Ren turns around and sees the trouble that stalks us slowly approaching.

Three wolves, all covered in blood and gore, prowl towards us with their teeth bared.

Ren steps in front of me, using one of his hands to try and keep me there. I almost roll my eyes, but I’m too tense to even do that. I step to the side just a little though, navigating away from his touch. He glances at me from the corner of his eye and I can see the panic he’s struggling to hide there. Or maybe it’s just my own reflection I’m seeing. Either way, I know he’s pissed.

“What are you doing?” He hisses. “Get behind me! Were you not just complaining that you’re defenceless?” 

“I’m not anymore.” I say it as calmly as I can, and then I reach up on the tips of my toes to grasp the handle of the other sword on his back in my hand. 

He goes completely still as I slowly remove the heavy blade that’s a twin to the blood-soaked one in his hands. One of the wolves snarls, the snapping sound echoing sharply off the trees. But I grab the sword with both hands and adjust my stance. It’s a bulky weight and my shoulders and wrist scream their complaints as I hold it aloft, but I ignore it all.

“Have you ever even used a real blade before?” Ren snaps, slightly breathless as he watches me out of the corner of his eye. “I thought you preferred your sad little daggers.”

“Do not ever forget that you know absolutely nothing about me,” I snarl in a whisper. “Now, shut up.”

  He relents and takes up a defensive position. His blade drips with blood, and I watch one wolf’s snout twitch at it. The one closest to me takes a big step with its front paw, and I am innately aware of its every breath as my attention locks on it. All I can see are its bloody teeth as it snarls at me. I can smell its fetid breath like a toxic cloud that surrounds me. Then it charges.

The ground shakes as it runs at me, jaws open and awaiting my head. I scream, a mixture of fear and fury, and I drive the blade straight through the beast’s open mouth to the back of its throat. When I hit the resistance of its spine, I push through it with as much force as I can muster, and by the time the blade breaks through flesh and bone, I am eye-to-eye with the thing. I see all the details up close when the light fades from its depthless eye sockets in a flash. 

The wolf stumbles and crashes to the ground with a heavy thud. I put my boot on the top of its giant head and drag the sword back out. When I turn, I see that Ren has already dispatched one wolf, but the other has him pinned against a wide tree. Though he has his sword positioned between the wolf’s teeth, it isn’t relenting, even as its blood streams out of its mouth in scarlet rivulets from where the blade slices into its gums. With one large front paw, it slashes at Kylo’s legs until a razor-sharp claw slips between the armour and spears him by his hip. He yells, jolting at the pain, and the second I see his agonized face, I can’t seem to remember why the fuck I’m just standing here.

I charge and drive my sword—Kylo’s sword—through the wolf’s ribs until I know I’ve punctured a vital organ. The beast roars, drenching Kylo’s face in blood and spittle, and then it falls just like its packmates. 

Kylo removes his sword from the dead monster’s mouth and collapses slightly against the tree, breathing hard. I don’t know why I run to him, but I do. 

“Are you alright? Can you stand?” I ask, my hands fluttering uselessly around him, never really touching him, but battling with the idea.

“I’m…fine,” he huffs, forcing himself to straighten. His grime-covered face looks towards the clearing, where the sounds of fighting continue.

“You don’t have to act tough right now, you know,” I mutter. “I saw you get hurt—”

“I said I’m fine.” He says sharply, chewing out each word between clenched teeth. He removes his other sword from the wolf’s body and replaces it in its scabbard, then grabs my arm roughly and begins dragging me back towards the fray. “We have to go.”

When we reach the clearing, it’s still in a state of madness. We’re winning, yes, but the gore splattered on the trees, the few men we lost lying on the ground with bits of them chewed off, and all the survivors being soaked in blood makes me feel like I’m truly in the deepest level of hell.

There are five wolves remaining and they appear to still have a healthy amount of fight left in them. My heart races when I see Rowan, seemingly unharmed but clearly burning up the last dregs of his energy.

“You must take this collar off of me,” I say, my voice trembling as I try to speak loud enough over the nightmarish sounds. “Get your men to start running, I can distract the wolves I think, and then I can—”

“There’s no way I’m letting you loose in such a clogged area with volatile magic you apparently have no control over,” Ren says coldly at my side. “You alone cannot distract these wolves now that they’ve tasted blood, and I don’t wish to see my entire company wiped out in the blink of an eye today.”

“You’d rather take your chances in this mess when instead you could be done with it all in an instant?” I snap, bristling.

He turns his fiery gaze on me and I shrink back a little in the face of it. He looks half-mad, and it would be the lie of the century if I said it didn’t scare me.

“You want to be done with it right now?” He growls coldly. “Then let’s be done with it.”

I don’t have time to puzzle out his meaning. Before I can even open my mouth, shadows are crawling along the forest floor like living beings. I gasp as I look down to see them winding around my legs on their journey to the heart of the conflict. These are nothing like my shadows, though. Yes, they’re the consistency of my shadows, and yes, they’re dark and cold, but woven into them is something that makes my heart stop. Thin, glimmering threads of bright gold twist and curl along with the shadows like tiny fissures in thick ice—the smallest glow of light, conjoined with the deepest dark. It’s something I’ve never seen before—something I’ve never even imagined was possible. And yet, the strange mass slinks off of Kylo Ren, who wears the shadows like a shroud as he wields them, all while he stares straight at me. 

He may not have wanted to expose his ability in this kind of situation. But I can’t help feeling like he wanted me to see what he can do. He wanted to show me that he of all people could have shadow magic and still hold Solara’s favour. And that I, even as a child, was not held in the same regard.

I want to kill him. I want to crawl down his throat and destroy him from within, but I’m too stunned to move. 

I can hardly fathom how his shadows aren’t killing me. Even the ground, despite its naturally deadened state, isn’t left completely ravaged after the shadows pass over it. I watch, shocked, as they travel straight to the wolves and make quick work of suffocating them; the black, misty tendrils crawl down their throats and noses and rot them from the inside out. When each wolf falls, they are nothing more than a steaming husk filled with thick, black ichor. 

The shadows leave everyone else untouched. When they fade, the small golden threads are the last things to blink out of existence. I notice which of the men didn’t know about their Enforcer’s abilities and didn’t notice the truth when their wide eyes land on me, assuming I was the one to do all that. Embarrassment and shame are becoming far too familiar to me out here.

“Quit staring and gather up the horses!” Kylo shouts angrily. “Get moving!”

The men turn their attention away from us and I turn my wide, shocked eyes back to him. My mouth hangs open in what I’m sure is an uncouth display, but I can’t seem to close it. I struggle for words. I struggle to think. 

He looks like Death incarnate, and I am nothing more than a mere soul who’s cheated him one too many times. But now he has me cornered. Now, he will reap. 

Menacing blackness twirls within his hand and I watch with morbid rapture as the shadows shoot towards me and wrap around my wrists. The golden threads are there, but they seem to shrink away from me, as if they are unable or unwilling to get too close. Once the shadows hold me captive, he closes his fist and I crash to my knees, incapable of fighting his phantom hold on me.

“This…this isn’t possible…” I stutter, staring at his magic as it exerts a punishing dominance over me.

“I’m afraid there’s a lot you don’t know, sequestered as you were in that pathetic village,” he growls. 

“You made a critical mistake today. Now you will pay for it.”

“I told you, I didn’t know what else to d—”

I’m dragged forwards roughly, until I’m kneeling right in front of him. He glares down at me, and I watch his shadows vibrate around his clenched fist, their frenetic energy heightened by his emotions. He could kill me right now, with just a simple flick of his wrist. 

I finally close my mouth.

“I did not tell you to speak.” He snaps.

I purposely drop my gaze, even when he lowers himself onto one knee. It’s not until he grabs my face with his free hand and turns my head towards him that I finally obey and let my eyes lock onto his. Meeting his stare burns me. Shame, anger, humiliation, fear, and devastation crash within me—a tumultuous wave of emotions that threatens to take me under. But I’m quickly realizing that despite the pain they inflict, his eyes are the only thing keeping me from sinking below the surface.

“Do you know, your neighbours in that shithole you called home simply shunned you, but they cowered and sobbed in front of me. They knew better than you even then. So, are you going to cry for me just like they did, little witch? Do you think it will help you now?”

His mocking tone ignites my anger, and in no time at all I’m burning with it. I narrow my eyes and steel myself as it consumes me.

“I…will never…shed a single tear over you,” I reply, my voice icy cold. “You are not worth the effort.”

“Hmmm,” he hums slowly. His head tilts as he assesses me with his eyes, and I feel like I’m gripped in the talons of a bird of prey.

He leans forward until his lips are an inch from my left ear and I shiver when he speaks quietly, so only I can hear.

“Get this through your head: there is nowhere you can run to that I will not find you. Never pull a stunt like that again, or I will break you, body and soul,” he promises in a voice like death. “And I will happily watch you cry as you beg me for your fucking sanity.”

Something cold snaps closed around each of my wrists, and a chain is locked in place at the small hoop on my collar. Kylo stands, and when I look down at myself, his shadows have been replaced by cuffs, made of the same nullifying material as the collar, and it’s all hooked together by a heavy metal chain.

I am trapped now, and I have no hope of escape.

He hauls me up by the chain and all but throws me on top of Rowan’s horse. Then he turns on Rowan, that rage still purling off of him in palpable waves, and I see fear flash quickly in Rowan’s tawny eyes.

“I shouldn’t even give you this task after what just happened, but if I have to ride with her right now, I will fucking snap,” he growls. His words in that lethal tone make shame settle like a frozen weight in my belly. 

Rowan shakes his head, his normally amused expression nowhere to be seen. Instead, his eyes are pleading.  “Kylo—”

“Do not take your gods-damned eyes off her this time,” Ren snaps, his yell rebounding in the cramped space, “or I will kill you with my bare fucking hands.”

Rowan nods stiffly. His gaze doesn’t so much as flicker in my direction as he utters a curt “Yes, sir.”

“When we make it out of this hellhole and set up camp, bring her into my tent and do not let her leave for anything.”

“…Yes, sir.”

Chapter Text

Rowan directs me through the flaps of the Enforcer’s tent and leads me over to a washstand. Candles cast flickering shadows along the canvas walls. There is a cot in one corner for sleeping in, a small desk with rolled-up maps and an ink bottle atop it in the middle, a large trunk off to the side, a bedroll, and this washstand with a foggy mirror. The rest of the tent is barren.

“Here,” Rowan says curtly. “You should clean yourself up.”

“Rowan, I—”

“Stop.” 

His sharp interruption makes my stomach drop. He’s looking at me with sadness and disdain, and I hate it almost as much as I hate how it’s making me feel.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out the words automatically as my throat constricts.

“I don’t really want to hear it.” Rowan replies dismissively. He is still splattered in gore himself, but he is forced to stand and wait for Kylo to come before he can rid himself of it. I feel horrible. I just wish he’d give me his trademark cocky grin again, so I could see the life flickering in his eyes, but his facial expression and body language are nothing but defensive, tired, and angry. 

And it is all because of me.

 “You should’ve listened,” he says, his words like a knife slipping silently between my ribs. “You should’ve gotten back on that damned horse instead of running when things got hairy. Now, not only are you chained up and forced to remain in the company of the man you hate the most, but I get to suffer his wrath because of you. I tried to be nice to you. I wanted to be nice to you. I thought I could trust you to do as I asked. And still you…you did what you did. That’s a strange way to repay kindness, Rey.”

Tears burn in my eyes. “I never meant for you to suffer because of me. Please, I didn’t—”

“It doesn’t really matter what you meant now, does it?” Rowan says harshly. “Did I not show you that you could trust me?”

“I appreciate everything you did for me, but you’re still taking me to be used like a weapon by your king,” I answer, imploring him to see my point of view. “And you left me by myself. If you were in my position, are you telling me you would’ve stayed?”

“If I were in your position, I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to think I could escape.”

I go silent and drop my gaze from his face. I hate the tear that falls from my eye and splatters onto the toe of my filthy boot. I hate the fact that I allowed myself to think for even just a second that I had a friend here. Maybe Rowan had been my friend initially, but he certainly isn’t anymore. He is now just one more person I’d turned against me. 

I wish his disapproval didn’t sting as much as it does.

“Don’t think for one minute that I don’t understand why you did it,” he says quietly. “And don’t think you’re the only one who’s ever been used like a pawn by the king, either. I was taken from my family when I was eleven and forced to train to help sustain his army—his forces are built on the backs of kids. So yes, I know why running was a tempting offer. I’m mad because I thought you were smarter than that, Rey. I thought you were stronger. I thought, hey, maybe she’s finally the one with enough rage to burn it all down. But the fact that you ran tonight, even though you had to have known your only options were death or recapture, makes me think that maybe I was wrong about you.”

I have nothing to say. I knew next to nothing about him after all. He’d never mentioned being a child soldier, but I hadn’t ever asked him how he found himself here. The thought that he had faith in me never even crossed my mind. I feel awful, and foolish, and…I know he’s right about me.

But what does he mean by burning it all down? Obviously he knows I have no intention of aiding the king. Does he truly think me capable of causing a rebellion, though? I’m no one. Who’s going to care when the king cuts off my head? 

Rowan crosses over to me and removes my handcuffs, then turns his back on me to face the tent’s closed flaps. “There’s clean clothing in the trunk. Wash yourself up and change. Tell me when you’re dressed so I can put these back on you.

“Someone will take and clean your dirty clothes for you tonight. I recommend you hurry before he gets here and makes your life even more of a living hell than it already is.”

He turns away from me, effectively ending any further discussion. His palpable disappointment feels like shards of glass are digging deep into my skin.

I do as he asks of me with tears silently cascading down my cheeks. The water in the basin is ice cold, but I quickly stop noticing it, even when my face grows so numb that I can no longer feel the rough washcloth against it. When I’ve gotten any visible blood off of me, I dig around in the trunk until I find a soft black tunic. All the pants are far too long for my legs and too wide for my narrow hips. I slip out of my ruined clothing and am grateful that the army of candles within the tent have warmed it to a suitable temperature. The tunic falls just above my knees, and its collar shows a little more of my neck and shoulders than I’d like, but it’s soft and warm and smells like pine needles and crisp morning air and peppermint. 

This isn’t just a tunic. This is one of Kylo Ren’s tunics. This has to be some kind of sick joke. I am stuck wearing it now, too; there is no way I am trying to pull my crusty, filthy clothes back on. So, with bitterness on my tongue, I allow Rowan to replace the handcuffs. Again, he doesn’t dare to look at me and turns away swiftly.

Everything was made more difficult by these wrist shackles, and I hate the way the chain clinks so noisily with every move I make. There would be no more escaping, not with this shiny new bell around my neck.

I’m facing the mirror, trying to tug a comb through my matted hair with shackled hands, when I hear his voice. My back stiffens and I stop moving, as if he might not notice me if I just stand still. Like prey trying to outsmart its predator.

“She’s still here. Good to know you can follow orders after all, Lieutenant.”

“If I didn’t dismount, she likely wouldn’t be here because she’d be dead, sir.” Rowan mutters, hissing out the last word like a damnation.

Ren is silent for an eerie, tense minute. I can see Rowan’s back in the mirror, but the Enforcer stands just out of my line of sight.

“Get out,” Kylo says with a commanding note of finality. “Clean yourself up. And send someone to collect her clothes for washing.”

Rowan doesn’t speak as he disappears out of the tent’s opening. Slowly, I start combing my hair again, although my arms feel numb. I’m alone with him in his tent, and I have no idea what’s going to happen next, but I can feel his eyes on my body, stinging hot like a flame that got a little too close. My pulse races to catch up with my rampant thoughts.

I hear the clinking sound of a plate being set atop the desk.

“Sit down,” he orders. “Eat something.”

My mouth is bone dry, but still I can’t keep myself from speaking even though I know I shouldn’t. “I’m not hungry.”

“I said sit. Down,” he says, and this time it’s a command so strong that I watch my hand set the comb down on the washstand without consciously deciding to do so.

Slowly, I turn towards the desk. He’s standing on the other side of it, still covered in evidence of the attack, and his expression is undeniably furious, but there’s something else in his frown as his eyes fall down my body that I can’t put a name to—won’t put a name to. What I do acknowledge is that I’m painfully aware that I am dressed in only a shirt that belongs to him. I felt defenceless before in the Wood, but even that was nothing compared to how I feel right now.

I take cautious steps towards the desk, my movements stilted as I anticipate a violent reaction from him once I get close enough. I wait for him to throw the plate of food, to make me eat off the floor, or for him to strike me. But as I sit at the hard wooden chair, my chain rattling noisily, he makes no move to touch me or the food he brought.

I look up at him through my eyelashes, truly afraid to bare the brunt of his glare. As a small mercy, I suppose, he doesn’t mock me for submitting to him. He doesn’t tear open my wounds and slice them deeper. 

“Eat.” His nostrils flare, and he watches me intently as I pick up the fork and use it to spear a piece of boiled potato. 

He keeps his eyes on me through my first few awkward bites, and then moves away from me to the cot along the side wall. He squats down, rummages around beneath it a little, and then stands back up with a tall black bottle in his hand. He uncorks it and lifts it to his lips for several healthy gulps. I watch, a piece of rabbit meat halfway to my mouth, as his throat bobs with each swallow. His eyes are clenched shut tight and I know whatever it is he’s drinking has to burn like hell. But he doesn’t wince or shudder or anything when he’s done. He simply looks at me, one eyebrow raised, and waggles the bottle in my direction.

Is he…is he offering me a drink? I furrow my brow and shake my head slowly, confused yet fully aware that I want nothing to do with whatever that is. He just shrugs and takes another swig. What is happening? He brings me food, and he’s not yet screaming at me for what transpired earlier? And now he’s drinking? Surely this is an illusion—a trick. He’ll come out swinging any second now, believing he’s taken me by surprise. 

As I work my way to an empty plate, one of the other men comes in with a bucket of fresh water to replace the crimson-stained mess I left in the washbasin. I watch out of the corner of my eye as the man hustles to dump the soiled water, wipe out the basin with a rough cloth, and refill it with the water he’d gathered from the nearby creek. Silence pervades the tent the entire time and for once I’m grateful for it. If it’s silent, it means I’m not getting my head metaphorically chewed off.

Not yet, I remind myself. Maybe he just doesn’t want an audience when he does it.

I brace for a fight the second the man leaves, my dirty clothes in hand, but it doesn’t come. Not as I expected it to, anyway. I hear rustling and the thud of something heavy hitting the ground, and when I look over my shoulder I see that he’s taking off his armour piece-by-piece, slowly revealing the simple black tunic and breeches beneath. Both of his grimy swords are propped against the head of the cot; his gorget and arm braces are on the floor. He’s removing his chest plate when I blink and turn back around in the chair. I don’t want to be doing anything that could even remotely be considered as watching him undress. Being stuffed in this tent with him, unable to go anywhere, was bad enough without him acting so cavalier about it.

As if he can read my thoughts, he says from somewhere behind me, “I don’t want to have to keep you this close, you know.”

I stiffen in the chair but do not speak.

“I preferred it when you were just a shadow in the background—one I had to keep my eye on, of course, but you blended into your surroundings well enough,” he continues. He speaks with no emotion in his voice, as though he’s simply reading from the pages of a ledger book. “But after today you’ve left me no choice. I can’t just ignore you and hope you’ll stay in line anymore. Just remember that, when you wish to complain about your cuffs. You’re the one who put them there.”

There it was. The rough hardness that was so characteristic of him. He liked cutting straight to the bone. But I haven’t let him knick me yet.

I push my empty plate away. My skin crawls as I want nothing more than to not be in this man’s suffocating presence for another minute. I hate that I can’t simply ignore him; I can’t let his jabs and arrogance pass through me unbarred. My hatred for him is all-consuming. 

I hear the splash and drip of water as he starts cleaning his skin before he speaks again. 

“You need training,” he says. “Loathe though I am to provide it, if I bring you to the king and you exhibit zero control over your magic, it won’t only be your head on the chopping block.”

I stand swiftly, nearly knocking the chair onto its back.

“I don’t want—”

My voice catches in my throat and I freeze. He’s standing before the basin and mirror in only his black pants. The hilt of my dagger is temptingly visible in its sheath at his hip, its antler handle brushing against the bare skin of his torso. He’s all broad shoulders, well-defined muscle, and ink—the lines cascade across his upper body and arms like forks of black lightning, curling and bending at sharp angles. Several scars, some more severe than others, crisscross over the hard planes of his back. He must have stopped to see Dònal before coming here, because there’s no puncture wound from the wolf claw beneath all the blood on his side. I should stop staring. I need to stop staring. Perhaps I’m just shocked that there was ever a real human body beneath all that armour and not a hideous monstrosity. Regardless of why, I only manage to drop my gaze to the floor when I catch his darkened eyes looking back at me in the mirror.

Shit.

He chooses not to make a remark about my behaviour and instead carries on pursuing the sensitive topic he brought up.

“You don’t want…? Really?” He says, feigning surprise. “I hope you were not labouring under the belief that I ever gave a fuck what you wanted.”

My lips flatten into a thin line and my face burns with heat that I try and will away to no avail.

“You need to be trained, Shadowsmith,” he says firmly. “I’m afraid that out here I’m the only one who can help you with that. So that’s what I’m going to do, even though you’re easily the most maddening pain in my ass I have ever met.”

When I still don’t speak, he half-turns to face me. I still can’t bring myself to look directly at him again.

“Is that it, then?” He asks flatly. “No snappy retort? No visceral disgust? No pushback at all?”

I sigh. It takes me more than a minute to force the words out of my mouth.

“No. You’re…right,” I wince at the admission. “I’ve never had the chance to—it doesn’t matter. I’ll do it. Fine.”

“Yes, you will do it.” He sets the washcloth down and steps towards me. He smells like the earth, blood, and sweat. I take quick note that the jagged lines of black ink on his skin all stem from a large, vertical scar at the centre of his chest. Questions rush into my head, but I push them far to the side for now.

“Every morning before sunrise and every night before supper, you will come with me for at least an hour of training,” he explains coldly. “If you do not put in the effort, I promise to make you suffer. You need to be what the king expects well before we reach the capital. You have no other option.”

“I live to serve His Majesty,” I say disdainfully, grimacing.

“You—” 

Smoky black and gold tendrils caress my throat with a cool velvet touch and curl up my jaw, covering my mouth as efficiently as the hand he doesn’t care to raise would have. My eyes go wide and I try to step away from him but I stumble backwards, nearly falling, and then he’s grabbing me by the upper arm and pulling me flush to him, staring down at me. He’s so close I can see the ring of green around the outer edge of his iris and the amber flecks by his pupils. I’m still so unused to seeing the shadows used this way that I’m too stunned to fight against his hold.

His eyes rake over my body in one slow motion, and when they next meet mine, there’s a dark heat underscoring his anger. Something quivers deep in my belly when I notice it and the sensation frightens me. Suddenly my face is far too hot, his hand is too tight, the air is too cool, and this tunic is slightly too thin.

I watch with something akin to morbid fascination as he blinks and corrects himself, and I realize in that moment how close I just came to seeing what happens when he loses control. My head swims.

“You should go to sleep,” he finishes, his voice significantly raspier, “before your smart mouth gets you into even more trouble.”

His shadows slip away from me and in their absence I feel strangely colder than before. But I am free of him, and I take the opportunity to put some necessary distance between us.

I go about finding the least uneven patch of ground and unfold the bedroll over it. He doesn’t speak. He won’t look at me. He’s busied himself with cleaning his swords and armour for the time being. I lay down on the bedroll, pull the tartan blanket over me, and turn my back on him and his gods-awful tent.

“I’ll wake you up when it’s time to start your first lesson,” he says, startling me. “So sleep well, Shadowsmith.”

Chapter Text

I didn’t sleep well.

My senses were on high alert all night, knowing that Kylo was at my back. My eyes traced the woven pattern of the tent’s canvas wall so many times I almost stopped noticing a pattern at all. 

I don’t think Kylo slept either. For hours, I could hear him ruffling papers and furiously scratching things out with a quill at his desk. Part of me was curious about what he was doing, but not curious enough to speak to him. I was quite positive he knew I was awake, but he didn’t pester me about it and I kept my back to him the entire night.

I must’ve fallen asleep at some point in the very early morning, because when Kylo prods me sharply in the back with the toe of his boot, my eyes snap open and I gasp. All the candles were either snuffed out or melted down, leaving us in near darkness. My vision blurs as I try blinking myself awake.

“Get up, witch,” Kylo says, his voice like the low rumblings of a distant rockslide. “I want to see what you can do.”

***

Training with someone who hates you almost as much as you hate them is every bit as torturous as it sounds.

First, he made me run for forty minutes. And he lapped me more than once—I think he did it just to piss me off, which, if so, it worked. He barked at me to speed it up every time I slowed even a little bit. The one small mercy was the removal of my handcuffs and chain to allow for better movement. By the time that’s over, I am doubled over and struggling to breathe, but he has no patience for me whatsoever. 

He moves towards me suddenly and I instinctively want to back away, but my legs feel like pudding beneath me and don’t react accordingly. Before I can even issue a complaint, his hands are at my throat. Panic surges within me for a split second until I hear a soft click and the collar comes off of me at long last.

I can feel my magic awakening inside me. Shadows skitter excitedly down my arms and I jump, habitually crossing them tight to my chest in an effort to hide the display. Kylo huffs at me when I do this but makes no comment.

“Show me.”

I glare at him through all the loose strands of hair that slipped out of my braid while I ran. “Can you just…give me a minute…?”

“No.” His mouth is a firm line and there’s no humour sparkling in his eyes. “Now stand up straight and show me.”

I take my sweet time straightening my spine and I revel in the way he sucks on his lower lip with frustration while I do it. I’m pretty sure I just saw his eye twitch. Good.

“If I’m going to show you,” I pant, “you’ll need to take several steps back. Like…twenty yards worth of steps.”

His expression doesn’t shift. “I think I’m fine right here.”

“You’re not.”

“How exactly does it manifest for you?”

I swallow. I’ve never gone into details about my magic with anyone before. I think, based off of everyone’s negative reactions to it, I even avoided thinking about it in too great of detail myself. This is…strange, to be sharing something that feels like a deep dark secret with this man. But if anyone will know what I mean when I describe it, it’s unfortunately going to be him. 

Just my luck.

“It—I see it in my mind, first,” I say quietly. “It’s always a golden thread I see at the start. I try to grab it every time but it’s always just out of my reach. Just when I think I have it, the shadows consume me instead.”

“What happens when they take you?”

“…I can hold them in my hand at first, just for a few seconds. But then they just…they take control of me. They spill out of me, and they spread in an instant, draining everything they touch of life.”

He doesn’t blink, doesn’t stutter, doesn’t move when he finally speaks.

“Show me.”

I look at him in disbelief. “I can’t. If I do, you’ll die.”

“No, I won’t.”

I scoff. Who does he think he is? Does he believe himself to be invincible? 

“Have you not been listening to anything I’ve said?” I ask rudely. “My magic kills everything.”

“It won’t hurt me. Now show me.”

I shake my head but can’t force the words from my chest. I just stare at him for a long stretch of time, taking note of his expression and how it tells me in no uncertain terms that he’s completely fucking serious. 

I could argue with him about it. I could prolong this, or outright refuse, and I could make him very mad. But I don’t. If he wants to risk his life just to see my curse in action, so be it. As he wishes. Whatever he wants. When it’s all over and I open my eyes to see him lying dead, all the better. I have no shackles right now; I could be in the wind by the time any of the other men came looking for us. There would undoubtedly be a bounty on my head afterward, but I could navigate that just fine—

“Reyvan.” I wince, and find him looking at me with immense annoyance. His jaw is clenched so tight I’m certain his teeth will crack.

“I’m not going to ask you again,” he growls. 

I shoot him a withering stare. “Don’t use my name.”

His eyes flash with a warning. I shut mine so I don’t have to see him anymore.

The golden thread appears in my mind’s eye as it always does the moment I reach for my magic. A taunting reminder of what I once had. What I’m cursed to never have again. I know what the outcome will be, yet I’m compelled to reach for it anyways, just in case this will be the time where things are different.

But of course, it’s not. It never is. That’s not how curses work and I know it. The shadows wrap around my arms; their cool presence raises the hairs along my body. As much as I hate that they are all I have, I did miss them when I couldn’t access them. For so many years, they’d been my main defence mechanism. Without them, and without weapons, I had nothing. I realize now just how much I despise feeling weak.

I can feel them all over me. They’re in my hair, my lungs, my mind, my heart. Icy cold and swift, gentle and deadly all at the same time. And then they are leaving me, racing away in all directions. The sensation leaves me shaking and I clench my fists as if that will ease the discomfort.

I take a few steadying breaths before I open my eyes, bracing for the dead body I’ll inevitably see.

But I gasp as Kylo still stands before me, wholly intact and breathing. Despite the wasted land all around us, there’s not a mark on him. My mind feels like it’s just turned off. I can’t comprehend this. I don’t understand, and that worries me. I always knew I had a lot to learn, but just how much was I missing?

I’ve never liked the mystery of an unknown.

“You…you’re…” I stammer, my shock stripping me of the ability to speak in full sentences. 

His eyebrows raise in an almost petulant manner that clearly states yes, I’m still alive. And?

“How…?” I demand.

“Shadows can’t kill shadows,” he says simply. “I would’ve thought that was obvious.”

“No, it’s not, really,” I say. “So I can’t use my magic on another Shadowsmith?”

He rolls his eyes. “Not if your goal is killing them.”

“Then how—?”

“Steel. Poison. Any of the other millions of ways to kill a person.”

“So how do I win against one if we’re evenly matched?”

He shakes his head. “I’ll remind you I’m the only other Shadowsmith alive besides you. Today is not the day for that lesson, and I won’t be teaching it to you anyway,” he answers coolly. 

“You weren’t lying, I see. You truly have zero control over your magic.”

I bristle at the way he says it, and my shock quickly fades away into bitterness. 

“As I told you.”

“I’ll admit, I’ve never seen the shadows just shoot off of someone in all directions like that, which is something that I’m interested to look into. But you didn’t even try to control it. Did you command it to do anything?”

“What do you mean, ‘command it?’” I say harshly. “I don’t talk to it.”

“Fucking gods…” Ren curses and runs his hand through his already ruffled hair. 

“Don’t.” I demand roughly. The ice in my voice surprises me too, but I don’t let it show on my face.

He looks at me quizzically, though annoyance still controls the slant of his eyebrows and the slope of his mouth. 

“Do not talk to me like you’re disappointed, or like I’m suddenly a huge burden on you,” I say, speaking quickly as my emotions swirl dangerously within me. “This was your bloody idea. You said it yourself: it’s not surprising that I don’t know much given where I come from. So do not roll your eyes at me and moan and bitch like an asshole because I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”

I swear a smirk starts to tug on the corner of his lips, and if I see one appear I’m prepared to let my fist connect with his face, but he neutralizes it quickly.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“Explain things to me! This is never going to work if you just expect me to know what to do every time. We’re here because I don’t know! So fucking teach me properly, or don’t bother. Let the king kill us both. Who’s going to miss either of us when we’re gone? Hm?”

Silence stretches tight between us like a bowstring, ready to snap and see who takes an arrow to the heart first. Not for the first time, I notice something almost human swimming in his dark stare. Is it sadness I see, or does he just pity me? I like to think I know the answer.

“You’re right,” he admits steadily. “I apologize. Will you let me try again?”

He isn’t looking at my face, but his tone is sincere. It startles me for a second to hear him sound like that.

“I don’t actually have much choice, do I?” I mutter quietly.

“Will. You. Let. Me?”

He’s looking at me now. I hold his stare, unable to break it. Gods, he even appears genuine. His hands are at his sides, his stance is more relaxed, and his damn eyes…they feel like they’re piercing straight to my soul every time I find them trained on me. I’m certain he can see all he needs to know about me in those heavy glances he throws my way—all my failures and flaws, my regrets and my dreams. What will he do with it all, if he comes to know me so well he can read me with a look? Will he keep my secrets as his own? Or will he use them to destroy me completely?

There’s an answer to that question, I just can’t reach it yet.

I nod stiffly at him. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he says, “that’s good. Let’s try it again, then. But this time, don’t try and grab onto the golden thread, no matter how badly you want to. You can acknowledge it’s there, but don’t reach for it. Summon the shadows to your hands, and I want you to try and keep them there for as long as you can.”

“How do I keep them there?”

“Will them to stay.”

I throw my hands up, defeated. “How the f—”

“I know how it sounds, but just…try it. Use your mind to focus on them and bind them to your hands. If you have to verbalize your commands, do that. It helps if you don’t let your fear of them overtake you.”

“It’s death magic I never asked for, how am I supposed to not be afraid of it?” I mutter pathetically.

“It’s power,” he replies earnestly, “and it’s yours to command. It doesn’t have to kill. It can do whatever you want it to, but if you see it as a terrifying, life-draining curse and nothing more, that’s what it will be for you.”

“This seems stupid,” I grumble. “And even if I can contain them to my hands, what do I do when I can’t hold them anymore?”

“Let go,” he answers simply.

“But—”

“Just let go. You know I’ll be fine, there’s no one else here, so what are you afraid of exactly?”

I open my mouth to argue, but there’s a finality to his expression that shuts me up. I huff in annoyance and close my eyes once more.

The golden thread beckons to me. It waves before me like it’s caught in a gentle breeze, begging me to catch it before it floats away forever. It feels unnatural to ignore it in favour of the shadows, but despite how hard it makes me clench my teeth, I manage to do it. My pulse quickens as my eyes open to see the shadows filling my open palms and curling around my wrists like shrouded jewellery. 

Stay, I beg them mentally, and I feel silly doing it. I feel sillier still when they slowly begin crawling up my arms.

It takes twenty gruelling minutes before I finally find success. All the while, the Enforcer glowers at me, saying “again” like it’s the only word he knows how to speak.

The sweat on my body and the cold burning in my chest nearly make me throttle him. His disappointed frown has awakened that old monster in me—the one that only ever wishes for vengeance and murder.

On my last attempt, I mentally beg with every ounce of my being for my shadows to obey me. As they start their usual ascent up my forearms, I shout at them.

“Stop!”

They freeze, and it shocks me. I stare, wide-eyed, and I expect them to move past my verbal demand and continue on their usual path, but they don’t. They twist around my hands and wrists at a faster pace, almost vibrating against my skin like they’re struggling against the restraint, but they don’t move farther up my arms.

Stay… I beg again. They listen for a little while longer. Then my skin begins to itch from the inside out, and that itch grows to a burn, until I’m shaking all over and my face screws up tight. I whimper as the pain ignites deep within me.

“Let go, Reyvan. Let go!”

I scream as I release them and they explode from me in a devastating cascade that feels like it will never stop. The shadows don’t just leave me—they are me.

Then, so suddenly I gasp, they stop. When my eyes fly open, I notice that Ren has put the collar back around my neck. The nullifying effect of it leaves me feeling unsteady but relieved. I drop to my knees, heaving deep lungfuls of crisp morning air as the remaining dew on the dead grass soaks through my clothes.

I feel his hand on my back steadying me. His touch is grounding and gentle—it’s unexpected, coming from him. His hand is a warm contrast to the clammy coolness of my skin beneath my shirt. I almost make the traitorous mistake of leaning into his touch—almost. 

My body finally catches up to my brain and I stiffen before quickly standing, effectively knocking his hands away. He takes two healthy steps back and puts his palms up, conceding. 

My legs shake beneath me, unprepared to carry my weight again but doing it anyway. I take several deep breaths in an effort to calm myself.

“Are you alright?” He asks after a few minutes.

I look up—not at him, but at the way the sunrise is staining the horizon with vibrant oranges and pinks. The world is waking all around me. More birds begin adding their voices to the chatter within the trees and the grass twinkles with the last remnants of dewdrops. Even the tree branches seem to lean towards the horizon, anticipating Solara’s return. 

When I finally answer him, I feel far more stable. My chest doesn’t burn with that aching cold anymore. 

“I’ll be fine,” I say softly, still watching the sun’s slow ascent into the sky.  

“Yes, you will be.”

I look at him then, and I notice the hardness that’s returned to his face. I want to know how long it took him to perfect that mask. He loves to wear it. He’d rather seem indifferent than betray any emotion at all.

“You managed to control it for close to two minutes, so it seems you’re not as hopeless as I feared you would be.”

I hope my stare cuts him straight through. I hope my words cause a riot in his mind that never ceases. He may command armies, but he will never command me.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be ready for your king when the time comes.” I straighten to my full height and I make sure he feels the ice laced through every single word I speak. “And when he’s so pleased with us both, and he rewards you with a grand estate, a title, and a beautiful woman for you to fuck as you please, you’ll owe me. And I look forward to collecting.”

I turn my back on him and the sunrise and stride towards the camp and the slowly fading dawn.

Chapter Text

The past four days passed by in a blur of frustration and fitful slumber. I trained with Kylo every morning and night, rode on his horse with him all day, and slept in the same tent as him every night. It was wearing on me more and more each day. After my frigid threat to him at the first training session, he’d been extra restrained around me. He didn’t speak to me while we rode or at night—only during training, and even then his words were clipped and pertained to nothing other than controlling my magic and my “poor fighting stance.” If I didn’t know better, I’d say I hit a nerve. I didn’t think he had any of those.

I am fine with it. If it meant I never hear another one of his snide remarks or breathy, slightly-suggestive threats, or even hear the sound of that stupid smirk in his sharp words…I am fine with it. 

And, though it physically pains me to admit it even in the privacy of my own mind, the bastard’s training was actually helpful. Yes, he absolutely kicked my ass every single time, and yes, I left each session feeling somehow more exhausted and sore than the last time, but I was getting better. I was better with my shadows, and better with my stamina and sparring. Better than I’d been, at least. He still liked to remind me that I wasn’t good enough. If he didn’t say it with his words, he said it loud enough in the disappointed glares he’d fix me with. The frowns. The gruff commands.

He was training me like he wanted me to suffer, yes. Like he hated me with all his heart. But joke’s on him, because I’ve started to get my confidence back—well, a little bit of it, at least. Not that I ever had much in stock.

I’ve been asking him at the end of every training session to tell me the king’s plans for me. He either scoffs, glares at me, or ignores me entirely. That isn’t surprising to me, though it is irritating.

I even tried asking Rowan a couple times, but he said he didn’t know. I’m not sure I believe him—the way his eyes darted away each time tells me he knows something, but he’s probably been threatened with his life to keep quiet.

The main drawback of these training sessions was simply being forced into Ren’s company. It feels as though the more time we spend together, the more dangerous things become. When we practiced fighting, our bodies were forced to get close. Each time we did, an aroma like a quiet winter’s night washed over me—the cool, spiced male scent that clung to him always. It was maddening. It was distracting. Almost as distracting as his staring problem.

I’ve caught his eyes on me so many times lately, I have to assume he’s always watching me. It feels like his eyes are on me even when I know they aren’t. 

I wish he wouldn’t do it. I don’t like the way it’s started to make me feel when I catch him looking.

Yes, I have been spending far too much time alone with his bothersome presence.

There were two good things that had happened over the course of the last four days, though. One is that I am now able to keep my shadows within my hands for twenty minutes before I physically can’t anymore. When I finally let go, they skitter along the ground and join with the first shadowy patch they find rather than draining everything of life. I am very excited about this development. It means I can no longer hurt someone unintentionally simply by accessing my magic. It’s freeing to finally experience the shadows this way. They don’t quite seem like a horrible tragedy anymore.

Though I am growing bored of just holding onto them for as long as I can, Ren is determined to wait until I can do it for thirty minutes before we move onto something new. 

The second good thing is that Rowan is speaking to me again. He’d found me a couple days after the incident, just as I was searching for the best piece of ground to sit upon so I could eat my supper. He’d apologized for his “cruel words” and explained how exhausted he’d been, and I’d told him he didn’t need to apologize for anything. I’d been stupid, and I hadn’t thought things through, and it had hurt him. And that had been that. He’d sat with me while we both ate and we talked about mundane things. It was nice, having a proper distraction from Kylo and this brutal, unfair journey. I do want to ask Rowan more about his past, but I need him to willfully share things with me. I refuse to prod or demand anything from him. I realized I needed a friend more than ever in his absence, and I trust Rowan. I just hope I never come to regret that trust.

Last night, I’d been sitting on a boulder outside Ren’s tent, watching the stars and their glittering display. My mind slipped away for a little while to escape this place, and I lost track of time.

For some reason, my thoughts drifted to my childhood. An older woman by the name of Maeve looked after me when I first came to Varia. She’d watched my mother grow up, and she was too old to care what any of her neighbours thought of her decision to let me live under her roof for a time. She was brusque and a little rough around the edges, but she had a keen eye, a kind heart, and a wicked sense of humour. I can still picture her long white hair, the top half always pulled back into a braid, her wizened hand upon her wooden cane which doubled as her favourite weapon, and her hooded blue eyes. She’d been blind in one eye, so its iris had been a milky white, its pupil a misty blue-grey. Over time, she’d lost sight in her other eye, too.

But she used to tell me stories each night. She never read to me from a book, but rather from the pages of her memory. She made everything sound so real, I could never tell if it was truth or fiction. 

One story she told often was the tale of the forgotten prince. It was a sad story, and it hurt to hear it even then. But she told it like it was her favourite, and I never understood how it could be. She would tell it to me like she was explaining something important—like this story was meant to be significant to me and my life. For a while I think I believed her and confused her fiction for my facts. But over time I came to know better. 

The story began with a troublesome princess who had fallen in love with a poor, handsome rogue she’d met during one of her famed secret visits to the market. She became pregnant with his child several months later, but before their son could be born, the man was killed in a suspicious shipwreck. The future queen had her baby in secret, and she and the infant were kept sequestered within the castle under the pretence of a terrible fever having befallen her. After a year of hiding, she was allowed to fraternize with society once more. She attended balls and danced with any number of pompous lords, though she never seemed to be truly happy.

How could she be, when her son was kept stashed away in his bedroom like the secret he was, being cared for by a nursemaid who’d been sworn to secrecy. 

When the boy turned two, the king and queen told everyone he was the king’s deceased cousin’s orphaned baby, and they had so generously agreed to take him and raise him as their own. The princess never commented on this story. But her eyes watched her parents very closely every time they paraded the darling boy around to all their highborn friends. It was around this time she caught the eye of an ambitious duke, who always got what he wanted.

This was the beginning of the end for the princess and her son.

It was when her son was six years old that the duke requested the princess’s hand in marriage. Her parents were exhausted by her turning down every offer she received, but they didn’t understand that she still mourned her dead lover. So the king overrode his daughter’s right to choose and agreed to the duke’s proposal for her. They were married within a month, and the princess had never looked more hopeless. She clung to her child, who looked so much like his father that it nearly broke her heart to gaze upon him. But the boy didn’t know the truth of his parentage. He didn’t understand why his mother cried every night when she held him close to her. But he felt a fierce loyalty to her anyway, and he took up the role of her protector when he was still far too young for such a responsibility. 

Four years later, the princess’s father passed away. Her mother had died two years earlier. This propelled the princess into the role of queen, something she was professionally capable of doing but emotionally unprepared for. The greedy duke was far too pleased to have her father’s crown placed upon his head. It wasn’t long after their coronation that the new king grew bold and power hungry. He shunned his queen’s son, knowing the truth of his origin but never claiming the supposed ward as his own. 

Because the queen had been a blood princess and the king had only been a disliked duke, she had more power and influence in court than he did, and it angered him greatly. He knew if he got rid of the queen, who had yet to birth him an heir of his own, and her troublesome son who could someday have a claim to his throne, his path to ultimate power would be unobstructed. So he hatched a murder plot so vile, he surely condemned himself to the deepest level of hell.

He poisoned his queen over the course of several months in various ways, until she was so sick she was bedridden. She knew, of course, what her husband had done. Knew it was happening even as she got sicker. She loved her son, but at the core of her heart, she wished to be reunited with her true love.  While her son cried at her bedside, she told him everything, knowing she would never have another chance to do so. Armed with the truth, the boy grew vengeful. Angry. When his mother passed two days later, he let his rage consume him.

There were some within the royal court who tried to stop the king from achieving his dastardly goals. They tried to spread the truth throughout the kingdom. They tried and failed to save their queen. For this, they were publicly executed by the king’s own sword. It was with this same blood-drenched sword that the king sent one of his men to murder the young prince, who’d never gotten to claim his true title. 

Some say the king’s man succeeded, and the boy was murdered and thrown into the Teagal Sea. Others say he failed, and the boy was transformed into something horrible and twisted, fuelled by vengeance. Regardless, no one knows what happened to him. So they refer to him as the forgotten prince, though no one was ever certain if he really existed at all. 

Those who believe he escaped, though, remain hopeful for his return. As the queen’s son by blood, he’d have a claim to the throne. He could overthrow the king and kill the evil hidden within the court, and restore peace and prosperity to the kingdom. For years, these believers waited for their forgotten prince to come back. And for years, they were disappointed.

I shiver as I remember the sad story, and how it used to make me feel. As a child, I was a believer, too, though I can’t clearly remember why. I suppose it’s just because the king had killed my parents and exiled me to a village where I was largely despised. I clung to the hope that this boy, whom I’d assumed wasn’t much older than me,  was still out there somewhere, plotting, so he could someday return and right all the wrongs plaguing this country. He could restore justice and honour, and maybe he could even return my sun magic to me. If he could fix the kingdom, maybe he could fix me, too. 

I used to be able to picture him in my mind like I really knew him—like he truly did exist. But that picture has grown blurry and obscured over the years along with my hope and now, I don’t think he existed at all. 

There was no mighty saviour out there in the world, biding his time and building his army. There was no hero who would sweep in and right all the wrongs. I would never be made whole again, and it had been nothing more than the foolish dreams of a child that had made me ever think it could be possible in the first place.

When Rowan left the tent and walked over to me, a feeling of confusion came over me. Had he been there long? Had he already said something to me and I missed it? How long had I been here?

“Gods, what did you say to him?” Rowan murmured quietly.

I furrowed my brow. “Why do you ask?”

“He’s been so fucking touchy the last few days,” Rowan grimaced. “At this point I feel like I can’t even breathe in a way that would satisfy him.”

“What’s he been doing…?” Dread sank into my stomach like a stone through thin ice. Guilt followed it down.

“Well, the usual, really. It’s just that it’s been at least ten times worse lately,” Rowan explained. “He snapped at me just now because I ‘should be out on guard duty,’ but he told me to report to him here at this time not two hours ago!

“He’s been on everyone else’s backs, too. Suddenly nothing is good enough. It’s exhausting. So seriously, what did you say to him?”

“I may have…hit a sore spot, figuratively speaking,” I admitted, refusing to provide details. “I didn’t think it would affect him this severely, though.”

“You know you get under his skin faster than anyone else, right?” Rowan scoffed and raised an eyebrow at me. “Well, do me a favour and try to undo whatever you did, because he’s been a real prick as of late. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I apparently have guard duty to attend to.”

“Goodnight.”

I chewed on my bottom lip as Rowan’s words swam through my mind. You get under his skin faster than anyone else. Why, though? Does that mean he hates me more than he’s ever hated anyone? Or am I just supposed to think that I have any kind of control over him, even just enough to piss him off? The idea seemed ludicrous. I’m the one in shackles, he’s the one with the keys. That is the dynamic.

I am still trying and failing to push these thoughts out of my mind this morning as I trek up the small hill to the training area Ren has summoned me to. Far enough away from camp to avoid any casualties, yet close enough to hear a cry of warning should something happen.

When I get over the hill and down the other side, I stop dead. Ren is shirtless, practicing his swordsmanship with quick, agile movements. The silver of the blade arcs through the air so quickly it’s just a glinting blur, and he pulls it safely back to his side in the same breath. He can spin the sword in a full circle with just one hand on the grip and dare I say it’s impressive. I watch him work through his movements, fascinated by the way the muscles in his arms and back ripple as they help carry him through. The black tattoos on his skin seem to flicker and coil with every action his body takes. The growing sunrise to the east bathes his skin in warm golden light that softens his sharper edges, somehow. For a second I’m not even slightly intimidated by him. He almost seems…approachable. But then he sees me standing here and all those thoughts blow away on the breeze.

“Finally,” he huffs, his large chest heaving as he catches his breath. He jabs his thumb over his shoulder where another sword rests on the ground. “Grab the sword.”

My throat constricts. We’re sword fighting? This is new. Our warm-ups have only ever been running or something equally as monotonous and horrible. I’m intrigued by the idea, but the mere suggestion of crossing my blade with his makes me feel more than a little uneasy.

“Did you not hear me?” He snaps. “I said grab the sword.”

I scowl at him. “I heard you just fine,” I answer coolly.

“And yet you’re still just standing there.”

“Why are we using swords all of a sudden?”

I can see what little patience he may have had draining from his face. His grip on his sword tightens noticeably. 

“Your arrival in the capital will not only require you to have control over your magic. You will need to be a proficient fighter as well. You won’t always be under protection and not everyone will see you as an asset.”

“I know how to fight,” I grumble, speaking more to myself than to him, as I walk over and pick up the weighty sword. 

“Not well enough.”

His voice over my shoulder makes rage trickle down my spine, igniting a fire in my belly. When I turn to face him, I have enough misguided confidence to think I can make him regret his assessment of me. But looking at him now, that confidence wavers just a little. He’s tall and burly, a wall of rippling muscle that’s glistening with the lightest sheen of sweat. His dark hair cascades over his brow and falls into eyes that simmer with a concoction of pure dislike and commanding heat that makes my head swim. I don’t hold his stare for longer than a few seconds. I don’t like how my pulse quickens when he looks at me like that. 

I bring the sword up into position, preparing for his onslaught. 

“Widen your stance,” he commands. 

I do as he says, albeit begrudgingly. Every part of me wants to disobey him just to rile him up, but I remember what Rowan told me last night and think better of it this time. 

You know you get under his skin faster than anyone else, right?

He charges at me suddenly, and I barely have time to duck out of reach of his sweeping blade. I gasp as I clumsily find my footing a couple feet away from where I had stood. He turns to face me, pure predation in his body language. I move back as he stalks towards me. When he swings his blade again I match his movement, and steel crashes sharply between us, echoing in the still morning air. The force of his blow sends shockwaves up my arms and rattles my teeth. Is he actually trying to kill me? I wonder idly. The way he is clenching his teeth and chasing after me makes me start to think that maybe he is. But I know he can’t actually do me in. This is just him trying to gain some control back. Clearly, I’d done some serious damage to his ego.

He wants me to fear him again. But I hate him too much to go back now.

His next swing is so close I can feel the air it disturbs brushing across my mouth like chaste fingers. I aim for his side, but he swiftly knocks my blade away from him and in the same motion brings his own down towards my shoulder. I spin and dodge it and throw my blade around in an effort to strike him in the back, but he’s already predicted this move and blocks me. My shoulders are already aching so bad from bearing the brunt of his attacks it’s starting to give me a headache. 

His sword lashes out at me in a blur and I feel the sting immediately when it just barely comes into contact with the flesh of my upper arm. I hardly have time to look down and see the blood swelling along a thin line before I have to throw my sword in front of my body to block his assault. The steel of our blades sing as they glance off of one another and I stumble backwards with the force he applies, nearly falling on my ass. Sweat is already coating every inch of my skin and making my clothes stick to my body, and I can feel myself weakening. Kylo, however, looks so unphased by all of it. He’s barely tried to catch his breath this entire time. It’s maddening to know how good he is at this—to be able to witness firsthand how he’s better at this than me.

This was the one thing I thought I was better at than anybody else in Varia.

I yell as I put the dregs of my energy into my next swing, but of course it’s not nearly enough. He effortlessly knocks the sword from my sweaty grip and it flies in a slow arc to land on the ground ten feet away. I see the sword lying there, and then the next thing I see is the sky falling away from me as I topple backwards. The bastard used his foot to throw mine out from under me. The ground hits me hard and my breath whooshes loudly out of my mouth.

Then he’s on top of me, bracing me tightly between his legs. The flat side of his blade is cold as it presses against my throat and forces me to incline my chin to avoid a laceration. I glare furiously down my nose at him. Our chests heave between us as we both try and slow our rapid breathing. 

“Yield,” he demands through clenched teeth.

No. I can’t. I can’t let him win. I won’t feed his ego with that satisfaction. I won’t.

He presses down on me harder, his brown eyes flashing dangerously when he bares his teeth.

“YIELD!”

I feel the edge of the blade bite my collarbone and I gasp. The words fall from my mouth in a crazed rush.

“Alright! Fine!”

“Say. It.”

“I yield! I fucking yield!”

He removes his blade from my throat and throws it to the side—I hear it clatter against the hard ground. But he doesn’t get off of me yet. I can see it in his face: he likes seeing me helpless and knowing it’s because of him. He likes thinking I’ve submitted to him. His body is hard and too warm as it pushes me into the dirt.

His large hand is burning hot as it wraps around my throat. It doesn’t squeeze, though. It just holds me there, keeping me immobile and forcing me to meet his stare, as he leans over me to let his words brush across my cheek.

“It’s just as I said,” he purrs. “You’re not good enough yet, little witch.”

His thumb caresses my jawline slowly and my breath hitches. 

“Maybe you never will be.” 

His mouth hovers over mine. His breath spills past my parted lips and I can almost taste his words on my tongue. They’re bitter and vile, and it’s this that coaxes me out of whatever evil spell he’s cast upon me and brings me back into focus. 

I grunt as my fingernails rake sharply over the flesh of his throat and across his upper chest. He rears back and presses the hand that had been on my throat to his. I watch his face with pure satisfaction as he sees the blood lightly smeared across his fingers when he pulls them away. His nostrils flare and he looks sharply to me. I can see the thoughts warring in his head: to kill the witch and damn himself or not. I smirk as I await his final decision.

But he surprises me, the evil prick. A slow, crooked smile spreads across his face and he huffs a dark laugh as his own fingers trace the angry red lines mine left behind. I furrow my brow, hating his reaction. Stop that. Do something fucking cruel so I can hold it over your head forever. Give me a reason to never stop hating everything about you.

“Make me bleed with the sword next time if you want to prove me wrong, little witch.”

He gets off of me and walks away. I hear him pick up his sword, and then his footsteps fade into the distance. I guess we’re not practicing my magic today. 

I exhale deeply and stare up at the wispy clouds above me.

Fucking fine by me.

***

The bastard didn’t wear his gorget all day. The scratch I’d dealt him was on display to everyone beyond the loose collar of his tunic, and he clearly didn’t give a single shit who saw, or what they thought about it. He knew damn well no one would utter a word anyway.

He knew it irked me, too. That was probably half the reason for his annoying display. It clearly said he didn’t find the mark I’d left him with substantial enough to try and hide. Because he didn’t think I was good enough.

I didn’t go find him for our nightly practice session. Luckily for him, he didn’t come looking for me, either. 

Even sitting by the fire alone, I can feel his eyes on me. He’s been watching me all night. His stare makes my skin prickle, and I so wish I could scream at him to stop it, but I know it would do me no good when we’re surrounded by his men. 

Those eyes catch mine now and send a jolt down my spine. Someone’s talking to him, and he’s answering them, but he’s looking at me like I’m his next meal. I throw a crude hand gesture his way and he just fucking grins like the perverse bastard he is.

“Gods, you made it worse, didn’t you?”

Rowan sits beside me, an amused grin on his mischievous face. 

“It’s his own fault,” I grumble.

“Oh, I have no doubt about that.”

“He’s just so…infuriating,” I hiss. “He made me practice sword fighting with him today just so he could dominate me.  He just had to put me in my place after I hurt his ego so badly. He’s like some kind of bratty child. I hate him.”

“I can see that,” Rowan chuckled. 

“He has to be the one to train my magic, sure. But I can’t understand why you can’t be the one who trains me with the sword.”

“He would never allow that.”

“Why not?” I snap, angered by Rowan’s answer. 

Rowan appraises me for a moment and I can tell he’s deciding how best to answer my question without betraying his leader.

“Honestly, I think it would be against his nature to do so,” Rowan says slowly. 

I narrow my eyes in suspicion. “What the fuck does that mean?”

He shrugs. “He’s been possessive for as long as I’ve known him. But I’ve never seen him act this fucking crazy before.”

“Possessive?” I shout the word, and Rowan shoots me a look to silence me. I quickly look to where Ren had been standing before, and thankfully he is nowhere to be seen now.

“He doesn’t own me!” I continue at a much quieter register. “No one fucking does! Not even the king.”

“I know, I know. You’ve said that before,” Rowan rolls his eyes. “Ren’s always wanted what he can’t have, is what I mean. Admittedly, there is a damn good reason he has that nasty habit, but I digress.”

“What’s the reason?”

He shakes his head slowly. 

“What’s the reason? You know something. What do you know?”

“He’s just…he’s had a rough life, and the king likes to make it rougher for him. But I’m afraid it’s not my place to elaborate,” Rowan explains quietly. “If he wants you to know about him, he’ll tell you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me.”

“I’m sorry, Sparrowhawk,” Rowan says softly. “I’ve probably already said too much. So, if you can not let on that you suspect anything tragic about our fearless leader, that’d be great. I’d like to keep my head on my shoulders. Thanks.”

“You’re cruel, unfairly so,” I grumble, not really meaning it. 

“I don’t mean to be,” he chuckles. “Look, just trust me when I say that there’s a reason why he is the way he is.”

I stare into blank space as my thoughts whir around like hundreds of caged birds. What had happened to Kylo? Or was it something he did? I remembered the nasty scar in the middle of his chest, and the way his tattoos seemed to spread out from it, like some kind of disease or curse. How had he gotten that scar? And the one on his face?

He was hiding secrets like rare jewels. I needed to make him talk because I had to know. I had a terrible feeling that his secrets might impact me somehow, and I needed to know about them before they succeeded.

“Looks like your outside time is up,” Rowan muses from my side, startling me out of my head. 

His gaze is directed towards Ren’s tent, and when I follow his line of sight I see the Enforcer standing with his arms crossed outside the tent flaps, staring at us with a scowl on his face. Part of me is frightened he could have overheard us somehow. Solara knows what he’s capable of with his shadows.

“Let me walk you over—”

“It’s fine,” I interrupt Rowan as we both stand and offer him a weak smile as an apology. “I think I can make it there unscathed all on my own.”

“Alright, but if you trip on a rock and break your ankle or something, it’s not my fault.”

I roll my eyes at him and earn another one of his warm laughs before he’s gone.

Slowly, I make my way over to the tent. No rocks complicate my journey, so Rowan had nothing to fear. When I step into the pulsing light of the tent’s candles, Kylo is still there waiting for me. I was hoping we could get through this night in silence, but I can tell that won’t be happening as soon as I see his face. 

“Have a nice chat?” He asks in a low rasp.

I keep my expression flat and unengaged. If I don’t react exactly how he wants me to, maybe he’ll fuck off.

“Yes, actually.” I stride past him into the tent and I can feel several pairs of eyes follow me inside. But I can’t let myself get distracted wondering what all the other men must be thinking of our little arrangement. That’s a concern for another time.

“It’s rather nice to have a civilized conversation from time to time,” I explain. “Not that you would know that.”

“Mm, good one.”

I grunt in response and swiftly walk over to my bedroll. Kneeling down beside it, I start to remove my hair from its braid. I hear him close the tent flaps. Then I can feel his eyes burning into my back and my heart hammers against my rib cage, but I don’t let on that it affects me at all. Maybe if I pretend long enough, I’ll start believing it, too.

I’m finger-combing through the knottier sections of my hair when he finally speaks, startling me.

“Seeing as we didn’t work on your magic today, I want you to put out all of these candles.”

I look at him over my shoulder, frowning. 

“What?”

“Put them out.”

“With my shadows…?”

“No, one-by-one with your smart fucking mouth,” he snaps. “Yes, with your shadows.”

“How do I—? I thought you weren’t going to actually teach me anything until I could hold my magic for thirty minutes?”

“That’s not how I said it,” he grinds out. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Do you want to try or not?”

I sigh loudly. “Yes.”

“Summon them, and once they’re in your hand, instead of making them stay, try sending them towards the candles. Visualize extinguishing them.”

I shut my eyes and take a deep breath in. 

“This seems stupid.” I exhale. 

He doesn’t respond.

The shadows are a cool breath against the skin of my arms. I watch them stay just below my elbows, so pleased with myself every time I see it. 

Okay…blow out these candles.

A few wisps slip away from my fingers and manage to glide a few inches before fading. I frown at my failure.

“It will take a few attempts,” Kylo interjects gruffly. “Just try again.”

I try five more times before I’m successful. The shadows slip away from me in one large, misty shape and glide around the tent, extinguishing every candle as they go until we’re pitched into the blind dark.

“Holy shit,” I whisper under my breath. I did it! I fucking did it!! 

“Good work,” Ren says from somewhere in the darkness.

“A compliment?” I ask. “I’m shocked.”

A cold breeze floats along my shoulder as a shadow tickles my jaw with a ghostly touch before it glances off my lips and disappears.

“Keep it up and you may just earn more of them from me.”

 His deep, husky voice by my ear startles me, as it always does. My first thought is that I want to earn his praise. I want to hear him praise me more. This thought alone fucking terrifies me, but the way his voice pebbles my skin feels warm, much like the cloying sensation pooling somewhere deep within me. I freeze as I recognize this new reaction to him. Shock and horror are like icy thorns piercing every inch of me, chasing away the aching warmth.

No. 

Why? Why him? Why now? A couple of half-decent words murmured in my ear and my mind scrambled itself. It cannot be that easy for him, I refuse to let it be. After everything he did to me, said to me, I would rather die than feel anything but disdain for him. This sensation—this…this stupid fucking desire, if I have to give it a name—had always felt so natural before, even with Theo, the boy who I knew could never truly love me, but not now. Now it felt wrong. Shame burns hot in my face as I crawl onto my bedroll. I clench my eyes shut as tightly as I can, furious with myself.

I hate him. I hate him. I fucking hate him and his smug face and that low, rough tone of voice he takes with me. I hate his cocky attitude. I hate his freckles. I hate his stupid, thick hair. I hate that I even noticed any of these things in the first place. I hate it all. 

I’m lonely and I’m fucking tired, that’s all this is.

Tired, and that’s all this can be.

Tired, and nothing more.

Nothing.

Chapter Text

My yell of frustration rebounds off the dense trees around us. We’ve been at it for what feels like an eternity and I haven’t improved. My mood is dark and I want nothing more than to give up and stomp away from this arrogant bastard beside me but I know if I try he’ll drag me back kicking and screaming.

“Relax,” he grumbles, clearly getting more annoyed alongside me. “You’re trying too hard.”

“Oh?” I snap and throw my hands up in the air. “First I wasn’t good enough and now I’m trying too hard?”

“Trying too hard is what’s making you not be good enough right now,” he growls right back, pinning me with a darkened glare. “So fucking relax.”

“Gods, I hate you.”

“Good. Get in line.”

I huff and redirect my gaze elsewhere—anything to not have to face the full force of his ire, which hacks at me like a blunt axe.

“Go again,” he demands sharply.

I’m fucking exhausted. My head has begun to ache and my stomach yearns for breakfast. Yet here I am, stuck trying to get my shadows to meld with his until it obscures the golden threads woven through his magic. All I’ve managed to do so far is push his magic away from me. It bothers me because I want it to be simple to overtake him, but I can’t get my magic to obey me this morning. I’m too agitated and anxious to focus. Between the travel, lack of sleep, and being forced into Ren’s miserable orbit every day and night, I’ve worn myself out. 

As I stare at his shadows as they creep along the ground towards me, I can’t bring myself to summon my magic again. Though I hate admitting defeat, I don’t physically feel capable of accomplishing his task right now. Instead, I direct my attention to the golden sunrise. 

I can feel his anger growing beside me when he notices I’m not obeying him. I intercept him before he can bark at me about it.

“How does your magic manifest for you?”

“…Why are you asking me that,” he questions flatly. There’s no inflection to his deadly serious tone.

I shrug, pulling my knees into my chest where I sit on the grass.

“You asked me. I didn’t realize until that moment that it could look different for other people.”

He’s silent for a while and I’m willing to bet he’s trying to decide if he should answer my question or yell at me for giving up. But I just sit there and watch the sky and wait.

“I just see a glittering wall of black,” he explains slowly. “It ripples like water. There’s a—a sound that comes from it. It echoes. It says my name in my mother’s voice. I walk towards the dark, step into it, and I become it.”

I wonder briefly what his mother is like. Or perhaps she’s not around anymore. When I turn my head and catch the dim, haunted light in his eyes, I’m certain she’s not. I know that look. I know the feelings that accompany it intimately. 

I cast my stare away from him again as my heart pangs inside my chest. 

I find it interesting that he doesn’t see Solara’s golden thread beckoning to him. Her magic courses through his shadows, so I’d assumed he would. Now I wonder why I see it and he doesn’t.

The gods and their blessings are so fucking confusing.

“Does it make you feel cold?” I murmur. “Colder than you’ve ever felt?”

“Sometimes.”

“Like when?”

He sighs. “When I’m feeling angry.”

“Oh.”

“Does it make you feel cold?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“…All the time.”

The silence swells again, but this time through it all I feel his eyes on me, silently begging me to turn my head and meet their searching attention with my own. I ignore it as long as I can, even when anxiety begins to unfurl within my chest and starts to claw its way up my throat.

“Hey,” he says firmly, “look at me.”

I hesitate, but I do finally turn to look at him, hoping he can’t see how close my eyes came to filling with tears.

“The coldness is a product of a lack of control,” he says flatly. “Learn to control your emotions and your magic will follow.”

I narrow my eyes and scoff. That’s all he has to say to me? Foolish me, I thought perhaps he might have even an ounce of sympathy for me buried somewhere within him. Seems it’s buried too deep for him to reach, if it’s even there at all.

It’s not like I actually want his sympathy anyway.

“You’re so helpful,” I deadpan. I turn away again as anger builds like a deadly storm within me.

“I’m not going to coddle you,” he says. “I’m not going to tell you that you’ll be fine. I’m going to show you how you can be. 

“But of course, that only works when you do as I ask of you. So, you’re going to try it again.”

Gods, I want to fight him on this—on everything. I do. But there’s something in his words and the way he says them that dulls my bite.

I grumble but I stand up and do as he asks, scraping myself of every bit of energy I have left. I imagine my shadows tearing into his—shredding them to ribbons between rows of vicious teeth. I imagine consuming him, enveloping his body with my magic until he can’t help but panic for my mercy.

But instead, my shadows fade away after some prodding from his, too unstable to hold their form against his well-practiced skill. My lips press together into a firm line as I barely keep myself from screaming with rage.

“Again.” It’s all he says. It’s all he’s really said all morning. It makes me want to rip my own hair out at this point.

I’m more than willing to admit and accept defeat at this task. He’s bound and determined to see me do it. 

I hate him for that. Maybe I shouldn’t. There’s plenty of other things to hate him for. But I do.

I try again and then again, until he finally breaks. His frustration with me clearly takes control when he grits his teeth together and shoves his shadows towards me. I feel them cut through my own like mine are made of water. It’s a sharp, alarming sensation that I don’t like. He overtakes my magic and then his shadows surround me, their golden-veined whisps running over my skin and through my hair like delicate waves.

But the violent power radiating off of him is anything but delicate. It skitters over my skin like lightning, raising the hairs on my body.

My breath quickens when his shadows brush along my cheek and trace the line of my jaw—a far more intimate caress than I expected given how angry he seems to be. My pulse is hammering in my veins when he takes a step towards me and for the tiniest fraction of a second I think he’s going to replace that misty touch with his own. But I banish that hint of a thought, because I know better than that. I can see it in his face that was never his intention. 

I go completely still, though my expression hardens. He’s staring at me with blatant disappointment on his face, but I don’t allow it to bother me. I refuse.

“I feel your fear,” he tuts. “It’s still so potent within you. Why are you so afraid of everything?”

I blink. Defensiveness rises to the surface, fiery hot and intimidating. “Excuse me?”

He lets his shadows fade away until it’s just him and I and nothing but cool morning air filling the small space between our bodies. 

“It’s holding you back. You need to let it go,” he says firmly. “It’s making you weak.” 

I shake my head and scoff. I’m so sick of this man and his terrible moods and the way he’s so fucking hot and cold with me. I wish he’d just commit to treating me like a hindrance. I wish he’d never look at me like maybe he’s been waiting for me for a long time, but he’s also found me wanting.

Maybe this is the push I need to not feel that strange draw towards him every time I catch his eyes lingering on me.

“You are truly a heartless monster,” I snarl under my breath. You don’t know a fucking thing about me and my fears. If you did, you’d likely just use them against me.

I turn to walk away, completely done with him and this conversation. But his hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me back until my chest is nearly pressed against his. I gasp before I look up into those intense eyes that are far too close to mine. There’s a dangerous glint to them that makes me feel suddenly nervous. There’s a threat hidden within their depths.

“Yes,” he growls, “I am. Don’t ever forget that.”

I try to pull out of his hold but he only tightens his grip, bound and determined to keep me pressed against him while he leers over me. His glare penetrates me sharply and though I want to look away, I can’t. There’s something in it that’s pleading and broken and half-crazed, and it commands my attention. 

“I am a monster, and you are afraid,” he says, speaking each word like they’re individual warnings.

“I’m not afraid,” I say, but it even sounds weak to my ears.

“No?” His eyebrows rise. 

His head ducks lower and the tips of his wavy sable hair tickle my forehead. I inhale sharply at his closeness but I don’t try to pull away. I continue to meet his stare even though it scalds me. 

“Then tell me why you’re shaking.” 

My teeth capture my bottom lip. I try to steel myself even though I know it’s too late. I let my eyes narrow and I dare to lean into him. When my chest presses against his he twitches and leans back an inch. I can disarm him with my proximity, too. I can be afraid and still stand my ground. 

“Because I don’t want to be here with you,” I snarl, every word laced with venom. “I don’t want you to be touching me like this.” 

“How would you like me to touch you, then?” 

Heat floods my body, persistent and catastrophic. I glare harder as I search for the words—any words—to undo what I just did. But none come to mind as his eyes search my face, so close I can admire the thin ring of forest green that defines their outer edge. So close, I’m sure he can see how my face grows pink in the gilded light of early morning. 

“No, you won’t answer that,” he purrs, shaking his head slowly. “You’re too scared.”

My mouth opens to snap at him but when no words escape I close it again. His full lips slowly curl into a smirk, drawing my eye, and I know he notices. 

“Tell me you’re not afraid now, little witch. I dare you.”

“I-I don’t have to,” I stammer, gritting my teeth to regain my composure. “Why would I be afraid of the king’s favourite little pet? Why would I be truly afraid of any pathetic, vacant soul who would willingly do whatever that evil tyrant demands of them?”

Something cold and furious slams down over his expression. I watch his eyes darken while a muscle feathers in his jaw. My words do their job, more effective than any sword, and I’m able to pull out of his grasp and back away. 

I am rage and fury, even when I am also fear and desire.

“That’s why I’ll never be like you. Because people like you aren’t deserving of fear, only perhaps pity,” I continue. “But I don’t think you qualify for either.”

I watch as his lips press together to form a tight, angry line. His broad chest expands and I expect him to start yelling at me, or charge me, but he doesn’t. He exhales that breath and tears his gaze away. Somehow I feel colder without his lacerating attention trained on me.

“We’re done here,” he says, the words clipped. “Go back to camp.”

I stand and stare at him for a moment, somewhat in disbelief that he’s backing away from a fight and sending me away. He’s kept his eyes on me since the Witching Wood, and now he wants me to disappear. I want him to make up his fucking mind. Either he’s obsessed with every little thing I do and am, or he despises every second that I still draw breath.

It can’t be both.

I don’t want to think about either option or which one I’d prefer—but I know there is one.

“That’s it?” I scoff. “I speak one hard little truth and you’re done with me? Just like that?”

He just stands there and lets my cruel words batter him like angry waves upon a rocky shore. He’s completely shut down and it’s strange to witness it. He feels a thousand leagues away right now. Untouchable.

“Well. Who’s afraid now?” I mutter.

“I said go back to camp,” he snaps. His words are sharp and guttural and they brook no further argument. He fixes me with the iciest glare yet and I shudder internally beneath its frigid weight.

“So fucking go,” he finishes. “Now.”

He doesn’t stay to watch if I listen or not. He turns and walks away from camp, from me, from all of it. I wonder how far he’ll have to go before his rage stops sinking its teeth into him. How long before he stops feeling that stinging bite in his head? 

I tell myself I don’t care, I will never care, and I walk back to camp on legs that don’t entirely feel like my own. 

Chapter Text

“You’re much less intimidating when you eat.”

Azrael makes a chuffing noise and bumps my arm with his nose as I reach into my satchel for another one of the small apples I’d found near the campsite. His hot breath smells of grass, and when I face him I can see the inherent softness in his large brown eyes. 

His lips are velvety soft against the flesh of my palm when he takes the apple from me. He’s a very imposing horse on the outside, but I’m finally starting to learn that he’s incredibly gentle at heart. I run my fingers through the soft dark waves of his mane and gently untangle some of the ends. Eventually he decides he’s had enough of me playing with his hair and he ducks his large head to crunch on the grass.

“Good boy, Azrael,” I whisper.

“You’re going to give him an overinflated ego if you keep complimenting him like that.”

And there goes my good mood.

“Hm, then he’ll be just like his owner,” I mumble.

Azrael is the only thing standing between Kylo Ren and me, and even though he is Kylo’s horse, I still feel a little bit of comfort in that. He makes a very good wall.

Kylo tilts his head at me, amusement flickering in his alluring stare. “I thought you were afraid of him.”

“I was,” I answer idly. I gently stroke Azrael’s side. His skin twitches at the contact.

“But you decided to change your mind about him?”

“Obviously. A few apples can go a long way.”

“I see.”

There’s a note of distraction in his words, as if he’s contemplating something I said. Part of me wants to demand what he’s thinking, but I override it because I don’t care what runs through his head. I don’t.

I start to walk away, trying to escape his suddenly overbearing presence, but his voice stops me.

“Wait.”

I look back at him warily.

“I—” He swallows, and my eyes are drawn to his full lips as they pinch together and roll apart, waiting for the right words to push past them. For a second, I think he might apologize for how he’s been acting. But of course, a more foolish thought has never crossed my mind. 

“We’ll be arriving in Evrain in two days and stopping there for a couple nights to replenish our food stores and prepare for the trek through Làirig,” he says slowly. “Your swordsmanship has been improving but I need it to be even better before we try to navigate The Pass.”

I grimace. My arms and back are still aching from the practice session we’d had this morning, and the two yesterday, and the day before that. I desperately want a break, but I unfortunately know he’s right. Làirig is notoriously treacherous, and countless people have lost their lives trying to make it through. I don’t even dare to ask how many men they lost on their way to Varia. 

And I am improving. As much as I detest Kylo, he is extremely proficient with a sword and my best chance at staying alive well after we make it to Marbhan. He hadn’t made me yield in the last three sessions, we’d just mutually decided we were done when both of us were gasping for air and slick with sweat. And each time I’d run off as quickly as my legs could carry me just to get away from him, because the way he looked at me afterwards was so intense it startled me. He looked at me like he knew something I didn’t—like he could see some unspoken words trapped between us or some hidden truth about me that I was too afraid to acknowledge. So I’d run, but the image of him looking so ragged, panting for the breath I’d stolen from him, would stick in my traitorous mind’s eye for hours afterward. 

I am starting to get tired of constantly having to remind myself how arrogant and cruel he can be, and how much I must hate him.

“Now?” I ask morosely.

“Now.”

I sigh in defeat. “Fine.”

I start walking towards our chosen practice spot. He follows at a leisurely pace.

“Come now, little witch,” he says, smirking. “You’re getting so close to kicking my ass. I would think that would make you happy.”

“I won’t be happy until I’ve succeeded,” I answer stonily.

“You wound me.”

“How will your overblown sense of pride ever recover?”

“Slowly and painfully, I’m sure.”

“Let us hope.”

Sword fighting feels like a well-practiced dance for us now. We know each other’s favourite attacks, we can anticipate movements, and we can communicate with nothing more than a well-timed glance. Watching his face and his body multiple times a day every day is making me more nervous than the swords, though. My skill might be improving, but being alone with him hasn’t gotten any easier. I don’t think it ever will.

When our session goes over an hour, I start to get confused. Why isn’t he stopping? We’re both clearly spent, so why is he continuing to swing at me? What is he trying to prove?

I dodge his attack and falter backward, trying to create some space between us, but he closes in again. This is what he does. He gives me no quarter until I obey him and do what he asks of me. It’s cruel, and yet every time I end up bending to his will, making myself feel sick to my stomach in the process. Is it the sharpness of his voice that commands me? Or the darkness that swirls behind his eyes that binds me to his will?  After all, it’s that darkness I see within him that calls to me like a haunting song in the distance. 

It’s my darkness, too.

“Come on,” he growls. “Use your shadows to fight me off.”

Ah, there it is. That’s what he wants. Of course.

He’s been trying to get me to incorporate my magic into our play fights because he says it’s my most valuable weapon. But I’m fucking scared. So far I can control them almost perfectly when I’m silent and calm. The heat of battle is something else entirely. How can I be sure I’ll still have the ability to control them when my emotions are at an all-time high? If I ever killed someone unintentionally, I’d never recover.

“I…can’t,” I pant, continuing to back away from him despite his advance.

He slashes at me with his sword, forcing me to meet each vicious slice with my own. Tremors race up my arms like lightning; it feels like every tendon in my arms is on fire.

“Why?” He shouts.

“Because I’m scared!”

I scream it right back and it shocks me that I admitted it aloud. To him. I’m not one to make any weaknesses I might have clearly known. I don’t do that. Ever. Except for right now. Right here. With him.

He pauses and looks at me for a moment like maybe he sympathizes with me. Like maybe he can understand. Or maybe like he’s impressed I actually, finally, admitted it. But the expression is wiped from his face as easily as if it were chalk on a slate, and then he’s advancing on me again. His sword crashes against mine harshly and I feel each impact reverberate painfully through my entire body. He grunts when he delivers the final blow, and I fall backwards onto my ass. Only then, when he’s towering over me, does he let up.

“War does not care that you’re afraid!” He yells at me. “If someone wants to kill you, they won’t consider stopping just because you’re scared.”

“I know that, asshole!” I snap. I’m trying hard to keep the angry tears from falling or showing in my voice, but my emotions are powerful things and I barely have enough energy left to stuff them back down.

“You need to try even though you’re afraid,” he says firmly. He’s stopped screaming at me, perhaps sensing my impending vulnerability. “If you’re in serious danger, your magic will want to help you. You are its host—it needs you alive. You will feel it crawling under your skin, and if you repress it out of fear of what it might do, it will consume you until you have no choice but to unleash it, and by that time you’ll have no hope of controlling it!” 

“And what happens if I can’t control it in a tense situation regardless? If I kill everyone near me, including the king? Including you?”

“You can’t kill me, not like that. You won’t kill unintentionally, as long as you practice fighting with your magic.”

“But I’m not like you. You…you like the darkness. I can tell. You feel comforted by your shadows. I don’t. I didn’t ask for mine. I wasn’t born to be a Sh—to be like this. It’s not my nature.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but they are all you have now.” He squats down beside me and I feel slightly better when he’s not leering down at me. Though, his displays of gentility still take me aback. It’s not that they feel unnatural, coming from him. They’re just unexpected when they’re directed at me.

Don’t show me your humanity. Please don’t.

“I need you to understand that light does not equal good just as dark does not equal bad. Both can be deadly; both can be powerful. Stop viewing your power on a spectrum of black and white and start viewing it as something that can be just as helpful as it can be damaging. It’s just a matter of intention and trust.”

Empathy has returned to his eyes. It softens his voice and settles his shoulders. For once, I don’t feel like yelling at him. For once, I’m looking at him and I know there’s no trick in his words. He’s telling me nothing but the honest truth, exactly as I need to hear it. I should probably be scared he’s already come to know me so well despite my best efforts, but I can’t seem to find the fear within me.

 “You say that like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do,” I mumble.

“Because it is,” he urges. “Once you practice enough, it’ll feel as easy as breathing.”

“What if I go too far, though?” I ask quietly. My voice trembles as I remember all the terrifying accounts I read in books growing up, simply trying to learn more about what had happened to me. “Shadowsmiths have gone insane before. What if I lose myself to my darkness?”

“You won’t,” he says firmly. 

“How do you know?”

“Because, little witch. I won’t let you.” 

We stand and I brush some of the dirt from my backside. Then I raise my sword, conceding this particular argument.

“Alright,” he says with a nod. “This time, I want you to use your magic to disarm me. Surprise me.”

I roll my eyes and bite my cheek to cancel the urge my lips feel to smile at the thought of me surprising Kylo Ren. 

 It takes another hour and twenty-three minutes before I finally succeed. He does not make it easy.

My body is covered in my sweat and every inch of me is sore and begging for this to stop, but adrenaline kicks through my bloodstream when my shadows whip towards Ren’s sword hand and send his weapon flying behind him, where it lands point down in the ground several feet away. As it’s in midair, though, I twist my hand to the right and tendrils the colour of moonless night slip across his face, blinding him. I run and barrel into him at full speed. It’s like crashing into a wall. We fall together as my shadows evaporate. Though my knees scream as they hit the ground, I jump up just as quickly as I landed and, keeping him pinned beneath my body, I hold the very tip of my blade to the centre of his exposed throat.

His wild brown eyes are wide and bright as they look up at me. A lopsided grin attempts to tug on the corners of his parted lips. He must have bitten them as he fell—scarlet blood is smeared on his lower lip. 

“Yield.” I demand it of him just as he demanded it of me, making sure to add just the slightest hint of pressure to my sword. His body jolts slightly beneath me and I hear his breath catch. 

He grins, and it’s mad and wild and real. There’s a hint of pride in it. I’ve never seen a genuine smile like that on him before. It’s…attractive. It makes something shift within me—something old and long forgotten. Something I never thought I’d need to worry about.

“I yield.” 

His voice is raspy and the words are beautiful music to my ears. I laugh victoriously as I toss my sword to the side. The sound bubbles up my throat, unstoppable and foreign-sounding. But it feels so damn good to genuinely laugh when I never thought I’d have reason to again.

“Oh my gods!” I exclaim. My voice echoes out into the deepening night and I don’t care what man or beast hears it. I brace my palms on his hard chest and throw my head back, still laughing breathlessly. “I did it! Ah! Can you believe it?!”

I wiggle and squirm atop him as the joy consumes me. But he hisses suddenly, and his hands automatically grab my hips to steady me. I freeze immediately, my smile beginning to fade. Shit. Is he actually hurt somewhere and I didn’t notice?

“Easy,” he says, his voice breathless and gravelly.

“Are you okay? I’m sor—”

I lean over him until the ends of my hair nearly brush his face and shift my hips backwards, intending to remove my weight from his body, but I freeze when I feel him against my backside, a gentle but undeniable presence.

My entire body flushes with heat.

“Oh…” I gasp. 

He doesn’t look embarrassed, or ashamed. His eyes are molten and they are locked onto mine, only mere inches away. I’m suddenly highly aware of every part of my body that’s pressed against his. He’s wide and hard beneath me, and he feels so warm. I can feel the swells and dips of his abdominals somewhere beneath my hand and his sweat-dampened shirt. The most intimate part of me is pressed between his hips. I feel him there most of all.

His hands on my hips shift upwards just slightly, lazily following the curve of them. My hair does fall across his throat now. He pays it no mind, as if it were his favourite necklace. The smell of him encircles me, making my head swim. He is a cool winter’s night, thick with the freshness of newly-fallen snow and the decadence of frosty pine boughs. The cooling, minty scent of his breath caresses my face. The tip of his nose just barely brushes against mine, and I shiver.

“You look scared, little witch,” he whispers. “Are you?”

“I…”

Words fail me. I can’t think. Can’t speak. Can’t breathe with him looking at me like maybe I can heal every dark and damaged corner of his soul. 

“I beg you,” he pleads, “either tell me to kiss you or order me to never touch you like this again…”

Run. Run away.

But he’s asking so nicely. And the look on his pretty face is so intriguing. His touch is melting the cold within me. Nothing has healed that part of me before…

No. No, it doesn’t matter. This is very bad.

If it feels this good just having his body between my legs, I wonder what his hands would feel like there. He looks like he could make me scream with pleasure when he slips inside—

I tumble off of him in one unsteady motion. My entire body is hot and buzzing, the enticing smell of him still lingers in my nostrils, and the traitorous spot between my legs aches for his touch and only his touch. No one else will do. The realization makes my entire foundation tremble in shock. So, I take off, without a word of goodbye. 

I don’t know how I manage to make it back to camp on such shaky legs in the dark, but when I finally arrive, my heart is hammering unsteadily in my chest. Every part of my skin that he touched burns in a way that feels traitorously pleasurable. I don’t know what else to do. So I just start yelling.

“Rowan!” 

Several heads turn in my direction. I’m certain I look half-mad right now. I feel half-mad. But I don’t give a shit, either.

“Rowan!”

A set of bright golden cat-like eyes meet mine through the dim light of the campfires and Rowan quickly darts to my side, concern written all over his face. He assesses me for any obvious physical injuries and when he sees none, the lines of worry on his forehead deepen.

“Rey?” He asks. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to hit me really hard across the face,” I demand, breathless.

He blinks. His mouth opens and closes quickly a few times before he manages to get any words out.

“You—sorry, what?”

“Hit me. Or dump a pail full of icy water over my head. Something.”

“Uhhh…”

He laughs nervously and casts his eyes over my head, no doubt meeting the several pairs staring warily at my back, and then he gently puts an arm around my shoulder and urges me to walk.

“Let’s go somewhere a little more, um, private, alright? Then you can tell me why you’re talking like you belong in the sanitorium.”

He pulls me away from the bright lights of the campfires and torches into a shadowy recess between tree trunks. 

“Now exactly what the fuck is going on?” He asks calmly, quietly.

“W-we were sword fighting, and I finally managed to make him yield to me, and I…I…”

Fuck. I can’t tell him! He’s Kylo’s second-in-command! This was a stupid idea. I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have just seethed in silence, torturing myself with the truth of what happened tonight because that’s what I deserve. I’m an idiot.

“You…?” Rowan prompts, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“Never mind,” I mutter shakily. “I’m overreacting; it’s nothing.”

“Clearly that’s a lie,” Rowan deadpans. “Did he say something to you?”

“No. It wasn’t what he said, exactly—”

“Did he push you too hard?”

“Well, no—”

He squints at me, scrutinizing me. I know he sees the blazing colour in my cheeks and connects the dots when his eyes blow wide and his mouth opens with an audible pop.

“Holy shit,” he whispers. 

“Rowan…”

“You’re turned on by him, aren’t you?”

“I—that’s not—no!”

“You know, your voice is saying one thing but your body is saying something completely different. Your face is so red.”

I groan loudly and my fingers grab my hair at the roots as I sink down to the ground.

“Rey…”

I hear Rowan kneel down next to me but I can’t bring myself to look into those eyes that I know are going to be both entirely too soft and far too keen in their assessment of me.

“I’m just lonely,” I moan into my arms, “that’s all. It’s been a really long time, and I…it was this big emotional moment for me—and it’s his fault. He ruined it. I felt him—he just…he’s…”

Rowan doesn’t speak. He gives me the time and space I need to sort out my rampaging thoughts, because he’s too good of a person not to. His kindness reminds me so strongly of Aurore that I physically feel my heart crack.

“This is not a new emotion for me. I just don’t understand why he is making me feel it again. It should be anyone but him.”

“Maybe your body is picking up on something that your mind refuses to acknowledge,” Rowan suggests innocently.

“Don’t say that.” I groan. I don’t want to know if I’ve royally fucked myself.

“Sorry.”

“I hate him, Rowan.” I sigh and lift my tear-streaked face up to his. I don’t even know when I started crying. “I hate him as much as I hate the king he serves.”

“I think that’s the root of your problem,” he says quietly. “I think maybe you don’t actually hate him as much as you want to. I think maybe he surprised you, and you don’t like it.”

I don’t say anything to this, mostly because I can’t admit it out loud…but I can’t lie to him, either.

“Rey, listen.” He nudges me with his shoulder so I’m forced to look at him. “I think you need to just talk with him. And I don’t mean the hateful barbs and malicious flirting you both usually default to. I mean a genuine conversation—a heart-to-heart, if you will. 

“There’s things he should tell you, and I’m not sure why he hasn’t yet. But they’re important and I think they’ll make you see the real him, not the mask he wears. That’s probably why he hasn’t told you, to be honest. He’s reluctant to be vulnerable around you. And if that’s the case, then he’s just as scared as you are.”

I’m not very keen on the idea of trying to have a heart-to-heart with Kylo Ren. I’d rather perform oral surgery on myself with a rusty nail, if I’m honest. But I do want answers. If these things Rowan’s talking about are so important that I need to know them, then I deserve to hear them. But…

“How?” I sigh. “How does one connect with him? He hates me, until he apparently wants to fuck me, and then it’s right back to insults and icy glares.”

“When we stop in Evrain, don’t let him out of your sight. Make him talk to you. Their Festival of the Long Night will be happening; it’ll be the perfect opportunity to get lost in the crowd and have a private discussion. That’s my suggestion.”

I swallow the idea like a bitter tonic. I don’t want to put in that kind of effort. He isn’t worth it. These feelings aren’t worth it. But learning some truths certainly is. Being prepared for whatever awaits me in the coming days and months is. 

“I’ll try.” I say it quietly. I don’t promise it.

“Good enough.”

After a long stretch of silence, during which I can practically hear Rowan’s thoughts screaming for release, he nudges me again.

“Have you thought about…maybe…just fulfilling these, uh…needs of yours…? With him?”

My jaw drops and heat floods my face once again. 

“…You mean like actually sleeping with him?”

“Yeah.”

“No! I haven’t! I’m not going to!”

He throws his hands up. “Okay, okay! I’m just saying…”

“Saying what, exactly?” I snap, narrowing my eyes at him. “I’m not going to fuck him. I doubt he actually wants me, anyway. He just likes to play mental games with me.”

“Oh, he wants you.”

My head snaps up. I try to keep my voice even and casual when I ask my next question, but I can tell it doesn’t matter what tone I take. Rowan’s grinning at me so smugly he’s practically begging for a punch in the groin.

“What do you mean? Did he…he didn’t say something to you, did he?”

“No, and he probably never will. But I know him far too well. I told you he was being extra possessive over you, remember? Seems to me there’s more than one reason why. I’ve seen all of his moods and reactions before but I’ve never seen him be so affected by one single person.”

He winks suggestively at me and I shudder.

“Listen,” he says. “Everyone gets a bit pent-up sometimes, especially on long journeys like this one. And everyone scratches that itch to relieve the pressure, one way or another. Take me, for instance! I’m always down for a good time in every port or village we stop in; man, woman, mythical beast…I’ll flirt with anything that talks to me nicely.”

I roll my eyes. “Not a very charming assessment of yourself,” I say, barely fighting a smile.

“What? It’s true.” Rowan shrugs. “What I mean is, you might not regret doing it. You’ll both definitely feel better after releasing some of those emotions. There’ll be less angsty will-they-won’t-they banter I’ll be forced to listen to, so that’s a plus. Maybe he’ll even stop being such a miserable prick for a few days if you fuck him. And anyway, I’ve heard he’s really rather talented with his—”

“I’m good. I don’t need to hear anything else about that.” I’m surprised steam isn’t escaping the collar of my shirt. I feel so incredibly uncomfortable.

 He laughs, and I do, too. Damn this man and his ability to make me feel better. Though my skin still prickles with the intensity of my confusing reaction to Kylo, and I am dreading speaking to him, especially after what happened tonight, Rowan has settled my rapid pulse and relaxed the worst of my nerves. 

It’s just pent-up frustration, that’s what’s causing all of this. It’s nothing serious or detrimental. It’s bothersome, and embarrassing, but it’s natural. I must not give in to it. 

“Talk to him, okay? Trust me. He’ll tell you everything you need to know, and then you can decide for yourself if you want to kiss him or kill him.”

I nod. I know this is what I have to do. I will find the strength to do it.

“I will,” I say. “I promise.”

Chapter Text

The camp is filled with the sound of music and chatter tonight.

A great bonfire has been lit in the middle of the clearing we’ve stowed ourselves within and everyone has gathered around it. The stores of wine and ale are being emptied happily by men who know they’ll be able to restock it all come tomorrow. It’s put everyone in a better mood than usual, to say the least.

Three men whose names I don’t know play a lively tune on their fiddles while one of them sings the scandalous lyrics. I feel heat gathering in my cheeks as I listen to them.

“Rey! Over here!”

My eyes track my name to Rowan, who’s sitting by the fire waving me over. I draw the tartan blanket a little tighter around my shoulders and walk over to him. He pats the ground beside him and I sit down, crossing my legs beneath me. 

“I didn’t think you’d join us,” Rowan muses with a grin. “Want a drink?”

“Oh, uh…” 

I cast my eyes around and notice everyone has a mug in their hands. And I mean everyone. I see the Enforcer right away, standing across the clearing talking with two men. He’s leaning against a tree in a loose smoky grey tunic and black breeches, casually holding a mug in his hand and looking so nonchalant that it borders on roguish. I think I even see him smile at one of the men he’s talking to. It makes me wonder how many of those mugs he’s already emptied. 

I chew on my lip. I know I need to keep a clear head in my current situation, but surely allowing myself one little pleasure within this nightmare won’t hurt.

“Sure,” I nod. “No preference.”

Rowan waves to a man over by the barrels and he quickly brings us two mugs of ale. It’s bitter and a little tangy on my tongue, but it warms me up rather nicely. 

The heat from the fire helps, too. It trickles over my face and arms, making my shoulders relax beneath the blanket. 

“So, Sparrowhawk, have you come to any sort of decision about your little predicament?” Rowan asks, leaning over to me. 

I grip my mug a little tighter. 

“What predicament?” I ask tightly, feigning ignorance.

“Oh, the predicament that stands about six-foot-three, with dark hair desperately in need of a trim, broody eyes, and a nasty bite.”

I take a long sip from my mug. I may need another if this is the direction of our conversation tonight. 

Finally, I swallow and sigh in annoyance.

“No,” I say with a note of finality. “I don’t think it’s really that important right now, anyways.”

“Mm, if you say so, Sparrowhawk.” He throws me a cheeky wink and I roll my eyes in response.

The closer I get to the bottom of my mug, the lighter I feel. At some point, the bawdy tavern songs become funny and even a little catchy. I giggle at Rowan as he contributes to the songs with his horrible background vocals. 

I sway to the beat of the music, humming along to the easy tune. My fingers comb through my hopeless, tangled hair as I listen. I hate how dry and rough it feels. The hard soap and water gathered from rivers and creeks certainly weren’t doing it any favours. 

“You want some help?”

I turn to Rowan with a question in my eyes. “Hmm? Help?”

“With your hair,” he says, pointing to where my fingers have snagged on a knot. “I can put it in a braid for you so it doesn’t get so tangled.”

“Oh,” I say brightly. “Actually, sure. That would be helpful. I never really learned how to do a braid that actually looks nice on my own hair. I’m afraid I’m pitiful at that sort of thing.”

“Well, then, I can actually be useful for once!” Rowan exclaims jokingly. 

He spreads his knees apart and gestures at the space between them. 

“Come here.”

I crawl over to the spot between his legs and sit. His thighs are loose against my hips and I feel his chest against my back as he leans forward to gather my hair up. 

I don’t feel any sort of attraction or even desire from his proximity and touch. I feel comfortable, though. Safe, even. It’s…nice. Strange, given where I am. But nice.

Rowan’s fingers are incredibly gentle in my hair. He hardly tugs at all. All the while, he’s either telling me something to make me laugh or humming out of tune to whatever song is being played. My smile remains plastered on my face as he gathers my hair together into a neat braid.

“Where did you learn to do this so well?” I ask dreamily. 

He’s silent for a quick second and his fingers pause in my hair, but he picks back up as he answers me. 

“I had two younger sisters growing up,” he says, and it’s hard to miss the notes of sadness and longing that underscore his words, even though fondness brightens them a little. “Mische and Willow were their names. Mische was seven and Willow was four when I—when I was taken. Anyway, my mother didn’t believe in cutting our hair ever because she was too fond of it being long, so I learned to braid to help keep it out of our faces. And to keep my mother happy, of course.

“You’re a much better client, though, I have to say. My sisters could never sit still.” 

I smile sadly, somewhat glad he can’t see it. I know he doesn’t appreciate pity, not even when it’s honest. 

“Have you tried to find them?” I ask quietly. “Your family.” 

“Yes.”

“And did you?”

“…Yes.”

I know by his tortured tone that they’re dead. All of them. My heart disintegrates for Rowan. He’s yet another innocent person who has been left all alone in this miserable world because of the king.

When he’s done, he throws his handiwork over my right shoulder. I reach up and touch the end of it, running my fingers over the smooth bumps and ridges of the expert braid work. I beam at him over my shoulder.

“I love it. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Sparrowhawk.”

His arms wrap around my shoulders and he pulls me into his chest, where I rest easily. There’s no perceived intimacy to the gesture—we’re just two mildly intoxicated friends spending time around a fire—but it’s very comforting. One of my hands slips past the folds of the blanket and wraps around his wrist. I don’t know why I initiate another point of contact—maybe I just want him to know that this is fine for me. Even if I don’t understand why. But I guess I don’t have to understand it for it to feel fine.

My thoughts ramble on for a little while as Rowan and I sway lightly to the music and he chatters to someone sitting beside us—I believe Rowan called him Squirrel, though it’s tough to say if that’s just another one of Rowan’s strange nicknames or not.  

I’m finishing my drink and pondering how one might acquire the nickname of Squirrel when I feel eyes on me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and rise.

I look away from the glow of the fire and I find him instantly, like a magnet pulls me to him.

He’s standing by the barrels, watching Rowan and I with his eyebrows pinched together. I wonder what he thinks he’s seeing. Rowan’s arms around me, me sitting between Rowan’s legs, me touching Rowan’s arm. Is he trying to decide if it’s something it’s not?

Then that amber-flecked stare meets my earthy hazel one, and I swear I feel a jolt of lightning arc down my spine. I feel a small droplet of ale on the corner of my lips and my tongue runs across it. His eyes track the movement, narrowing slightly, as a muscle feathers in his jaw. 

My body feels like it ignites when I catch the heat in his stare. I know that’s the sharp gleam I’m seeing. Rowan’s words come back to haunt me yet again.

Oh, he wants you.

I didn’t want to believe him before, but now…

I’ve never been looked at by anyone the way Ren is looking at me right now and it leaves me feeling troubled, because an overwhelming part of me likes it. So much so that I find my thighs squeezing together, just to nullify some of the nagging ache it makes me feel. And that seems like a betrayal of the highest degree.

“You still doing alright, Sparrowhawk?”

I blink with a sharp intake of air as I come out of my trance. Rowan’s leaning into me with his chin on my shoulder.

“I’m doing fine, why do you ask?” I reply, giving him a smile that’s no doubt more subdued than it would’ve been a moment ago. 

“You stiffened up,” he answers. “And you went real quiet.”

Heat scores my cheekbones. 

“Oh, no, I just…just got lost in my thoughts for a second,” I reply lamely. 

“Actually…I have to relieve myself, now that I think about it,” I mumble, scooting away from him and fixing my most apologetic look onto my face. “Sorry, I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Rowan smiles warmly at me. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I weave through the crowd gathered around the fire and disappear into the trees. My entire body feels overheated and fuzzy and damn it I should not have imbibed in that ale. Or, at least, I shouldn’t have done it and then found myself in a staring contest with Kylo Ren. But, of course I did just that, because it seems I can’t put distance between us no matter what I try. It’s all only made it worse so far.

There’s a break in the trees up ahead and the ground is illuminated in the blue light of the moon. I chase that light as the merry sounds in the background fade to a light, rhythmic buzzing. 

I make it to the patch of moonbeam and take a deep lungful of cool night air. The tree line is situated atop a steep hill overlooking an expansive, flat clearing. There’s a perfect view of the moon here, with thousands of stars thrown into stark relief upon a midnight blue canvas. 

My eyes widen, glittering with the reflection of it all. I’ve never seen so many stars, not like this. There’s swirls of them—great coiling patterns that stretch across my line of vision. I feel like I could reach out and dip my fingers into those stars and create something brand new. 

I take another couple of deep breaths. The air here is scented like wild sage and night flowers, and it soothes my frenzied mind. I can almost forget the way he was looking at me, like he wanted to grab me and take a delicious bite out of me. 

Like that desire both confused and excited him.

 I lean against the tree to my right and heave a sigh, licking my dry lips. Then I just watch the sky for a little while, sitting with the peace of it.

“Quite the view.”

I startle and turn around, only to have my heart launch into my mouth. Kylo is standing a few feet away, mostly bathed in shadow, but I can see his eyes cutting straight into me. 

How did I not hear him getting closer?

“You scared me,” I mumble.

His eyes crinkle and I know he’s smirking. I can hear it in his voice, too.

“Did I?”

I roll my eyes and pull the blanket tight around my arms. “What do you want? Making sure I’m not running off?” 

His grin is a cocky one. “How far do you really think you’d get?” He gestures to his neck, referencing my collar.

I bite my tongue as I let his words rake over me and turn away from him to look at the sky again.

“Were you enjoying yourself back there at all?” He asks, stepping up to stand beside me, so close that the crisp, spiced scent of him makes quick work of scrambling my senses. 

I look at him out of the corner of my eye, through my eyelashes. I watch as his eyes track the length of my braid, a strangely complicated haze passing over them as he does so. 

“Even a little bit?” He murmurs, flicking that dangerous stare back to my face.

I swallow. “Yes, actually. It was nice to relax, such as it was.”

“You didn’t drink.”

“I had one ale, thank you. Seems like you had plenty for the both of us, though.”

He chuckles darkly and I hate the way the sound of it ignites a fire deep within my core.

“The sky looks nice tonight,” he says after a brief, uneasy silence.

“Yes,” I reply softly, “it does.”

“You can even see Fiadh’s Collar. That’s a hard one to find, usually.”

“Fiadh’s Collar?”

He looks at me with an unreadable expression.

“Yeah. You know the story of Fiadh? The cat of the goddess Nos? How she unspooled the ball of stars to create the galaxies of the night sky?”

My brows pinch together and I blush. 

“I know the story, but…I’m afraid I’ve never been much of a stargazer.” 

His eyes watch my lips as I speak. 

“Well, lucky for you it’s easy to spot tonight,” he says, then he points to the sky. “See that bright star to the right of the moon? The big one, with a slightly smaller one directly above it.”

I look, frowning. “No. There’s a lot of bright stars to the right of the moon. Quite a number of them to the left, as well.”

He chuckles again—fucking quit that—and takes a step closer to me. I gasp when I feel his hip against my lower back.

“No—here, let me…”

His left hand comes up in front of me and gently holds my chin as he puts his face next to mine. Then he carefully moves my head, tilting it up, to look exactly where he needs me to. All the while, it feels like my heart is going to beat out of my chest.

He’s barely touching me except for where he has to, and yet I feel him everywhere. It’s dizzying, being this close to him. Knowing he’s drunk and likely won’t remember he was somewhat kind to me while he made my heart race only intensifies the frenzy of emotions within me.

I should hate this. I should hate him for showing me his humanity and sabotaging me. But I just…can’t seem to fully commit to it anymore. I recognize that’s disconcerting, even though I don’t feel the emotion. There’s no mounting panic—just tense, alluring anticipation.

I can’t stop asking myself the same question. 

But what will happen if I don’t stop him…?

He points in front of us, and I follow his finger directly to a bright white star. 

“See it now?” He asks. His voice is low and it’s right next to my ear. Gooseflesh erupts down the left side of my body. 

“Mmhm…” I whimper.

“That’s the bell of the collar. And then do you see the one above it and two on either side of that, just a little higher?” He asks. I swear his body presses in just a little bit closer to mine. I can feel the rippled muscle of his torso through his shirt where it’s pressed against my elbow. 

“I do,” I exhale.

His fingers on my chin tilt my face upwards half an inch, directing me towards the star centered above them all. I feel his lips ghost against my ear when he speaks and I shiver against him.

“And the last one…?” He whispers.

“Yes,” I nod. “I see it now.” 

A full circle. Like a collar.

I can feel his eyes on me. I find myself leaning into him a little now—not because he feels comfortable, or easy, but because the more of him I touch, the higher I feel. Everything is heightened when his skin is on mine. I feel everything so much more. So I’m certain he feels the rapid rise and fall of my breaths and hears the rampaging of my heart as he holds me.

When his right hand pushes the blanket off of me and comes to rest on my hip, I gasp. But I don’t move away. I don’t tell him to stop. Because…because I don’t want him to. 

His hand is warm and large, taking up much of my side. His long fingers curl over the soft curve of my waist and his palm slowly slides forward another inch. His other hand releases my chin and slips slowly down the front of my throat and skims across the top of my chest, where his arm comes to rest, lightly bracketing me against him.

His lips just barely graze my jaw—so light it could’ve been accidental. But it’s his next words that have me tumbling towards damnation.

“I can’t seem to stop thinking about it…” he murmurs huskily in my ear.

Between his lips on my skin, his hand on my side, and his chest against my back, I feel like I’m floating. My eyelashes flutter and I swallow. A shaky breath slips past my lips.

“About what…?” I whisper.

His head leans against mine as if he’s battling silently with himself, but then his lips caress the shell of my ear and nearly coax a noise from me. His raspy voice sends heat skittering over every inch of my sensitized skin.

“How you taste.”

My lips part though I can’t form any words behind them. His hand caresses my side and I find myself arching my back, pushing more of myself into him. His thumb gently follows the outside curve of my breast through my shirt, slowly sliding up to run across my stiffened nipple—a warm, delirious pressure that actually does pull a soft moan from somewhere within me. His breath hitches and his hold on me tightens a little at the sound.

“Will you let me find the answer, little witch?” He purrs.

“I—I…”

But then I remember he’s drunk, and I start to think that this isn’t the best place for…whatever this is. I start to remember that I can’t do this. What he makes me feel doesn’t matter. It’s dangerous, but it’ll fade when we’re no longer in such close proximity to one another. It’s just been a long journey, and he’s no doubt “pent-up” like Rowan said. Gods know I’m nothing but lonely. It’s just a bad combination, that’s all. It’ll pass. It has to. Maybe he’ll find someone in Evrain to release that tension with, and this problem will vanish for me.

I try not to pay too much attention to the way that thought sours my stomach.

I pull away from him and he immediately releases me. I’m thankful for that, at least. But I can barely meet his eyes as I bend down to pick up the blanket and mutter my piss-poor excuse. There’s far too much heat still smouldering in his face at present.

“I’m sorry…this isn’t—I don’t want you to think that—I should really be getting back.” 

I don’t wait for him to speak, I just take off at a quick clip, darting through the trees like scared prey before he has a chance to catch me.

When I finally make it back to the clearing, Rowan’s right where I left him. He doesn’t see me until I walk right up to him, and I can tell by the way his brows twitch like they want to pull together that he notices the colour in my face.

“Hey,” he says. “Run into trouble out there or something?” 

Yes. Big fucking trouble.

“No, not at all. I just found a vantage spot with a good view of the stars, so I stayed a little while.”

“Oh, that sounds nice. It’s almost time for me to head that direction, actually…”

I feel like saying “maybe take your time and give your commander a chance to cool down” but I don’t feel like fielding questions right now.

“That’s fine, I think I’m going to go to bed anyways,” I say, eager for an excuse to just be alone. 

His face falls a little, but he nods his understanding as he gets off the ground and embraces me tightly. 

“Sleep tight, Sparrowhawk,” he says, kissing the top of my head. 

“Thanks.” I won’t. “You too.”

The tent is pitch black inside and I leave it that way. I stumble over to my bedroll and get onto it, throwing the blanket over me. Then I push my face into the pillow and groan. 

What the hell is wrong with me? I almost gave in. I almost broke. Apparently, even one glass of alcohol is too many around that man. My inhibition is looking for any excuse to be lowered into the fucking ground at this point. 

I sigh and flip onto my back, staring at the ceiling of the tent until my vision fully adjusts to the dark.

I ran away from him. I put a stop to it before it could start and I left. I should be good now. I should be relieved. But I’m not. Not at all.

My heart is still racing. Worst of all, that fiery ache that’s gathered deep within me remains as strong as ever, and it cries out for him. No amount of thigh squeezing or shifting is making it lessen and it’s driving me mad. Being affected like this when he won’t even remember it come morning is cruel and unfair punishment for a crime I didn’t commit. 

I sigh in frustration. The party outside continues on, but the sound is dulled slightly by the tent’s distance from it. All seems quiet over here. Still. Calm.

Yet inside this tent, a thunderstorm rages.

I roll onto both of my sides, then my stomach, followed by my right side and finally onto my back again. I think of cute puppies, then shelling peas, then rotting fish. I even think about things I hate, but the feeling still doesn’t fade. It starts to throb.

I huff, blowing hair away from my face, then I chew my lip in contemplation.

I need to sleep, and I can’t sleep like this. I’m only doing it for that reason. It’s just for relief. It doesn’t mean anything, just because it’s him. It’s just natural. I’m just lonely.

No one will ever know.

My eyes flutter closed as my hand slowly travels beneath the blanket. I stop it in the centre of my sternum, hesitating for a moment, before I skim them over my breasts while I think of Kylo’s hand on my side. The way his touch sent jolts of pleasure racing down my spine. My nipples pebble at the thought of those hands encompassing me, those fingers teasing me. How warm they’d feel on my sensitive flesh. How he’d border just on the line between pain and pleasure when he’d roll my nipples between his fingers.

My hand dips lower and lower still, my fingers drawing up the hem of the light tunic I wear and pushing past the waistband of my leggings, then ghosting over the expanse of skin between my hip bones. I arch my back and gasp as I come into contact with the source of all my problems. I’ve never been this wanton before in my life. Never craved the touch of another like this before. I suppose I might never find out why it’s happening because of him if I never examine it closer.

So as I explore my arousal, I start to picture it: what would’ve happened if I had stayed.

I imagine he would’ve kissed me first, but it wouldn’t have been slow or gentle. They would’ve been searing kisses, the kind that imprint on souls and lay claim to someone. I imagine his teeth scraping over my lower lip ever so slowly.

I imagine he likes it rough. All teeth and nails and punishing pleasure. No restraint. No rules. No relenting.

I imagine him pinning me to that tree trunk as he nips and licks at my throat. His rough hands would hold my hips tightly to his, ensuring I feel every inch of his arousal pressed against me. He’d want me to contemplate how it will feel inside. He’d probably demand it of me, knowing him.

I imagine him pushing my pants off my hips and sinking his hand into them until he’s doing exactly what I want him to. Satisfying that aching part of me that suddenly calls his name. I imagine his breathy, gravelly voice muttering in my ear as he slips his long fingers deep inside of me. You’re so good, little witch. You feel so good.

I’ve wanted this.

I’ve wanted you.

My breath hitches as I follow the path of my imagination, my hand working steadily between my trembling thighs. I can’t withhold the quiet, breathy moan that cuts through the still air of the tent. 

I imagine he wouldn’t let me come on his fingers. That’s not what he’d want. I imagine him undoing the laces of his breeches, making me watch as he tugs on them until they open. Then I imagine him lifting my leg and hooking it around his hip, so he’d have the best access possible in this position. 

He wouldn’t hesitate, I don’t think. He’d sink right into me until he was buried in me. He wouldn’t let me adjust to his size before he starts to move, but there wouldn’t be a need for him to. Not when I want him this fucking badly…

“Mmm—” My hips gyrate beneath the covers and I slap a hand over my mouth just in time. Every muscle in my body tenses with my orgasm and I have to bite my palm to keep from making any noise, though a few whimpers still escape. My breathing is rapid and rough, turning shaky when I start to come down, still twitching with the aftershocks.

And then I hear footsteps outside. 

My heart seizes with panic and I quickly turn onto my left side so I can still see who it is. My breathing and pulse are still way too fast to be convincing as a sleeping person, so I try to focus on slowing those down a little.

I watch through my eyelashes as the tent flap opens. I can just make out his silhouette in front of the distant firelight, and it’s enough to know it’s him.

Kylo. The man who I just got off to the mere thought of. 

The shame that courses through me is sudden and hot. He’s the Enforcer. He’s holding me captive and taking me to the capital so I can be used like a tool by the man who murdered my parents. What the fuck did I just do? Why is the shame so strong but my regret isn’t?

His footsteps inside the tent sound slightly unbalanced. I watch his shadow move further into the tent before he stops and sighs. It’s a low, regretful sigh that leaves me with a pang inside my chest.

And then he gets closer and closer, and my heart rate is spiking again, but I stamp down any instinct to move and stay perfectly, utterly still. I even close my eyes completely.

I don’t feel anything for the first couple of minutes. He just squats by my bedroll and watches me at first. I can practically hear the tumultuous thoughts racing around inside of his head; they’re so loud. There’s so many of them. I sympathize with him a little.

It takes everything in me not to jump when his fingertips brush against my cheekbone with feather-light pressure. They tuck a few loose strands of hair behind my ear and then return for one final caress that has my heart yearning for more.

“What are you doing to me, little witch…?” He asks. His voice is rough and I can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or his emotions.

Did he have to relieve the ache, too?

He doesn’t say anything else, though. He removes his touch and walks away, leaving me feeling bereft and cold, somehow. I crack open my eyes and watch through my lashes as he removes his shirt and breeches for bed—something he’s never done in front of me before. He stumbles around a little bit as the alcohol knocks him slightly off-kilter, but he manages. I get a fine view of him in nothing more than his underwear before he slips beneath his blanket and turns on his left side, putting his back to me. 

I have half a mind to walk over there and slip beneath his covers with him, just to see what he’ll do. Just to ask him what he thinks I’m doing to him. What is he doing to me? Maybe out there wasn’t the right place, but in here could be.

I stomp this line of thought into the ground as deep as I can get it and simply hope it won’t grow roots there.

I cannot entertain these thoughts. I need something that will make them stop. I haven’t forgotten that Rowan said there were things Kylo needed to explain to me. Perhaps whatever that is will do it. 

But to test that theory, I have to talk to Kylo. Alone. A task so daunting, it makes sweat break out along my palms. But, I told Rowan I’d do it. So I effectively have no choice, sweaty palms or no.

Eventually, as I glare at his back and watch it slowly rise and fall, sleep claims me, too. 

Nos must really hate me. Perhaps this is all part of the punishment tied to my curse.

It certainly seems like it when my dreams pick up right where my imagination left off.

Chapter Text

I’m too fucking scared to talk to him.

I hate that that’s the truth. What is wrong with me? I’m more afraid of this idiot man than I have been since he took me out of Varia! 

His presence behind me atop Azrael is stifling. I feel him everywhere. His arms seem to be bracing me just a little tighter today; their steady weight against my waist is both too much and not enough. That refreshing scent that clings to his skin permeates my senses and more than once I come very close to demanding we stop so I can dismount and walk, rather than be tortured by his proximity to me. But I can’t even open my mouth to speak. The scene from last night just replays over and over in my mind with Rowan’s suggestion playing over it like the worst soundtrack in the world. 

Have you thought about maybe…with him…?

He wants you.

I rack my brain to try and figure out exactly how it came to this. I’d hated him so fiercely, until…until I’d started to think that maybe his eyes were a beautiful colour, and the cascade of freckles and beauty marks on his skin was charming. Until I looked into those eyes and something desperate and primal and familiar had looked back at me from within their mesmerizing depths. 

This is all his fault. If he hadn’t looked at me so indecently, none of this would be happening. If he hadn’t revived my long-buried hope of being wanted, I wouldn’t feel half as agonized as I do.

Damn him, I think fiercely. Damn him and the confusing way he makes me feel.

We arrive in Evrain by early evening. The sun casts long shadows that appear to stretch almost to the horizon. Stable hands greet us as we enter the small, bustling town. Its buildings are carved from thick white stone and painted a variety of colours, making the whole place feel inviting and fun. I’m instantly curious to see how these people live. 

Kylo gets off the horse, but instead of immediately walking away, he turns towards me and offers me his hand, clearing his throat awkwardly as he does so. I blink at his upturned palm, then at him.

“What are you—? Are you…helping me?”

He just looks up at me, begging me soundlessly to just take his damn hand and end his suffering. I hesitate a little before sliding my cuffed hands into his broad palm. I brace myself against him as I remove my right foot from the stirrup. This is one thing that has not gotten easier with time. It still felt damn impossible to get off this gigantic horse while restrained without falling. When I swing my leg over Azrael’s back, Kylo’s arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me down until my feet are safely on the ground. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t hold me against his body any longer than is necessary.

He gives me one quick look over before turning away. Panic rises in my chest. If I don’t say something now, it will be too late and my most opportune moment will have passed.

“Will you walk with me?”

The words all come out in a rush so they sound like one long, stupid word. They don’t even make sense, together or apart.

He furrows his brow in confusion, tilting his head to the left an inch.

“Walk with you?” He asks. “To the inn, you mean?”

I blink as a blush crawls up my neck to consume my face. This is going horribly so far. Great.

“Y-yes, to the inn,” I stammer. My throat has gone dry as sand and speaking feels like an immense effort. “A-and…and later tonight? At—at the festival?”

I watch those confused eyes widen just a tiny bit in surprise.  

“You want me to walk with you at the festival.” He repeats my words as though he isn’t sure he heard me right.

“I…I do,” I whisper.

I see his chest stutter as his breath hitches, but aside from that he does not move.

“Really,” he says quietly.

Embarrassment overwhelms me. I direct my gaze to the dusty cobblestone street beneath my feet and start to walk past him as quickly as I can, my restrained hands clenched into fists in front of me. What a stupid idea.

“Never mind,” I say. “It’s not important, pretend I never—”

His hand wraps firmly around my upper arm, stopping me in my tracks, but I don’t turn around to face him. I don’t think I can—

“Yes.”

Okay. I can.

His eyes are inquiring but gentle. His bottom lip trembles once before he slams his mouth shut into a stern line and swallows.

“W-what?” I ask, too dumbfounded to formulate a sentence.

“I will walk with you to the inn…and at the festival later,” he confirms, spelling it out slowly and clearly for me.

“O-oh. Okay.”

Alright, he’s agreed to it. Now I have to actually figure out how to get him to tell me whatever it is he’s been withholding from me this entire time, even though I have zero idea what it is or how it pertains to me.

Fucking perfect. Really took the time and thought this one through.

He steps close to me and his hand slips down my arm to my wrist, never breaking contact with me. He unlocks my cuffs and takes them off of me, fastening them to the belt loop of his breeches. I twirl my wrists and scorching heat comes back to my face with a vengeance. 

“Thank you.” I mutter.

As we start to walk away, I hear a sharp pssst and look over my shoulder to see Rowan giving me two thumbs up. I bite my tongue to keep from groaning and then mouth the words “not helping.” I hear him laugh behind me after I turn my head. 

I follow Kylo through the street like a scared shadow, trailing close in his wake. I watch the fingers of his gloved left hand twitch repeatedly at his side and I try not to think about what that means. Eventually I direct my attention to the town that’s slowly surrounding me.

Children race each other down the street while holding streamers that trail out in vibrant colours behind them. I hear a baby crying in a house somewhere. With night slowly closing in, the glowing light of candles and fireplaces flicker in the windows of the homes, casting golden-orange shadows on the small lawns and herb gardens out front. Lively string music echoes down the streets from deeper in the town, I assume where the festival was set up. The air smells like fresh bread and the woodsmoke of newly-built fires quickly growing in preparation for cooking. Something in me lightens with the jovial, homey energy here.

“Um, where’s the inn?” I ask, simply needing to break this tense silence. 

“Just two more blocks this way,” he answers.

“And is it…is it nice…?” Solara help me.

I can hear his smirk in his voice when he replies. 

“The beds aren’t infested with lice and there’s bathtubs, so I guess it could be worse.”

“Wait, there’s bathtubs? Actual bathtubs? I don’t need to find a freezing cold creek or a pond or give myself a cloth bath for once?”

“Count your blessings.”

Lost in the exhilarating thought of a proper, warm bath, I follow the rest of the way in mostly-content silence.

When we walk into the inn, I’m immediately overcome by the smell of roasting pork and rosemary. My stomach growls noisily.

The innkeeper is a short, plump man with a big smile plastered on his round face. He’s wearing a strange, tall blue hat with glittering springs sticking out of it like fireworks spewing in all directions. They bounce as he walks and it almost makes me chuckle.

He shows us to our rooms on the second floor, and something inside me screams when I realize Kylo’s room shares a wall with mine. Part of me can’t help but wonder if this arrangement was purposeful or not.

“Your tubs have been filled with hot water, so please, relax and enjoy yourselves! May Azura bless you both!” The innkeeper offers us a little bow and walks back down the stairs to the front desk.

Azura is the god of the evening and rebirth; he is the changing of the seasons, the transformation of the soul, the designer of the ebb and flow of life. It makes sense why they would be worshipping him tonight.

“I’ll find you later, then,” Kylo says, jolting me out of my head. His fingers wrap around the handle of his door while he speaks to me, a small smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth. “Then we’ll…walk.”

I blink and nod quickly, my apprehension no doubt evident in my face.

“Okay,” I mumble before swiftly ducking into my room and bolting the door behind me.

With my back pressed against the door, I squeeze my eyes shut tight for a few seconds, trying to calm my racing heart. Maybe I did still hate his guts a little, because the thought of being alone and having a conversation with him was making me more uncomfortable by the minute.

When I finally open my eyes, I see a small, simple yet cozy room laid out before me. It has a small tub by the door filled with steaming water that smells faintly like roses, with a towel draped over its edge. Beyond that is a single bed with a harvest yellow down comforter, a tiny wooden table and chair, and a small cathedral window looking down onto the quiet street. Four half-melted beeswax candles in holders on the table were offered for lighting, along with matches in a hand-carved wooden box.

The bed looks very inviting, but the bath is warm and calling my name, so I light the candles and begin peeling off my clothes. As I step into the water, its warmth instantly saturates my body and clings to my aching muscles and bones, soothing them. I moan with pleasure as I sink up to my neck. I hear something clatter loudly to the ground in the room next to mine. Though I am mildly curious as to what he’s exactly doing in his room, I ultimately decide to pay it no mind—though I do make a mental note that these walls are paper-thin.

Slowly, I sink my head beneath the water, muting the world around me. It feels strange to be allowed my own room,  to take my own bath alone. I’m a prisoner, yet you’d never know it. I can’t say it’s nice or that I’m lucky, though, because all it means is that I’m already the king’s property, and everyone knows it.

Everyone except for Kylo Ren, who seems to think I’m…something else I can’t quite determine and almost don’t want to consider.

Water pours down my face as I rise and push my brown hair from my eyes. I haven’t cut my hair in months, and it falls down to my breasts now, the longest it’s ever been. I wonder if the king’s Shadowsmith will be permitted to cut her hair or not. I have a terrible feeling that any kind of “freedom” I’m currently experiencing will be unattainable for me once we reach Marbhan.

A chunk of handmade soap sits on a little shelf mounted on the wall by the tub. It smells like lavender and honey, and I graciously apply it to my skin, stripping myself of any remaining grime to the very best of my ability. I’m taking full advantage of the opportunity to properly bathe, just in case it will be my last chance to do so for gods know how long.

It’s close to an hour before I finally get out of the nearly cold water. The sky has darkened outside, so the candles are my only source of light as I use the provided towel to dry my body and hair. As I look down at my body, I frown. I can easily feel my ribs standing out along the sides of my torso, and my hip bones jut out just a little too sharply. Random white scars decorate my flesh, wrought by various injuries both big and small. My legs are peppered with bruises of varying colours, just like my arms. My fingertips trace the fine line across my upper arm where Kylo’s sword had kissed me. I swallow thickly.

If something happens tonight, and I truly lose all control of myself…what will he think of all these marks upon me? Will he treat me like I’m delicate, even though he knows I’m not, just out of pity? Will he dislike the yellowing bruises on my arms and legs, finding their faded hue disturbing? Or will he accept all of it without a thought? As I think about it, I can almost feel the warmth of lips upon my inner thigh; a soft, assuring pressure upon each tender spot in their path. I shiver, contradicting the heat that suddenly floods my belly.

Gods. Touching myself to the thought of him was such a big fucking mistake.

A quick knock upon my door makes me jump. I look at it with wide eyes. Oh, gods, no. Is he here already? I’m still undressed!

Panicking, I tie my towel tightly around my body and step slowly to the door, unbolting it. I open it just a crack and peer out into the dimly-lit hallway. Relief courses through me when I see a female housekeeper standing there with a smile on her face, a plate of steaming food in one hand, and a wrapped package in the other.

“Good evening, miss,” she says with a rhythmic eastern accent. “Sorry to disturb; I brought your food and something for you to wear tonight.”

“Clothes?” I ask quizzically. “But, I have clothes.”

“Oh, darlin’, I’m sure you’d prefer to have those clothes washed, wouldn’t ya?” She asks kindly, as if trying to convince a child to eat vegetables. “I’ll trade you. This is a traditional outfit worn by many women durin’ the Long Night; you’ll look amazing in it, I know it! I’ll return your clothes tomorrow mornin’. Yes?”

I have no reason to argue, so I shrug and take the food and package from her so I can hand her my clothes. She’s right—they smell like blood and sweat and horse. Not a great combination. I feel a little embarrassed handing it over to her, but she doesn’t seem to mind as she thanks me and disappears towards the stairs. 

My stomach growls loudly again when I look at the food: a thick slice of glazed ham, mashed potatoes in rosemary butter, wilted greens with hazelnuts, and a warm biscuit. 

I should be ashamed of how quickly I inhale everything on the plate, but I’m not. It’s all so damn good, I’m thinking I may just go downstairs and ask for seconds. However, in order to do that, I should probably be wearing more than a towel.

I open the package with curious fingers. What I find first are two twin gold armbands that curve in a serpentine shape. They’re beautifully made and inlaid with sapphires, and I immediately feel like I shouldn’t wear them. I don’t wear beautiful things. I wear practical things. For this reason, I feel a little nervous as I reach for the swath of midnight blue fabric I see inside the wrappings.

The dress is made from what has to be the softest material I’ve ever felt in my life. My nerves almost choke me out when I see how the garment is cut, however. A long slit crawls up the left side of the flowy skirt from the bottom to the hip. It has two shoulder straps made of thick braided velvet, and the neckline dips down a considerable amount. 

“Fuck,” I curse. I should not have relinquished my clothes, no matter how they smelled. Now I had no choice but to wear a gods-damned dress. My full stomach flips uncomfortably. What the hell will Kylo do? He’s going to laugh at me, if nothing else. Probably tell me I look ridiculous and explain all the ways the dress is impractical as if I can’t point that out for myself. 

The last thing in the package are a pair of simple sandals with thin leather straps that are designed to criss-cross halfway up my calf. I groan as I spread it all out atop the bed and look at it. I’m so fucked.

Frowning and grumbling to myself, I manage to work my way into the dress after several long, agonizing minutes spent adjusting it. The sloping V-shaped neckline dips well below my breasts, and I hate the idea of showing this much skin to anyone, let alone to the king’s personal assassin. 

It takes me a few more curse-filled minutes before I have the sandals on properly. All that’s left are the swirling armbands, which I hold in my hands like stolen goods. I can’t shake the ingrained feeling that I don’t deserve to wear anything so nice. But I’m holding these incredible pieces of jewelry that were given to me willingly, and no one was yelling at me for it. So, maybe…maybe just for tonight I could pretend for a little while.

I slip them onto my upper arms and adjust them so they’re symmetrical. I like the way their golden gleam looks against my sun-kissed skin. Perhaps they’re enough to distract the eye from all the other parts of me I’m revealing tonight.

My heart clogs my throat when there’s another knock on my door, harder than the first one had been. This is no housekeeper. I can feel him before I even see him. It scares me almost as much as the ridicule I’m certainly about to be subjected to.

My teeth hold firm to my lower lip as I slowly open the door. He’s looking to the left, towards the stairs, with a bored expression on his face, which I notice he’s shaved. He’s wearing his arm braces but no other armour, and one of his swords hangs in a scabbard at his hip. It looks like he’s been given clothes, too: he has a loose, dark green tunic with braided patterns down the sleeves that cling firmly to his muscular arms, a warm black cloak, and simple, well-fitted black breeches. My mouth goes dry in an instant and I suddenly want nothing more than to retreat into my room and slam the door shut. Fuck walking. Fuck talking. Ignore all of this.

“Are you about ready to wa—”

I feel his eyes like twin flames on my skin as they travel down my body. He’s so frozen for a minute that he doesn’t even breathe. I’m nearly shaking when I see his eyes catch momentarily on the expanse of exposed skin between my breasts before they snap back up to my red face. I’ve never seen him this shocked before and, honestly, I can’t blame him. It is sort of entertaining to watch him flounder, though.

“Y-you…” he stammers, and I brace for his cold, cruel laughter. “You’re, uh…you look—”

I can’t. I can’t take this. This is torture.

“Don’t.” I sigh. My skin feels like it’s crawling and I desperately wish I could take it off. “I know I look foolish. I didn’t ask for th—”

“When did I say you look foolish?” He interrupts sharply.

Merciful gods, I could wither beneath his scorching stare right now. 

“I—you didn’t have to,” I mumble. “I know you must be thinking it.”

“Don’t presume to know what I think,” he warns me huskily. “For what it’s worth, though, you’ve never been more wrong in all your life.”

“W-what?” My voice sounds small and squeaky and a fresh wave of embarrassment rolls over me. I can’t have heard him right. 

A crooked smile toys with his fascinating mouth before he talks like he can hear my every thought.

“Oh, I think you heard me just fine.”

Before I can even process this, he’s leaning towards me. My heart threatens to dislodge a rib all while my mind screams at me in a thousand different ways. What is he doing? Why is he getting so close? Why am I letting him? Stop him! This is dangerous territory!  

His thumb catches my bottom lip and frees it from the gnawing pressure of my anxious teeth.

“Go easy on yourself. It’s far too early in the night for bloodshed, little witch,” he says in a rasp. 

He straightens suddenly, deliberately putting some much needed space between our bodies once again, and gestures towards the stairs.

“I believe you requested something from me,” he says. “So shall we, before you accuse me of not honouring my word?”

I nod stiffly. Whatever this was going to be tonight, I was already ruining it. I’m too awkward for small talk; I’m too agonized by my emotional and physical responses to him; I’m simply not good at this. Whatever “this” is. 

I hate Rowan for not just telling me more, choosing instead to use his loyalty to Kylo as an excuse to torture me for an entire day and night, likely for his own amusement. 

“Let’s go, then,” Kylo says as he walks away from me. I hurry to catch up. 

“There’s lots to see and even more to talk about.”

Chapter Text

The streets are teeming with people, colour, and music. Little shops have been set up in an open market at the heart of Evrain, bordering both sides of the street. Small flames inside coloured glass tubes create vibrant flickers of light throughout the whole market. 

The air is saturated with a hundred different smells, some mouth-watering, some curious. Shop owners are shouting inviting words at passersby from within their stalls, their voices battling for dominance with the upbeat music in the distance. 

It’s all so very loud and colourful and exciting. 

“You look overwhelmed,” Kylo says, dipping his head to talk so I can hear him better. 

I close my mouth once I realize my jaw had been on the ground. 

“I sort of am,” I reply. I’ve never been so overstimulated in my life.

“Didn’t you attend festivals like this in Varia?”

“A few times, but I stopped in my teens when I realized no one wanted me there. They were never this exciting, anyway.”

I look up to see him scowling. Is it for my sake? Does he feel bad for me? I don’t know, because he doesn’t have a response. Whatever. It’s none of his business, anyway.

I don’t want him to know me that way.

A group of kids run past me and one of them knocks my arm with their shoulder, jostling me sideways. The boy in question turns his head and yells “Sorry!”

Kylo’s hand wraps firmly around my elbow, steadying me. The physical contact startles me back into my body; it makes me remember why I’m here and who I’m here with. I need to be more careful. 

It’s so damn loud out here, though, that I have no idea how to start a serious conversation, let alone maintain one without feeling silly while screaming into each other’s faces just to be heard. Plus, it’s too public. If I’m going to get my answers, I’ll unfortunately need to draw him out of the market and get him alone. But there were two problems with that mission. One: I’d really like to take my time in this market and absorb the experience. There’s so much good food around me right now that I have to try some of it, if nothing else. And two: I don’t particularly want to be alone with him right now. Not after last night.

He isn’t speaking to me, either. Whenever I glance up at him I notice his eyes darting left to right, scanning for any potential threats—which, to his credit, there could be many of in this crowded, unfamiliar space. He also hasn’t taken his left hand off the pommel of his sword this entire time. Is he anticipating a fight? Is there something I don’t know? Is this a trap?

No, it can’t be a trap, I tell myself. I’m sure of it. He would never have agreed to go with me if he thought there was danger. 

I need a distraction before my thoughts send me careening over the edge of neurosis. Twinkling lights catch my eye, and I’m drawn into a handmade jewelry stall. There are counters filled with rings of all different styles and colours. Gemstones I couldn’t hope to name look up at me, their unique elegance like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Hundreds of necklaces hang on the wood panel wall in front of me, glittering in captivating ways as they catch the lights of the various candles.

“Looking for a gift for someone special, my lord?” 

I look over my shoulder and see that Ren has been stopped on his way over to me by the buxom stall owner. She’s flashing him her prettiest smile, along with the twinkling rings she has on all of her fingers. Ren looks completely caught off-guard by her.

I chuckle to myself and turn back to the necklaces. There’s so many of them, each one different than the one beside it. There’s a necklace featuring a horse crafted from sterling silver with a mane of jade; a golden locket with tiny emeralds scattered on its face; a mother of pearl moon pendant, and so many more that I can barely identify. I reach for a necklace with a fine gold chain bearing a delicate golden sun pendant. In the centre of the sun sits a tiny jewel that I don’t recognize; it looks mostly black, but as I move the pendant between my fingers, it shifts to a greyish-white. 

“Do you like things like these?”

Kylo’s voice at my side makes me jump. He’s looking at the sun necklace I’m holding and for some reason I feel like I’ve done something wrong. I grab the chain and reach to hang it back up on its hook.

“No, I don’t have—” His hand closing around my wrist interrupts me. He’s touching me again. I wish he’d stop doing that.

I shake out of his light grip and replace the necklace right where I found it. I clear my throat, holding my arms and hands close at my sides.

“I don’t have much use for pretty things.”

“Ah.” His eyes remain on the necklace I'd been holding. “Is that because you don’t like them, or because you’ve never been given them?”

“It’s because they’re not practical,” I grumble sharply, turning away from him to look at a display of bracelets. “I was given a pretty thing once, but someone stole it from me when he kidnapped me from my village.”

He shrugs next to me. “Consider it collateral.” 

“Collateral for what?” I demand sharply.

“We’ll see. I haven’t decided yet.”

“You’re a heartless asshole.”

“Mm. So I’ve heard.”

I maneuver away from the jewelry stall and back out into the busy street. A man is selling candied fruit across the way, so I weave through the throng of people towards his stall. I don’t look over my shoulder to see if Kylo followed me. 

I’m staring at a collection of candied grapes and orange slices pierced through with a wooden stick, wishing I had money to buy it, when I feel him at my back. I watch his hand reach towards the stall owner and drop some coins into the man’s awaiting palm. Kylo then grabs the exact one I was just salivating over and hands it to me.

“What are you doing?” I ask, looking from the fruit to him with a healthy dose of suspicion.

“You want it, don’t you? Just shut up and take it.”

I decide to ignore the image his words conjure in my mind and instead I sigh and take the stick from his hand.

I can’t stop thinking about…how you taste…

I shiver.

“Thanks.” I mumble, not caring if he hears me.

I moan as I take my first bite and the sugary sweetness mixes deliciously with the tangy fruit juices on my tongue. It was an unintentional reaction, but Kylo visibly stiffens beside me. I smirk.

“What? It’s good,” I say, all too happy to tease him.

“It fucking better be,” he grumbles under his breath.

We keep walking while I nibble on my fruit and by the time I finish it, we’ve come to a slight bend in the road. When we round it, the music is louder and I can see the string band on a small wooden stage with an audience surrounding them. The coloured glass is plentiful here, along with small floating paper lanterns that bounce and bob above everyone’s heads. There’s a clear view of the swollen harvest moon above the stage, deep orange and beautiful. My heart pangs for my home, and I shove the feelings down as deep as they’ll go.

I watch the band play with a growing smile on my face. I’ve always loved music. I never learned to play any instrument, but I always knew if I had the chance I would. I like the violin, or the piano. Maybe even drums if I’m feeling crazy. But as of yet I’ve never had the opportunity, so I always just enjoy it from afar.

The song they play is a fast-paced jig, heavy on the fiddle. The musicians dance and move around on stage, energized by the audience. The bassist spins his upright instrument with expert precision. The skill is admirable and the beat has me stepping slowly closer to the bouncing, dancing crowd.

Before I know what’s happening, a hand grabs mine and yanks me into the centre of the crowd, where its male owner spins me around with a laughing smile on his face and passes me to a woman with salt and pepper curls, who wraps her arm around my waist and takes my hand to lead me in a maddening dance of leaps and turns.

When the shock wears off, I’m laughing at the joy surrounding me. The music is so loud I can’t hear anything but muffled laughter and shouts. The woman and I jump twice on our front foot, jump back once, turn ninety degrees and do it again. Once we’ve done a full circle, she passes me off to someone else. I don’t see this person’s face, though, before I’m lifted by my waist up into the air, above the crowd. I scream with laughter and I instantly find Kylo hovering at the edge of the crowd, watching me with wide, dumbfounded eyes. He keeps moving side-to-side, trying to anticipate where I was going to get spit out of this enthusiastic machine. His horrified expression only makes me laugh harder.

Suddenly I’m dropped back into the crowd. Whoever hoisted me up steadies me and pushes me on my way through the crowd. I’m spun three more times by two different people and dipped once before I feel a large hand grab mine and pull me sideways. I fall through the edge of the crowd and I teeter to the right, only to slam into Kylo’s front just as he encases me in his arms and walks me backwards away from the stage.

 “Are you insane?!” He hisses, leaning back so he can assess me. “Did they hurt you?”

I’m still laughing, and he looks at me like he’s truly very worried for my sanity. 

“No! I’m fine!” I laugh. “I was dancing. It was fun.”

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it,” he grumbles, ever the grouchy curmudgeon. 

I know I should step out of his hold, but his warmth is seeping into my skin and taking away the slight chill caused by the cool night air. It would be all too easy to nuzzle closer and let his warmth envelop me completely. 

Too easy, and far too dangerous.

I step away and he lets me go, but I can see the hesitation in the stiffness of his arms and the way his fingers clench when they can no longer touch me.

“Shall we carry on, then?” I ask, throwing a hand at the street beside us.

He nods and lets me lead the way, but he keeps closer this time. Obviously he’s concerned I’ll be grabbed by someone else and swept away to a place he can’t easily reach.

Had it worried him that badly?

We walk in silence past a half-dozen different stalls. There’s one that features an array of handmade weapons, and I expect Kylo to go to it, but he doesn’t so much as look at it as he sticks firmly to my side. He really didn’t want to bring me here tonight, I realize. Despite his cavalier attitude earlier today, his stress and contempt are evident in his stern, dark features. Well, that’s just fine. I hope it’s like torture for him to have to be my escort just because I asked. 

After a while, the cool air draws shivers from me. I try to hide it, but I know I’m unsuccessful when Kylo barks at me to stop.

I huff, but I do as he says. I watch him closely as he steps in front of me. His eyes hold mine tightly when his ungloved hand yanks on the braided string at his collar that ties his cloak together. He shrugs the garment off and tosses it over my shoulders. His body heat encircles me once again, along with his scent that’s becoming far too familiar to me.

His bare fingers lightly graze the exposed skin near my collarbone when he ties the cloak back up in a neat bow. The way he’s looking at me is nearing the boundaries of indecent again; it electrifies me, causing that mind-scrambling ache to build between my legs. I feel my skin growing hot and I tell myself this is ridiculous. A simple look and the lightest of necessary touches from him shouldn’t have this effect on me. This feels so foreign and wrong, and yet…

And yet I can’t bring myself to care right now.

Thankfully, he breaks whatever bothersome spell just came between us by stepping back and directing his gaze once more to the market ahead of us.

“Come on,” he beckons stiffly. “We’re almost out the other side. It’ll be quieter and more private over here.”

Why should privacy matter? What was he going to tell me? What was he going to do to me?

Maybe I’d pushed him a little too far this time. Maybe he’s just aching to remind me that he overpowers and outranks me. I’m sure he thinks he needs to put me in my place and keep me there to maintain order before we reach the capital. I wish him luck.

When we break free from the bustle of the night market, I follow him for a few blocks into the night. The moon, now higher and brighter, illuminates the town around us. Eventually he leads me into a sparsely wooded area—a public park, I assume—far from the noise at our backs. It’s the perfect place to do something horrible to a person, I realize. Secluded, dark, with few places to hide. I stuff my fear down, determined not to let it show.

“Is this the part of the night where we have a heartfelt chat?” I ask mockingly. 

“Not yet,” he answers.

“Not yet? Then what are we—”

He stops and turns around to face me. His face is half marred by shadow; I struggle to see the look in his eyes, but I already know I won’t like it.

“We didn’t get to train today,” he says.

I come to a full stop and my eyes narrow to slits. “Surely you’re not proposing we play around with my magic in the centre of a town?”

“Why not? You’re more capable now. You haven’t killed anything accidentally in over a week.”

“That doesn’t mean I feel ready for public experimentation!”

“Stop worrying; it’ll be fine.” A tempting smirk appears on his face. “We won’t do anything dangerous tonight.”

Are you sure about that?

I groan. I know there’s no fighting him on this and it enrages me.

“I want you to use your shadows to touch me,” he says, keeping his deep voice at a low register. “I don’t mean brush against me. I mean touch me. You should be able to feel me through your magic.”

My throat is suddenly parched. Nervousness is like a lightning storm beneath my skin, making my hands shake.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I moan. “Don’t tell me this is a battle tactic I need to know. What good will that do?”

“Use your head,” he mutters condescendingly. “Shadows are unassuming, especially if your target doesn’t know you can wield them. You can use your shadows to steal from or apprehend someone without them suspecting it. There’s a lot you can do with the darkness if you’re staying two steps ahead.”

“So good to know.” I mumble and roll my eyes.

“I don’t want you just to touch me, though.”

I swallow.

“I want you to steal this off of me.”

He raises his hand and I notice it’s clenched into a fist. When he opens it, a small golden chain falls downwards until its shimmering sun pendant is suspended in the air by Ren’s finger.

My jaw drops. It’s the necklace I was admiring in the stall. When did he buy it? Did he steal it? And most importantly: why?

“How did you…?”

He drops the necklace into the left hip pocket of his breeches. I watch it vanish from sight and then return my focus to him.

“Go on,” he urges, taunting me instead of explaining himself. “Take it from me and you can keep it.”

I clench my teeth and make a low grumbling noise in my throat, already annoyed with his games. But I suppose I can play along for right now. If it can distract me from the hundreds of other thoughts racing in my head, maybe it won’t be so bad.

Shadows from the ground at my feet crawl up to my awaiting palms when I summon them. Slowly, I push them towards his body and watch as they crawl halfway up his leg and fade away. I try thrice more with the same result and I’m starting to get frustrated.

“Feel me,” he says. “Don’t just send your shadow at me blindly like that. If you can feel where you’re going you won’t have to focus so hard on directing the magic.”

“Alright, alright!” I snap. I’m struggling to keep my annoyance in check now that this isn’t going how I’d hoped it would.

I try twice more, and I fail twice more.

“Try to push on my chest instead for now,” he suggests. “Focus not only on where you’re touching, but what you’re touching.”

I have to take a few deep breaths before I try again. I stare at the centre of his chest—at the spot where my head had rested when he’d pulled me from the crowd. I had felt the soft, almost silky texture of his tunic against my cheek as I’d laughed. Remembering it, I send a shadow to that spot and try to push. Though I can’t get any strength behind it, I can feel the ghost of something. It is nothing more than a glancing sensation, but I know I can do better. So I try again. I can’t push him still, but the feeling is stronger this time. 

“Come on now, little witch,” he taunts through a small, crooked smile. “It’s not that hard.”

I am going to hit him if he doesn’t shut up. 

I gather my strength and try one more time, and this time I succeed. It’s strange; I can feel the fabric of his clothing on my hands as if I was physically touching it, yet I’m a good four feet away from him. 

It’s a weak push, and he stumbles back half a step, easily catching himself. The smile grows on his face. “There. See? You’re learning. Now you just have to get the necklace. Use your anger if you have to. I’ll happily provide you with more fodder if you require it.”

“Won’t be necessary,” I say through clenched teeth.

I can feel his body beneath my cloud of black. It’s hard and warm and for a second my shadow trails across his hip, as if it’s become distracted and would much prefer to leisurely explore. It’s not the magic that’s getting distracted. It’s you, idiot! Focus!

Blushing now, I redirect my magic downwards along the side of his body towards his hip pocket. I watch with satisfaction as my darkness slips inside it, easily finding the fine chain of the necklace. I can feel it between my fingers like I already have it in my possession, but when I try to pull it out of his pocket, it slips away. I’m easily maddened by this, but I try again.

“I’m getting bored, witch…”

“Shut up,” I snap at him. “Just…stop talking.”

I can see his smirk grow at the edge of my vision but I don’t dare take my eyes off his pocket. Finally, after two attempts, I’m able to extract the necklace and my shadows drop it into my awaiting palm. 

“Yes!” I exclaim, admiring the softly glimmering pendant in my hand with a big smile on my face.

“Nicely done,” he says casually, stepping closer to me. “You need to work on your efficiency, but you’ll get there eventually.”

He holds his hand out to me expectantly, silently asking me to give him the necklace. I frown up at him.

“You said I could keep it if I took it from you,” I remind him.

He rolls his eyes. “Merciful gods. I’m not taking it; I was just going to put it on you. Relax.”

“Oh.” 

I hand it to him and stay completely still as he walks around me. His fingers brush against my throat when he gently pushes my hair to the side and it takes everything in me to keep from physically reacting to his touch. I watch the pendant as he lowers it over me, feeling the coolness of it beneath the hollow of my collarbone. His fingers are so warm against the back of my neck while he secures the clasp. The aching warmth grows to a near inferno within me, becoming more impossible to ignore with every passing second that he spends this close to me.

Finally, he’s done, and he steps away to stand in front of me again, though only a few inches separate us this time. I should feel relieved he’s no longer touching me, but instead all I feel is an intense longing for more. It makes heat swell and burn in my face and I only hope the dimness of night prevents him from seeing the colour there.

I clear my throat, desperate for a distraction. “So you’ve proven the magic is useful for stealing, but I’m having a hard time convincing myself that it can be useful for much else besides killing.”

“You couldn’t be more mistaken,” he says, his voice a low, hypnotic purr. “I told you your magic is power. You can make the shadows do all sorts of things.” 

“…Like what?” I don’t intend to whisper the question, but I suddenly can’t seem to access my voice.

I watch as glittering darkness, just barely perceptible under the cloak of night, curls over his shoulders and down his arms, reaching for me. It coils around my wrists and lifts my arms up above my head, all while he watches me with such burning intensity I’m certain that I’m seconds away from lighting up like a pyre.

“I can bind you, and keep you however I want for as long as I need,” he says quietly. His shadows tighten just slightly around my hands to emphasize his point.

But they release me quickly. My arms slowly float back down to my sides, though they feel entirely weightless now. I can’t take my eyes off of him; I feel trapped by his stare, barely able to take a full breath let alone step away from his orbit that keeps pulling me in closer. Will we collide or combust, I wonder?

A wisp of darkness spreads across my eyes and my breath hitches as the world goes black.

“I can use them to blind you,” he says near my ear. I can feel his body heat crawling along my skin, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. “I can completely disorient you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Is that what he’s doing? Disorienting me? It feels like it. My heart is racing and I’m no longer confident I can determine up from down, at least not with the cool, intoxicating scent of him surrounding me, claiming control of all my senses.

But soon enough my vision is returned to me. I blink my eyes open and discover that he has indeed stepped closer to me. He looms over me, touching me with nothing but his shadows. My chest heaves with a breath that’s nearly gasping, and my breasts just barely graze the front of his tunic. The sensation collapses me; it tears down all my walls as I realize that I blatantly want more. I need more.

Gods, I’m fucking desperate for him.

I feel the cool breeze of his shadows as they encircle my throat with the gentlest touch, purling along the underside of my jaw.

“I can wrap them around your throat and steal your breath until you’re silently begging me to stop,” he says slowly. His pupils have swallowed his irises with black as he watches my lips part.

He pulls his magic away from me, letting all his shadows dissipate as if they were never there in the first place.

“But I don’t want to do any of those things to you now,” he admits. He sounds almost confused about it, as if he too is shocked by this sudden switch between us, unable to pinpoint the exact moment it happened.

Boldness grows within me. I look up at him and force him to meet my eyes.

“Are there things you want to do to me…?”

A shaky breath passes between us and then I can see something break within him, and I know it’s his restraint when his fingers curl around my chin and the pad of his thumb pulls gently on my bottom lip. His eyes have fallen to my mouth, and they’re hungry.

“You have no fucking idea.”

His words, spoken so low and quiet I almost don’t hear them, steal the air from my lungs. I hope he takes the trembling breath escaping from my parting mouth as the concession it is. Kiss me. Touch me. Kill me. I don’t care anymore. Just put your hands on me.

All I can see are his eyes on my mouth. All I feel is his warm breath and the tips of his hair caressing my face. My eyes flutter closed and I wait for him to claim me and damn me for eternity.

“Wait.”

The word sounds like it was ripped from his raw throat. His fingers tighten slightly on my jaw, and when I open my eyes, he looks like he’s in pain.

My heart thuds pathetically in my chest. Wait? Wait for what? Why? What if I don’t want to?

“Kylo?”

He winces when I speak his name so softly, like it physically pains him to hear it and to have to distance himself from me right now. But he does it anyway, taking a half a step backward because he can’t manage more than that.

“I can’t do this with you until I tell you a few things first,” he admits quietly. 

My heart sinks to the ground. Anxiety spikes my blood as I look at him in quiet shock. What is happening? My mind screams. 

“What I need to tell you…it could change everything you think of me,” he says, barely able to meet my eyes, “for better or worse.”

I know I can’t avoid this. I know this is what Rowan warned me about. The important things Kylo hadn’t told me. I know I need to hear them, but part of me wants to slap my hands over my ears and demand he stop. But I can’t make any part of myself move. The lustful heat has been swiftly replaced by cold, numbing fear, and it paralyzes me.

I don’t speak, either. I can see the struggle in his face, in the way his brow scrunches tight and his lips press firmly together. He’s trying to figure out how to word it, and somehow that makes it worse for me.

“I’ve not told you everything about why you’re here,” he begins. “Specifically about why I came to get you.”

He’d had an option? Is he saying he requested this job? He wanted this? 

“I convinced the king to seek you out,” he admits. 

The words drop like bombs, splitting the world between us. 

“You…what?” I can’t understand what he’s saying. Is he really telling me it’s his fault I was pulled from my home, never to return, with no warning? It’s his fault I’ll be made to serve the very man who murdered my parents?

I always knew he was evil-hearted, and yet I tried to convince myself that maybe he wasn’t. Now, because of that, this hurt so much more than it should have.

He continues explaining, determined to break me in half. “Then I nominated myself to head the mission of your retrieval. And I did it all because I need your help, Rey.”

I can see that none of this is easy for him to say. He looks like every word he speaks is dealing him physical damage. I assume it’s because he’s asking me, an orphaned amateur Shadowsmith who should have stayed forgotten, for help. How humiliating it must feel to have to resort to that.

“Help?” I ask harshly, my voice cracking. “Help with what?”

His eyes flash at me and for a second I see the face of the man I thought him to be: angry, vengeful, and cold. It douses me with apprehension.

Something crackles between us and it feels like the earth beneath my feet is heaving and splitting. I worry that at any moment, the ground is going to open up and swallow me whole. These agonizing seconds that pass, waiting for him to explain himself, are suffocating me. I’m already in a state of disbelief when he finally answers.

“I am going to kill the king. And I need you in order to do it.”

Chapter Text

The ground falls out from under me. Of all the words that could have escaped his mouth just now, those were not the ones I expected. He is the king’s prized assassin. He is a legend within the royal army. Why would he want to bite the hand that feeds him? And why does he need me in order to do so?

I back away two steps, slowly shaking my head as I attempt to process what he’s saying. I wonder if I’m dreaming. If, maybe, he’d actually strangled me with his shadows and this was merely a manifestation of my soul trapped in purgatory. 

“That doesn’t make sense,” I murmur, saying it more to myself than to him.

“I know it doesn’t right now, but please just let me explain,” he begs. “Please.”

He’s never begged me for anything before, nor has he ever looked at me with such sincere desperation. I still don’t think I’m ready or willing to hear the truth, but I can’t run now. I can’t escape whatever horrible things he is about to tell me. There’s nowhere for me to go. So I stay rooted to the spot, watching him, terrified of what’s to come.

“I have planned to kill the king since I was twelve years old,” he begins quietly. “That’s how old I was when he killed my mother. She’d been so sick for weeks. Nothing the healers tried was helping her. I came to her chambers one morning to find her lying in bed, pale as snow and colder still. She was looking up at the ceiling like she saw something beautiful there, but her eyes no longer saw a thing.”

He pauses, collecting himself before telling the rest of his story. His hands had begun to shake, so he clenches them into tight fists. 

“A blood mage I’d found at the market looked at her body and told me she’d been poisoned, and whatever it was she’d consumed, it was incredibly difficult to detect—the best poison money could buy. And I knew. She’d been his wife, and he’d poisoned her. He let her die slowly and painfully, and he made sure I watched it all play out.” 

My brow creases. I’d heard this story before. When it finally comes to me, I nearly collapse. I can hear Maeve’s voice telling me this story repeatedly, claiming it was important for me to know, as if it was all true and not just another one of her fables. The face I used to picture when I heard the story takes on his appearance. No. No, he can’t be. That story was never real. I made that person up to go along with it.

“His wife…?” I whisper. “You…”

His face is a stricken apology, confirming my suspicions. I feel like I’m going to be sick. 

“You’re not a prince,” I whisper. “You can’t be. Everyone said the prince died.” 

“He did die,” Kylo said darkly. “I’m all that’s left.”

“No…”

This isn’t true. He’s fucking lying to me, he has to be. I need him to be lying, because what this all implied was too intense for me to contemplate. 

I turn to walk away. My legs start to carry me as my body rejects this situation; it feels like danger, so I must run.

“Rey, don’t.”

He grabs my hand and holds me still. I don’t fight him. I can’t. But neither do I turn around.

I take a deep breath and exhale it slowly before I speak. Anger has begun to bubble and froth within me and I can’t seem to keep it bottled up.

“Where were you?”

He stills and his grasp on my hand slackens. “I can explain it all—”

“You were supposed to act years ago. You were supposed to make things right. You were supposed to stop the pain, so where. Were. You.”

There’s a beat of heavy silence before he responds. I don’t expect the forlorn emotions his voice carries. As if his soul was the one being stepped on for the millionth time, not mine. Like it was him who stupidly thought he could hope for something again, not me.

“Please, will you look at me?”

I swallow painfully, my eyes burning with unshed tears. “What if I can’t?”

His shadows crawl across my vision, blocking him out along with the world as he gently turns me around.

“Then I won’t make you,” he whispers sadly.

I press my lips together, waiting for him to start explaining. I need him to apply facts and logic to this so I can start parsing out the maelstrom of confusing emotions swirling through me. Am I angrier than I’d ever been? Do I resent him? Am I disgusted with myself for nearly kissing him, or am I still just bitter about it instead?

“It wasn’t long after my mother died that I was hunted down by the king. His original plan was to kill me and he nearly succeeded. He sent one of his men to catch me by surprise before I could escape the castle walls. I remember seeing him and the bloody sword he wielded and I was just a kid and I—I was grieving and fucking terrified. 

“I remember how the blade felt when it entered my body. I don’t remember it piercing my heart, but I knew it must have. All I knew is I was outside my body suddenly, watching everything from above. I saw the blade slide out of my fatal wound, and then every shadow on every wall and in every corner rushed to fill the vacant space the sword had left behind. The darkness and the cold consumed me as I lay there dying. There was a moment afterwards where everything went completely still. My attacker watched it all play out with horror in his eyes. But it wasn’t over yet.

“The light manifested within me and chased the dark into my deepest depths. It burst out of my wound in one blinding explosion and then I watched as the shadows melded with it, twining around it until it all became something new. The light and the dark skittered over my body like sparks from a fire before melting into me. I bare the remnants of that day all over my skin.”

His markings. I’d thought they were tattoos. I never suspected they could ever be anything more.

Suddenly I want to see him. I want to watch his face as he explains all this to me. I want to look for signs of trickery, even though I know deep down I won’t find any.

I wave my hand and his shadows disperse, baring him to me. When my eyes adjust, I can see the way his eyes are gleaming like it’s taking all his strength to not let the pain fall down his face.

“What happened that day healed me and brought my soul back to my body. But I wasn’t the same as before. Unfamiliar power buzzed beneath my skin, but I didn’t know what to do with it.”

“I don’t understand,” I interject. “How could a sword grant you those powers and not a god?”

He swallows, and I know whatever he’s about to say is going to wound me when a single tear finally manages to carve a path down his cheek.

“Because, not twenty minutes before I was attacked, that sword had murdered the royal healer and his wife, and then was used as a conduit to curse their only daughter.”

My blood turns to ice in my veins.

My parents. He’s talking about my parents.

And me.

“It was their blood on the blade and it was your curse that imbued the steel.”

I’m shaking all over. I can barely feel the tears streaming down my face, but I know they’re there. The cool night air kisses their wet track marks and chills me to the bone. I know there’s something I should say or do, but my mind is suddenly blank. My body aches. And he’s just standing there before me, looking at me with nothing but patience and his own brand of pain in his eyes. Yet I want to scream at him. I want to kick and punch and bite and swallow him whole. Yet…

Yet I also want to collapse, because I know his arms would catch me. I want to hear his heart beating steadily in his chest, reminding me that we’re both still here. I want to breathe him in while he touches my skin and takes my pain away.

But I can’t. I won’t. Because I mostly just want to lie down and close my eyes and pretend this entire night was nothing more than another strange dream.

That would be so much easier.

“Did you watch it happen?” I ask after a long stretch of silence that was punctuated only by the faint calls of nighttime beasts.

He nods. “I did. It’s how I knew I was next. My death wouldn’t be public—that would raise too many questions. So I tried to leave the castle but I was already too late.”

He takes my hand in his. His thumb gently caresses my knuckles, comforting me in a silent, unobtrusive way. Just a simple touch, that’s all it is. I want to pull away from it, but I think it’s suddenly the only thing keeping me standing.

“Your parents’ magic and the shadows you left behind saved my life,” he whispers.

I look at him through tear-filled eyes. He blurs in my vision—he’s just anguish with a fuzzy outline. His magic is my mother’s. My father’s. They live on in him. But my curse…

“It damned you, too,” I reply, my voice rough and hoarse. “Didn’t it?”

At this he directs his attention to the ground. His shoulders slump forward as if the effort of standing straight is taking its toll on him. 

“Otherwise the king would have found another way to kill you, or you would have escaped or killed him by now, right? But he’s kept you. And you’ve let him. Why?”

Anger flickers across his face like a passing torch, and for a moment I think he’ll bite his words out like he used to around me. But the emotion fades as quick as it had ignited, and in the end he is simply resigned to the horrible truth of his life so far.

“After his assassination attempt on me failed and the king learned I’d been gifted new powers, he decided he’d have some use for me after all. He kept me imprisoned beneath the castle until I was nineteen. Between the torture and beatings designed to break me, it was there I learned how to use my magic.”

“Why nineteen?” I ask.

Shadows flare at his hands but he restrains them quickly before he answers.

“When I was nineteen, the king found a blood mage who would happily use her magic to keep his enemies in line in exchange for riches.”

I didn’t know much about blood mages, only that they were feared even more than Shadowsmiths. I’ve never come across one, and I’d hoped I’d never have to. Clearly, that desire was not going to come to fruition.  

“What did she do to you?”

“She took my blood,” he explains in a haunted, hushed voice. “I didn’t willingly give it up, of course; they had to hold me down and then knock me unconscious before she could get close enough to cut me. She collected it in a vial and used it in a spell that binds me to the king’s will—I can’t disobey direct orders from him. And now she keeps my vial of blood in her casting room around her altar, along with hundreds of others.”

Hundreds. That’s hundreds of people whose loyalty has been bought and paid for in blood. No wonder the king has kept his seat for so long; anyone who would oppose him can’t.

“What happens if you try to disobey?” I don’t want to know, but I need to know. My heart is pounding so fast, I feel dizzy.

Try as he might, he can’t hide his pain from me. I see the way his muscles bunch beneath his well-fitted tunic, and the way his shoulders twitch before he keeps them from rising defensively. 

“I feel physical pain, like nothing I’ve felt before,” he says. 

His quiet, solemn words pass through me like a cold, suffering ghost, taking with it all the pleasant emotions I’ve ever felt. 

“It’s worse than getting stabbed in the heart. Worse than the years of torture I endured. Worse than the lashings and the fists and the chains. It feels like I’m burning from the inside out; like all my organs are liquifying and my blood is nearing a boiling point. If I push it too far, I pass out, only to wake up a minute later and have the pain start all over again.”

“Gods above…” 

This was cruelty in its purest form. The pinnacle of evil. The king knew that if anyone was going to be able to kill him, it was Kylo. He’d seen to it that Kylo would never have a chance to do it, all while continuing to torture him by making him serve the very same cold-hearted, power hungry villain who had murdered his mother, and likely his father, too. 

But obviously there was something the king didn’t know that Kylo did.

“But how can I—how am I going to be able to break the blood mage’s spell and help kill the king?” I ask. “I’m only just learning how to use my magic. You said yourself I’m not good enough yet. I don’t understand how I can possibly help you…”

He shakes his head solemnly. “You are good. I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry for what I said. You’re making progress every day. That’s something. Also, I believe you’re meant to be the one to help me do it. It’s your magic that runs through my veins, Rey. It has to be you.”

My heart does a strange jump when I think about him and I sharing something so personal. But my anxiety smothers that feeling and those thoughts, telling me in no uncertain terms that this was impossible; he is insane if he thinks it will work, and I should run far away from him before his faith in me gets me killed.

“I…” 

The words won’t formulate. My brain and my body are at war, trying to decide how to react and what to do. 

“I know I haven’t given you much reason to trust me,” he says, relieving me of the obligation to say something. “I know you hate me, and you should. But I need you to trust me just this once when I tell you I have a plan. Rowan and I have been formulating it for months—”

“Rowan knows your plan?” I interrupt. Though I absolutely should have expected it, I didn’t realize how deeply entrenched he was in all this. I suppose he has just as much reason to hate the king as Kylo or I do. But did that mean he’d also had his blood taken by the king’s mage? And if not, why couldn’t he be the one to help Kylo accomplish his goals?

“Yes,” Kylo nods. “I probably wouldn’t have much of one if it weren’t for him.”

“I still don’t understand why you need my magic. You’re a Shadowsmith, isn’t that enough?”

“If it were, we wouldn’t be here.”

I narrow my eyes and wait for him to elaborate. 

“I can’t fight against the blood mage’s spell, so I can’t access the north tower where her casting room is. Neither can Rowan, or any of the men with us on this journey. Because your curse is in my blood, you won’t have that problem. My vial will call to you. If you can find it and break it, I’ll be free from her spell. Then we can move on to accomplishing our goal.”

He says “our” like I’ve already agreed to help him. I suppose he assumes I have no other choice, and he’s not wrong. It’s this or suffer as the king’s Shadowsmith for gods know how long. Kylo already has me, and we get closer to the capital everyday. This is the only chance anyone will ever give me.

“And how do you plan to go about accomplishing it, exactly?” Bitterness seeps into my words despite my best efforts to keep it from showing.

“I will need you to be a good actress for me, little witch. Convince the king you are willing to go to whatever lengths necessary to get him what he wants.”

“Which is…?”

“He’s been collecting godstones for years now. He has five out of the six—he’s only missing Nos’s stone. He’s been using Blessed Ones to find their god’s stones to great success, but because Shadowsmiths are so rare, he’s been waiting for a chance to utilize one to complete his collection. That’s where you come into play. And legend says when he has all six…”

“The gods will owe him a favour,” I whisper, chills racing down my spine.

I’d thought the godstones myth was just that: a myth. The foundations of my world tremble with this knowledge.

The story goes that all six gods—Nos, Solara, Azura, Mòrag, Luce, and Bàs—carved a piece of their soul from their bodies and formed those pieces into individual, unique stones. They hid those stones across the land in dangerous and deadly locations, making it seemingly impossible to find all six. They boasted that anyone who could would possess the ability to summon all six of them and ask for a single favour, anything they could ever desire, and the gods would grant it without question. They bound themselves to this promise. For centuries, people have tried and failed to find the godstones. All have died attempting it.

How many of them died looking for a stone that had already been claimed by the king?

“He plans on asking to be made into the seventh god, so he can be immortal and the single most powerful ruler known to mankind.” Kylo’s voice drips with horror and poison.

“That’s…” I feel like I’ve been hollowed out and all that remains within me is fear and anger. “I can’t do that. Even if I did find the stone, I couldn’t hand it over to him knowing what kind of power he stands to gain. How am I supposed to act like I’m willing? What you’re asking of me is impossible.”

“You won’t find the stone. Everyone says it’s been missing for centuries, but he doesn’t believe that. But you can put on a show, act like you can hunt them—”

“And what will I be subjected to in the meantime? Or when I come up empty-handed?”

“You only have to pretend for a little while, just to make it believable. Entertain his wishes by acting like you want to help. Convince him you’re more than able to help him accomplish his goals. Make him see you for the asset you are so he keeps you close—trusts you. Then, once you’ve destroyed my vial, I will cut off his head and take what’s rightfully mine.”

I scoff. “I am not that good of an actress, Ren. You’ve severely misjudged me.”

He cocks his head, pinning me with that assessing stare. “I don’t think I have.”

I’m too worn down and shocked to argue with him about my character right now. It just seems ridiculous at a time like this. I know myself. He knows nothing other than what he wants to believe. That’s all there is to be said. 

It makes me feel so damn depressed.

“Why has he never asked you to just look for the stone?” I ask, my tone flat. 

“He won’t use me for it; he doesn’t trust my magic to do what he wants, despite the mage’s spell. He detests Solara’s threads—he says they taint my shadow magic. They make it weaker.”

“That’s great,” I say sarcastically. Anger was quickly taking hold of me as the only emotion simplistic enough for me to latch onto right now. “You know you’ve set me up to fail, don’t you? You are asking me to ingratiate myself to the man who made me an orphan and threw me to the wolves as a child. And, you’ve so kindly made it so that I won’t only be failing myself, or failing you, but rather the entire nation and likely our neighbouring countries as well, if the stone is found despite my best efforts and the king does miraculously succeed. How kind of you, pinning all of this on me like I ever asked for it. How forthcoming.”

I see him bristle as his own tendency to lean into his rage rises up against mine. Our defence mechanisms were one in the same.

“I told you I have a plan and I have faith in you—”

“Your faith and your plan both mean nothing to me,” I snap. “You are no less cruel than the king. You’re simply more underhanded about it.”

“What are you implying?” He snarls, his volume gradually rising. “I couldn’t tell you sooner because I didn’t think I could trust you. But this was always the plan.”

“Yes, a plan devised at my expense and without my consent.”

“I didn’t think your consent would be an issue. He killed your parents, just as he killed my mother and stole Rowan from his family and decimated this country with pointless wars and skirmishes. I thought you’d be more than willing to get revenge.”

“Then that was your first mistake of many.” My voice is ice cold, matching the way I feel inside. Hollow. Frigid. Numb.

“Do you want to know what’s in it for you? Is that your problem?” He barks, taking a step closer to me, dark eyes flashing dangerously. 

“I’m not going to—!”

“I know a way to cure you.”

 Silence ebbs and swells around us, cresting into a deadly, tense wave that crashes over me. I am sick of his manipulation. Of his self-serving falsehoods.

“Do not lie to me about that,” I warn. My voice sounds deathly cold to my ears. “You truly are a heartless demon.”

“I’m not lying,” he says firmly. “I have spent months in the palace libraries, reading book after book after dusty fucking book, trying to find a way to fix what happened to you. I did not presume that you would have flourished with the powers you were unwillingly given as a child. 

“I cannot return Solara’s favour to you; that is for the goddess to decide. But I can take away your curse. There is a way to do it. I can help you.”

I shake my head, astounded at his commitment to outright cruelty. Does he truly think he can use my pain and suffering to his advantage? He’s lying. There’s no cure, there never has been. I know this. I am sure of it.

“Do you want to know what I actually want?” I ask. “I don’t want your lies. I want to go home.”

“That place is not your home!” He yells, his fury finally overtaking him. “Those people treat you like a monster! Like you’re barely human at all!”

“Yes, and exactly what is it you’re doing? How have you treated me thus far?” Tears spring to my eyes unbidden, and I know he sees their glimmer when he falls back. 

“You are no different from any of them.”

“Reyvan—”

“You almost tricked me. I was nearly foolish enough to think for even a second that maybe you were different. Thank the gods you corrected me before I became just another one of your victims.”

“Stop. That’s not what I—”

“I don’t give a damn what you meant,” I snap. “Go to hell, Your Highness.”

A damned tear escapes just before I turn on my heel and walk away as quickly as I can.

Before he can see the hundreds more that follow the first.

Chapter Text

My shaking fingers fumble with the clasp on the damn necklace.

I’m hyperventilating in my room when I finally take it off and throw it onto the table, all too eager to get his “gift” off my skin. My vision blurs as I pace from one end of the small room to the other.

I can’t believe everything I learned tonight. Most of it I don’t want to believe. Not only did Kylo orchestrate the second worst time of my life, he was also the forgotten prince and he wanted me to help him kill the king. All his training, all his talk about me not being enough, all of it was a clever plot designed to get him what he wanted. As soon as he ascertained I could be what he needed me to be, he’d tried to ingratiate himself. He tried to make me think that he didn’t hate me the way I hated him, and that maybe I didn’t really hate him at all. But ultimately I am nothing more than a pawn in his game—once I’ve served my purpose, he’ll knock me off the board completely.

I don’t believe his talk about a cure for one second. If there was a cure for this curse, I am confident I would have heard about it by now. If I even thought there could be one, I would’ve been looking, too. But I didn’t think that. I didn’t dare give myself hope for the impossible. 

There is a small, nagging part of me that wants to entertain the idea that maybe he really has found a cure, though. Even if I still did not have access to Solara’s gifts, the thought of being a normal person with no magic, who isn’t perceived as a threat, was enough to tempt the small, nonsensical part of me. It was all I’d ever dreamed of, after all. As a kid, I used to pray to the gods for just that. Every wish and every daydream were consumed by the suggestion of it. But year after year, I was disappointed. So I stopped dreaming about it and just accepted the nightmare instead.

A nightmare is what I’m living in right this second. There’s a man holding me captive, toying with me, tormenting me with promises of a prettier future. He’s evil and a dastardly liar, and I almost let him kiss me.

I’m so wrapped up in my turbulent thoughts, I don’t notice I’m sneaking towards the door until I’m gripping the handle in my palm. 

Perhaps, if I’m smart about it, I can use my shadows as a cover. I could make my way out of the inn to the stables where I can steal a horse and get as far away from all of this as I can.

I begin to turn the handle.

A voice on the other side of the door makes my heart stop.

“If you run, little witch, I will chase you.”

I release the handle like it’s burned me and back away quickly from the door. He’s there, just outside my unbolted door, and he knew my first instinct would be to try and escape. Nothing is stopping him from barging in here and pinning me down with his magic to keep me from moving. It’s only a thin wooden door standing between us. What obstacle was that to a brute like him?

I believe him when he says he’ll chase me. He needs to deliver me to the king so he can use me in his plans and so he won’t be tormented by pain because of his failure to do as he was commanded to. I’m quite positive he’d hunt me to the ends of the earth and yank me back from the ledge by the hair just to fulfill his selfish needs.

I go back to pacing, stopping every so often to listen at the door. Every time I check, I can feel him standing on the other side, like a hungry wolf waiting for the rabbit to poke out of its den. 

A couple of times, I swear I see his shadows crawl through the slight gaps between the door and its frame, like he’s losing control or testing his restraint. I can’t tell which. 

Eventually, I accept that I’m trapped in this room, so I crawl onto the bed and sit as far away from the door as I possibly can, pulling my knees into my chest. Tears roll down my face and every so often a muffled sob shudders through me, making my chest burn. I haven’t felt this confused, terrified, and angry since my parents died and I was cursed with this stupid magic that has never done me any favours. 

After a long while spent exhausting myself in the dark, I curl up on my side atop the mattress. The bright moon outside casts a pale shaft of light through the thin window that bathes the table in silvery light, catching the pendant of the necklace tangled up atop it and making it glow dimly in the darkness. A visual reminder of everything that had happened tonight. As if I needed it.

I fall asleep glaring at the necklace. Just before my eyes fall shut, though, I could swear the strange gemstone in the pendant flashes a brilliant white.

***

When I finally wake, it’s to the sound of someone beating on my door relentlessly. I must’ve slept for quite some time—the sun shines brightly through my window from its high position in the blue sky. 

The pounding continues, drawing my ire. I groan and grumble into my pillow, thinking if I try hard enough maybe I can ignore it. I don’t know who it is, but there’s only a few options. I don’t care if it’s the housemaid; she can leave my things in the hallway and I’ll get them later. If it’s Ren, I’m definitely going to ignore it. Or, it could be someone from the party he sent to drag me out of my room rather than coming to do it himself. No matter the answer, the bottom line is I don’t care.

I just want to keep sleeping right here in this bed forever.

“Rey! For gods’ sake, open up! My knuckles are going to bruise if you don’t!”

Rowan. 

I look at the door while I try to decide if I want to answer or not. I’m angry at him too, after all. Not as angry as I am at Ren, of course, but Rowan still helped come up with this terrible plan and he alluded to none of it around me. He didn’t seem to feel bad about the position he was putting me in, either.

“Go away,” I grumble, loud enough that he can hear me through the door and over his knocking.

“C’mon, Sparrowhawk,” he whines. “I brought food. And your clean clothes. I’m peaceful, I swear it!”

My stomach rumbles at the mention of food and I frown. I did miss breakfast, I suppose. And probably lunch, too. 

Curse you, stomach, you sabotaging organ.

Begrudgingly, I rise from the bed. I’m still wearing the dress from last night, and Kylo’s cloak. I take my time stretching while I wander slowly towards the door.

Rowan must know exactly what I’m doing, because he mumbles “Any day now.”

I open the door barely two inches and glare up at his cheeky, grinning face. His maroon hair isn’t in its usual ponytail, but rather a thick braid that trails from the top of his head down his neck to his shoulder blades. He lifts his arms to show me he’s carrying my clothes in one hand and a plate of food in the other. I narrow my eyes and open the door a little more, just enough for me to shove an arm through.

“I’ll take those,” I say.

He doesn’t relinquish them. 

“I think I’d like to bring them in for you myself, actually.”

“Rowan, I don’t want to do this.” I sigh.

“You can either let me in and we can talk while you enjoy this lovely meal that’s slowly getting colder, or I can stand outside this door all day and annoy the ever-loving shit out of you. Which will it be?”

Asshole. Just like the Enforcer.

I grumble at him in warning as I open the door and allow him entry. He steps inside and looks around, noting the messy bed.

“Have you really been sleeping this whole time?” He asks.

“Yes,” I snap, taking the food and my clothes from his hands, tossing the latter onto the unmade bed. “I was quite enjoying a much-needed rest until someone woke me up with their incessant knocking.”

I push past him to sit cross-legged atop the mattress. I glare at him as I take my first bite of food.

“You’ve given me my clothes and my food,” I say coldly. “You can leave now.”

He looks slightly surprised for a split second before he pulls out the wooden chair by the table and sits in it. I hate the look on his face right now. It’s a “make me” expression that’s just begging to be punched into oblivion.

“Oh, was I not clear?” He asks pleasantly. “I’d like to sit and talk with you while you eat.”

“Guess I’d better eat fast, then,” I mumble, shoving a bite of baked potato in my mouth.

He bites back a laugh and controls himself before speaking.

“So…safe to assume he told you everything?” He asks quietly.

“Unfortunately.” With my fork, I stab a brussel sprout with a bit more force than necessary. The tines scrape noisily against the face of the plate. 

“And judging by both of your positively sunny moods today, I’m guessing it’s also safe to assume it didn’t go well.”

“I’m not sure how you would think it could’ve gone any other way,” I reply, chewing out each word.

“No…I expected this,” Rowan says, rolling his eyes to the wood plank ceiling. “He probably worded it all wrong and then got defensive when you didn’t agree, and then swiftly stabbed himself in the foot. Correct?”

“More or less.”

“That’s typical,” he sighs.

“So then why didn’t you tell me?” I demand sharply. “If you knew he wouldn’t do it right, why did you agree to let him?”

“Rey…he had to be the one to tell you those things,” Rowan explains, softening his tone with me. “If I’d told you, would you have been more likely to believe it, or less likely?”

I don’t give him an answer, which is apparently good enough for him.

“Exactly. But you saw the honesty in his face when he told you why he needs to do this. You know he’s telling you the truth, you can’t deny that now.”

“Believing him isn’t the problem,” I say, staring down at my plate so I don’t have to meet his penetrating golden stare. “It’s the fact that once again, all I am is a thing to be used. I’d started to think he was training me because he actually wanted to help me stay alive in Marbhan, but it turns out it’s only for his sake. He wants me to pretend to be loyal to the man who murdered my parents and cursed me, and face life-threatening risks, all so he can live out his fantasy of being a king killer.”

Rowan nods. “I get it. It looks bad. I know. But both he and I know you are the only person who can help him accomplish this, and we’re both determined to keep you safe. If all goes well, which I’m positive it will, you won’t have to face those risks at all.

“And he won’t be a king killer when it’s over. He’ll be king.”

“Good for him,” I snarl. “I bet it’s all he’s ever wanted. And fuck everyone who helps him get there, right? They can be traumatized and hurt, because he’s going to ply them with empty promises, after all! No ‘thank you,’ just a fake cure that will change nothing.”

“He’s not lying, Rey.”

I look up from my suddenly unappetizing food and stare numbly at him. I shake my head.

“You are just as shameless as he is,” I hiss.

Rowan is silent for a moment, just watching me. There’s no wolfish smile on his face anymore. Just a slate of pure solemnity.

“Do you remember what happened when the curse hit you that day?” He asks calmly.

I grimace. “I remember the pain, and malicious eyes looking down at me. The next thing I remember is waking up inside a moving carriage and being sick.”

He nods. “And do you remember who cursed you? Do you remember how they did it?”

“No.” My tone hardens with anger as he prods a sensitive spot in my psyche. “I was a little preoccupied watching my mother, on her knees and crying, with a sword aimed at her heart.”

He pauses and stares at me with that sober expression again and it makes my chest tighten with anxiety for whatever is coming next.

“…Would you like to know exactly how it happened that day?”

My heart catches in my throat. It’s a loaded question he’s asking me and judging by the patient look on his face, he knows it, too. 

Do I want to know? Will it help anything to sharpen that memory, or just cut me deeper?

I know the answer. I know it doesn’t matter what I want right now. This is something I need if I’m going to survive.

I swallow hard and give Rowan an apprehensive nod. My heart is racing as I try to tamp my panic down; reliving that day has never brought me anything other than terror and anxiety. I fear learning a truth I previously did not know will send me careening over an edge I may not come back from. And then what? Will someone catch me, or will I simply keep falling until I die?

Rowan takes a deep breath but keeps his eyes on me. I can tell he’s waiting for my cracks to appear.

“I don’t think you were supposed to be there in the throne room that day,” he begins. “I think your parents tried to hide you, but you didn’t stay put—not that it mattered; the king would’ve found you anyway. When your mother found you she seemed extra emotional. She knew what you were about to see and she’d tried to prevent it. 

“The king knew he had to kill your parents—they knew too much about what had happened to the queen, plus they were loyal to her as the blood royal, not to the king who they considered to be a usurper from the start. And he knew they’d been giving the queen teas to prevent conception. But you…he didn’t care about killing you. He just wanted to take away your magic and send you off somewhere to die. It was easier that way. Maybe he didn’t want a dead six-year-old on his conscience on top of everything else. I don’t know.

“He had a Shadowsmith as his personal mage at the time. She was quite proficient with curses and dark magic, that’s why he kept her close. She told him in order to curse you, she’d need use of the sword with your parents’ blood on it. So, as your parents laid dead at the foot of the throne, and your screams echoed through the room, the shadow witch used the sword to cast the curse that struck you. Her magic traveled through the blade, making the bloodied steel a conduit. It was your parents’ blood that directed the curse to you.

“The king briefly examined you after it was done. It was likely his cruel eyes you remember. Then he commanded two servants to take you as far as Làirig and leave you there. But those servants had been devoted to your parents after working closely with them for so many years, and when your mother suspected her end was nearing, she told them to take you to Varia. So that’s what they did.”

I blink back my tears and speak through a constricting throat.

“Except they didn’t make it there,” I correct him. “I remember we were attacked in the Witching Wood. I woke up in an overturned carriage and there was blood everywhere. Obviously I made it out, but I don’t remember how…”

Rowan looked stricken by this news. “That’s why you were so afraid—why you tried to run. Your memories made you panic. Didn’t they?”

I nod.

“I’m so sorry, Rey. I am,” he says sadly. “I’m also sorry I have to tell you all this, but in order to understand how the cure works, you need to understand the curse.”

“So are you telling me there really is one?” I ask quietly. “Have you seen it?”

He nods, his face solemn. “Yes. We searched for months in the palace library. I even went to the cathedral and asked the archivists there for help locating ancient grimoires. When we eventually found it we weren’t even sure it was the right one.”

“What made you unsure…?”

“It’s just…” Rowan sighs and the frustration shows in the downturn of his mouth. His hand runs over his face and when it leaves, he just looks tired. “It’s a strange spell, and what it requires is risky. Originally, I told Kylo it couldn’t be done, and he agreed with me for a while. But then he met you and, I don’t know, something shifted, I guess. He changed his mind.”

“I don’t understand,” I mutter. “What does it require, Rowan?”

He looks apprehensive, and his gilded stare avoids my face. Fear slashes through me and cuts to the bone.

“What does it require? Tell me.”

“It requires the same sword that was used to cast the curse,” Rowan recites slowly. “That’s not the problem; that sword still hangs in the throne room and we have access to it. Then it requires some of your blood on the sword, and…and someone willing to siphon your magic from you into themselves.”

“So…it would cure me but the curse would just be passed on to someone else? That hardly seems like a cure.”

“I know,” Rowan says sadly. “It’s a reason why your curse is so malicious. The willing participant has to be holding the sword while casting the spell, with the tip of it held to your chest, and they have to have magic of their own to be able to cast it effectively…”

Realization clicks. All at once, I could scream, laugh, and rip my hair out. 

“I’m guessing he volunteered himself,” I say, already knowing the answer.

Rowan nods, his face a mask of concern.

I shake my head into my hands. Who does this man think he is? Who does he think he needs to be for me? And why? I never asked him to do any of this. I never asked him to care, if that’s what this is about. Why did he ever have to think of me at all?

“Why would he do that?!” I demand loudly. Part of me sort of hopes he’s in his room next door, listening to all of this. I hope my rejection stings him.

“I don’t know,” Rowan says softly. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

I freeze. My eyes narrow to slits. 

“What is that supposed to mean, exactly?” I ask icily.

Rowan looks at me. His eyes aren’t accusing, but they’re prodding. Assessing. Every time he looks at me like this, I feel naked in front of him; it’s like he can see every secret in my head and every regret in my heart and I can keep nothing safe from him.

“Have you gotten it out of your system yet?”

A simple, unspecific question, yet it cuts straight to the heart of things. My initial reaction is defensive rage—it’s so typical of me these days. But this time I shove it down, because I know if I get defensive, he’ll see right through it. If I lie, he’ll know. So I settle for a neutral dismissal—a simple way to suggest that I don’t want to talk about it right now; that maybe there’s nothing to tell anyways. Avoidance is key.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” I say, my voice like a crackling winter wind.

Rowan nods and backs off, keeping his mouth carefully shut.

“Why can’t Dònal do it?” I ask, returning to the subject at hand as swiftly as I can. “He has magic, too.”

“Dònal’s magic comes from the god of nature: Luce,” Rowan explains. “It’s healing magic—natural magic derived from the light and the earth and diametrically opposed to the dark magic and sacrifice required for this spell.”

“But how will absorbing my magic affect Kylo if he already has shadow magic of his own?”

“Well, firstly, it will deprive him of Solara’s light forever. Secondly…” Rowan sighs again. He looks so exhausted all of the sudden. “If he takes in your power on top of his own, it’ll overwhelm him, and his soul will be forced to compromise in order to accept it. A part of his soul will break away from the rest and vanish. He will have no say in it.”

I blink as the world feels like it’s tipping over beneath me. 

“A part of his soul?” I repeat, whispering it as if that can lighten the weight the words carry. “How? What does that mean? Is it like his memories?”

“No,” Rowan answers. “It’s a part of what makes him him. It could be his conscience, or his humour. Anything, really. But it’s usually something of the more positive variety. He could lose his compassion. His empathy. His heart.”

No. No, I cannot let this happen. I cannot have a sacrifice like that on my conscience, but I also cannot kneel before him and watch it happen. As much as I keep telling myself I hate the man and wish him nothing but ill will, I can’t bring myself to permit this. This is cruelty for cruelty’s sake. This cure is no cure, it’s simply a worse version of the original curse. 

I cannot allow him to sacrifice himself like this for me, because what does that say about him? That he cares for me? No. He cannot admit that and breathe truth into it, just as I cannot accept it to be so. I need it to remain behind a curtain, never to be revealed. If it is, I fear what I may do because of it. 

I fear what he could make me feel if I allowed it.

“I won’t permit that,” I say firmly, shaking my head. “I don’t deserve that. Somehow, neither does he.”

“Then you need to tell him that,” Rowan urges gently. “He won’t agree to it if I tell him.”

“I will.” I say. 

“I just don’t see the practicality in him casting the spell at all,” I argue, essentially thinking out loud now that my mind is racing. “His mother was a blood royal, which means when he kills the king, he becomes the king, like you said. He could end up being no better a ruler than the tyrant currently sitting on the throne if he takes this stupid risk!”

“That’s my concern, too,” Rowan admits. “I tried telling him that, and I thought he agreed with me. But like I said, he changed his mind.”

“This is ridiculous…” I mutter, trailing off. “Why would he have changed his mind…?”

I’m pacing now. My feet thud across the wooden floorboards, back and forth, back and forth. To the door, then to the window. Repeat. I’m thinking, but my mind’s moving so quickly I can’t pin down one specific thought. It’s just a thousand words being screamed at me at once.

Eventually, I come to a stop near the foot of the bed. My eyes meet Rowan’s tired ones.

“I have no choice but to go along with this plan, given my current position,” I explain, “but I will never agree to let him do this. He’s going to have to find something else to bribe me with. Because I do expect payment, if we don’t all die in the process.”

At this, Rowan finally cracks a small smile. “I’ll be sure to let him know that.”

My head throbs with building pressure. I feel sicker now than I did when I fell asleep. I’m tired, I’m upset, and I don’t much feel like talking anymore.

“Thank you for explaining things to me,” I mutter, “but I think you should go now.”

“Of course. Thank you for letting me in and listening, thereby deciding not to tear my throat out today,” Rowan says, standing from the table.

I scoff, watching him as he rises and pushes his chair in. He pauses before turning to the door, and I can see him reaching down to grab something off the table. I know what it is the second before he turns to face me.

“This is pretty.”

The sun necklace reflects bright gold where it catches the light in his palm. I fight to keep my expression neutral, but I can’t conceal the loose fists that have formed at my sides in an attempt to keep my hands from snatching it away from him.

“Why aren’t you wearing it?” He inquires. “I’m assuming it was a gift.”

There’s curiosity and suggestion in his tone and it makes my heart thud pathetically against my ribs.

“It’s nothing,” I lie. “Just some stupid trinket I don’t need.”

“Come now,” Rowan tuts. “I believe it suits you. Shall I put it on you?”

My mouth opens to shout “no,” but the word doesn’t manage to escape my throat. What will happen if I wear it? Will it burn me with the shame-coloured memory of last night? 

“I don’t really want to wear it.” I don’t really want him to see me wearing it.

“I think you should.”

There’s something in his tone that catches me off-guard. He’s not taunting me about it, which is strange enough. But it almost sounds like he’s urging me, as though it might be important that I wear it—important that Kylo sees me wearing it. I don’t know, though, and I don’t ask. I just stand still and allow him to clip the damn thing around my neck.

The pendant is warm against my skin from where it sat in a spot of sunshine on the table. I touch it with my fingertips, lightly pressing it into my breastbone. It’s so lightweight I barely feel it around my neck, but there’s something strangely comforting about knowing it’s there. I try not to think about it, though.

“Beautiful,” Rowan compliments, offering me his most soothing smile. 

“Thanks,” I say. “And thank you for being rational, too.”

“Someone has to be.” He smirks.

“Anyway, while I’ve appreciated the visit, I’ve officially got a headache and I think I’d really like to go back to sleep now.”

“Of course.” He nods understandingly. “That’s probably what we all should be doing. We’ll be going through The Pass tomorrow; better to be well-rested for that.”

A ball of anxiety rolls in my stomach at the thought. Làirig, also known as The Pass, was notoriously deadly and with nowhere to go but forwards or backwards, everyone needed to be on high alert for the terrifying creatures that lived there.

I walk Rowan to the door and open it, following him with my eyes as he exits my room. We say our goodbyes, then as I stand in the doorway, I see him stiffen just slightly—a barely perceivable action that I was only able to notice due to his proximity.

“Sir,” Rowan says with a quick nod. He continues walking, and as he moves, the man he’d spoken to comes into view.

His colourful brown eyes land on my face and concern flashes within them, though it’s quickly snuffed out like a candle in a window before the shutters close. Their attention drops to my upper chest, where the necklace he’d gifted me rests against my skin. Again, something flares upon his face—shock, perhaps?—and is gone in the same instant.

I don’t wait for those branding eyes to travel back up to meet mine. The interaction had lasted all of two seconds, but I already felt dizzy. I retreat back into my room and bolt the door behind me. Seconds later, I hear his door click closed, too.

I don’t know what inspires me to do it, but before I can stop myself I’m walking towards our shared wall and pressing my ear to it. Does he also feel like he’s losing his mind? Does his head hurt as badly as mine does right now?

I hear a long sigh on the other side of the wall followed by some rustling and clinking and the sounds of clothing items hitting the floor and weapons being set on the table. My heart lurches in my chest, anticipating…something. Anything. Give me a clue.

I hear his mattress groan as his weight settles atop it. I can picture him in my head as I listen, with his fingers tangled in his thick dark hair as his head rests in his palms. I see his broad chest and shoulders breathing with slow, fluid movements and the muscles in his arms constricting with tension.

“I’m so fucking…”

…So fucking what? He must have his face in his hands, because the last word is muffled and I don’t catch it. What did he say? He’s so fucking what? Annoying? Stupid? Angry? What?

Thankfully, I manage to stop myself just before yelling through the wall for him to repeat that last bit. I back away immediately, retreating once more to my bed, and I give my head a firm shake. It doesn’t matter what he said. I still feel anger and resentment towards him for everything. And now I feel annoyed by his attempt to be a hero and provide me with a cure, too. It will do me no good to dwell on thoughts of him or what he’s doing, saying, or thinking in private. I don’t care about any of that. I don’t care about him. I refuse to.

I get all the way under the down comforter, pulling it over my head so I’m encased in it. I look at the way the sunlight seeps through the fabric, showing me all the scattered shadows of the tiny feathers within, and I focus on them. My eyes move over the same spot again and again and again.

At some point, I fall into a fitful sleep where I dream of feathered monsters, a bloody sword entering my heart, and brown eyes filled with pain.

Chapter Text

I wake early the following morning, roused by a passing knock on my door from an unknown fist. We are getting an early start so as to make it through The Pass before nightfall. My head still swims with confusion from the last two days, and the added stress of the deadly trek makes me nauseous. Nothing about this day is going to be good.

I wait for a little while in my room, expecting Dònal or someone to come replace the nullifying collar around my throat, but no one arrives to do so. I find it odd, but I decide to not say anything about it, lest I jinx myself and lose this unceremonious freedom I’ve been granted. Though I’m resigned to wearing the restraint now, it  still rankles to hear the audible click of its lock sliding into place. I feel a sense of relief at having escaped its numbing properties for the time being. 

I go down the stairs to join everyone for breakfast before we depart Evrain to carry on our journey. The atmosphere is mildly tense, but a few people try to keep spirits up by laughing or playing a quick tune on a handmade flute.

My eyes repeatedly dart to Kylo throughout the morning. He’s easy to spot—tall, broad, dark and angry. He doesn’t look at me once as he walks around, never settling, double-checking supplies and talking with several men in the party. There’s a nervous energy to the way he’s moving. The weight of the party’s survival rests on his shoulders, after all. And The Pass will not be kind to us. Though I may detest him right now, I wouldn’t ever want to switch places with him, either.

When everything has finally been counted, loaded, and secured, the men start mounting their horses. Azrael stands proudly at the head of the group, his long black tail swishing from side-to-side in anticipation. I detour, though, and haul myself up into Duncan’s saddle instead when Rowan isn’t looking. When he does finally notice me, he freezes.

“Sparrowhawk? What are—”

“I’m riding with you today,” I inform him simply, hoping my tone brooks no argument.

Rowan huffs, laughing under his breath. “Are you? He’s not going to like this.”

“I don’t give a fuck what he likes, or wants, or any of it. I dare him to come and drag me off this horse.”

“Alright,” Rowan sighs, taking his spot in the saddle behind me. “But I’m letting you know, I’m going to tell him this was all your idea when he tries to yell at me later for it.”

“Coward…” I mutter jokingly.

I watch Kylo walk up to Azrael and pause. He casts his gaze around and I can see the growing panic in his expression, rising so much he nearly takes a step back towards the inn as though to search for me, but then he finds me. His expression falls. Darkens. I can tell he’s warring with himself, trying to decide if he wants to grab me or leave me alone. Eventually, with a pointed glare in my direction, he chooses the latter, mounting Azrael and thus turning his back on me.

We slowly move out and leave Evrain behind us, walking away from the golden-orange sky of early morning and into the darkened remnants of night. I try to sit in the silence of travel. I try not to let my mind wander to the dangers we will face later today. But it doesn’t work. I can act calm on the outside all I want, but it doesn’t change the way my anxious heart furiously beats in my chest.

After close to forty minutes, I can take the silence no longer.

“When you came through The Pass the first time, what happened?” I ask.

I must’ve pulled Rowan off his train of thought, because he takes a moment to digest what I’ve asked and provide an answer.

“Hm? Oh. We were lucky, actually. No casualties or attacks. All we saw was a group of silverthorns in flight, but they left us alone.”

Silverthorns were large, winged creatures with the head and feet of a keen-eyed raptor and body of some great cat, with glimmering silver fur on their bellies and large, poisonous thorns on their four thick legs.

“That’s all?” I ask, not really believing him. That didn’t sound right. I don’t remember my journey through Làirig on my way to Varia as a child, but everything I’d heard about it suggested it was extremely dangerous with wicked creatures lurking in every dark place, waiting for prey to walk by. It’s the reason there isn’t usually much inland traffic between the north and the south. Important trade goods and things of that nature were typically rerouted through the sea on massive ships. 

Rowan shrugs behind me. “Yep, that’s it. Hard to believe, right? But I wouldn’t anticipate the same thing today. I’m pretty positive the first time was just a crazy stroke of luck.”

“I see…”

His answer did not soothe me. Instead, it only made me more concerned. 

“And…do you happen to know why I haven’t had that collar thrown around my neck yet today? Or was that just a stroke of luck, too?”

I see him lean his head over my shoulder, angling his face towards me. One of his maroon eyebrows is raised in confusion.

“You’re not wearing it?” He asks. “Oh, no. That’s no good. I’ll have to report this to the Enforcer immediately.”

He gets Duncan to move a little faster and angles the horse towards Ren and Azrael.

“Rowan,” I hiss. “Don’t you dare.”

He slows Duncan back down and chuckles in my ear. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

“Did you even try?”

“I guess he decided that maybe it would be more beneficial to allow you to access your magic in a place as dangerous as this one,” he explains, ignoring my jab. “Must’ve learned his lesson after the Witching Wood affair.”

“Hm.”

I watch Kylo’s back, following the gently swaying motion of it caused by Azrael’s strides. I study his shoulders and the tense way he’s holding them; I see the raven hair that crawls in soft waves down the back of his neck shift as he turns his head from left to right, scanning his surroundings. The sun glints off his polished black armour, catching my eye every time I try to look away. His dual swords are faithfully strapped to his back, and I notice my dagger’s hilt still showing over its sheath at his hip. 

He’s not wrong. I’m better off in this situation with my magic, especially now that I can control it. But is allowing me full access to my magic today his version of an apology? Or is it just a proposal for a truce, or temporary ceasefire? Or, is it just that: a precautionary allowance? I don’t really care what it is so long as it’s benefiting me right now—I only wish it didn’t bother me to the point that my mind flickers and buzzes with a hundred varying questions that only he can answer. I’m never going to ask him, so the flurry in my mind feels pointless and bothersome.

Hours pass by slowly on horseback. I watch with muted interest as we pass through a field of wildflowers with ladybugs flitting through the tall grass, eventually replaced with rocky outcrops and aged pine trees as we get closer to the base of the great mountain range. The peaks of Làirig rise up from the earth like the monstrous spikes of some ancient sleeping dragon, curving  gradually inwards from the east and west until they almost meet in the middle of the country, creating The Pass. The way they curve makes the southern half of Ebonreach feel somewhat bowl-shaped; it’s almost as if the mountains grew where they did to shield the south from the chaos and the chill of the north. But instead of cutting us off completely, they left a three-mile-wide passable gap. 

The Làirig mountain range is an undeniably strange geographical feature. With peaks that are impossible to scale and a repelling cavalcade of monsters, hungry researchers have lost their appetite for it. There’s much we don’t know about these mountains and what lives within them. Honestly, going through them now feels like walking blind into battle. We don’t know who our enemies are, where they’ll be, or how many will arrive. There’s no preparing for Làirig. But no matter what, Làirig is always prepared for its ignorant visitors.

It’s late afternoon by the time we arrive at the entrance. Menacing mountains jut sharply out of the earth on either side of a broad, rocky landscape, stretching so tall that their tops are obscured in mist. It’s all at once overwhelming, humbling, beautiful, and the most terrifying thing I have ever seen. 

“Weapons at the ready and eyes open,” Kylo orders from the front of the convoy. “It’s eight hours to the other side; let’s not make it any longer than that.”

I grip the pommel of Duncan’s saddle tightly as we lurch forward. Every survival instinct in my body is screaming at me that we shouldn’t do this, that no being should walk this path. It’s the same feeling I had in the Witching Wood: this is wrong. I shouldn’t be here.

My mouth runs dry as we enter and suddenly all I can see is jagged rock all around me. No flat ground, no rolling fields, no grassy meadows with wildflowers and ladybugs. Nothing but cold, unforgiving walls in shades of grey and brown. Claustrophobia I never knew I had threatens to overtake me. I begin to shake.

“Hey, hey,” Rowan whispers, nudging me with his leg. “Breathe. Just keep breathing. We’ll be fine. It’ll be over soon.”

I nod, pretending like I believe him. We won’t be fine. This won’t be over soon. That’s not a logical outcome. I can feel it. 

I want to shut my eyes tight and not open them until we’re well and truly free of this place, but I can’t. If I shut my eyes, I won’t be able to see what’s coming. It would all be so much worse.

Thirty minutes into the arduous journey, everyone jumps as a distant, chilling shriek splits the air. It’s not a sound that can easily be placed to any creature, and it conjures terrifying nightmares in my mind as a result. We carry on despite the otherworldly noise, as if it’s something we can simply pretend never happened. In truth, I think I’ll hear that noise on my deathbed—a place where I may end up resting before this day is through.

The sound of rocks tumbling down the sides of the mountains echo around us as we continue. I can’t help but wonder what knocked them loose.

As we near the hour and thirty minute mark, I’m finally starting to accept that I can’t see in all directions. 

By the sixth hour, I’ve managed to relax in the saddle. My tired body reclines just slightly against Rowan’s. Figures that just as I’m starting to get somewhat comfortable, all hell breaks loose.

Someone screams behind us. The whole party stops as one, heads turning over shoulders. We all see a man be lifted from the back of his horse with two horns protruding from his chest. The beast carrying him is more terrifying than my imagination could have designed. A bull-like head with massive, curved horns, its snout long and full of jagged, sharp teeth. Its eyes are a depthless black and its body is all sharp angles—just black skin stretched over bones, with great leathery wings to match. I don’t know the name of this creature—just as I don’t know the name of the man now hanging dead fifty feet above ground, and now I never will.

“Shit!” Rowan curses behind me before him and everyone else kicks their horses into a run. 

My heart is pounding in my ears in time with the thundering beat of hooves; fear etches every line of my body and I whimper as I feel it crawling beneath my skin—the ever-present urge to run and hide. 

But in The Pass, there’s only two ways to run, and nowhere to hide.

“What was that?” I shout through clenched teeth.

“Looked like a skelli to me,” Rowan answers near my ear. “Keep your eyes on the sky; there’ll be more of them!” 

He isn’t wrong. Within three minutes of the first attack, five more skelli descend on us. They make a horrible clicking sound as they communicate with one another, coordinating their attack. Rowan keeps his sword firmly gripped in his hand. He’s breathing hard, not from exertion, but from panic.

I turn my head forwards and see Kylo with his upper body twisted towards the chaos, fury etched upon his face. Shadows pour from him—I follow their pathway and watch as they wrap around one of the beasts and hurl it through the air until it hits the ground with an earth-rattling thud. No sooner has he dispatched one than he goes for another.

Shadows, I think, slowly slipping out of my terrified stupor. My magic. I have my magic.

Though I’m afraid, I follow Kylo’s lead. Three more skellis swoop down from above, their drooling jaws hanging open. With my shadows, I tear one of those lower jaws off and shatter it against the face of the mountain. The beast howls in pain, the sound like a dying breath, and then my magic is gripping its throat and twisting its neck until I hear and feel the snap of it breaking, at which time I let go and allow gravity to do the rest.

“Nicely done!” Rowan shouts behind me. I can hear his reckless grin in his voice. “Keep that up, and we’ll—”

His voice sputters just as something hot and wet splashes the side of my face and time seems to slow down. I look over my shoulder and watch in horror as his wild and charming expression disappears, replaced with cold shock. Our eyes track downwards at the same time, each of us finding the same horrific sight together.

A bloodied horn protrudes from his stomach, creating a hole about four inches in diameter. 

“R-Rowan…?” 

His name falls from my lips without thought. And suddenly it’s all I can say.

“Rowan? Rowan! ROWAN!”

The skelli begins to lift him from Duncan’s back and I know I’ll die before I see him get carted off like this. I pour myself into my shadows and send them in a wave towards the creature. I relish the feeling as I slip through its eye sockets into its brain. I feel every bone in its body break as I squeeze and squeeze without mercy. I can smell the bitter tang of its blood on the air. It dies just as I rip the offending horn from its skull.

Rowan drops, and I reach out my magic to catch him, but Kylo beats me to it. I jump from Duncan’s back and race towards Rowan, kneeling by his head.

“Rowan? Oh, my gods…Rowan?”

His golden eyes, slowly dimming, flick to me. A crooked smile tugs at one corner of his bloodied mouth. 

“Nice work…Sparrowhawk,” he gurgles.

“Dònal! Where’s Dònal?” I scream. “Bring him here NOW!”

“Rey…” Kylo whispers behind me. 

I don’t like his sympathetic tone. I snap my head towards him, my face screwed up in rage.

“Bring me that fucking healer!” I scream.

I don’t know if it’s my face that scares him, or what’s happened to Rowan, but he relents and disappears to do as I asked.

I turn my attention back to Rowan. I don’t know why, but my trembling hands are pushing the loose strands of hair from his face and wiping the blood splatter from his cheeks. It won’t do any good, I know that, but if he’s going to die, I want the last touch he feels to be a comforting one.

“Stay with me,” I order, my voice quaking. “You have to stay here with me just a little bit longer. You have to.”

His breaths are laboured and wheezing. He looks pale, frighteningly so, and his blood soaks my hands. And I can’t help but to think this is my fault. I should’ve seen that second skelli coming—if I was better with my magic, I could’ve handled both of them without a problem. But I’m still not good enough, and now Rowan is paying for it.

“Who died…and made you…queen?” Rowan asks quietly.

My laugh is a sob. 

“Promise me…” Rowan coughs.

I have to lean down to hear him better. “Promise you what?”

“You’ll do what you c-can…and kill the king.”

A different kind of chill settles over me. I hold Rowan’s gaze, and in it I see his sincerity and desperation. He wants this badly. So badly, he’d commit me to it with his dying wish. It pains me to think what he must have suffered to be this impassioned about it. I understand it, though. This was supposed to be his one shot at revenge, and now he may not get that satisfaction. That’s what chills me to the bone.

I owe him this.

“I promise,” I say as a tear rolls down my cheek. “I promise I will.”

“Good…” he rasps. His lips move into a small smile. “Good girl…”

“Fix him. Fix him right fucking now.”

I jump and hastily wipe my tears away. Kylo is hauling Dònal over to us. The healer looks stricken to see Rowan in his current state. 

“I…I can’t fix him here,” Dònal admits shakily. “I can stabilize him I think, but—”

“So do it,” I say as I stand and step away from Rowan, as much as it pains me. “Stabilize him. I’ll stand guard.”

When I turn my back on the whole thing, still wiping the tears that continue to spill from my eyes, Rowan is eerily still. My heart cracks open and bleeds, but I refuse to believe the worst. I will hear his contagious laugh again and I will be pestered by his obnoxious tendencies once more. Because if I don’t hear his laugh, if I don’t get to roll my eyes at his terrible jokes, I don’t think I want to go on. And even though I feel horrible for so willfully leaving his side, I can’t watch whatever is about to happen. I just can’t. I need to hold onto my hope that he’ll be okay. I’ll get to spend more time with him and introduce him to Aurore one day, like I want to. That’s what I allow myself to think about as I turn away from him.

“Here.”

I look to my left to see Kylo handing me my dagger. My brow creases at the unexpected gesture, but I don’t question him. My fingers wrap around the antler hilt comfortably. It feels so familiar, my heart pangs in my chest.

He doesn’t say anything more, just turns towards the fray. Then, to Dònal, he barks, “Make it as quick as you can; we need to get moving before we’re completely swarmed.”

“Yes, sir. I’m doing my b—”

“Hey!” His shout startles me. He’s flagging down two men driving a cart of supplies. They stop, their faces terror-stricken as they turn toward Kylo.

“Bring that cart over here! Now!”

He’s barely finished shouting his demand before he’s wrestling another demon out of the skies. I follow him, grateful that his actions cleared my head somewhat. 

There’s at least nine skellis hovering over our moving party. I tear apart one and move onto the next as swiftly as I can. I enjoy killing these beasts. For what they did to Rowan, I’d like to end their entire species, but I’ll settle for this. 

My rage consumes me as I latch onto it for dear life. Dònal is saying something to Kylo behind me, but I don’t hear the words. I’m throwing my shadows around now—like a cloud of black mist they swirl from left to right, draining the life of the creatures that come into contact with it. They fall from the sky like rocks, nothing but empty husks.

“Rey!” 

There’s a strong hand around my arm, pulling me back—snapping me out of it. I blink and turn, annoyed with the interruption, and I see Kylo looking at me curiously and—is that fear I see?

No. It can’t be.

I look behind him to see they’ve got Rowan loaded onto the cart. His eyes are closed and he’s pale and still, but I see his chest slowly rising and falling, though it’s horribly shallow. Dònal sits at his side, continuing to work on him as the cart moves quickly forward. 

“Are you okay?” Kylo shouts at me.

“Move faster!” I scream at the cart driver. 

“Rey, are you hearing me?”

“No!” I snap, walking away from him. 

“Get back here!” He demands. “Where the hell do you think you’re going on foot?!”

I don’t answer him. I just run, lining myself up beneath the few remaining skellis chasing after our party. I begin to draw in my magic, gathering as much power as I can. Shadows fly towards me from the crevices and uneven surfaces in the rocks, fuelling me. I throw all I can at the beasts, until my darkness blots out the sky. I shake and tears pour from my eyes as frigid pain sears my body, but I don’t stop. 

But then I feel scales scrape against my upper arms as thick claws wrap around them, holding me firmly. My feet leave the ground.

I dare to look up, and I see the red-tipped thorns and shimmering belly of a silverthorn. My heart stops. One scrape from those poisoned thorns and I’m as good as dead. 

It carries me higher at a rapid pace. I hear Kylo screaming my name but I can’t look down. A primal scream rips past my throat; it feels like my very soul is escaping out of my mouth just as raw power skitters over my skin. I reach deep within me and use the last dregs of my magic and my energy. The silverthorn shrieks in pain above me and jerks hard to the right. My shadows have pierced its underside and blinded it, enveloping it, killing it slowly. Its grip falters, I feel searing pain across my upper arms, and then I’m falling fifty feet towards the ground.

That’s when I scream. And scream. And scream.

Just before I meet my death, cool shadows wrap around me and slow my descent just enough for Kylo to catch me. My breath rushes out of me as his arms hold me tight to him. He looks terrified and he struggles to wipe the emotion from his face, even as he runs towards Azrael. 

“We need to go! Come on!”

He helps me into the saddle. Fitting snugly behind me, he snaps the reins, urging the horse into a full-on sprint to catch up with the group. 

When we reach them, they’re still fending off attacks, this time from silverthorns. Ren takes stock of the situation and in a matter of seconds he’s dismounted and he’s thrusting the reins into my hands.

“Listen to me,” he says. “Take Azrael and go ahead. Get out of here and find somewhere suitable to make camp. Once you’ve found a spot—”

“You want me to leave everyone?” I ask in disbelief. “You and Rowan and everyone?”

“Rey, listen,” he says sharply. “Once you've found a spot,  remove the saddlebags. There’s an axe, matches and kindling in one. Get a fire started as quick as you can. Remove the saddlebags, then tell Az to find me. He’ll be able to lead us back to you. Can you do that?”

“But I—”

“Please. Can you do that?”

“Yes. Yes, I can.” I nod, even though I’m shaking all over.

“Okay, good. Go.”

He smacks Azrael on the rump and we take off through the throng. Cold wind slashes at my face and draws more tears from my eyes that streak like icicles into my hair. We dodge and dart through everyone, avoiding monsters as we go. I catch one skelli in my shadows and throw it like a doll behind me. I don’t know if I killed it or just stunned it, but at the moment it doesn’t really matter. It’s dead either way, anyways—Kylo’s back there.

We press on until the sounds of the battle are far behind us. Only then does a hopeless, terrified sob escape me. Azrael pants beneath me, solid and warm, carrying me to safety. I lean into the horse, allowing my tears to get tangled up in his mane. Part of me wants to turn around and go back, but I know if I even tried to redirect Azrael, he’d fight it. He was given an order and he will not deviate. 

After an agonizing hour and a half of travel north, I slow Azrael to a canter as I examine my surroundings. There’s a clearing with some sparse tree coverage and rocky ground. I angle our path to the west, where it looks like there’s a small, dense patch of pine trees. 

I can light a signal fire at that treeline. It isn’t the most ideal spot, but I don’t want to travel too far on my own, and it is quiet. I don’t sense danger here. I can weave Azrael through the tree trunks with relative ease, so the horses can rest in here where there’s more grass growing. 

“It’ll have to do,” I mumble to myself, directing Azrael back to the treeline.

I dismount and remove the saddlebags, just like I was told. Then I walk around and run my hand down Azrael’s neck, placing my other gently on his snout, scratching him there.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “I can handle it here. Go find him, Az. Bring him to me.”

Azrael chuffs, turns, and takes off like an arrow. I watch him quickly disappear into the distance for a moment, then I get to work.

It takes me a while to get a fire going, and every second that ticks by feels like another second off my life. Eventually, I recline onto my heels with a sigh of relief as I watch the plume of white smoke slowly rise into the air. Once I know it’s established, I start cutting more wood to both feed it and add to another fire. I hoped they’d be right behind me and show up any second, but it could be hours for all I know. My throat constricts as I imagine Azrael walking back to me alone, just a living, breathing grim truth: there were no survivors; I’m all alone out here.

I don’t stop chopping wood and stacking it into a neat pile. I fear if I stop, I’ll lose all sense. If I stop, my worst thoughts will take over, and there’ll be no coming back from it. 

The pile has grown to an excessive four feet tall when I hear the snap of a twig in the distance. I grab my dagger from the boot I’d hidden it in and slink into the shadows of the trees, away from the light of the fire. My heart pounds erratically and my mouth is bone dry; I don’t know what to expect or when. I feel like I’m hanging off the precipice of disaster.

Kylo rounds the corner into the small clearing, riding Azrael, and more men follow him. I burst from my hiding place and watch as they come closer. There’s more of them than I expected there to be, which means there weren’t as many casualties as I feared, though there were a few missing faces. 

I see the cart carrying Rowan come into view and my breath catches. I start walking towards it because I need to know, even if I don’t want to see it.

Kylo dismounts, his eyes following me closely. I stop for a brief moment to assess him—he has no noticeable injuries. His eyes rake over me, too, but I don’t let him look too closely or for too long. Once I’ve assured myself he’s okay, I carry on.

Inside the cart, Dònal sits calmly beside Rowan’s prone form. The horn no longer protrudes from his abdomen, though his clothes and Dònal’s hands are saturated with blood.

My voice shakes as I ask, “Is he…will he be alright?”

Dònal looks to me and back to Rowan slowly before he decides on his answer.

“Yes, I think he’ll be alright in time. But recovery isn’t going to be particularly easy. The horn did some serious damage to his large intestine; it narrowly missed his stomach. I got everything put back as best as I can, but it’s going to likely cause him problems for a time. I’ll need to keep treating him regularly for months.”

I breathe for what feels like the first time in hours. He’s alive. He’ll wake up, and he’ll be okay. He didn’t die. I didn’t let him die.

“Thank you,” I whisper through a constricting throat.

As the tears flood my eyes and the pressure in my chest builds, I realize I don’t want any of these people to see me cry. I want to scream and sob so hard my lungs feel like they’re collapsing. I can’t do that with eyes on me.

I walk away quickly from the cart and disappear amidst the trees, all while tears slide freely down my face and throat and I struggle to breathe.

I always preferred to box my emotions up and keep them in neat little piles, hoping that someday I’ll simply just forget about them and move on. But the emotions of all this—of everything before this day and during it—is far too much to squeeze into any size of box I can dream up. I cannot contain the onslaught of fear, panic, pain, relief, desperation, and suffocating heartache for one more second.

The world around me fades in and out of view as I succumb to it all, alone in a strange place.

Chapter Text

I lean against a tree as all my trauma and pain wrack my body with sobs.

My lungs feel like they’re full of fire and ash—every gasping, choking breath scalds me deep inside.  My legs are trembling, threatening to give out on me and bring me to my knees. I haven’t cried like this since my parents died and left me all alone in unfamiliar territory. Now here I was again, with no one who loves me, trapped in a place I shouldn’t be. My life story is a repeating circle. Round and round we go.

Shadows crawl up my legs and curl around me in an embrace, guarding me. I don’t shy away this time—I lean into them for once, accepting them as my greatest method of protection.

Maybe they can encase me and drag me deep beneath the earth and I can evade all of this. I can put a stop to my past repeating itself and start fresh, far underground. The dirt can’t know my name. The worms can’t speak cruelly to me. It might be rather nice.

“Rey.”

I jump and nearly scream, turning around to see Kylo stepping towards me. The moonlight is glinting dark silver off the gorget at his throat—it and his arm braces are the only pieces of armour he’s still wearing. As soon as I register the fact that it’s him, I turn my face away and furiously scrub at my cheeks—the raw pathways left by the tears sting at the agitation. 

“Don’t call me that,” I mutter, my typical fire little more than a pitiful spark.

He doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t step away. 

“What do you possibly want now?” I snap, still keeping my rigid back to him. “Whatever it is, it’s not important. Just leave me alone.”

“No.”

I raise my head slowly. Did he say no? Was he confusing me for someone who has the energy to fight right now? His refusal rankles me; I don’t like his insistence. I don’t want him here—he’s the last person I want to see me like this. I know this is all just a game of strategy to him, so why is he determined to know me?

“Excuse me?” I ask slowly, coldly.

“I said no,” he repeats. His words are clear, direct, and immensely bothersome. “I won’t leave you alone.”

“Why?” I bark, my throat painfully raw. I turn to face him despite knowing he’ll see how puffy my eyes are and how red my face is. “Why are you even here at all?”

He keeps his expression neutral as I verbally attack him, not betraying any sense of hurt if he feels anything of the sort.

“I saw you run off this way,” he explains. “I wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

I huff and flick some straggling tears from my eyes with annoyance. “Well I’m fine, so you can go now.”

He doesn’t move. He just watches me, those pretty eyes seeing far too much, and I hate it. 

“Did you not hear me?” I say poisonously, though my fury is quickly fading from exhaustion. “I said go away.”

“You did well with your magic today,” he says, ignoring me completely. 

“Not well enough,” I reply. Shame licks at my heart, burning me up.

He steps closer to me and though my first instinct is to back away, I don’t do it.

“What happened to Rowan wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was!” I argue, more tears brimming in my eyes. “I wasn’t paying enough attention, and I should’ve—”

“Who stopped everything and demanded Dònal try to save his life?”

I pause at his interruption. I know the answer, but my self-loathing attitude keeps my mouth shut tight.

“He’s my second-in-command and my closest ally, but when I saw him lying there I didn’t think he had a hope. But you did. You’re the reason he’s still alive right now, not the reason he got hurt.”

I turn my face away. The gentle look in Kylo’s eyes threatens to tear me apart and though I want to argue his point, I can’t find any words he wouldn’t immediately refute.

“Listen…” 

His voice is low and hesitant. Curiosity makes me look at him once more and I find him with his eyes downcast, sheepish. I’m not sure I like this look on him. It worries me to see him like this. He takes a slow breath before he continues.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry I lied about my background and my intentions. It’s my fault you’re here—my fault you just had to go through all of that. I don’t need you to forgive me, because I wouldn’t if I were you. I just want to tell you that I am sorry.

“Also…the nearest town is two days’ ride from here. I…I can give you some supplies and you can slip away, maybe board a ship going south if you still want to return to Varia, though I recommend going somewhere the king can’t easily find you—”

“What?”

I’ve turned my body fully to face him as confusion and anger slip through the chaotic swirl of emotions within me to take control. When he finally manages to lift his eyes to meet mine, he looks ashamed. 

“You just dragged me all this way, through all of that, and now you’ve decided to send me on my merry way? Is that it?” I say coldly.

“I just—”

“And what about you? Your curse?”

His expression darkens significantly. “I’ve dealt with the pain for decades now, I can deal with it some more.”

“He could kill you for this.”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t deny it. He’s playing the hero again for me and I still didn’t ask him to. I feel so annoyed I could hit him, but I know it wouldn’t do any good, so I don’t.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. You’re too late,” I mutter.

“What do you mean?” Now it’s his turn to look confused.

“I promised Rowan I would do my part to kill the king.”

Shock straightens his spine and lifts his eyebrows. “…You did? Why?”

“I thought he was dying! He was dying. He asked me to promise him, so I did, because he wants this so badly and he’s been nothing but a friend to me, even when I didn’t deserve it. He might have lived, but he’s still severely wounded. I owe it to him to keep my promise, so he can see justice served.”

Kylo swallows whatever words first come to his mind. He just watches me for a minute, as if he’s trying to puzzle out how this makes me feel. He blinks, and I think he knows.

“I see.”

I suddenly feel flustered, standing here under his watchful eye with no one else around. He shouldn’t be talking to me this softly, shouldn’t be looking at me like he cares. He can’t care. If he cares, everything gets so complicated, and I don’t know if I’m ready for it.

I throw my arms up and glare at him to the best of my ability. “If you only came here to act noble, you’ve failed, and you can leave now.”

“You’re hurt.”

He rushes towards me and his warm fingers gently wrap around my left elbow, keeping my arm in a slightly raised position as his eyes inspect the jagged scratches that curve around my upper arm. They’re bloody, but it’s dried. I look at them too, having not paid them much mind until now. I know there’s a matching set on my other arm, too.

“It’s fine,” I mumble, removing myself from his tender hold. “The silverthorn’s claws scratched me when it let go of me; its thorns didn’t touch me.”

“Okay,” he breathes. He doesn’t back away from me. 

The scent of him, like a calm winter night, makes my eyelashes flutter. He smells like home, when the snow muffles the forest and the pine boughs grow heavy with it. It makes my chest ache with longing, though I’m not sure exactly what it is I long for. Home? Or him?

I want to know the answer, even though the question terrifies me. I need to know. Though I’m not certain he deserves gentility or even wants it, I know I need it right now. As much as I’d like to tell myself I don’t need it from him, tonight I’m tired of lying and trying to trick my mind into believing what simply isn’t true. I want to see if he really can be this soft with me—or if he even wants to be.

“Can I—” I choke on the words, my tongue unsure how to form them. I know I shouldn’t say them; they’ll only get me into trouble. But I’m exhausted, and something within me is cracking and thawing, and I just need help before I drown beneath the ice, so I swallow and make another attempt. “Can I try something…?” 

His eyes flash with curiosity and he freezes up for a second before relaxing again. 

“Oh. Sure…” he says, a little wary.

This is probably stupid and I might very well regret this later, but…fuck it.

I step into him. His chest is warm against my cheek, his body broad within my arms. He stiffens when I reach around his shoulders, unsure, but then he holds me tight to him, one hand tangling itself firmly in the hair at the back of my head. 

I almost burst into tears.

I’ve never been hugged like this. I’m sure my parents hugged me like this, but I don’t remember. To me, right now, this feels like something completely different—it feels like I’ve just taken my first full breath after years of suffocating.

His fingers gently brush my hair as his cheek rests on the top of my head. I never thought he could be this gentle—it’s a side I haven’t really seen, not on undeniable display like this, anyway. I think I want to see more of it. And I’m still angry with him, but damn it, I want him to make me feel like this again, maybe all the time.

“This shouldn’t feel the way it does…” I muse. I don’t realize I spoke aloud until he replies to me.

“How does it feel?”

His voice is quiet, but I hear it rumbling against my ear; its soft, private tone makes my heart do that stupid fluttering thing it always does when it’s just me and him and all this emotional shit between us.

“Comforting,” I answer slowly. “It feels like…home.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just holds me tighter.

I don’t know how much time passes. I know that my fingers eventually run through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He makes a low humming noise when I first start. I feel his fingers tighten where they hold me, running over my clothes with light pressure.

Is this as intimate for him as it is for me? I know he doesn’t mind it because he’s not pulling away, but does it mean just as much to him?

I don’t want to step away, but I do. My body fights the urge at first. But then I remember there’s wounded men not too far away and I’m utterly exhausted. I used more magic today than I have in my entire life, and it’s depleted me to such a degree that I could very well sleep standing up.

Kylo keeps his hands on me for as long as he can, but he accepts my decision to end…whatever just happened. His eyes are pools filled with impossible questions and brutal truths and I can’t look at them for too long.

“We should both probably get some sleep,” I suggest, clearing my throat. 

“Ah, yeah,” he agrees quietly. “You’re right. Um, come with me. I can get you a bedroll.”

I follow a few careful paces behind him as we walk towards the campsite. I don’t say anything about how I’m perfectly capable of getting my own bedroll. My cheeks still burn with the memory of how tightly he held me and I can still feel him breathing slowly against my body. I think if I focus hard enough, I could feel the imprinted rhythm of his heartbeat in my soul.

“Who’s on first watch?” I ask in an attempt to distract myself from the ghost of him pressed against me.

“Me, Briar, and Ewen,” he replies. “Seems like a pretty quiet place you found though, so it should be an easy night.”

We walk together to a cart in the middle of camp, surrounded by men who are sleeping, eating, mending, or healing. None of them really pay us much mind. Kylo reaches into the cart and pulls out a bedroll for me. I take it, and though I know it should be my sign to say goodnight and walk away, for some reason doing that feels impossible right now.

“Do you need anyone else on watch?” I ask, desperately fishing for a line of conversation—something to make this interaction last just that little bit longer.

“Not you,” he answers. “You need to sleep and I encourage you to do so.”

My heart falls. He’s right. If I argue the point I’ll just make a fool of myself.

“Okay,” I whisper.

I turn to walk away but his voice stops me. Can he not seem to let go, either?

“You’re wearing the necklace.”

It’s just a statement. A fact. But it still manages to floor me for a second. My fingers reach up to brush against the little pendant. The gemstone is rounded, smooth and cold to the touch.

Rowan put it back on me. I was going to leave it at the inn. I don’t want to wear it. Why did you even buy it? These are all things I could say. But none of them are right. Some of them aren’t even true.  And none of them feel right right now.

“Oh,” I breathe. “Yes. I am.”

Just a statement. Just a fact. Nothing more. 

His eyes glimmer in an entrancing way as he watches me touch the gift he gave me. He looks…happy? Like he’s happy, but he’s trying to disguise it as something less…meaningful. I wish he wouldn’t.

“It looks nice,” he comments. “Do you like it?”

He wants to know if I’m mad about it—if I’m not actually wearing it because I want to, but rather because of some misguided obligation. I feel like the answer I give him right now has the power to alter the future. Normally, that should seem daunting, but I know my answer. 

It’s just the truth.

“I do, very much,” I confirm with a small smile I hope comes off as appreciative. “Thank you.”

His shoulders relax ever so slightly as a tired smile decorates his lips. 

“I’m glad” is all he says.

We say goodnight, and I walk off slowly to find a place to lay out my bedroll. The entire time my back is turned to him, a sleepy smile is plastered on my face. I have a damn hard time removing it, too.

***

I travel in the cart with Rowan the next day. He’s awake and, although he’s sore and nauseous, I’m ecstatic to see he’s still himself, cracking jokes at the expense of others and talking my ear off like his life depends on it. Every now and then he starts to cough from talking too much, which causes him immense pain, so I take over for a bit. I talk to him about mundane, random topics, nothing of consequence but just enough to keep him distracted. I don’t say a single word about last night with Kylo.

The sky is a hazy lavender by the time camp is finally set up for the night. We landed at a pretty, flat spot by the Mathines River. Oak trees grow aplenty here, tall and mighty with dense overhanging branches. Their acorns litter the ground in piles and swaths. 

I take my time eating, enjoying every last bite. Rowan eats what he can. It’s not much, and I worry about his energy levels, but I keep reminding myself how resilient he is. He wants to eat just a little bit more with each meal he has, so I know he’s trying.

After supper, I can’t see Kylo anywhere. I assume he’s in his tent and decide against bothering him with a visit. Despite how something has changed between us, it still feels strange to willingly go to him for any reason. I still feel that urge to avoid him. Maybe whatever it is that’s shifted in our relationship is insignificant enough not to warrant that kind of comfort. 

I forget about it, though, and decide to go for a swim and get clean. I’m still covered in dirt and flecks of blood from yesterday, having only gotten to wash my hands and face in a bucket this morning before we left. I feel disgusting. I grab a bar of soap from the supply cart and head for the river, excited to finally remedy this problem.

I can hear the soft trickle of moving water as I get closer to the river. There’s large flat white stones jutting out of the ground around the shore like massive tombstones. I find a tree branch where I can hang my clothes nearby, and I begin to shuck off layers. I stow my dagger in an abandoned squirrel hole in the tree, too. When I’m down to just my underwear and the bindings covering my breasts, I step closer to the river. I’d like to put my toe in it first and make sure I’m not about to plunge into frigid waters—though maybe that would help clear my head, to be fair.

There’s a splashing sound nearby. I assume at first that it’s some ducks on the water, but when I look around a tree, I freeze. I think my heart stops and restarts again, all while my feeble brain tries to come to terms with what I’m seeing.

Kylo is in the river, clearly having had the same idea as me. His upper body is out of the water, and I watch droplets trickle and fall down his chest, over the defined muscles of his midsection. I’ve seen his upper body many times in training, but this was something else entirely. If I follow those water droplets all the way down, I can nearly see—

I gasp and slap my hand over my mouth at the same time as I duck down and hide around the side of the rocks. Oh, this is bad. This is really, really bad.

I keep crouched in my hiding spot, not moving or making a sound, while my heart flutters erratically in my chest. I think I’ll die of embarrassment if he finds me here. I can practically see his cocky smile now, asking me if I was watching. But I also can’t go in the river when he’s already in there. He’d see…entirely too much of me. A blush heats my skin as I think about it.

I just need to keep hidden. If I stay like this where he can’t see me and I wait until he’s gone, he’ll never know I was here. He’ll never know I saw him in the water. Easy.

I hear movement in the water and dare to peek around the edge of the rocks. His hands are in his hair, pushing the wet locks away from his face. He’s moving towards the shore several feet away from me. I look away when I notice his muscular thigh rising out of the water—I can practically feel my face turning a brighter shade of red.

I let a quiet breath of relief slip past my lips at the confirmation that he’s leaving, but I remain still for a little longer, giving him time to dress and leave.  I’ll just wait here a few minutes more, and then he’ll be gone and I can—

“Do you really think I can’t sense you hiding in the shadows, little witch?”

My heart jumps into my throat and every hair on my body rises as his voice echoes to me through the trees. Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I slowly stand, keeping my back pressed against the rock, as if I can sink into it and become invisible. I struggle to calm my breathing as it starts to make me feel dizzy. Every muscle in my body is coiled tight, ready to help me run.

Dry leaves and grass rustle as he steps into view. He has breeches on, but no shirt. His body is still wet; his hair still drips onto his shoulders and down his back. It’s grown so long, it falls over his brow and brushes the tops of his shoulders. His darkened eyes immediately find me and I track their path as they slowly fall down my body. It’s in this moment I remember that I only have two small articles of clothing on. A mixture of nerves and embarrassment churns in my gut.

His eyes, suddenly so akin to a predators’, flick back up to my face. A small smirk slowly appears on his mouth, instantly drawing my eye.

“Did you enjoy the show?” He asks in a low purr.

“I didn’t—I wasn’t watching,” I stammer and blink. “I saw you and then I looked away, I was just waiting for you to get out, I—”

He tilts his head, dark brow furrowing. “Why didn’t you get in? Did you think I wouldn’t share the river with you?”

I swallow. “N-no…no, I—”

“Didn’t want to expose yourself to me like that?” His eyes flash and he prowls a little closer. He has me effectively trapped between him and the large rock at my back. “Didn’t think I would behave myself?”

I gather what little remains of my courage and straighten my spine. “Maybe,” I say evenly.

“Ah…”

He’s so close now, I could reach my fingers out and touch him. I almost want to, but I fight the urge. My eyes land on the faint pink remnants of the scratch I gave him on his throat and I swallow hard.

“You were probably right to worry,” he rumbles. “I’m not really in the mood to behave myself tonight.”

“When are you?” I whisper. I’m disappointed to learn my voice has suddenly abandoned me, but I try not to let it show.

He smiles, showing some teeth, and chuckles. “Fair point.”

I’m blanketed in his shadow. The moon shines pearly white over his shoulder, but I barely notice it. His hand reaches for my throat and I look down in time to see him catch the sun pendant between his thumb and the side of his index finger.

“Rey.”

The way he’s looking at me right now melts me instantly. I feel his attention all over; it warms every inch of me, as if his hands were already roving across my skin. The ache between my legs grows quickly until it’s nearly unbearable. I catch my lower lip between my teeth and bite to try and distract from it, but it only draws him in closer.

“You drive me so fucking crazy,” he rasps. “You make me feel like I’m not in control of myself and I’m having a hard time deciding if I like it or not. So, I need to know, do you want to behave yourself tonight?” Cold droplets of water from his hair fall onto my cheeks and my chest and my nerves jump in response.

He’s asking me for permission to…to do something. He’s giving me an opportunity to say no and end all of this right now. I should say no. After all, he had lied to me. He had embarrassed me and hurt me. But this feeling I get when he’s close—when he looks at me with barely restrained desire in his eyes while his words make me feel all these things I haven’t experienced in years—it negates it all. I’ve learned so much since this journey started; it doesn’t matter what he did anymore. That no longer bothers me; I realize it now. Because he’s asking me what I want like he is genuinely desperate for my answer. 

I know what I want, but what does he want? His words leave crackling heat throughout my body in their wake. His honeyed eyes are half-lidded, glazed over with helpless lust. And I…

I let go. I give in. My last wall crumbles to ash.

I let my gaze fall to his mouth. I let my fingers wrap around his wrist so I can keep him this close. And I know I’m about to let him do whatever the fuck he wants to me.

“No,” I whisper, “never.”

The way his mouth captures mine makes me sigh against him. His lips are soft as they slip off of mine—testing, tasting, teasing. He tastes like mint and spring water—like every sweet and refreshing thing I’ve ever enjoyed. 

His body presses mine to the cool rock at my back. My fingers tangle themselves in his wet hair as his tongue glances off mine, whipping me into a frenzy I know I can’t come back from. I use my hold on him to pull him closer…closer…

Gods, he’s already solid against me. I can feel him pressed against my lower belly, long and firm and wanting. I roll my hips, rutting against him like a desperate animal, because that’s what I feel like right now. I feel like if I don’t have him like this, tonight, I might combust.

He growls deep in his chest and then his hands are on my hips, holding me still against the rock as he denies me more of that delicious friction. I groan in frustration. Why would he think that was a good choice? I was having fun.

“Let’s not get carried away just yet,” he whispers, kissing the side of my mouth and my jaw before dropping to my throat where I feel his teeth scrape against my skin. 

I’ve never wanted someone to bite me so fucking badly. What is wrong with me…?

His fingers tickle only slightly as they slide across the top of my underwear with the lightest pressure. My thighs clench and heat erupts in my body at the prospect of him touching me combined with the scary realization of just how badly I want him to.

“I want to have some fun with you first.”

His fingers slip beneath my underwear and fall down farther and farther until he’s—

“Fuck!” 

The word escapes my mouth unbidden and I bite my tongue hard as he finds me wet and sensitive. He makes a satisfied groaning noise in his throat, kissing just beneath my ear.

He circles the tense bundle of nerves between my thighs lazily and I press down to increase his friction. I already feel so close—it’s been far too long since anyone else has done this to me and he’s doing it so, so right…it’s like he’s known the secrets of my body his entire life.

“Are you always this wet when you think of me, my little witch?”

I stifle a moan as the warm breath of his words cascades over the skin of my chest. I’m panting, almost losing my sanity as he pushes me closer and closer, and he’s toying with me—asking me arrogant questions he already knows the answer to. 

Evil bastard.

“Mm…I hate you,” I say, breathless.

“Do you…?” He asks, curious. His teeth nip at my earlobe and I feel it between my legs. 

And then he slips one finger all the way inside. I gasp, nearly screaming from the surprising pleasure of it, and dig my nails into his shoulders. His rumbling voice by my ear sets all my nerves on fire.

“Doesn’t fucking feel like it to me.”

I can’t speak, can’t think, especially when he starts thrusting into me, coaxing me to let go and give him what he wants. But his fingers are so long and thick and it feels so fucking good, I don’t want it to stop yet. 

He’s breathing heavily, pressing harder against me, and suddenly it’s a battle of wills to see who loses their grip first. He adds a second finger with ease and curls them inside me, making my entire body shudder as pleasure tears through me and severely threatens to break my hold. But I’m so fucking close and he knows it, so I simply give up trying to win.

I ride his fingers, urging them as deep as they can go, using him for my pleasure, and he falters just slightly at my minor display of dominance. His shoulders are shaking and every now and then a delicious noise slips out of his mouth. 

“Fucking gods, Rey…” he curses by my ear and it does things to me, hearing him say filthy things because of something I did.

“Ren, I—”

“Come,” he demands roughly. “I want you to come for me right now.”

I give him exactly what he wants and I tear apart at the seams.

I moan loudly, a noise I don’t recall ever having made before, and he thrusts in deep, holding me tight against the rock and keeping me still as I tremble and gasp. The moon over his shoulder wavers and flickers as the shockwaves race up and down my spine, making me arch against him in the little bit of space I have.

He’s still trembling when he removes his fingers, but the second they’re gone, fear trickles down my spine because I don’t want him to step away from me. I want to keep him here; I’m not ready for this to be done. I haven’t gotten him out of my system yet.

I have to get him out of my system.

“Please,” I whisper. My hands trail down his front and find the top button of his breeches as I press earnest kisses to his throat and jaw. “I want more of you.”

“Then take it, little witch,” he pants, fiercely catching my mouth with his. “I will give you everything…”

Two buttons down, and the third comes away easily. A light smattering of hair brushes against my eager knuckles and I reach until I feel him, stiff and velvety soft to the touch—

“Sir?”

We both freeze, neither one of us daring to so much as breathe for fear of attracting attention. 

I can hear the man wandering through the forest, cracking twigs beneath his feet. He’s close.

“Sir, are you still out here?”

Ren growls quietly in frustration.

“What?!” He snaps loudly. 

“T-the king has sent a raven for you, sir.” I can hear the apprehension and fear in the man’s voice. 

“It can wait then, can’t it,” Ren chews out. 

“Uh, actually sir, it’s not leaving until you reply. I believe it must be urgent.”

“Fuck,” Ren huffs, leaning his forehead against mine.

“It’s okay,” I murmur. My voice cracks as I lie. It’s not really okay. If it were up to me, he wouldn’t be going anywhere. But we can’t risk suspicion, and it doesn’t seem like he can ignore this summons.

And, as much as I don’t want to admit it right now, maybe this is for the best.

“…I’ll be there in a minute.” 

“Thank you, sir.” The man’s footsteps retreat.

Kylo sighs and steals one more lingering kiss from me. 

“So fucking inconvenient,” he grumbles. “How mad do you think he’d be if I didn’t get there right away? I can make this quick, maybe…”

“Mm, I don’t want you to have to make it quick,” I reply with a small devilish grin. 

He groans as if my every word was torture for him to hear and I chuckle breathlessly.

“Now, now,” I chide. “Don’t neglect your duty, Enforcer.”

I place my hand on his chest and push. Warmth like I haven’t felt in years races up my arm and he hisses, jumping away from me like I burned him. We both watch, awestruck, as a pulsing strand of gold stretches from my fingertips to the scar at the centre of his chest. It’s there for a split second and then gone, but my arm tingles long after it’s disappeared.

We both stand stock still for a moment, too shocked at whatever just happened to move. But my curiosity and sudden hopefulness take over, and I rush towards him, pressing my palm to that same spot, but nothing happens this time. I try again and again, unable to refuse the frustration that grows within me.

“Rey,” he says quietly, stopping me with a hand on my wrist. “Your necklace…”

I look down and my jaw drops. The gemstone at the centre of the pendant is glowing with a brilliant golden light. My trembling fingers touch it and I can feel its warmth as if it were a living being. 

“What is this…?” I whisper.

“I don’t know,” Ren answers. “I’ve never seen something like that before.”

“Why did it happen? Why can’t I get it to happen again?”

“I don’t know that, either…”

The light in the necklace fades until the stone is once more its normal greyish-white colour. I sigh and shake my head, letting it go just for a moment. I’ll dwell on it more later.

“It’s fine,” I lie. “We’ll figure it out.”

“We will,” he agrees. “I promise. But, I’d better go before that raven plucks somebody’s eyes out.”

“Right. The raven,” I nod. “Okay. I’ll um, I’ll see you later.”

He nods and offers a small smile. “I’ll let you get cleaned up finally.”

“Thanks, appreciate it,” I quip.

He walks away, leaving me reeling.

It takes me a good three minutes before I can collect myself enough to finish preparing to get in the river. My heart is still hammering in my chest when I’ve completely undressed. I wade into the chilly water, hissing as it makes contact with my sensitive skin. It only hurts for a second, then it soothes. 

Had I just connected with Solara? Had I wielded her power? What was that magic just now? And what was everything that came before it?

Images of what just happened flit across my mind, making me blush from head to toe. I’d been committed to hating that man for weeks, and I’d just let him fuck me with his fingers. And I loved it. And that is a problem because now I’ve had a taste—only a taste—and I need more. My body craves him. I fear if I don’t get what I need soon it won’t just be a passing fancy—a way for me to get him out of my system. It’ll be a full-blown addiction, and I can’t have that. That isn’t what Rowan had been talking about. 

That’s way too far for comfort.

I sigh and try unsuccessfully to banish the memory of his husky voice in my ear and his teeth at my throat as I sink beneath the surface.

Chapter Text

The necklace is a conduit for Solara’s power. It has to be—it channeled some of Ren’s power to me when I touched his scar. But how? Why wasn’t I able to do it again?

“You’re awfully quiet today.”

I jump and return my attention to Rowan, who’s looking at me suspiciously. I just offer him a winning smile and a shrug.

“Just a lot on my mind lately,” I reply.

“Such as…?”

Do I tell him what happened? Is it worth the questions he’ll have if I do?

“Nothing for you to worry about.”

I pat his shoulder. I’ll tell him soon. Just not today. There’s too much going on as it is.

We’ll be in the small trading hub city of Ufrar by suppertime, and it sounds like we’ll have to spend two days there. Apparently whatever message the king sent Kylo two nights ago involved orders for him to broker a deal of some sort with the city’s upper crust. I don’t know the details; Kylo and I haven’t really spoken much since our meeting by the river.

I’ve been adamant on travelling with Rowan since he was injured, and Kylo has allowed it—not like he really has any say in the matter in my opinion, but it seems it’s the thought that counts. And I’ve been sneaking off to train by myself, too. It’s not as educational but it helps. Kylo’s been too busy sending messages into Ufrar to set up a meeting with their council, anyway. Multiple times a day, a raven or a dove would deposit a scroll of paper into Ren’s hand. I tried to watch his expression each time he read one—seems like whatever they said frustrated him more often than not. I was curious, but I figured I’d learn more soon enough, and I didn’t want to ask him anyway. 

Despite sort of going out of my way to avoid talking to him the last couple of days, I’m still struggling to push him to the back of my mind. More than once now the memory of that night has infiltrated my mind, and I have to make a concerted effort to forget about it each time. But every time it comes to me, my body responds instantaneously. Warmth flares in my lower belly and saliva pools in my mouth. It’s embarrassing. I’m a danger to myself these days and I can’t even enjoy placing the blame squarely on his shoulders, because it’s my own fault as much as it is his.

I force my attention to hone in on Rowan for now, though. Despite how scatterbrained I’ve been, he needs me to be present and it’s the least I can give him right now.

He’s been steadily improving—little steps, every day. I help him change his bandages once a day, just as Dònal showed me. Rowan hates wearing them. It still hurts him to sit up or stand for too long, but reclining in a supply cart is starting to wear on his nerves. He refuses to lie still anymore, constantly shifting from one elbow to the next for support, occasionally raising himself up into an almost-sitting position before he grows tired and flops down onto his back again. It’s obvious this is bothering him a lot more than he’d admit to with his words. I understand why, though. He’s a warrior. Being an asset in battle is what he’s used to—being a hindrance is like torture. He thinks he’s useless and damming up everyone’s day-to-day, and I constantly remind him that isn’t true. He wants to slip into self-loathing, but I won’t allow it. 

The sun is nearing the horizon now, lining the clouds in gold and pink. Ufrar is finally visible in the distance. I’m admiring the sky as we bounce along in the cart, when my moment of peace shatters.

“Stop!”

Kylo’s shout brings the entire party to a halt. I’m immediately confused and on high alert—I scan our surroundings for any threats, peering into the shadows, but I find nothing, which only makes me more puzzled. 

What is going on?

I can see Kylo about twenty feet ahead of me on Azrael and I watch as they both turn ninety degrees so he can look at us all—though it’s me his eyes land on.

“Shadowsmith,” he shouts. 

My breath catches in my chest as I feel several pairs of eyes shift to me. What is he doing?! Why is he doing it now, whatever it is?

“With me.”

Oh, I’m being summoned. What for, I don’t know, but I’m positive it’s nothing good.

Hesitant, I look from Kylo to Rowan, as if my friend can tell me I don’t need to comply with the orders. 

Sure enough, Rowan gives me a perplexed look and nods his head in Kylo’s direction. 

“What are you doing? Go,” he whispers.

Reluctantly, I climb off the cart and take careful, steady steps towards Kylo. Azrael chuffs as I get close, nodding his massive head and making his bridle rattle. I swallow and move my focus to his rider, who’s offering me his hand to take.

I look upon his broad palm for a moment, lingering briefly on the criss-crossing lines which define it, before finally placing my own atop it and permitting him to help me up.

His hands on my hips steady me, his thumb nearly brushing against the side of my breast. My breath catches in my throat and I’m certain he hears it. Sitting between his legs like this, I’m struck by another dizzying wave of heat. My eyes track his hands as they take the reins in front of me and I’m immediately distracted by those fingers as they wrap around the fine leather, remembering what they’re capable of. 

Stop. That’s certainly not what he summoned me for. A fierce blush quickly consumes me.

“What is this?” I ask quietly, keeping my body rigid in front of him.

He gets Azrael moving again before he replies. I listen to the sounds of the party following us and try to control my heartbeat in the interim.

“I need to inform you of the plans once we get to Ufrar,” he says simply.

My brow creases and suspicion raises my hackles. Is he actually going to tell me something important before it’s too late to do so? And if so…

“Why?” I demand.

“Because the king gave me an order, and I need you so I can achieve the goal.”

Why do you always need me? It’s what I want to ask, but I fear the answer so I swallow it back down and rephrase it.

“That makes no sense,” I say it before I’m even finished thinking it. “What could you possibly need me for this time?”

He chuckles softly behind me, raising gooseflesh across my body. “In order for me to get an audience with the council and their ruler, I require you by my side.”

I sigh, annoyed. “At what point in this discussion will you start explaining your answers? Because right now, I don’t believe you.”

“Hmm…” He ponders for a minute; I can practically feel him mulling it over in his head. “How do I say this in a way that doesn’t sound derogatory…”

“Excuse me?” Whatever this is, I don’t particularly like the direction it’s heading. Is he about to make me punch him while we’re on horseback?

“They like beautiful women.”

I go quiet. They like women? What is that supposed to mean? A sickly chill descends upon me, swirling in my stomach and making me ill. Surely he’s not proposing offering me up to these unknown, apparently powerful people? Anxiety-driven rage makes my face feel hot. I will not be his bargaining chip, if that’s what he’s saying. I decide to give him one more chance to explain himself before I lose it completely. 

“…How do they like women?” I demand icily. 

“They like to have them around. They like to flirt, and fuck.”

My teeth clench so hard my jaw aches. “Well I don’t want to be flirted with or fucked by them.”

I twist my upper body around in the saddle as much as I can and issue him a dark, murderous glare. I will ruin his plans, then I will destroy him. How dare he. I can feel my desire for him cooling, because even after all that, I’m still just a weapon in his belt and he’s all too happy to make use of me. It makes me sick.

But, his next words give me pause.

“You won’t have to worry about that.”

“Why…?” My eyes narrow on him. I don’t like the way his mouth bares the suggestion of an arrogant smile.

“Because you’ll be meeting them with me,” he answers. “The Ufrarian are a strange variety—they’re very…particular with their chosen company, to put it simply. They like those they do business with to prove to them that they have power and influence of course, but they also need to know that their allies are accepting of their way of life. That they will cause no harm or offence. Therefore, I need a pretty lady on my arm before I arrive in their council chambers to ensure they’ll be pliable and willing to accept me and my offer. And so that they won’t assign one to me.

“Alternatively, you, as a pretty lady amongst their people, will be approached and flirted with if you don’t appear to have an attachment to someone. So, from the moment we enter the city, you’ll be mine. I’ll be the only one who can flirt with you. The only one who can fuck you.”

My jaw drops and my brain scrambles to reconcile his words enough that I can throw my own back in his face. In the end, what I deliver isn’t as scathing a retort as I would’ve liked. 

“And who says I’d allow you to fuck me just for this?!”

He laughs. He laughs like he genuinely finds my shock and displeasure funny—like this is all just a great big joke at my expense. My hands clench into tight fists, readying to connect with his handsome jaw.

“Relax,” he says airily. “We just have to act like it. You’ll pretend you’re my paramour, and no one else will touch you for fear of having their arms ripped from their bodies—a valid fear, mind you.”

“This is an absolutely ludicrous idea and I won’t—”

“You will,” he says firmly, brooking no argument. He lowers his mouth to my ear, speaking in that low purr of his that got me into so much trouble the other night. “You will pretend that I fuck you like a queen every night and the morning after too, and you will act like you enjoy it. Shouldn’t be too hard for you, right?”

I’m speechless. I can’t believe he just said those words in that order to me. I can’t believe he’s demanding this of me. And to what end? 

“You’re insane,” I hiss, ignoring the way his command alerts my traitorous body to his proximity and the desire in his words. “Would you care to grace me with the details of this task you’ve been given, or do you simply expect me to play the part of your whore and not ask any questions?”

“Oh, I’m not so ignorant as to suppose you won’t pester me for information,” he refutes. “But you don’t need to ask for it. I planned on telling you willingly. If this is going to work, you need to know what I hope to achieve.”

“Then get on with it,” I snap, my patience wearing dangerously thin. It gets even thinner when he answers in a tone of voice that confirms he finds my annoyance entertaining.

“No. I’ll tell you everything after we arrive at the inn.”

“You will tell me everything now, or I will use my shadows to castrate y—”

“Now, now. I like the feistiness, but save it for later.” He laughs again, I assume just to make me angrier. “I’ll meet you at your room in the inn when I have a change of clothes for you. Then I’ll tell you what you need to know. That way it all stays private, which is what we prefer, isn’t it?”

“Why do I need a change of clothes?” I’d just washed my outfit in the river last night; I thought I smelled fine still. 

“Along with having a very…open approach to sexuality, the Ufrarian council also has a dress code for visitors who meet with them.”

Panic crawls up my throat. Images of skimpy, gauzy two-pieces that barely cover my nipples flash through my mind. If that’s what they want me to dress in, I’d sooner throw myself off a roof than be paraded around by Kylo Ren while wearing it.

“What kind of clothing can I expect, dare I ask?” I speak through tightly clenched teeth.

“You’ll see when I bring it to you.”

I glower at him, though I don’t look over my shoulder so he can see it. I hope he hears it in my voice.

“Is this a good time to remind you how much I hate you?” I ask sourly.

“Oh, sweetling,” he purrs by my ear, “I think we already established that that’s not entirely true.”

I clamp my mouth shut and stare straight ahead with murder in my eyes. I don’t speak or move the rest of the way to this damned city of Ufrar, with its stupid customs that were almost certainly going to turn me into a murderer before the night is through.

***

Ufrar is a busy place.

It’s bustling, loud, chaotic almost to a fault—but it’s also exciting. Happy. Everyone looks like they’re enjoying themselves, whether they’re shopping or eating or walking or sitting alone. I’ve never seen so many smiles or heard so much laughter in one place before. It seems like the entire city is one big party.

It sets me on edge for some reason.

The inn is lush and homey, full of the warm autumn colours I’ve noticed are so common here. There’s wingback armchairs around rustic stone fireplaces and massive poufs by bookshelves in the lobby, which is hazy with the smoke and smell of heady incense. The windows are minimal and almost all of them are covered with heavy curtains. Candles flicker and melt on almost every available surface.

The rooms are done up in the same style, too. Thick, soft mattresses covered in handmade quilts, antique furniture, an assortment of books on a small shelf, and an ample supply of candles.

From the moment I enter my room, I begin to pace. I don’t stop pacing, even when I start to think I might wear a path in the wood floor. I’m agitated and anxious, nervous and perhaps a little bit curious, too. Something was happening tonight that I had to be a part of, and Kylo was coming to my room any moment to bring me clothes and fill me in on it. And it won’t matter if I don’t want to go through with it once I hear about it, because I don’t have a choice. He made that abundantly clear earlier, I think. 

I hate him, I remind myself. I hate him, and it doesn’t matter what happened. It doesn’t matter that he gave me an orgasm I’m still thinking about two days later, because while I’ve been thinking about it and analyzing it—obsessing over it—it meant nothing to him. Because he’s a soulless, emotionless prick who only wants to use me when it’s convenient for him. I was stupid to ever have forgotten that. Stupid to ever think that maybe he was starting to care for me.

I’m still seething about everything twenty minutes later when there’s a subdued knock on my door. I stomp over to it and pull it open with enough force to shift the hairs around my face.

Kylo stands in the hall, his tall, muscular frame taking up entirely too much space in the doorway. He has a bundle of clothes tucked under his arm, and I notice a deep crimson colour before looking up to meet his eyes. The flickering candlelight reflects in them, reminding me of sparks from a campfire scattering into the night sky. I take note of what he’s wearing: form-fitting black breeches, a neatly pressed suit jacket he’s left unbuttoned, and a shirt with a wide collar that shows off his clavicle—also black, but with swooping, embroidered accents on the collar and hem in the same shade as whatever awful outfit he’s brought me. His hair is mussed and it tumbles across his brow as he tilts his head a little to the left.

“You don’t look happy to see me,” he comments, feigning surprise.

Arrogant ass, I think poisonously.

“Why should I be?” I grumble, allowing my foul mood to be on full display. “You’re here to dress me up and force me to act like I don’t detest you for a night just so you can get what you want. Not exactly something one would be excited about.”

Something flashes across his face so briefly I’m not even sure I saw it—it almost looked like disappointment. But if it was ever there at all, I can’t tell. He slips back into his mask of cocky nonchalance with perfect ease.

“Point taken,” he says. “May I…?”

He gestures at the room behind me and I reluctantly allow him to enter. I don’t want him here, but I really don’t have a choice.

“Nice room we have here,” he says. “Bed’s a little small, but I suppose we can make it work.”

“No. You’re not sleeping in that bed,” I snap. Dread grates its claws down my spine. I didn’t think about this. He said we had to pretend from the moment we entered the city. That includes our sleeping arrangements at the inn. Fuck.

“Where do you expect me to sleep, then?” He asks, raising his eyebrows in fake shock over my reaction. He’s trying to get a rise out of me. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“The floor?” I answer. “I don’t care. But it won’t be in that bed, I can tell you that much.”

He smirks at me. “We’ll see.”

I open my mouth to lay into him about it but he cuts me off by shoving the clothes into my hands. I groan as I look at it. I don’t know why I didn’t expect it to be a dress. I expected worse aesthetically, yes, but never once did a dress cross my mind. Double fuck.

Kylo unfolds a wooden dressing screen in the corner of the room and gestures at it.

“Go on,” he says. “I’ll tell you what we’re doing while you change.”

I hate absolutely everything about this particular moment right now. I’m certain steam is pouring from my ears as I walk past him and slip behind the screen.

I unfurl the dress to see that it’s floor-length with generous slits up both sides of the light, flowy skirt. The bodice is low-cut, but not nearly as bad as the last gown I was forced to wear—a small mercy. It’s decorated with embroidered embellishments of wildflowers, stitched in thread just a shade darker than the dress. It has long, sheer bell sleeves and is held together by an ungodly amount of ribbon and eyelets in the back. I shudder as I imagine tightening those myself.

“Start talking,” I order as I begin undressing. “I’m certain I’ll be at least an hour getting into this godsforsaken thing.”

I hear him take a deep breath and slowly exhale it before he begins.

“The king requested I meet with the Ufrarian council and their leader, Rufi, to try and get them to commit to joining the king’s forces. He thinks when he becomes the seventh god, he’ll spread his influence across the ocean and claim every kingdom, empire, and island for himself. Ufrar has an impressive army alongside a fleet of battleships, plus they control a huge portion of the trading market, so not only would they be useful by ground and sea, they’d also be able to choke the king’s chosen enemies via a cessation of supply deliveries. You can see why the king would find them to be desirable.” 

“Obviously,” I huff, pulling the dress over my head and shoving my arms through the gauzy sleeves. “You’re not going to convince them to join the king though, are you?”

“Of course not. I’m going to convince them to help me instead.”

I reach behind myself and grab for the ribbons lacing the dress together. I feel determined to be able to do this on my own, but from my first tug I know it’s likely impossible and I’m going to need help. Triple fuck.

 “How are you going to do that?” I ask in a strained voice while trying as hard as I can to do it up by myself.

“Luckily, Rufi has no soft spot for the king,” he explains. I hear the dull sound of the mattress compressing as he sits on it. “After His Highness insulted Rufi to his face a few years back, insinuating that he and all Ufrarians were greedy, unserious fornicators and withdrew trade agreements from them, Rufi was rightfully enraged. We just barely avoided a war there and then. It was an insanely stupid, arrogant move on the king’s part, but it should work to my benefit now.”

“Is that why he sent you on this mission? Because he knew it’d be impossible for you to succeed and he could punish you for it?”

“Definitely.”

“So what are you going to tell Rufi and the council? I assume they were reluctant to meet with the king’s assassin?”

“They were outright offended by the suggestion at first,” he confirms, a smile in his deep voice. “But I convinced them I had something very intriguing to offer them. Their agreement to our meeting was tenuous at best, but I think it’ll all work out in our favour. That’s why I need to impress them—I need to show them that I support them and their culture and would never spit in their face the way the king did. That’s why I need you there. Think of yourself as my secret weapon.”

“I don’t really want to be your weapon,” I mutter. My arms are starting to ache from reaching behind myself trying to do this stupid dress up. “How am I meant to impress them, exactly? Flutter my eyelashes and smile?”

“Well, yes…but aside from pretty women, the Ufrarian council is also fascinated by magic. There aren’t many wielders of any sort in this city, aside from some healers and Seers. One little display of your capabilities and they’ll be far more pliable.”

I frown, unsure how this makes me feel. 

“And you can’t use your shadows because…?” I already know the answer—I need to hear him say it, though.

“Because I don’t want them knowing about me just yet.”

“Right.”

“Think you can handle all that, lover?”

“I suppose, so long as you don’t call me ‘lover’ again.”

“No promises.”

I heave a defeated sigh. This fucking dress. I can’t do it up by myself when I can’t see what I’m doing. Why are corset ties a thing? Why can’t all women’s clothing be more practical? At least I can have my dagger in a garter sheath on my thigh—I think that may be the only thing keeping me from screaming right now.

“Everything alright back there?” Kylo asks.

“No,” I grumble, moving to step out from behind the screen. I don’t want to speak my next words, but I have to. “I need your help.”

“What was that? It almost sounded like you asked for my hel—help…”

His words catch in his throat and he goes quiet when he sees me. Heat was already burning in my face from having to ask him for assistance—the way his eyes trail over my body so slowly, taking in every curve and every inch of exposed skin, only intensifies it. I’m certain I’m the same colour as the dress by the time he finally clears his throat and stands up from the bed.

I spin around, grateful that I can turn my face away from him. 

“Can you do it up? Please?” I offer him the pleasantry through clenched teeth.

He doesn’t reply. When I feel his fingers brush against the skin between my shoulder blades, I jump.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I’ve uh—I’ve just got to tug a little…”

  “O-okay.”

He’s gentle and careful as he adjusts the ribbon all the way down my back, tightening the dress to fit me perfectly. Every now and then I feel his warm fingers graze my skin, or I hear his breath catch behind me, and it makes my pulse race uncontrollably. I feel a little annoyed that I’m letting him affect me this much still, even after my earlier pep talk, but it seems unavoidable. It seems like it doesn’t matter that I want to hate him with every fibre of my being. The fact is, I can’t. Not anymore. I can be mad at him or frustrated by him all I want, but that seems to be as far as I can go now. And every time we’re alone like this—every time he’s gentle like this—that boundary of my emotions seems to shrink just a little bit more.

It’s terrifying.

The second he’s finished tying the ribbons into a bow at the base of my spine, he backs off, as if he can sense my inner turmoil and wants to put me out of my misery.

“There,” he says. His voice sounds rough and he clears his throat. “How does that feel? Is it too tight?”

I take a deep breath in, letting my chest expand, and slowly exhale it. 

“No, it’s perfect,” I answer him softly. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

We both go still for a moment that seems to stretch for eternity, each of us staring at the other in a way that holds far too much significance. It almost hurts to see him looking at me with no cruelty on his lips or boredom in his eyes. He’s looking at me like he has something on the back of his tongue that he wants to say, but he knows if he speaks it out loud it will damn him. It will damn both of us.

I wish I didn’t have those same words stuck in my own mouth. But I do. They get increasingly more bitter every time I have to swallow them back down.

I clear my throat and shatter eternity when I can take no more. He blinks and stands a little straighter.

“Is it time to pretend?” I ask, my voice a little weaker than I would’ve hoped.

“Yes, I suppose so,” he replies. “Are you ready?”

“No. But if we wait for me to be ready we’ll never accomplish anything here.”

He offers me his arm and I reluctantly take it. My hip bumps gently against his thigh as we walk out of our room and down to the lobby. 

The game has officially begun.

Chapter Text

The city council building in Ufrar is a sprawling mansion crafted from redstone and quartz. Flowering ivy crawls over every inch of its front facade, except for where it’s been carefully trimmed and redirected around the doors, windows, and signs. It even has sprawling lawns in the back full of topiaries, tall and ancient trees, rose bushes, a crystal fountain, and public seating. 

It seems to be a hub of activity tonight, with nicely-dressed people mulling about everywhere, toting flutes of glittering champagne while their laughter echoes down the street. 

My chest tightens. This is yet another one of those situations where I can’t help but feel like I don’t belong here. I’m a long way from my ramshackle hut back in Varia and tonight, I miss it more than ever.

“Is there a party going on?” I ask, unintentionally gripping Kylo’s arm tighter as we walk up to the front doors.

“Always,” he replies. “I’m not sure these people do anything other than celebrate, if I’m honest.”

“What are they celebrating?”

“Being rich, I assume.”

Jazz music and the smell of roses surrounds us as we enter the building. Several pairs of curious eyes land on us and my first instinct is to shy away. I slow my steps in an attempt to slink behind Ren, but he holds me tight to his side and leans down to speak by my ear.

“We have just as much of a right to be here as all these people do.”

I swallow a hard lump and plaster a weak smile onto my face, working hard to avoid making direct eye contact with any of the strangers.

A man in a hunter’s green suit and gold bow tie offers us each a flute of champagne from the tray he’s holding. Kylo takes two, wrapping his fingers carefully around the thin stems so he can hold both in one hand without having to let go of me. I take one from him and offer a meek thanks to the server, who nods and strides off.

I’ve never had champagne before. I’ve never had any occasion to drink much alcohol before either, aside from a glass or two of wine or ale every now and again. The champagne is tart and fizzes on my tongue. I’m not sure I like it, but I’ll keep drinking it if it can take the edge off.

We walk around for a few minutes, sipping our drinks, admiring the art, and memorizing the building layout as we go, just in case we need a swift exit. Eventually we make our way onto the back lawns with their glowing lanterns and tinkling fountain, surrounded by couples and groups sitting in the grass giggling or kissing. I blush as I watch them—they’re so nonchalant about it, like there’s nothing more natural in the world than passionately kissing someone in front of a yard full of people. Will I be able to do that, if I have to? 

“Where is the council chamber, exactly?” I ask, casting my eyes around the back of the building for anything obvious and finding nothing.

Kylo shrugs. “Beats me. Probably in one of the upper levels. They’ll summon us when they’re ready for us.”

I chew my lower lip nervously. “Summon us how?”

He gives me a calm smile. “Don’t worry. We’re going to be fine.”

“It’s a little hard not to worry right now, if you really think about it,” I quip, glowering at his roguish face. “I’m in an unfamiliar place in a revealing dress, and there’s so much pressure to be something I’m not—”

“Just think about that night by the river and you’ll pull the act off flawlessly,” he says, his mouth lifting up on one side.

My face heats. “This is not the time nor the place—”

He stops me, pulling his arm from my grasp and turning around to face me, then walks me backwards until I feel the tickling leaves of a topiary at my back. When I look up at him, he’s inches away, his amber-flecked eyes tracing the lines of my face like he wants to memorize every angle and mark. 

“On the contrary,” he murmurs, “there’s no better place for it. We’re lovers here, remember. Just like any of these other couples all around us.”

My eyes flash to the side, where I see two people nearly undressed, tangled up in one another behind a rose bush. My heart thuds behind my ribs.

As scared as I am, Kylo’s right. I have a role to play here and so far I feel like I’m failing at it. 

His hand has come to rest on my hip, warm and firm, his thumb gently caressing my side. I allow myself to take one deep breath before I cup his cheek with a hand, feeling the rough stubble there beneath my palm.

“Lovers,” I repeat, “right.”

I press my mouth to his softly, but I let myself linger just long enough that his hand tightens its grip on me. Just when my lips glance off of his, he recaptures me, kissing me with more passion than I thought would be warranted.

But I’m not complaining.

His hair is silky soft between my fingers. I’m thinking about him sleeping next to me while I play with it when we finally break. I suck gently on my swollen bottom lip and look up at him. 

I swear there’s stars in those eyes.

He’s looking at me differently than he ever has before—like perhaps I’m unravelling him too quickly and it’s taken him by surprise. I’m about to open my mouth and ask him if he’s still acting, when a voice causes us both to freeze.

“Master Kylo?”

We’re interrupted by a petite blonde woman in a sky blue cocktail dress, her hair in an elaborate up-do. She’s standing with her hands clasped politely in front of her body, smiling at us like she knows exactly what she interrupted and it isn’t phasing her one bit.

“…Yes?” Kylo says, still holding me by the waist.

“The council will see you now. Please, follow me.”

I take a deep breath before we follow the woman up a spiral staircase with an intricate wooden railing. I watch her as she walks ahead of us, listening to the clacking sound of her heeled shoes on the tiles. Her curly up-do bounces with each step she takes. She’s so comfortable here, wearing fancy clothes, and I’m so not. I envy her a little for that all while I harbour a fear that I’ll ruin this entire scheme.

She leads us past rows of sour-faced guards into a massive room with wide cathedral windows along the side walls, every second window being stained glass depictions of the gods. Trees in massive terracotta pots grow bushy and vibrant between them. The ceiling is painted elaborately and it takes me a minute to realize it’s a depiction of the city of Ufrar with a pastel dawn sky as its background. 

In the middle of the stained wood floor is a long oak table adorned with figs, cheeses, sliced bread, butter molded into various shapes, two roasted, glazed partridges and delicate, cured meats. I’ve never seen such opulence on one table before and my mouth waters at the same time that I feel disturbed by the blatant display of wealth. 

Twelve people are gathered around the table, all seated in carved mahogany chairs. Every single one of them is beautiful and dressed so nicely, with most of them dripping in jewels. There’s eight men in the group and almost all of them have a woman either in their lap or standing behind them, coyly touching their hair or rubbing their shoulders. Sweat dampens the back of my neck. What exactly would I be made to do here tonight?

A man with warm brown skin and a sharply trimmed and styled salt-and-pepper beard, dressed in robes of aquamarine and gold, stands from his seat at the far end of the table. He beckons to us with a hand and a reserved smile on his face, which bears distinctive, charming laugh lines and crow’s feet.

“Ah, our guests have arrived! Please, Enforcer, take a seat.”

His voice is warm and welcoming, but I’m willing to bet it’s all for show. I can tell by the way their eyes follow us through the room that they’re excited to try and make fools of us both tonight. I do look forward to proving them wrong, to be fair.

Kylo leads me to the open seat to the right of the man in the turquoise robes. I balk for a second, looking around for my own chair and confused why there aren’t more, but then Kylo’s arm wraps around my waist and pulls me firmly onto his lap. 

I turn my head to look at him, incredulity in my stare, but he gives me a loaded yet subtle look that says everybody else is doing it. Just go with it.

Lovers, remember?

I plaster a soft smile on my face, making sure to look at him as adoringly as I can manage before directing my attention back to the council. A servant sets two wine glasses filled with a rich red in front of us. Meanwhile, the man sitting on our right is grinning at us.

“Enforcer, welcome, welcome!” He exclaims. “And who might your stunning partner be?”

I smile and offer him my hand, which he promptly takes, placing a firm kiss upon my knuckles.

“My name is Reyvan,” I say, lowering my register for effect. 

“Such a lovely name!” An auburn-haired woman with large glasses and rosy cheeks exclaims from her spot at the other end of the table.

“Such a lovely lady,” the man beside us croons. “Truly a remarkable beauty.”

Ren’s fingers tighten possessively where they rest above my knee, squeezing my thigh hard. Beneath the table, I brush my hand over his, encouraging him to relax. It works, for now.

More than one person in this room is looking at me with desire in their eyes, though. If Ren can’t keep his cool, maybe it won’t be me we have to worry about after all.

“The Enforcer, Kylo Ren, in our chambers. What a sight.” A severe-looking woman with short, slicked-back platinum hair and hawkish green eyes smiles slyly at us from across the table. Her gaze is piercing as she captures our attention.

“Indeed,” the man beside us croons.

“Thank you for accepting my request to meet,” Kylo says, keeping his voice calm and even. “I realize it was somewhat short notice.”

“And what is the reason for this meeting, by chance?” A man with broad shoulders and fine dark hair cut close to his scalp narrows his icy blue eyes at us, doing nothing to hide his derision.

“Now, now, Alec! Introductions are in order first, surely? Propriety, and all that,” the man beside us interjects. He casts a warm smile at Kylo and I. “I am Rufi of course, the chief of this council. Pleased to meet you.”

He gestures to the platinum blonde woman.

“This here to my right is Mavis, my loyal second hand.”

She cuts us a thin smile, her eyes gleaming. I’m reminded of the way a snake’s eyes track a mouse in the grass before it strikes.

Next, he introduces a lean, older man with deep brown skin wearing a royal purple ensemble with a matching fez.

“That’s Micah, then next to him is Alec, then we have Fiorina, Vincent, Emmeline down there at the end, Bértran, Conrad, Clara, Dameon, and Niles next to you.”

I’ve forgotten over half the names immediately after hearing them, but I smile and nod at each person in turn anyways.

“There! Introductions have been made,” Rufi announces. He steeples his fingers atop the table and rests his chin on them, gutting us with a look. 

“Now you may explain why you’re here, Enforcer.”

It’s enough to make my pulse jump with apprehension. They really don’t want us here. I take a long, nervous sip of my wine. My legs ache with the desire to stand and leave, but Kylo answers so nonchalantly I could almost believe he doesn’t sense the choking tension filling the room.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you,” he explains. “The king sent me to try and convince you to align your army and navy with him. He wants the godstones, you see, so…I’m sure you can guess where this is going.”

Harsh laughter cuts the air. 

“Oh, I needed a good chuckle today.” Niles, a pale, thin man with warm brown hair wipes a tear from his forest green eyes.

“But you’re not going to do what he asked you to, are you, Enforcer?” Mavis is smirking at us. For a second I can’t help but wonder if she reads minds. Can she see our hand before we’ve even dealt it?

Kylo smiles slowly. “No,” he confirms, “I am not.”

“Hmmm,” Rufi hums thoughtfully, his eyebrows raising slightly as he assesses us.

Good, I think. He’s intrigued.

“Am I to believe you’re going rogue?” He asks.

“Very.”

“Ah, then do tell.” A man near the other end of the table—I think he’s the one Rufi called Vincent—radiates curiosity. He reminds me of the cougars that live in the forest back home: cunning and deadly, with a sandy colouring and dark eyes. A woman leans over him, rubbing his shoulders with delicate hands. I can’t help but blush when I catch her nipping at his earlobe.

“I don’t want you to fight for the king,” Kylo explains. “I want you to fight for me.”

Silence spreads throughout the room, swelling to a nearly painful degree before it’s broken.

“Explain,” Alec says sharply. He’s still looking at us like we’re a threat.

So, Kylo explains. He tells them how he wants to kill the king and take the throne, and he divulges his secret: that he’s the forgotten prince—the blood heir. I sit as still as a statue in his lap while he divulges all of this; tense apprehension freezes my blood in my veins. 

“I knew it,” Mavis says when he’s finished, leaning back in her seat with a satisfied grin. 

Kylo tilts his head at her. “Did you?” 

“You have your mother’s eyes,” Mavis explains, “but your father’s face.”

I feel Kylo stiffen beneath me, just briefly, but I take note of it.

“You knew my father?” Kylo asks, successfully keeping his voice calm.

“Oh, yes,” Mavis nods. “He did a lot of work for us. He was an excellent smuggler, you know.”

A smuggler. I take note of that, too. It raises several questions in my mind. What was he smuggling? Did Kylo know his father worked for the Ufrarian council? Did the queen fall in love with an outlaw? A pirate?

“I don’t believe it for a second,” Alec spits, shaking his head in disgust. “This must all be part of some grand scheme. He’s lying!”

“You have a Seer in your employ for just this purpose, don’t you? Ask her.”

My, Kylo really is feeling brazen tonight. A Seer could answer that question, yes, but what if she saw something more? Something she shouldn’t?

“Is my word not good enough for you, Alec?” Mavis quips, shooting him a derisive glare.

“Rarely,” Alec grumbles.

Rufi sighs next to us and waves a hand in the air. 

“Cecile, will you please be a dear and fetch Juno for us?”

The blonde woman who’d summoned us trots off through a door at the back of the chambers. 

“So unnecessary,” Mavis sighs to herself, rolling her eyes.

“There’s no harm in making sure, my dear,” Rufi offers, patting the table in her direction. He then turns his dark brown eyes on me. “Reyvan, darling, would you like something to nibble on?”

“No, thank you, my lord,” I say gently. I lean into Ren, settling myself deeper into his lap. He tenses a little beneath me as I press against him, and I can feel his reaction gaining strength against my backside. “It all looks so lovely, but I’m afraid I’m already stuffed.”

I don’t know what possesses me to say it like that, but I can’t take it back now that it’s been spoken. No one seems to mind, however. Kylo’s hand slides casually higher up my thigh, his fingers squeezing possessively,  just as Rufi smiles knowingly at me. 

“Ah, of course you are,” he says with a small chuckle and a wink. “I take that to mean you’ve been enjoying your time in our city so far?”

“So far, yes,” I confirm, ignoring the way my anxious stomach roils. “I look forward to seeing more of it.”

Kylo’s fingers glide easily past the slit in the side of my dress until his hand is curled over the bare skin of my thigh. He drums his fingers idly on the sensitive inner flesh of it, so close to the apex yet he moves no further. I try to hide my gasp as desire licks up my spine like flames. I lean back against him, relaxing. And if he notices my legs opening a little, ever so slowly? Oh, well.

Is he still acting? Am I? My lower half doesn’t seem to think so. If this is acting, I’m afraid I’m getting completely swept up in it. Maybe it’s the alcohol I’ve been drinking. 

Just then, Cecile walks back into the chambers. Following in her shadow is a tall woman in hooded, white robes with two bright red bands encircling the sleeve around her right upper arm to signify her high rank. She has flawless light brown skin and keen hazel eyes. Her dark hair is all micro-braids, cascading over her left shoulder and falling to her hip.

She’s stunning, and though her face seems kind, as her eyes land on Kylo I can’t help the cold chill of fear that settles deep within me. This could all go so very wrong.

Juno faces Rufi and bends at the waist in a show of respect.

“My lord,” she says in a voice like honey. 

“Ah, Juno! A pleasure as always to see you,” Rufi says brightly. “We have a matter we’d like your opinion on, dear.”

“What may I help with?” Juno inquires. 

“The king’s Enforcer tells us he’s the blood heir to the throne,” Alec says snidely. “I think he’s lying. Is he?”

 Juno turns her eyes on us and I swallow. She walks around to us and offers Kylo a polite smile as she hovers her hand over his shoulder behind my back.

“May I?” She asks.

Kylo nods his assent.

I’ve never seen a Seer at work before, so when Juno blinks and her eyes become a milky white with no iris or pupil, I gasp, but I stay completely still. At the same time, my heart is pounding so loudly I can hear it in my ears.

After just a few seconds, Juno’s eyes return to normal just as they fall to Kylo’s face, wide with disbelief and intrigue. When she looks from him to me and back again, a small, barely discernible smile plays on the right corner of her mouth. She’s looking at us like she certainly knows something we don’t and it sets my mind on fire. I tilt my head, finding it to be incredibly difficult to keep myself from asking her aloud what she saw. 

But before I can do so, she stands straight and looks directly at Alec with a pleasant expression on her face.

“He is not lying, my lord.”

Alec blanches, his mouth falling open. “What?” He demands.

“He is the deceased queen’s son and the rightful heir to the throne of Ebonreach.” 

“I told you,” Mavis sneers righteously down the table. 

“Shut up, you old bat,” Alec seethes. One of the women in the room walks over to him and leans down to whisper something in his ear but he waves her away, annoyed.

“There,” Kylo says, looking around the table. “Any other doubts? No?”

When no one speaks, Rufi reaches out and pats Juno on the arm. “Thank you, my dear. You may leave us now.”

Juno bows again and begins to take her leave. I so badly want to stand and chase after her to find out what she knows, but somehow I keep my seat.

Likely because my seat is so warm and…attentive.

“So, Your Highness,” Rufi says with a sly grin. “What exactly is your proposal for us, hm?”

“The only way to get the usurper off the throne will be to remove him from the game board permanently,” Kylo explains. “I think you all know that. In order to accomplish that goal successfully, I will need a team of allies within the castle and without it, infiltrating the king’s army without his knowledge.”

“You want us to send our men on a suicide mission?” Alec says incredulously.

“Alec…” Rufi warns.

“He may have a valid concern,” Emmeline pipes up, adjusting her glasses on her dainty nose. “Doesn’t the king have a blood mage he keeps with him at all times? Is that not the very reason that no one has been able to unseat him, even though he took the throne by force?”

All eyes land on us in synchronicity.

“He does,” Kylo confirms. “She has my blood at her altar, too. But I have a solution for that.” 

He draws my hair over my right shoulder, allowing his fingers to brush down my arm. 

“I have a secret weapon.”

Mavis tilts her head at me. I can feel her stare trying to puzzle me out. I do my best not to show how it makes my skin crawl.

“And what is the weapon, exactly?” Clara, a mousy woman with a severe black bob asks. “A beautiful woman?”

Kylo smirks. “Oh, she’s much more than that. Why don’t you show them, my little witch?”

Eyebrows rise at his nickname for me. I take a slow breath and summon my magic to my palm, where it swirls in a tight ball of night-black. I pull more shadow from all the corners and crevices of the council chambers, until the ball of magic has doubled in size. Then I send it down the table, where it extinguishes the candlesticks set amongst the food. I allow it to trickle quickly across everyone’s vision—not enough to scare them, just enough to show them.

When I’m done, the shadows disperse, and everyone is looking at me with wide-eyed wonder. I drop my hands into my lap and dig my nails into my palms to avoid flinching from the attention. I’m used to people fleeing from me when I display my ability. This is a very strange and confusing experience for me. 

“A Shadowsmith…” A man with wild red curls and a scar on his lip—Bértran, perhaps—breathes the word in disbelief.

“And a good one, too,” Ren adds. His fingers climb an inch up my inner thigh—no doubt his way of saying “well done.” I sigh contentedly and move my leg so that his muscular thigh rests squarely between mine. I roll my hips lightly against it. The pressure it applies makes my breath catch in my throat. Kylo makes a quiet growling noise at my back and tightens his grip on me.

“The king will believe she’s on his side—that she’ll do his bidding happily and willingly. But she’ll really be working to break the blood mage’s spell; fighting alongside me to destroy the king and all his allies from within.”

“Wow,” Emmeline whispers. “I never thought I’d see one in person…”

“That sounds all fine,” Mavis says thoughtfully. “But what’s in it for Ufrar? Yes, we’d all love to see that usurper die slowly and painfully. But what would our long term reward be? Surely there’s something more tangible you can offer us.”

“Of course,” Kylo says. “Firstly, any contracts the king outsourced as a way of punishing you will be returned to you. I will finally reopen trade routes to the Coille Islands to relax some of the strain on the market I’m sure you’ve been bearing the brunt of. Plus, the crown will invest in the development of Ufrar, so that you may achieve your long-standing goal of expanding your city and its port, improving your fleet on the water and increasing efficiency.”

Silence swells around the table. I can see the council members looking at one another, like they’re communicating with their minds. 

It’s Micah that finally speaks.

“How much exactly would the crown invest…?”

Kylo shrugs. “Two million gold once a year for five years?”

“Three million,” Niles barters.

“Done.”

“With interest?” Micah asks, squinting at us.

“If everything is done right and your predictions are correct, I’m sure I’ll get that money back in full and then some in that time frame, wouldn’t you say?” 

“The predictions are correct,” Clara chimes in. “We’ve been designing this plan for six years, Enforcer. We know it will work, the only reason we haven’t accomplished it is because we’d need to ask the crown for assistance and we couldn’t do that because…well because the king is a bastard.”

Kylo chuckles darkly. “That’s one word for him.”

“No matter how many times we reconfigured the plan, the amount of money required was always just above budget,” Rufi sighs. “The city building and port expansions were just barely manageable, but ships aren’t cheap these days, nor are the people who build said ships…”

“Are you asking me to send tradesmen from the Royal Navy to aid in building your ships?”

“I think it would make us more amenable to the idea of collaborating, yes,” Rufi nods.

“I’m sure I can make something work, then,” Kylo agrees. “But that is all I will offer you. I don’t know what the ledgers look like, nor the royal coffers, but I can assume all is in relatively good standing if the king is raring to start a war. Still, I will need to actually ascend the throne before I can make any assurances. You understand why a partnership would be beneficial to us both.”

“Of course, of course,” Rufi says. I can practically see the gleam of ambition in his eyes. 

“All I ask is for three hundred of your men to journey to Marbhan under the guise of recruitment. I’ll train them and station them throughout the castle, and when the time comes, they will need to help me fight to reclaim the throne. I’ll tell the king you agreed to supply some of your men to bolster his army, under the conditions I just mentioned. I’ll lie and say you’ll consider sending armed ships and altering trade routes if those conditions are met. This way, though the king will hopefully be dead before they all come to fruition, I can ensure you get what you’re promised quicker.”

“He’ll believe that without questioning it?” Dameon, a man with black hair that falls past his shoulders and sharp cheekbones, asks incredulously. 

“The king stopped leading his army years ago. Now, I lead it. He’ll ask no questions. He won’t see beyond getting what he wants. He won’t suspect a thing.”

“Hmm, you’ve certainly given us much to think about!” Rufi says. “Might we discuss this as a council tonight and tomorrow? I will send someone to fetch you once we’ve reached a decision.”

Kylo nods. “That would be suitable.”

“Excellent! In the meantime, I encourage you and your lady to explore the city. Oh, or should I call her my queen? Assuming that’s what she’ll become when you take the crown.”

My face pales, and I almost laugh at the absurd notion. Me? Queen? In what world?

“Oh, that’s—” I begin to politely refute it, quickly coming up with some lie about being his paramour and hoping to get away with it, when Kylo interrupts me.

“Indeed. She will be your queen.”

The breath leaves me in a soft whoosh. My entire body suddenly feels numb, and I want to turn around and slap him. He’s lying. He’s not going to make me queen—I don’t want to be queen. And what will this council think when Kylo takes the throne and I am not wearing a crown at his side? 

Why in all ten hells has he put me in this position?! Does he even realize what he’s just done?

He probably does realize it. It was likely his intention. It’s all a ploy—a manipulation. He just wants to give them the answers they expect. I knew it from the start. 

I suddenly feel sick to my stomach.

Rufi bows his head at me and it intensifies the queasy feeling.

“Apologies then, Your Highness.”

Your Highness. This is all such a joke. That title and my name do not mesh. They never will. It’s a life I don’t want and I’m suddenly tired of pretending otherwise.

This wasn’t part of the plan. This isn’t what we discussed. I wasn’t prepared for it, and now I’m enraged.

“It’s quite alright,” I murmur, smiling warmly at Rufi, betraying none of the building inferno inside.

“Thank you for bringing us this information,” Rufi says. “Now, have a good rest of your night, won’t you?”

Chapter Text

I don’t speak a word the entire way back to the inn. It’s only when I close the door of our room behind us that I feel my defences begin to crack.

I watch him through stinging eyes as he removes his suit jacket, tossing it over the back of an armchair. He keeps his back to me as he unbuttons his shirt part-way.

“I think that went as well as it could have,” he says with a sigh.

“Why did you tell them I would be queen?”

My voice sounds flat. Pained. Weakened. All the things I feel inside laid bare for him in nine simple words.

He turns to face me and I watch his expression fall as he notes the glimmer of tears in my eyes. I hastily blink them back, commanding them silently not to fall. They’d be wasted on this moment anyway.

When he says nothing, my rage licks up my throat like a growing blaze, scorching my insides.

“You know it’s a lie,” I say, biting out each word. “You do not care for me like that and so you have no intention of making me your queen, nor do I want to be. So why did you say it?”

“Rey…” My name is a whisper, a breath off his lips. It’s the last thing I want to hear from him.

“Why?”

My shout echoes around the room, chilling its atmosphere instantly. I watch as his expression darkens, his lips pulling into a tight line.

“You’re making assumptions of me again,” he accuses stonily.

“I’m making assumptions?!” My voice rises an octave with incredulity.

“You say I do not care for you,” he snarls. “That is a lie, one which I think you tell yourself because the truth terrifies you.”

I shake my head, anger making me tremble. “How dare you?” I snap. “It is the truth, don’t deny it! You said you need me to accomplish your goal. All I am to you is a valuable card in your hand. Anything you’ve done to ingratiate yourself has been a deception. Tonight, you used me to gain the council’s favour and you proved my point flawlessly.”

“I didn’t use you.”

I’m reaching behind my back, fumbling blindly with the ribbon of my dress, desperate to loosen it as it suddenly feels too restrictive on my distressed lungs, but his words disturb me. I glare icily at him, annoyed that he chooses to continue lying to me.

“Shall I remind you what you said? ‘I need a beautiful woman’ and ‘one little display of your abilities and they’ll be far more pliable.’”

“There’s a difference between me using you and me needing you, Rey. I need you.” His voice breaks and it startles me to hear it, but I do my best to stand my ground.

“Right, you need me,” I say coldly. “You need me so you can have your crown, and then you’ll send me away like nothing I did for you mattered.”

“I don’t want—!” He stops himself, though his shout sends tremors down my spine. He sighs and fixes his eyes on me, and for the first time I notice how tired they look.

“I don’t want the fucking crown,” he growls, fighting against his restraint. “I’ve never wanted it. But I am the only one who can free this realm from the tyrant currently trying to rule over all of it. This is not a responsibility I desire, it is simply one I have to carry. And you—you are not just a piece of the puzzle. I thought you were, when I first committed to this, but now—”

He chokes on his words and sighs again, dragging a hand down his face. 

“If you want me to send you away when it’s all over, that’s—we can figure it out. If you want it. But I’ll give you the cure first.”

Fresh, hot anger bubbles up within me at his words. I’d been stewing over this one for days and suddenly every cruel thought I’d had is fighting for dominance on my tongue.

“Don’t get me started on your cure,” I snarl. “Rowan told me all about it. About what you plan to do for it. I will not allow it. I don’t want it, if that’s the cost.”

“What?” His eyes narrow, his mouth opening in disbelief. “Rey, all you’ve ever wanted is to be free of your curse. I can give you that! I spent months trying to find it, and I don’t care what it costs me—”

“But I do!” I scream it, allowing the words to shred my tightening throat. “This will all have been for nothing if you lose yourself because of me!”

His expression turns sour. “I didn’t realize you were so noble.”

“One of us has to be.” 

I tug uselessly at the ties of my dress as frustration swells further within me.

“Fuck, then what do you want?” He snaps, throwing his arms in the air. 

“I want you to admit the truth! Admit to me that none of this was real! The training, the flirting, the comfort, that night by the river, even what happened tonight. Tell me honestly that none of it mattered to you. You’ve captured me and dragged me all this way just to use me. Telling those people I’m going to be queen is just another strategic move in your game. It must be, since you’ve never asked me if that’s what I want. End this pointless torture and just say that!”

He goes still. Shadows skitter along his arms and curl around his shoulders. I watch him warily as his eyes become cold and mean.

“That’s what you want to hear?” He asks dispassionately. 

“The truth, yes!”

“The truth.” He repeats after me, taking two steps closer to me as he speaks. His shadows lick along the corded muscles of his neck and across his firm chest before disappearing.

“The truth is that I have let myself down yet again,” he explains slowly, with miserable agony threaded into his words. “I wasn’t supposed to care for you. I didn’t want to, and I didn’t think I would. You seemed so weak and battered when I first met you, I thought it’d be easy to neglect any feelings I might develop for you. What you think to be the truth was in fact my goal, but I failed miserably.”

“What are you saying…?”

“I tried to keep you at a distance. I tried so fucking hard to deny the strange pull I felt towards you from the moment I saw you. But the more time I spent around you the harder it became to keep up the act. So I tried pushing you away, entrenching your hatred for me. Making it permanent and irrevocable. But your fire always burned brighter and hotter than mine, and in the end…I’m the one who was set aflame.”

I turn my face away from him, because what I see there is suddenly too potent and painful for me to look upon. I busy my hands with the stupid ribbon, but I’m not really putting in the effort to undo it anymore. His confessions hold me captive.

“I don’t understand what you’re telling me,” I mutter weakly. It’s a half-lie; I think I understand, but there’s a terrified part of me that doesn’t want to.

“You said I don’t care about you,” he continues. I can feel his eyes scorching my skin even though I can’t meet their stare. “You said I’m using you. That was the goal. It is not the outcome.”

“You’re just lying again—”

“Look at me.”

It hurts, but I do it. Shock lances through me when I notice the unshed tears in his eyes, and how pale he is. He’s never looked so human or so fragile, and it frightens me at first.

“If all of that was true, and I was as cruel as you want me to be, why would I even put in the effort of pretending? If I didn’t care, and I wanted you to hurt, I would tell you that none of it mattered. I would tell you I’m using you, just to wound you. Do you not see that? I would never have wasted my time and held you as you cried in that forest, feeling your every teardrop as though they were my own. I would never have sought you out by the river that night. I wouldn’t have brought you food. I would not have yielded to you and I would not have fought fairly.

“I did all those things because I wanted to. Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you, obsessing over you, for weeks.”

There’s pain in his voice, like it’s torture for him to even say these things in my presence. And I feel the ache of them myself like a physical blow to my chest. I want to refuse him. I want to tell him to stop talking, that I don’t want to hear these things—but I can’t form the words. So I just stand there before him, silent, with tears dripping down my cheeks.

He swallows, and I can see the effort it takes to force it down his throat. I can see the pain tightening the muscles of his body, ensnaring him.

“I shouldn’t have told them you would be queen, you’re right about that,” he says, his voice weakening. “But when they asked…I realized that’s what I want. I know it’s wrong of me. I know it’s your decision, not mine, and I know you don’t want that for yourself. So I shouldn’t have said it…I shouldn’t even desire it. But breathing life into that fantasy, even if that’s all it ever is, made me feel lighter than I have felt since before my mother died. 

“If I have used you for anything, I’ll concede that I used you then, in that moment, just so I could touch happiness again for a fleeting second.”

The weight of his words suffocates me. Never once did I think that would be his reason. The shock of it passes through me like a bitter, cold wind.

“What if—” I shake my head, struggling to speak and to accept what he’s told me. I scramble and search for a way to refute all of it. I feel that intrinsic need to cast doubt on this again before it consumes me. “Maybe it’s just because we’re linked by our magic. Maybe the part of me that lives in you is confusing us.”

“If that were true, don’t you think I would have found you sooner and under better circumstances? If I sensed you out there, before I knew you—this missing piece of me—and I felt what I feel for you now, I would have gone to every dark and dismal corner of this realm to find you. But I didn’t know.”

Stop it, I want to say. Stop breaking down my barriers. It’s safer to leave them standing. 

And it’s all just too much for me. 

I turn away from him, walking back towards the door, still fumbling with the ribbon if only to keep my shaking hands busy. 

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, my voice wavering. “We can’t.”

“Why?”

“We just can’t—”

“Why can’t we, Rey? Tell me why.”

“Because! Because I can’t—I can’t fucking breathe, and I can’t get th-this stupid dress o-off—”

Suddenly, he’s closed the distance between us, and he now stands right behind me. His fingers brush against my bare thigh just briefly; I feel the loss of my dagger there right before he uses it to slice clean up the back of my dress, shredding the ribbons that were keeping it tight to my body. I take a deep lungful of air as the relief loosens my chest, but my mind is reeling.

He replaces the dagger in its garter sheath without a word and gives me a moment before he speaks. He sounds as breathless as I feel. 

“There. Now tell me why, Rey.”

I’m still for a full minute, just catching my breath, before I dare to turn back around and look at him. I’m surprised to see there’s no anger or resentment on his face. He’s just carefully calm, but I can tell the foundation of that mask is made of twigs that could snap if my words are too heavy.

“I think it’s your turn to be honest with yourself,” he says softly. “Be brave now.”

 It takes several deep, slow, shuddering breaths before I can form the words I’ve been too terrified to say out loud.

“I’m af-fraid…I’m afraid that if I give in and admit my feelings, I’ll be happy for a moment in time before it will be taken from me. It’s been that way my entire life. My parents, my first guardian in Varia, the first boy I ever—they all went away. They died and left me alone or cast me out. 

“I’m afraid to let myself be happy, because it’s always so fleeting and cruel in the end.”

“I know it’s frightening.” He whispers to me, and his words are like a soothing caress. He’s mere inches away and I can smell the fresh wintery scent of him. It’s nearly enough to calm me. “I know you’ve been betrayed before. I know I’ve hurt you before and you have no reason to trust me now; you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“That’s part of the problem,” I sniffle. “I want to. I want to let you hold me and I want to know you won’t hurt me, but look at the situation we face. Can you really keep that promise? If the king finds out you harbour affection for me, it could ruin everything. So you must be cruel and unfeeling towards me. And I fear that ruse will be much harder and more unnatural for me to maintain than pretending that I have feelings for you was.”

He offers me a weak, fleeting smile. “But we’ve gotten so good at pretending, haven’t we?”

“…And if I tell you I wasn’t really pretending tonight?” I ask it on the breath of a whisper, looking up at him through eyelashes gilded with moonlit tears. “If I tell you our kiss, and the way your hands on my skin made me feel, wasn’t an act? What then?”

I see his pupils dilate until only a thin ring of brown and green surrounds them as they fall to the shape of my mouth. My heart races, terrified and thrilled at the same time for whatever will come next.

“Then I would tell you it was not an act for me, either,” he murmurs, and sincerity rings clearly in his gentle voice. “I would tell you that I have been conscious of your every movement and breath from the second you walked out of your home with your teeth bared and a dagger aimed at my throat.”

 My heart constricts and I extend a tentative hand towards him. My fingers trace the collar of his shirt, then fall to the skin he’d exposed at his chest. I can feel his heart racing in time with mine beneath my touch and it brings a flood of colour to my face as molten heat trickles down my spine, settling between my legs.

His hands find my waist and hold me close to him. I realize that nothing has felt so right as this: his hands on my body, keeping me steady. 

“Can we let ourselves be happy, even just for tonight?” He whispers. His hair falls across his forehead and brushes softly along the top of my nose.

I nod as I let my fingers entangle themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck, delighting in the silky feel of it.

“Let’s start with tonight.”

His kiss is gentle and lingering at first, as though he’s savouring every moment and every breath we share. I feel weightless in his arms. 

His hand trails up my throat to cup my jaw and the back of my head, and he grows more insistent. The pressure of his mouth on mine increases and I eagerly match it. A soft, keening noise comes from somewhere in my throat like a needy sigh. One of his firm thighs slips between mine, and I feel him everywhere. My fingers reach for his shirt and I pull until I hear the skittering noises of the rest of his buttons hitting the floor. I shove it off of his shoulders, and though it makes him release me, his hands return immediately after his arms escape the sleeves. 

I will not leave any room for uncertainty tonight. I will let myself be greedy, just this once. I will have what I want, and what I want is him.

I feel his teeth scrape along my lower lip and I melt into him further, pressing my chest to his and wanting him to touch every inch of me. As if he can hear my thoughts, he wraps his arms around my backside and lifts. I curl my legs around his hips as he carries me the few remaining feet to the bed, which is soft and forgiving beneath me.

He pushes me until my back meets the wall the bed is positioned against, climbing onto the mattress after me, his lips never leaving my skin. He trails his mouth down my throat, across my collarbone, and along the top of my chest while his hands carefully urge the sleeves of my dress off my shoulders. He leans back after a while and helps me remove my arms from the dress. His dark eyes lock onto my face all the while, filling me with aching need.

“Have you done this before?” He asks the question casually, as though he were asking about the weather, and it makes me giggle.

“Yes,” I laugh, “I have.”

“Mm, I see.” He nods his head as he helps me remove my elbow from the last sleeve. “And was it good?”

I laugh again and he smirks, clearly glad to have succeeded in entertaining me. 

“Why do you ask? Are you jealous?”

His eyes flash playfully. “Depends on how you answer.”

I roll my eyes, leaning in to kiss his lips slowly. Something about him demands to be teased into madness.

“It was good,” I lie.

His smirk broadens, deepening his smile lines and showing teeth. He shakes his head very slowly.

“No,” he purrs. His fingers hook the bodice of my dress and pull it down gradually, exposing my breasts. “It was nothing compared to the things I want to do to you, Reyvan.”

My throat goes dry and any and all sense leaves my body as his lips crash into mine. One hand tangles into my hair while the other cups my breast. His thumb brushes over my nipple and I jerk at the sharp sensation it creates deep in my belly. 

I need him. I want him closer. When his lips close around my nipple, I cry out, desperate for more and not caring about the thickness of the walls. Every stroke and flick of his tongue elicits an immediate response from my body. I feel like a lightning bolt in a thunderstorm, crashing through the stormy clouds and lighting the sky to block out the stars. But like the lightning, his touch is gone too soon, and before I can question it, he’s pulling me down onto my back across the bed and slipping away from me, falling down my body and leaving kisses in his wake.

My brow furrows and I watch him as he goes farther and farther, until I hear his knees settle onto the floor. His eyes hold mine captive as he shifts the front panel of my dress off to the side, baring me to him completely. He makes a noise of satisfaction when he realizes there is no further barrier for him.

My heart flutters like a young bird’s wings in my chest as I ask, “What are you—?”

I go still as his mouth follows a slow line up my inner thigh and his arms wrap around my hips, holding me to the bed—to him. My breath hitches and then escapes me in a shudder. His eyes flick up to me.

“Would you like me to stop…?” He asks dreamily.

“Don’t you dare.”

He chuckles and it cascades over my core in a warm breath.

When his tongue finds the most sensitive part of me, I gasp loudly as stars fly across my vision. This is a sensation I’ve never felt before and one I think I’d like to feel all the time.

His fingers grip me tight, making indents in the flesh of my hips and thighs. I hope they bruise so I can remember what he did in fine detail for days.

He’s teasing me with his mouth, running his tongue over my clit again and again and then stopping just before I can scream. I catch his eye as he does this again, gasping for air, and I see the raw possessiveness within them, claiming me as his without words. It’s that part of him Rowan warned me about. He wants what he can’t have. 

But he has me now. Thinking about it sends a thrill of off-kilter joy racing up my spine.

Perhaps it’s my smile that does it, or the way my fingers grip his hair, but he finally commits to giving me my release and it makes me feel delirious. My back arches off the bed as I come onto his waiting, wicked tongue and he holds me down, not relenting until my trembling breath quiets. Only then does he lift his head and rise to stand between my knees.

He’s so tall and handsome, and though a part of me has always known that, it rings differently when he’s looking down at me with blatant desire while his hands undo the fastenings of his breeches. He wants nothing more than to deliver me pleasure, I can see it in his face, but I want to do the same for him. I want to make him feel crazy for me, like he’s made me for him.

I reach up for his arms and pull him towards me, onto the bed. When he’s close enough, his hips nestled between my legs, I flip one leg over him and direct him onto his back, swiftly climbing on top of him. 

Surprise gleams bright in his sultry eyes. I watch with satisfaction as his lips curl up on the left side. His hands come to rest firmly on the backs of my thighs and his stiff cock twitches between my legs, only the thin cotton of his underwear keeping him from me.

I lean over him at the same time that I pull my dagger from its sheath at my thigh. My lips hover over his and he cranes his neck to reach me, and that’s when I let the cool steel press carefully against the side of his throat. 

He stills, his breath catching in his chest, and his eyes widen a little. He watches me closely as I smile victoriously down at him.

“You know, Your Highness, you’re really quite foolish, letting me have the advantage like this,” I purr.

He makes a low sound in his throat, which he bares to me willingly, a challenge in his molten eyes.

“Then make a fool of me, my little witch,” he says breathlessly. 

“Make me bleed for you.”

I make a thoughtful humming noise and trail the knife casually down his throat to his chest, where I drag the flat edge over his skin with firm pressure. He stays perfectly still beneath me, aside from his breathing. I can see his pulse jumping in the side of his neck and I wonder if he’s nervous.

It excites me to think so.

But I can feel him between my legs, so close, and it makes the ache deep within me intensify to such a degree that I need him now. I can’t wait one minute longer. I think I’ve waited for a moment like this my entire life.

I am done waiting.

I sit up, pressing myself against him with light pressure that makes the defined muscles of his abdomen clench. I look at him as I drive the blade hilt-deep into the wall. The king can pay for the damage.

I smile and drop my lips to his ear.

“Not tonight.”

We don’t take our time removing our remaining clothes. It’s all a blur of hands and mouths, caressing, pulling, grabbing. Pure wanton madness. But when everything is finally discarded on the floor by the bed, we pause. We admire one another, both of us committing the other to memory.

He looks nothing like Theo did. He looks so much stronger, so much bigger. He could bend me over and break me so easily, but I know he won’t. This newfound trust in him swells within me as I catch his eyes, blown black with lust, slowly roaming over my body, mapping every curve and freckle and scar. I remember back in Evrain, when I thought this might happen, I’d been so worried he wouldn’t like my body—that he’d think me to be too skinny, or too flat. But judging by the expression on his face, the way his mouth is parted just slightly and his panting breaths cascade over his lips, he thinks nothing of the sort.

And for the first time in my life, I feel beautiful. I feel powerful.

I roll my hips slowly, sliding myself along his thick length, letting him feel my warm, slick desire on his cock. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, his brows pinching together, and his hands roam over my hips and up my sides, keeping me firmly on top of him. The feel of him gliding between my legs draws a small, breathy moan from me. I already feel close, just doing this. I wonder if he’s about to ruin me for all others, and I hope he is. No, I know he is.

His fingers grip my hip bones hard and he grits his teeth, his eyes flashing up at me in warning.

“Rey…are you trying to drive me to madness?” He groans.

I smile dreamily, relenting. I suppose he’s had enough and I think I have, too.

I rise up on my knees and position him at my entrance. The feeling of the broad head of his cock notching within me draws my teeth sharply over my lower lip.

“Not tonight,” I say again. 

And then I slowly, inch by inch, sink down over him.

His back arches slightly, the muscles in his arms flexing. My hands are on his chest with my fingers spread wide, balancing myself as I tremble and gasp. He fills me completely and I can feel my orgasm building quickly before I’ve even begun to move, so I take a few steadying breaths because I need this to last.

Carefully and slowly, I begin by rocking back and forth, allowing myself to adjust to him. But as I look down at him and see that his hair is a tousled mess, there’s colour burning in his cheeks, and his eyes are dark and half-mad with unfiltered longing, I raise myself up and glide back down, slowly increasing my pace until I coerce a deep, breathless moan from him.

I can no longer control the noises that escape me. Little moans and gasps—I even breathe his name at one point. When he hears it, he grips my sides and thrusts up into me, hitting me so deep I nearly collapse on top of him. But he keeps going until he feels my release surrounding him, drowning him. Drowning me.

My eyes shutter closed and when they open again he’s flipped us so I’m on my back once more. His strong arms brace me between them and my legs curve around his hips as he continues to push himself deep inside of me again and again at a careful pace that leaves me trembling. My hands reach up towards him, my fingernails scraping over the defined muscles of his warm, slickened shoulders before tangling in his soft, messy hair, the tips of which brush against my face with each thrust. Thick black waves caressing my overheated skin.

He looks into my eyes then, and his face is so full of wonder it makes my heart skip a beat. I recognize his expression in myself. We watch each other as he moves within me, and I know we’re thinking the same thing.

This doesn’t feel like it’s just sex for the sake of it. This doesn’t feel like a one-off. This feels like what we’ve been searching for our entire lives.

It feels like belonging. 

It feels like home.

I realize with a pang that the idea of getting him out of my system was a fantasy. I will never be the same after this; I feel it in my soul like a key turning in a lock, cementing him within the deepest reaches of me. 

He is the piece I’ve been missing for so many years.

He leans over me then, burying his face in the crook of my neck. His breath comes hot and fast over my throat and the little sounds of pleasure he’s making have me contracting around him with another orgasm. He swallows my desperate moans as he captures my mouth with his.

“Rey…” He sighs my name next to my ear. 

I wrap my legs firmly around his hips, preventing him from pulling away. I don’t want him anywhere else but inside of me in this moment. 

He shudders when he comes, moaning deeply into my throat. The feeling of him pulsing within me, filling me, wipes my mind until it’s completely, blissfully, blank. 

And I just hold him there, allowing him to catch his breath as he embraces me tightly, peppering my throat and jaw with lazy kisses.

Eventually, he removes himself and lies down on his side next to me, drawing me into his chest. I nuzzle in closer, because there’s nowhere else I want to be right now than right here in this bed with him as sleep threatens to consume us both. My body feels heavy and weak and I don’t have any desire to move a single muscle. 

He draws my eyes to his with a quiet, hesitant question.

“Are you happy?” 

I smile groggily and nod. “I am. Are you?”

He places one final kiss to my head and rests his on the pillow next to mine. Shadows swirl through the room at a leisurely place, smothering all the candles that remained lit and casting us into darkness. His body is outlined in pale silver moonlight from the window and though I want to use my finger and trace the swell and curve of his shoulder and arm, I can’t even muster the strength for that.

“Yes, my little witch,” he says, his voice fading into a dream. 

“I believe I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, even if it’s just for tonight.”

Chapter Text

When my eyes flutter open the next morning to a warm, sunlit room, it takes me a few seconds to register that there’s an arm wrapped around me and a firm, warm body pressed against my back.

I can hear his slow, sleeping breaths and I can feel his chest expanding and deflating against me. Our legs are tangled together beneath the bed sheets that smell like us.

He’s still here. My heart thuds with surprise and a foreign emotion I can’t quite name. 

As soon as I stir, he inhales deeply and gently squeezes me, and I know he’s awake. I turn around in his arms and his sleepy, half-lidded eyes find mine immediately. He smiles, and I could cry at the domestic beauty of it.

“You stayed,” I whisper, admiring the way the early morning sun gilds his sable hair with tips of yellow gold.

He blinks. A quick, slight pinch of his brow is the only thing that gives away his confusion.

“You didn’t think I would?” He asks.

I give him a small shrug with one shoulder. “No one else ever has.”

His arms hold me tighter and he nudges my chin with his nose, making me turn my head so he can kiss my cheek, then my eyelashes, then my temple.

“Then they’re all fools.” His voice is gravelly and rough, rumbling like thunder next to my ear. It was just one fool, but I don’t tell him that. It’s not important anyway.

I sigh, feeling completely content for what could be the first time in my life. I really wish he and I could stay wrapped up in this moment forever, and that we never had to leave this room or dethrone a king or fight a battle we might not win. 

Right now, this moment is perfect. If it were a painting I’d want to live in it and never know anything else.

“Is it just me or do you feel like you just got the best sleep you’ve had in months?” I ask as my eyes roam the wood panelled ceiling.

“Mm, years, more like,” he answers.

I turn back to face him, my eyes drawing lines from one freckle to the next. He’s looking at me like I’m all he’s ever known, and it has me swallowing a lump.

“You were so gentle last night,” I murmur. I let my fingers comb through his hair, carefully working at any tangled bits.

He raises his eyebrows at me, questioning. 

“It was wonderful, of course,” I answer his unspoken words with a small smile and an eye roll as accompaniment. “I just…well, I didn’t think you’d be like that.”

“Ah, I see,” he says, nodding. A cocky smirk grows on his mouth. “You’ve been wondering what I’d be like?”

My heart races with the knowledge that yes, yes I have.

“Stop,” I chuckle.

“Did you imagine me to be some feral brute, slamming into you and pulling your hair while I do it?”

My face heats just as the place between my legs does. Of course he notices.

He grins, and it’s devilish. 

“I can be whatever you want me to be, my little witch,” he says, his voice low. “Would you like me to be rough with you now?”

He kisses the side of my throat, trailing downwards until I feel his teeth dragging sharply across the top of my right breast. I gasp, the sensation sending echoing shockwaves to my core. But he’s already stopped and lifted his head, grinning at me.

“You’re an ass,” I grumble. I let my head fall back onto the pillow.

He chuckles, delivering me a conciliatory kiss.

“I couldn’t resist, you must know that.”

“Yes, unfortunately I did expect it.”

His eyes look brighter than I’ve ever seen them. I can see the different tones of brown and amber and how they contrast with the tight ring of green around the edge. I think he has the prettiest eyes of anyone I’ve ever met.

“It just felt significant,” he explains quietly. “It was significant. I’ve never felt…that before, and I wanted you to know that it mattered to me. All of it.”

My heart swells. My instinct is to repress all that and protect myself; to deny that he just admitted to caring for me, because he’s going to leave me behind one day and it’s going to hurt worse if I let myself enjoy such pretty words. But this time I allow myself to feel his admission in my heart, where I can commit it to memory.

“I haven’t felt it before either,” I agree quietly, knowing what he means without needing to define it.

He smiles and pulls me against him, pressing his lips to mine. My heart soars as his hands trail over my body, raising the hairs in their wake. He keeps kissing me until we’re both breathless and flushed and he’s positioned himself above me and I can feel his stiffness prodding and teasing me. I roll my hips towards him, instantly needing more than just fleeting contact.

“Back at it again so soon, are we?” I murmur jokingly.

He breaths a short laugh and presses his lips to my ear as he slowly sinks inside and makes my back arch off the bed. 

“I admit,” he huffs, “you’ve made something of a monster out of me, little witch. I’ve already developed an unhealthy addiction to this…”

My nails rake over his back as he thrusts deep into me, making me cry out from the pleasure that rockets up my spine.

“I will never tire of the feeling of you,” he grits out. “Of the little moans you make when I hit right—there.”

“Kylo…!”

My vision blurs and my back arches as a strong orgasm builds within me, seconds away from detonating.

“Ahhh…” He grins and rises onto his knees. His fingers dig into my hips, helping to guide me into his cock as he picks up speed substantially.

“It’s even better when you say my name…”

“Kylo…” I whine, giving him what he wants while my hands slide down his forearms, fingers digging in. “Kylo…harder.”

The look he gives me is unfettered need that borders on feral.

“Fuck.”

He obeys my request gladly, to the point that the bed creaks and moves across the floor a little, its feet scraping into the hardwood. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s coerced an orgasm from me before he finds his own release. 

With Theo, I always had to keep quiet, lest anyone were to walk too close to the barn and hear us; with Kylo, I couldn’t be quiet if I tried.

His hair tickles my face as he peppers me with kisses, each of us panting for air. And for some reason I laugh as I look into his eyes, and he does, too. 

“I think we’ve started something I have no intention of finishing,” I whisper. My fingers brush the hair out of his eyes.

He nods. “Are you scared of that?”

“I wish I wasn’t, but I am,” I concede with regret. “You?”

“Oh, I’m terrified. But I think the fear is only temporary.”

“What if you grow tired of me?”

He offers me a handsome smirk and shakes his head, tucking stray hairs behind my right ear.

“When all this is over, my little witch, you will be lucky if I ever let you leave my side again.”

My smile broadens. Some nagging thought nips at the back of my mind but I shove it off for now.

After a little while spent in comfortable silence, my eyes fall to the ragged, vertical scar in the centre of his chest and my pulse quickens. I want to know if it’ll happen again. Can I feel Solara’s power again, or was it just a fluke?

“Kylo? Could I try—”

He already has my wrist gently clutched in his hand, guiding it to his chest. Had he been thinking about it, too?

As my fingertips come in contact with the scar, warmth rushes over me like a summertime gust. Flickering golden threads wrap around my arm, glittering like a spider’s web caught in a sunrise. 

Ren winces, gritting his teeth against the pain, and I instantly remove my touch, a little ashamed that I’d been so curious and enthralled I’d neglected what this did to him.

“I held on too long, I’m sorry,” I say, rushing the words. “Are you okay?”

His hand absently rubs the spot I’d just touched and he nods. “I’ll be fine. It just…burns a little.”

Before I can say anything he interjects, “Your necklace is glowing again.”

As I look down I can see the faint golden hue upon my skin, emanating from the strange little gemstone which has lit up like a beacon. Curious, I grasp it between my fingers. I can feel that the pendant is very warm, but nothing else happens.

“That’s so strange…” I muse.

“It is.” His eyes are on me and I can see the thoughts forming behind them—curious questions and theories. 

“Do you—I mean, why do you think we can do that after we’re…intimate?” I ask. It’s my most burning question.

“I think because we’re more vulnerable than we typically allow ourselves to be,” he answers thoughtfully. “Maybe more receptive to it.”

I nod slowly, mulling his words over in my mind. “Yeah, maybe.”

“I’d like to experiment with it,” he says. “I wonder how it impacts your shadow magic. You said you always see a golden thread first when you summon your shadows but you’re never able to touch it. I’m curious if you can after making contact with some of Solara’s power through me.”

My eyes light up at the prospect. Is it true? Could I finally be successful and achieve what I’ve been aiming for all these years?

“Yeah, maybe I—”

My voice falls silent when there’s a knock at the door.

We both go still, clearly thinking the same thing: maybe if we don’t make a sound, whoever it is will just go away. Unfortunately, that rarely seems to happen.

“Master Kylo?”

I recognize the peppy voice immediately as Cecile. For some reason, my heart drops. I figure out what the reason is when Kylo curses and moves away from me, off the bed.

I don’t want him to go. I don’t want this to end.

“Shit,” he says under his breath. He tilts his head towards the door and shouts, “Just a minute.”

I sit up and pull the blankets up to my chest while I watch him slip his breeches on and do up the fastenings. A blush blazes in my cheeks when I remember that I ruined his fancy shirt last night. He makes do, though, and grabs his suit jacket from the back of the armchair and hastily throws it on, doing up a few buttons before he opens the door.

I can’t see Cecile around the door, but I can hear her clearly.

“Good morning! I just wanted to let you know the council is close to reaching a decision, but they have a few more questions first. They’d like you to come with me back to the chamber room.” 

“Alright. Just…can you give me one more minute? I’ll be right out.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

He closes the door and walks back over to the bed. I can see regret woven into his expression.

“Should I dress and come with you?” I ask.

“No, no. It’ll be fine. You just stay here at the inn and I’ll be back soon.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He bends down and steals a lingering kiss from me. I have half a mind to pull him back onto the bed. Cecile can stand in the hallway with her prim and proper dress and listen to us. 

But I don’t. 

Before Kylo reaches the door, he stops and turns back to me.

“Oh, and I’ll ask Dònal to bring you one of those, er, teas.”

I swallow. It’s been a long time since I’d had to have a contraceptive tea. 

“No, I’ll ask him for it,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ll just…I can just tell him I found someone last night and…well. I’ll tell him something.” He doesn’t need to know about us. It should stay our secret for now.

He slowly nods. “…Right. Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye. Um. Good luck.”

He gives me one final smile before he disappears out the door, leaving me alone.

My anxious teeth gnaw on my fingernails and lips as I relive everything that happened since yesterday and let those nagging thoughts in the back of my mind finally have free reign. Kylo and I had been walking a fine line for quite a while, but last night we sprinted across it. Now what? What does this change, really? We still have to keep it a secret from everyone. I still don’t want to be a queen. He said he wouldn’t let me leave his side, but, he’s going to have to, isn’t he? My stomach falls as I realize that even though I feel happier than ever, it’s all going to come crashing down eventually—probably sooner than either of us would like. 

I know I should reestablish the boundaries between us. I should reinforce my walls and keep him out so I can protect myself, but I’m afraid the damage has already been done. There are no walls left for me to put up that he can’t break down in an instant.

I’ve made myself so incredibly vulnerable to him, and that scares me more than anything.

I lose track of time, contemplating all of this and beating myself up for it. Eventually, I retrieve my dagger from out of the wall. I slowly get out of bed on shaking legs, my thighs still sticky from earlier, and I ring the bell pull for service before throwing on a scratchy robe I find in the wardrobe. 

Once a housekeeper has filled the tub for me, I take my time soaking my aching body. I admire the colourful map of light bruises in the shapes of Ren’s fingers around my thighs and hips where he’d held me so tightly, like he was afraid I’d disappear from under him as if I was never anything more than a dream. My heart flutters at the memories of last night and this morning, yet at the same time it also shatters.

I’ll have to talk to him when he gets back. I need to know exactly how he thinks this could work, or if it’s all just wishful thinking. 

I don’t want it—whatever this is—to end, though. If for no other reason than to determine why I can connect with Solara’s blessing after we’ve been intimate. That thought tastes like ashes on the back of my tongue, though, because I know there’s more reasons to it than that. I just don’t want to dwell on any of them right now.

One of these days I’ll stop lying to myself to keep the pain away. Just not today.

Eventually I make my way down to the lobby of the inn, pleased to be back in my regular attire and not in a revealing dress. One of Kylo’s men directs me to Dònal, and I get him to brew a contraceptive tea for me. He’s skeptical of my story—that I met a handsome man on the lawns of the council house after having too much wine during the meeting, and one thing led to another, and now I needed the tea and I’d just finished pulling twigs and rose leaves from my hair—but he obliges me nonetheless and thankfully asks no questions. It takes him a little while to brew it, but when it’s done I choke down the bitter liquid, having forgotten just how awful it tastes, then I thank him and take my leave.

I do as Ren asked and stay around the inn, but as the hours begin to accumulate, the temptation to walk down to the council house and find him grows, too. Nervous thoughts plague me. Was it going alright? Did they do something to him? Is he even still alive?

I’m pacing in the room in front of the window when he finally returns, three-and-a-half hours later.

His eyes roam the room before landing on me just as he closes the door behind himself. I can’t divine anything from his expression other than barely-concealed desire, the sort which makes my stomach flutter. But I slam down my walls and move past it. I feel it’s better right now to not let my more base emotions get the better of me.

Famous last words.

“Finally,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest in an effort to appear casual or even annoyed, hoping he doesn’t see it for the protective gesture it is. “How did it go? Why did it take so long?”

He assesses me for a minute and his gaze cools slightly.

“Alec was being a miserable prick, as per usual,” Kylo sighs. “He still wants nothing to do with me, but Dameon beat some sense into him at the end.”

“Literally, I assume?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And? Are they on board then?”

“They are.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. I hadn’t realized how stressed I’d been about this. If the Ufrarian council had decided not to help us, it would’ve only prolonged and complicated things. 

I watch as he walks silently over to the armchair by the window and sets down the bundle of black fabric he was holding before he starts undoing the buttons of his suit jacket. I don’t look away as he shucks it off, but I do gasp quietly when I see a motley of thin red lines criss-crossing over his shoulders. I dig my nails into my palms and hide my hands behind my back, a little ashamed to have done so much noticeable damage to him.

“No need to panic,” he says, a smirk in his voice. “I kind of like them.”

“Can you read minds now?”

“Just yours.”

I roll my eyes. 

He unfolds the pile of fabric to reveal his own black tunic and pulls it down over his head. As I watch him, I think about what I want to say to him. We need to be more realistic about this. Please don’t look at me with such tenderness in your eyes again. Please don’t act like you could fall for me, because I can’t face these feelings I have knowing they lead nowhere good.

Well, not that, per sé. My mind fumbles through a thousand different iterations in a second. I need to phrase it clearly and carefully, so there can be no misconceptions.

“Kylo, I—”

“I have something for you.”

We talk over one another, both of us stuttering to a halt when we realize.

“Sorry, what were you going to say?” He asks.

“N-no, you go ahead,” I stammer.

“Oh. Okay.”

I watch as he rifles around in the pockets of his pants. I don’t see whatever it is that he has clasped inside his fist before he’s walking over to me, silently asking me to hold my hand out.

“I have something for you,” he says again. “Got it out of Az’s saddlebags before I came back here. I should’ve given it to you sooner.”

He drops my necklace with my parents’ rings on it into my hands. My heart thuds with that same happiness tinged with a dull sadness that I feel every time I think of them. Tears prick the backs of my eyes as I lift it up by the chain, shocked to see that it’s in one piece. When he’d ripped it from my neck in Varia, I’d felt the clasp snap apart against my skin. 

“Did—did you repair it?” I ask quietly.

He nods. “The second night we were in Evrain, I was feeling particularly shitty, so I took it to that jewelery merchant where I got your gift from and had her put a new clasp on it. I hope it’s alright.”

“It’s perfect…” Like it had never been broken in the first place.

“I do regret what I did to you that day. I should’ve given that back to you sooner, I just—well there wasn’t really a good time for it. I know an apology means shit for what I did, I just—”

“Thank you.”

He freezes and his eyes widen a little, clearly shocked that I’m not fighting him on it. I don’t tell him I forgive him, because I don’t think I do. I’m just letting him know I can move past it.

He nods his understanding.

“Would you like me to put it on you…?” He gestures at the necklace.

I nod and hand it to him before I turn around, shivering when his fingers brush against the back of my neck as he pushes my hair over my right shoulder. I notice the way his touch lingers on the slope of my shoulder, warm and reassuring.

The chain is cool when it settles around my throat. He adjusts it a little and then stands back.

I hold the rings in my hand, admiring their smooth reflections. My chest clenches but my shoulders loosen, happy as I am to have their rings back on my person.

“What were you going to say?”

I blink and turn around. He pulls me out of my thoughts and for a moment I’m puzzled.

“Hm?”

“Earlier, you were going to say something to me,” he explains. “What was it?”

I should say it. I know. But this no longer feels like the right time. It probably never was.

“Oh, um,” I fish around for words that struggle to come to me. “I was just, well, I was going to tell you I got that tea from Dònal and I’m fairly certain he knows exactly what we’re up to. And I also—well, that’s it, really.”

“That’s all?”

“Yep.”

His eyes narrow as his lips curl up on the left side.

“Are you lying to me, little witch?”

I swallow. “I am not. You don’t believe me?”

“Well…” He walks up to me and uses his first two fingers to push my hair back over my shoulder, tracing the direction of my collarbone with a featherlight touch. “I believe you got that tea, and I know Dònal knows what we’re doing. But you’re leaving things out. Like, for instance, you didn’t tell me you had a bath today.”

“Does that matter?” I ask, puzzled.

“You smell different,” he explains, his voice rough. “Like fresh strawberries and mint.”

It was quite a fragrant soap the housekeeper supplied me with.

I blush and look up at him through my eyelashes.

“What do I normally smell like…?”

“Like rain falling through the leaves in a forest—clean and heady and fresh,” he answers in a sultry murmur, curling some of my hair slowly around his index finger. He brings the captured locks to his nose and inhales slowly. “Now ask me how you taste.”

My throat goes dry and my words come out in a shaky whisper.

“H-how do I taste?”

His lips press briefly to my right ear. “You taste like honey and fresh summer peaches—so sweet and ripe on my tongue…”

My thoughts slip away with my self-control. I don’t even register that I want to kiss him until after I’m already doing it. 

His lips are so soft against mine. His fingers curl around my jaw, holding me gently, and when his tongue caresses my lower lip, it makes me shiver. My fingers lightly grasp the hem of his tunic, gathering the fabric in my hands.

I’m frustrated when he stops my progression.

“Damn,” he groans. “I hate to say this, but hang on a minute, little witch.”

I can tell I’m failing at keeping the lust off my face. His eyes darken when he looks at me.

“Explain quickly please,” I say breathlessly. “Don’t forget you started this.”

“I—” He breathes a chuckle, but it fades and dies off just like the humour in his face and the gleam in his eyes.

My stomach drops.

“What is it?” I ask quietly.

He hesitates before answering. “Tomorrow night we will be in Marbhan. You should know what you’re going to see and face when you get there.”

I take a step away from him.

Tomorrow night? Everything is changing tomorrow? I should’ve seen this coming, of course. I’ve seen maps before; I know Ufrar is a short distance from the capital. I suppose I just…didn’t really let myself think about it. 

This means that tonight is my last uninhibited night with Kylo until this ugly regicide business is over. It could be months until we’re alone like this again. Thinking about it makes my chest ache.

“Oh,” I whisper, “I didn’t realize…”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I should’ve put more effort into dragging this journey out.” His joke is half-hearted at best. Neither of us laugh.

“There are just things you need to avoid doing and people you need to avoid speaking to in Marbhan, otherwise things could be made worse for you,” he explains. “And we need to make this believable. The king has to think that—”

“That I’m on his side,” I interject, a little coolly. “Yes. I know.”

Kylo looks pained as he says, “The king will test your abilities and you will have to prove yourself. The tasks he gives you will not be easy, and they’ll likely go against all your morals, but you have to fight past that, just this once.”

“Do you know what he’ll ask of me?”

“No, just that it will be nothing good.”

“I see.”

I turn away from him and run a distracted hand through my hair. I rub my sun pendant between my fingers as my mind races and mild embarrassment colours my skin. 

“Rey?” 

His voice at my back only serves to expand the pit of anxiety in my gut.

“N-no, you’re right, I need to talk about these things so…so I can learn,” I mutter. “That’s understandable.”

“It was a bad time to bring it up, huh?”

“No, no it wasn’t. It’s important that we do this tonight. I just got carried away.”

“I did, too.”

“Right. We shouldn’t have. So, anyway, should we start with—”

He grabs my arm and yanks, pulling me back until I crash against his front and he holds me there tightly. I look up at him, questioning, and I see that same brewing desire that just consumed me toying with his roguish features.

“W-what are you doing?” 

“I just want to clear some things up first,” he says. “Just because we should put a pin in it for now doesn’t mean I don’t want it, or that I’m not thinking about it as we speak,” he says.

“O-oh.”

“Nor does it mean I didn’t miss you while I was gone,” he purrs. “It was quite distracting, if I’m honest—I thought about you riding my cock repeatedly as the council prattled on and on about trade agreements. Just in case you were unclear on that.”

My blood is pumping hot and fast in my veins, making me feel slightly dizzy. I’m suddenly very grateful he’s holding me so tightly.

“Y-you look like you’re thinking about it right now,” I note, breathless.

“Mmm, I think it’ll be the last thing I see before I die.”

And he stuns me with a searing kiss. His hand fists into my hair while the other roams my body, firmly following the curve of my hip, palming my breasts, glancing over my throat. His tongue flicks against mine and he groans, pressing himself more firmly to me until I can feel his growing arousal against my belly.

I’m about to melt into him and let him manipulate me into whatever position he wants me in—hells, I’m about to start taking my own clothes off—when he starts to collect himself, gradually calming down. 

“Gods…” He groans, and I can see he’s just as tortured by all this as I am. It makes me feel a little better to know he’s losing his grip too, but not much.

“How about we make things a little more interesting, so we don’t have to share in our mutual suffering all night?” He proposes.

“I’m listening…”

“I’ll go over things with you in sections, let’s say. The king, the castle, that bitch of a blood mage, etcetera, etcetera. And at the end of each session, I’ll give you a quiz to make sure you were paying attention.”

“A quiz?” I repeat, my face falling. “You’re going to test me?”

“Mmhm,” he confirms, his devious smile slowly growing. “But with each answer you get right, I’ll reward you with pleasure.”

Oh. 

“Okay…what kind of pleasure?” My eyes narrow as I try and determine all the ways he could be trying to trick me.

He looks at me like he wants to devour me. If that is the case, I believe I will deliberately walk into his jaws.

“I’m sure you can imagine the kind.”

My fingers twitch at my sides. I take a long, deep breath, closing my eyes as I breathe out. You can do this, I tell myself. Be strong, you idiot.

“Well get talking, then,” I sigh and plop down in the armchair, shooting him a derisive glare. “I’m waiting.”

“So bossy all of the sudden,” he quips, stepping closer. “I like it.”

I lift my eyebrows expectantly and say nothing. I’m no longer taking his bait until I know I can pull him under the water with me.

“Alright, fine,” he concedes. As he talks, he paces leisurely in front of me. 

“King Orin is an idiot with no morals, who expects devoted allegiance from everyone in his court without question or complaint. Deviance from this ideal results in death. But you already know that well enough.

“His blood mage, Serafine, is by his side almost constantly. She is his most prized possession, and he pays her handsomely for it. You must strive to outrank her in his mind. You must be more eager, more vicious, and more devoted than her. Not only will it increase your chance of protection, as Orin despises the thought of anyone touching his weapons, but it will enrage Serafine and make her look too unstable in comparison.”

“That sounds…impossible,” I reply honestly. My heart hammers in my chest at the idea of spending any amount of time with that evil man. “Doesn’t he already know who I am? That he killed my parents? One could safely assume I’d have strong contempt for the man.” 

“Yes, he knows,” Kylo confirms. “But he doesn’t need to know you remember, or that your magic hasn’t twisted you into something you aren’t.” 

“You’re putting an awful lot of faith in my acting abilities,” I grumble. “This plan of yours is tenuous at best.”

“So you’ve said, multiple times,” he replies nonchalantly. “I have all the confidence in the world that you’ll find the ability to be believable.”

“Sure,” I sigh. “Go on.”

“You may have to…well I’m quite certain you’ll be made to use your magic to take a life. I know it’s difficult but you must maintain your composure. He will test the strength of your stomach as well as your devotion.”

“Kylo, I—”

“I know. I’m sorry. I will try and intervene as best as I can, I promise.”

“…What else.”

“You will need to spend a fair amount of time in the king’s company. I know that’s an awful thing to make you do, and I apologize in advance. But while you’re with him, I need you to be listening to and absorbing everything you hear and everything you see. The king sends all members of his court away each night after he’s eaten supper; no one is allowed within his chambers in the evenings, not even Serafine. So you’ll be free for the evening and night, and that’s when we’ll meet.

“We’ll need to be discreet about it. But I have a plan in mind. Just make sure you retire to your chambers after the king does each night. If I can’t meet you there, I’ll have a servant leave you a note with instructions on where to go. There’s a cozy little alcove on the fourth floor of the library I’m quite fond of, as well as a dilapidated old gazebo in the woods around the castle that everyone’s forgotten about.”

“You trust the king’s servants?”

“Only the ones who despise serving him, of which there are many.”

“Right.”

“When we meet, you’ll tell me everything that happened of which I had no part in. I’ll be able to stay on top of the king’s activities and know exactly when best to strike.”

“And Serafine? What do I do about her? Hasn’t she worked for him for eleven years?”

“Yes. She’s going to be tricky to fool, especially since she’ll hate you from the start. She was enraged when I even suggested the idea of bringing you to Marbhan. But if you make sure she knows you hate her just as much, she’ll focus on antagonizing you instead of helping the king and that will weaken her in his eyes.”

“And how do I get into her room if she hates me? Won’t she ward it against me or do something to catch me snooping?”

“She might. There’s ways around it. But I can’t promise you won’t have to fight her.”

“Kylo…” I glare at him, speaking his name like a warning. This “plan” of his is sounding weaker and weaker the more I hear of it.

“I know, I know,” he says, holding his hands up in supplication. “I will have Ufrarian soldiers stationed right outside the room when you go in. If Serafine comes while you’re inside, you’ll be protected. You might be able to avoid taking a bite out of her.”

I sigh in defeat. I can’t exactly back down now anyway.

“Is there anything I need to know about her, then? Any weaknesses, aside from the fact that she’s a jealous, greedy bitch?”

“She bleeds like anyone else,” he answers. “Solara’s magic burns her, though that doesn’t really apply here, so you’ll just go in armed.”

“Great.” I roll my eyes and rub my temples with my fingers as stress begins to build into a headache. 

“Relax. I have information you can add to your arsenal, too. She has a little sister living in a small, piss-poor village just northeast of The Pass. Girl’s name is Mila; she’s nine years old. She has brown eyes and blonde hair the colour of harvest wheat. She lives in the attic of a baker’s house. Serafine pays the baker quite well to keep her sister hidden. She travels to see Mila once a month, if the king allows her to leave.”

“Why is her sister in hiding?”

“Word is Serafine pissed off the wrong people before she came to serve the king. Apparently there’s an outlaw group out west who she used to work for, until she sold them out and got a bunch of them executed in their beds, including children.”

“Gods…”

“So now she has to hide her sister, because if that gang were to sniff her out, they’d use her as bait and she wouldn’t be a prize able to be won back.”

“And she can’t bring her sister to live at the castle?”

“No. Orin won’t allow it. He likes to use the girl as a threat, too.”

“Okay,” I nod slowly, digesting this troublesome tidbit. “I guess I can use that if I have to. And you’re confident I’ll be able to pick your blood vial out of the thousands that are apparently stashed at her altar?”

“We can run a few tests, if you like,” he says in a heated voice. 

“Yes,” I say stonily. “Maybe it’s time I make you bleed for me after all.”

He makes a low sound in his throat and his nostrils flare. His eyes are blackened suns that threaten to consume me whole.

“What else do I need to know?”

“Actually, I believe it’s a fine time for your first quiz,” he says with a note of distraction in his voice.

I scoff. “I hardly think you told me enough for me to feel prepared—”

“When does the king retire to his chambers?”

I blink, taken aback. He’s being serious. He’s completely still, waiting for my answer. I decide to play along, no matter how ridiculous it seems. 

“After he eats his supper,” I reply with confidence.

Between one breath and the next, he’s drawn me from the chair, picked me up, and deposited me atop the small dining table next to it. He places his hands atop the table on either side of me, leaning in closer. Savage heat arcs down my spine.

“Where did I suggest we could meet if I can’t get to your chambers?” He asks, the words a low rumble in his chest.

“A-an alcove in the library on the fourth floor,” I answer. 

“And?”

“And a gazebo in the woods.”

“What a good listener you are.”

He ducks his head, branding me with a kiss that has my head spinning. His teeth bite down on my lower lip and his tongue claims me. When I put my hands on him, he removes them. I sigh in frustration against his persistent mouth.

His eyes are liquid bronze as they open before mine, his dark lashes framing them in a heartbreakingly beautiful way.

“Not satisfied with your rewards?” He rasps. “Although, I suppose that question could be considered a two-parter, you’ve got me there.”

His teeth drag over my earlobe in a way that makes my toes curl inside my boots. His mouth kisses and licks slowly down the column of my throat, all while his fingers work deftly to remove my tunic. Once it’s discarded onto the floor, he starts unwrapping my chest bindings.

“Shame to hide these from me, you know,” he remarks idly.

“Poor you,” I mock, catching my bottom lip between my teeth. “Ask me another question. Now.”

“What is Serafine’s weakness?”

“Her sister.”

“Whose name is…?”

“Mila,” I whisper as I feel my bindings come loose. They’re kept on my body by his hand alone. “Her sister’s name is Mila.”

“Good girl.”

He removes the stretch of cloth and his eyes devour me right before his mouth does. He pushes me backwards until I’m laying atop the table like a feast put out just for him. His tongue swirls over my nipple, languorous and slow. I huff and moan, begging him with my body for more, more, more.

But he stops. Growls at his own damnation and stands up straight. But he can’t walk away, or stop touching me completely. He runs his hand down the underside of my leg and pulls it up so his fingers can methodically untie the laces of my boots. He watches my face, clearly satisfied with the way he’s turned me into nothing more than lust personified. 

“It’s time for your next lesson,” he says. I can hear his restraint crumbling in his voice. 

I sit up again and shoot him an icy glare. “You are pure fucking evil.”

He grins at me and it alone is enough to make me clench my thighs together. He tosses one of my boots behind him and starts untying the other.

“I know. Last time I checked, you fucking love it.”

 I notice the way his cock is straining against the restrictive fabric of his pants and I reach out to palm it slowly, a sense of righteous victory sweeping over me when his eyes flutter closed and he forces a hard breath out through his nose.

“Go on,” I murmur, “give me my lesson.”

“You won’t take it seriously if you’re—”

“Uh-uh. You started this, you sadistic prick. You deserve this.”

“Name calling?” He drops my second boot and smirks as he thrusts lazily into my hand. “I’m not sure I like that one. It’s kind of mean, even for you.”

“Keep stalling and there will be plenty more,” I whisper, “each more colourful than the last.”

He takes a half a step back—not far enough that he can’t unlace my trousers, but enough of a gap that I can no longer touch him. All the while, he’s talking about the castle layout. Where the king’s chambers are, where the war room is, where I can find more weaponry, where the healers reside, and it’s at some point when he’s telling me where Serafine’s chambers are located that he draws my trousers and underwear down under my ass. His knuckles stroke my sensitive flesh as they pass by.

This wicked bastard. He’s purposely making it difficult for me to keep my attention on his words rather than his actions. He’s testing me even now. But if he thinks I’ll fail, he’s going to be sorely disappointed.

I refuse to let him win.

Once he’s removed the remainder of my clothing along with his own shirt, he starts prattling on about the castle inhabitants. Who I can and cannot trust. Who to go see for what.  His cursed fingers draw my attention, as they always do. They’re undoing the fastenings of his breeches now, ever so slowly. He keeps his eyes on me as he talks, but I can’t lift my stare to match. Saliva pools in my mouth when he pulls his erection out, one large hand slowly stroking it from base to rosy tip.

“Are you still listening?” He asks roughly. His voice sounds a thousand leagues away.

There’s a small bead of moisture at the tip. I want to run my thumb across it and taste it on my tongue.

“Yes,” I answer, barely above a whisper.

“Then why aren’t you touching yourself?”

“Hmm…?” I blink and finally drag my eyes up to his. The look in them makes desire instantly overflow within me, hot and demanding.

“I told you to touch yourself a moment ago,” he says. He sounds hungry. Feral. Beastly. “So why aren’t you doing it?”

Did he say that? The last thing I remember hearing him talk about was the cook’s daughter—Molly? Or was it Millie?—and how she’s a notorious gossip. I don’t remember hearing him ask me to touch myself for him, but…I also can’t remember anything after Molly. Or Millie.

Fuck. I’m losing. Badly.

“Do. It,” he commands. His tone is lethally quiet yet sharp; like a whip it cuts into my flesh and marks me. “Or am I to understand you weren’t listening to me?”

Gods, he’s just like I thought he’d be. So demanding. So greedy. Yet I’m watching his tether to his control snap in real time, all because of me.

I stare at him for a moment, dazed and confused. My lips are parted, my eyes half-lidded. He knows he’s won. It’s all but confirmed when he tilts his head just a little to the left and flashes me a cocky, crooked smile. 

He tsks. “And you were doing so well.”

I close my mouth and narrow my eyes. I don’t appreciate being goaded, but if he wants to try and damage my pride, I will make him regret it. 

My fingers snake down my front in a hypnotizing line that has his gaze dropping. They circle that swollen, aching, glistening part of me that has me breathing a quiet moan. I watch him tremble. His fist tightens around his cock, pumping faster. 

This could be easy.

“Ask me a question,” I demand, forcing my voice to exude power. 

“Who”—I slide a finger inside myself and he growls sinfully—“out of the following cannot be trusted: the butler, the head maid, or the Lord Commander?”

“The Lord Commander,” I answer, working myself into a frenzy, just hoping it’s going to pay off. “I believe you said his name was Caralark? Though you didn’t tell me why…”

“You shouldn’t trust him because I don’t trust him,” Kylo answers simply, breathing hard. “I believe he’s loyal to no one but himself. You will likely be forced to be in his company, but you must never trust or confide in him.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

He grabs my wrist and takes my hand away, replacing it with his cock. I gasp at the heat of it as it presses against me. His breath is coming hard and fast now.

“What’s the cook’s daughter’s name?” He demands, pushing his length up through me. The ridge of him rolling over me makes me gasp.

Shit. Molly or Millie? 

“Answer the question now, Rey,” he says sharply.

Pulse thrumming, thoughts disappearing, I pick one.

“Millie?”

“Fucking close enough.” He sighs, and then he slides into me in one slow, delicious push.

He moans with me. I think he’s the most godlike he’s ever looked right now: teeth gritted, the ends of his hair trembling like the rest of him, eyes dark and narrowed, spearing me straight through with sinfully ethereal possession.

I contract around him as I accept his intrusion, accommodating his size. He puts one hand on the centre of my chest and pushes me onto my back. He looks down at me and trails his hand back down my body, using his fingers to tease me.

“Tell me you want me like I want you.”

I roll my hips against him, breathing heavily. You can’t feel it in the way my body reacts to you? I think. You don’t see it in my face? If you need to hear it, then, let me tell you again and again.

“I want you, even if you are some kind of a sadistic, evil god.”

He pulls out of me and slams back in, rattling the table beneath me and making me cry out as stars fly across my vision.

“A god?” He rasps, chucking darkly as he thrusts hard into me again. “No, sweetling. But I’ll fuck you like one anyways.”

And he does. He does not stop, either. He catches me when the table leg cracks and breaks off, carrying me swiftly over to the bed and picking up right where we left off. When I come, I call his name, and he angles my hips up off the bed and pounds into me harder, giving me a second orgasm almost immediately after the first.

When he finishes, he pulls out and spills himself on my belly and my breasts, moaning deeply and muttering curses that make my head spin.

We’re both still panting when he leans over me and leaves his lips hovering an inch away from mine.

“You, little witch, are mine,” he growls. “We may have to act differently around one another while we’re in Marbhan, but when you’re purposely ignoring me, I want you to remember this moment. Lying here breathless with my come dripping off of you. When you’re doing the king’s bidding, I want you to remember you’re mine. No one else’s. Mine.”

It should scare me seeing such raw possessiveness in his eyes, but when he grits out the word “mine,” the only thought that crosses my mind is yours.

When I don’t speak, I notice a hint of fear slipping into his face, cracking his dominating veneer. My brow pulls together as I start to wonder whether, like me, he maybe doesn’t want whatever this is to come to an end at all. And I question how he can be so convicted when we don’t know what will happen to us going forward. What if this scheme ruins us? 

But I don’t say any of this out loud to him. Instead I reach up and push his hair back from his eyes before I rise and press my lips to his. I know he wants me to tell him that I’m his, but I can’t get the words out, too afraid it’ll curse us if I say them. So this small physical intimacy is the best I can offer.

It seems to soothe him, for now. His expression relaxes. 

“Stay here,” he whispers. He walks away from me and eventually I hear the sound of water swishing in the porcelain basin. 

When he returns, he has a wet cloth in hand which he uses to gently clean my skin.

“Are you alright?” He asks quietly. 

“Yes, I’m just fine,” I answer.

“Good.”

“You weren’t too rough with me. I promise I can take more than that.”

A wicked smirk plays on his lips. “I know you can. And you will.”

I feel a blush crawling up my neck.

And suddenly it hits me that even though we just finally got started,  this could be the last night for a while where we can be like this. Completely alone together and uninhibited, afraid of nothing. Soon there would be plenty to fear. I worry that every time we manage to meet will feel like the last time, and I have no idea when that might stop.

“I will miss this, you know,” I admit quietly, capturing his attention. “It’s odd to think that I would want to stop time to stay here in this room with you, but if I could, I think I would.”

He drapes the washcloth over the top of a bedpost and looks down at me with eyes that see more than I’m letting on.

“If you could, I would beg you for it,” he says. He bends down and kisses me, slow and firm. 

“I hate the fact that I will have to act cold and indifferent towards you,”  he continues. “Just know that if I’m looking at you, I’m thinking that I want you. If we are put in a crowded room together, you will be all I notice. Understand?”

I nod, somewhat placated by his words. Returning to acting like I hate him after the last two days might be my hardest challenge of all.

Temporarily sated and exhausted, we lie together and talk about less significant things until our stomachs begin to voice complaints. Kylo dresses and descends to the kitchens to find us some food.

We don’t fall asleep until the early hours of the morning, long after we’ve eaten and wrung more pleasure from one another. We’re both too afraid to fall asleep,  knowing that the fun part is over, that only pure exhaustion takes us out.

When we wake, everything will be different. And I just don’t know if we’ll make it out of this the same. 

But I truly can’t imagine the feeling I get from sleeping in his arms to be anything other than happy contentment.

I realize as I drift off to sleep that the thought of that feeling disappearing is what truly scares me. 

Chapter Text

That bitter northern wind cuts through my cloak and nips at my face as we travel through the streets of the capital city. Kylo’s body is a source of some heat at my back, but we barely touch. 

I keep my face passive and avoid the eyes of the passersby who ogle our caravan and the leagues of Ufrarian soldiers that follow us. For the most part, I look down at my lap, where my hands are bound together in the nullifying shackles that are made so much colder by the frigid air. My skin is a light pinkish red where they touch it. The chain connecting them to my collar is heavy as it swings back and forth against my stomach and chest.

The castle is a grand building in an ancient gothic style. It’s constructed from strange, dark grey stones with tiny, barely visible black veins running through them. I want to ask Kylo what kind of stone it is, but before I can I remember that I shouldn’t be talking, least of all to him.

As everyone dismounts and unloads, I hear a commotion somewhere behind me. When I turn, my eyes immediately find the source. A palace guard with mean, dark eyes and thin black hair shaved down almost to his skull has a young boy on the ground, pinning him there with a dirty boot on the boy’s chest. The boy is crying in pain and fear and I notice his bloody mouth and the stain down the front of his filthy trousers, along with the two apples in the guard’s hand.

“If I ever catch you stealing from the carts again, I’ll have your head on a pike outside the castle gates!” He shouts. “This food is not for filthy, useless orphans!”

With one final kick to the boy’s side, the guard stalks off. The boy rolls over and curls into himself, his shoulders heaving with quieted sobs. 

I know his pain. I’ve felt it. I’ve lived it. Watching it happen to someone else feels traumatic and devastating all at once. 

I take three steps towards the boy, not sure what I’m going to say to him yet, but then a firm hand grabs my arm and hauls me back.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Kylo’s expression is cold as the north wind and cuts me just the same. My eyes narrow as hurt and anger rise within me. I open my mouth to speak but he doesn’t allow it, instead dragging me back a couple more feet.

“We don’t have time for distractions, Shadowsmith. Can’t keep the king waiting.”

With a slight jab between my shoulder blades, he urges me forward through the castle doors.

He’s just playing his part, I remind myself. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

The interior of the castle is intimidating to say the least. After we walk down a long hallway with torches flickering on either side of us, we step into a large space that could’ve fit the entire village of Varia and then some within it.  Massive vaulted ceilings and evenly spaced smoky grey pillars are the most dominating features. Portraits and more torches line the walls, along with weapons and native northern greenery. 

It smells like steel and smoke in here.

With a firm, gloved hand wrapped around my elbow, Kylo leads me around a massive staircase with an intricate railing made of wrought iron shaped to look like tendrils of unkempt ivy. We pass through a little antechamber, down a small flight of stairs, and we enter the throne room.

The floor is black tile, polished to such a degree that I can see my awestruck face reflected back at me. The room seems to stretch for miles before it ends at the raised dais situated in front of a massive, intricate stained glass cathedral window, depicting a gory battle scene. My heart thuds as I stare at the black dais and the stairs leading up to it. My breathing becomes uneven as I remember my father’s blood pooling on the tile, dripping down the steps to reach me at the bottom. Kylo’s grip on me tightens, and I bite down on my tongue until I taste metal.

Two thrones sit atop the dais, though one has been moved back and off to the side, neglected and ignored. The queen’s throne. Despite this, both thrones command attention. Crafted from onyx, the king’s chair has armrests that end in snarling lion’s heads, the eyes and teeth of which are glinting rubies. Intricate floral carvings frame the back of the chair, which rises to a filigreed point. The queen’s chair, also carved from onyx, has veins of fire opal running through it, the colours shifting from orange to red to purple. It’s designed to look like it’s being reclaimed by thorny vines that tangle and curl around one another up the back of the chair.

There are dozens of members of the royal court in the throne room, seated in chairs facing the dais, watching us closely as we pass. Our footsteps clacking against the tile and their echoing whispers are the only sounds in the room. Their stares feel like they’re burning into my flesh, marking me for life as an outsider and a dangerous oddity.

I cast my eyes around as we approach the steps. Several members of the royal guard stand close together at the front of the room, their hands clasped in front of them or resting on the pommels of their swords. I notice the man who I’d just seen beating that boy right away and a bitter taste fills my mouth. He looks so arrogant and heartless, I want nothing more than to destroy him, slowly and painfully.

But then my eyes track movement by the thrones. A woman in a white robe with the large hood pulled up enters from an private chamber and begins to descend down the stairs. She keeps her face downcast as she walks, but I note her deceptive figure—small and lithe, yet strong—along with the violent-looking whip wrapped and holstered to her hip. Long, white blonde hair spills from the hood of her robe.

As she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she clasps her hands reverently in front of her and lifts her face. She has beautiful porcelain skin, sharp cheekbones, a dainty nose, large eyes framed in a thick fan of eyelashes, and full, rosy lips. I feel Ren’s entire mood darken at my back. A sickly chill sweeps over me as her doll-like green eyes find mine and narrow to slits, settling uncomfortably in my stomach like a ball of thorns.

Serafine. I know it’s her without asking. She’s looking at me like I’m the bane of her existence. I hold her stare though, even though it frightens me. If I back down, she’ll take it as her first victory, and I will not hand her one of those on my first day here.

Her emerald eyes flick up and I know she’s watching Ren when they take on a sultry tint and her lips curl up maliciously at the corners. It’s a look that says she knows him—knows his body. A surprising wave of jealousy surges within me at the thought. Ren never mentioned anything like that between him and Serafine, but I have to wonder, would he even tell me?

We stand at the base of the stairs before the dais for what feels like an eternity before the king enters the throne room from the same antechamber Serafine walked out of.

His cold, cruel blue eyes scan our procession with boredom. He wears a long fur cape and expensive silk clothes in blacks and reds, and gaudy rings decorate each bony finger. The onyx and ruby crown perched atop his dull golden hair looks out of place there, like it rightfully longs for another. 

Everyone who was seated is on their feet now, bowing to their usurper king. I don’t move. When his eyes fall on me, they flare with greedy interest and haughty disdain all at once. 

“On your knees, witch.”

Kylo shoves me hard onto my knees, which collide painfully with the marble floor. I hate the tiny part of me that felt a thrill at his words. I suffocate it with rage and fear.

I keep my head down as I listen to the king’s shoes on the stairs. I hold my breath when I see the toes of them appear inches from my knees. My skin crawls. Disgust is all I feel.

“Look at me, child.”

Slowly, hesitantly, I lift my face to the king. His cold eyes search me; his expression is pure apathy, it gives nothing away. He nods once, twice, slowly. 

“You look like both of your parents,” he notes, his voice almost sounding bored. “I always thought you resembled only your mother when you were a child.”

Bile rises up my throat. I try to keep the tremble out of my voice when I respond.

“I don’t remember much about my parents, Your Highness,” I lie. I force the words through my teeth even though they are razors and acid on my tongue. “I am afraid I will have to take your word for it.”

At first, I think I’ve said the wrong thing. The king stills, his expression unchanging apart from the infinitesimal squinting of his eyes.

But then a smile grows on his thin lips, partly covered by a well-trimmed, short blonde and grey beard. Chills race down my spine. I can’t immediately tell why it discomforts me so, but as he speaks the answer comes to me.

His smile looks unnatural. 

“Very interesting,” he muses. He points his hand at me, palm up, and flicks his wrist upwards to tell me to stand. 

Kylo’s hand finds my arm again and hauls me up. His touch lingers just barely seconds longer than necessary.

The king reaches out and grasps my chin in his hand, turning my head side to side. His touch is icy and rough and makes nausea surge within me. I fight to keep it down. My teeth are clenched hard in my mouth when he lets go of me.

“Fascinating,” he says in that oily voice of his. “You seem in perfect health for being raised by wolves.”

Only because you threw me to them, you vile demon. 

“Enforcer, take off her restraints,” he orders Kylo. “I want to see what my newest acquisition can do.”

Kylo moves in front of me and removes my cuffs and collar as instructed, sparing me only the most fleeting glance before retreating out of sight again. 

I have so much anger and disgust within me that the minute I’m free, shadows flicker at the edges of the room and swirl along my skin. The king’s eyes flash greedily. Nobles in the crowd gasp.

I swallow the searing mixture of pain, guilt, revulsion, and fear and straighten my spine. I allow the coldness of my magic to creep along my skin and cast my insides in ice until I feel numb. Emotionless. 

“What would you like me to do for you, my king?” I ask. My lack of emotion seeps into my voice, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Orin looks hungry as ever.

He smiles in that haunting way of his and lifts his chin, staring down his nose at me, ever the superior royal.

“I would like for you to kill someone in this room.”

There are gasps and shouts from the people behind me. Members of the royal guard stiffen and grip their swords a little tighter. Kylo is a wall of ice at my back.

Neither he nor I expected the king to ask this of me so quickly, though we knew it was a possibility. It seems he’s looking to put on a show of force today. 

Let all the kingdom know the king has a new deadly weapon at his disposal. Dissenters and revolutionaries beware.

“Do you have someone in mind, Your Majesty?”

“Why don’t you choose this time, pet?” The nickname makes me want to scream and pull my hair out. 

This is a lucky opportunity, I think to myself. Use it.

My eyes flick to the royal guard I saw outside the castle doors. I allow a menacing smile to gently touch my lips, never letting it reach my eyes. The guard pales when he sees me looking at him.

“It would be my pleasure,” I mutter.

Then I let my shadows play in ways I never have before.

I can feel my magic spreading like frost around my heart, slowing its beat. I call to the darkness and it answers me excitedly. The shadows build and grow within me until I become them—nothing more than a spectre, hiding in the corner, always just out of sight.

I exhale, and the entire room goes dark.

People scream. A chair falls, followed by the crash of several others as someone collides with them in a blind panic. I don’t focus on the people at my back, though. I have my target, and it’s him who I reach for under the cover of darkness.

He tries to scream when he feels my magic slipping through his lips, but I’m choking him with it before he has a chance to make a sound. I feel his lungs collapse and his brain swell; I delight in the way the pressure of suffocation makes his eyeballs bulge. He convulses in my silky grasp and then he falls heavily to the floor in a crash of armour, lifeless.

When I let go and the light spills back into the room as though it had never been gone, the guard is a pile of twisted limbs on the ground. His mouth hangs open in a perpetual scream, white froth spilling from its corners. His eyes are rolled back so far only the veiny white undersides show. Black tears drip from them down his cheeks like liquified charcoal. 

Kylo exhales a quiet, shaky breath behind me.

Someone screams again. I barely hear it.

The king assesses my work. Serafine is glaring daggers at me as he does so. I know she wishes her stare was so effective, but I pay her no mind, only hoping it enrages her more.

King Orin returns his attention to me, smiling maliciously, his haunting eyes alight with twisted glee.

“A stunning display!” He exclaims. He looks out at his court and seems to only become more deliriously excited upon seeing their blatant distress and terror.

“Tell me, my child, why did you pick him?”

I fix the king with a flat, unfeeling stare and shrug.

“I didn’t like him.”

He laughs and it feels like claws scraping down my spine.

“Exceptional!” His eyes raise to Kylo. I watch them darken just slightly—just enough to become threatening. “I must commend you on your suggestion, my Enforcer. Well done, acquiring such a lovely prize for me.”

Kylo gives a small, quick bow; I can feel the air of his movement swirl along my arms.“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“And the Ufrarian soldiers! Oh, we must discuss that further. However did you get the council to agree? I must admit I’m surprised.”

“I will tell you all you need to know, my king.”

“Mm, so you shall.” Orin grins and then faces me once more. “I do so look forward to playing with you some more tomorrow, pet. I am sure you are exhausted after your long journey. After breakfast, I will send someone for you. I have a few more experiments I’d like to run. In the meantime, I have prepared chambers for you to spend your nights in now that you’ll be living here at the castle, serving me.”

He casts his eyes down his rows of royal guards until he picks one out.

“Atlas, come forward,” he orders.

I look in the direction he speaks and I see a man step out of position and walk towards me. He’s tall and well-built with shaggy silver hair that falls over his ears and forehead, the colour of a polished blade. Violet eyes framed in thick lashes lock on me from within an alabaster face, shocking in their vibrant brilliance. His jawline and nose are traditionally beautiful, along with the pleasant lips that tilt upwards on one side. This man is all cool confidence, relaxed indifference, and foolish arrogance.

Something about him frightens me. I feel an instinctual need to turn away from him and run, but I can tell he’d be the kind to chase. He is the king’s man, after all.

The man at my back is suddenly a raging fire, quickly consuming everything within its reach.

Serafine is watching Kylo a little too closely.

Atlas reaches me, still keeping me sequestered in his gaze as he looks down at me.

“This is Altas Caralark, the Lord Commander of my royal guard and one of my most skilled swordsmen,” the king says offhandedly.

I do my best to curtsey to Atlas, unsure but assuming that’s the appropriate thing to do, but before I can stand straight again, he’s taken my hand in his and brought it up to his gentle, warm lips.

His eyes flash with a strange, off-kilter humour as he watches confusion and surprise play on my face. He removes his lips from my knuckles but does not relinquish my hand.

“It is an honour to meet you, my lady,” he says. His voice is liquid fire, warm and entrancing at the same time as it’s stinging and dangerous. 

I swallow hard as his stare cuts me straight through.

“As it is an honour to meet you, my lord…”

“You are to show her to her chambers, Atlas,” the king instructs. “As I have matters to discuss with my Enforcer, I will leave her protection up to you for now. See to it that all of her needs are met for the night.”

Atlas looks delighted by this news. His eyes flick quickly up to Kylo and then back to me and I don’t miss the way his grin widens as if he’s just won a game.

“Gladly, Your Majesty.” He pulls gently on my hand, forcing me to step towards him. “Come with me, my lady.”

I hear Kylo breathing fast; I feel his fingers ghost over my arm as I walk away from him and I want so badly to look back at him and see his face, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Not only for the sake of our ruse, but also because I’m not certain I could bare whatever horrible emotions I’d see there.

“Is something the matter, Enforcer?” I hear the king ask in an icy tone just before we leave the throne room. “Surely you’re not falling back into old habits? I thought I broke you of that…”

“I do not covet her,” Kylo says, his voice hard and perhaps a little louder than necessary. “She was a temporary inconvenience that I am glad is over, nothing more.”

I know it’s part of the act, but gods, my heart breaks anyways. The shards of it cut me deep inside, drawing blood.

I follow Atlas’s guiding hand, though I’m not really paying attention to where we’re going within the castle. I barely register the stairs we climb or the corners we take. My mind is still back in the throne room with Kylo.

With the body of the man I’d just killed.

We’re walking down a carpeted hallway when Atlas finally speaks to me, a smile evident in his voice.

“I must admit, you are not what I thought you’d be,” he purrs.

I oblige him, because I have no other option. Maybe he can provide me with something—information, maybe—if I let him think that his presence doesn’t make my skin crawl.

“What did you think I’d be?” I ask silkily. 

He chuckles and it’s enough to make a dead woman’s heart flutter. But mine merely does a death twitch and falls still.

“I don’t—perhaps some feral wolf girl, I suppose,” he answers bashfully. 

“Am I not that?” I ask, showing him my teeth in a smile. “Are you sure?”

He stops me in front of white double doors with black handles and lion head knockers. His violet eyes travel over my body indulgently, taking their time raking over my figure. He does nothing to conceal his lust. There’s a possessiveness there, too, but it’s not as all-consuming or as obvious as Ren’s. It’s retaliatory. 

Yet another man who sees this all as nothing more than a game to be won.

“Perhaps I’m not sure. Perhaps I’m just curious,” he says, standing close to me. “If you’d ever like to show me that side of you, I’d be more than happy to oblige you, my lady.”

He lets his lips pass languorously over my knuckles once more before he drops my hand.

“This is your bedchamber,” he says, refusing to take his strange eyes off my mouth. “Should you need anything, I will be in this hallway. You merely have to open this door and I will tend to you however you wish.”

The implications of the offer are obviously not lost on me. While I have no intention of ever taking him up on it, I decide it won’t hurt to let him think I might allow him into my bed, just in case it could benefit me down the road. I realize this is a risky choice and I can practically hear Kylo ripping this man’s throat out, but if I don’t make at least a couple connections in this place, I won’t be able to stay two steps ahead of Serafine, which is the closest I should ever allow myself to get.

And Atlas, strange and bothersome as he may be, exudes power.

I smile at him, letting my teeth run over my bottom lip. My fingertips glide up the length of the sword handle jutting out by his hip and lazily tap the pommel. I almost laugh when I watch him swallow and twitch. He hadn’t been expecting this. Good to know I can lure him in and surprise him with a trap if I need to.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in the back of my mind, my lord. Thank you.”

He clears his throat. “Please, you may just call me Atlas. And might I ask of your name, my beautiful lady?”

“Reyvan,” I supply, “but I think I do enjoy hearing pretty men call me their lady, Atlas.”

He bows his head and gives me a hungry but conciliatory smile.

“Any time you wish to hear it, I will be your man, my lady.”

I give him one more cunning smile before I open the door, step inside, and close it, being sure to lock it behind me.

I don’t trust that silver-haired snake any more than I trust the man he serves.

As soon as I’m alone, I stumble around in the dimly lit bedroom as the world spins. I manage to fall into a small bathing chamber, making it to the chamber pot just in time to heave and vomit.

Disgust and panic and reawakened trauma clash in my gut, sending my body into chaos. After I’ve coughed up whatever I could and dry heaved for a few minutes, I look down and go completely still. Terror has my heart in a death grip. 

The chamber pot is stained black, like someone spilled a large ink bottle inside of it. Glistening ichor the colour of pitch imprints itself onto my eyes and fills me with a foreboding cold. 

Shakily, I stand and swipe the back of my hand across my mouth, cursing when it bears a black smear on it. What just happened to me?

I walk back into the bedchamber, trembling like a leaf caught in a storm, and take in my surroundings.

The walls are painted a deep forest green with copper trim and a ceiling of dark cedar panels. There’s a vanity by the window along with a large wardrobe that I could never hope to fill. The four-poster bed also feels far too big for me. Aside from that, there’s only a single wooden chair next to a small round table bearing a jug and a glass.

It’s a room for one, certainly, which seems fitting as I’ve never felt more isolated and alone than I do now. 

“It’s alright,” I tell myself in a whisper. “Just breathe.”

Kylo will come for me tonight. He’ll find a way to slip past Atlas and enter my room, I know it. And once I’m in his arms, everything will feel okay, just like it did last night and this morning. He’ll whisper assurances into my ear and press his lips to my clammy skin and rid me of this gnawing fear.

I won’t tell him about what happened in the bathing chamber. He doesn’t need to know unless it happens again. I’ll take the chamber pot and hide it under the bed until I can scrub it clean and he’ll never know.

I do hide it, acting on impulse and moving around absentmindedly. I pour myself a glass of water from the jug and sip it slowly, allowing myself to feel the iciness of it sliding down my throat. There’s something even colder within me, though, and it makes the water taste like rot.

After a long while that could have been minutes or hours spent pacing the length of the room, I eventually crawl up into the bed, pushing my back up against the headboard and tucking my knees close to my chest. The pillows hug my body, their satin coverings cool and smooth to the touch. But I just sit there, staring at the door, waiting silently as the moon gets higher and higher in the sky outside the window. 

He’ll come. He said he’d find me. He will.

So I keep waiting, fighting off sleep with teeth and claws, desperate to be awake when he comes to me. 

But he doesn’t appear at the door or even the window. There’s nothing but hollow, aching silence both within this room and outside of it. 

Dawn is about to break when I finally keel over from exhaustion, collapsing amongst the pillows in a fitful sleep full of horrible nightmares.

Chapter Text

A knock on my door wakes me only a few hours after I fell asleep. My heart beats furiously in my chest as anxiety builds. 

They knock again as I’m stepping slowly towards the door.

“Who is it?” I ask, my voice raspy.

“It’s Atlas, my lady. I have breakfast and a change of clothes for you.”

The disappointment that leaches into my system is depressing. It’s not who I thought it would be—not who I wanted it to be.

But Kylo didn’t come to me under the cover of darkness, so I shouldn’t delude myself into thinking he’d visit in the morning sun.

I take a deep breath before I open the door. Atlas stands there, his smile broadening as his violet eyes find me. Their colour is made all the more vibrant against the pale contrast of his skin. His hair shines brightly as the light catches it, making the wavy silver strands glimmer like diamonds.  

He’s a beautiful example of a male in every way aside from his personality. Too bad it means nothing to me.

I’ve already been ruined by another.

He hands me a small tray topped with a steaming bowl of porridge, crisp apple slices, toast, and a dish of honey. My stomach rumbles as I look down at the spread.

“Thank you. Um…” I look from him to the small table back by the window. “You can come in.”

His gaze flashes and he follows my command eagerly, trailing close behind me as I walk over and set the small tray down upon the table and then take a seat in the wooden chair. I smile prettily up at him and gesture to the bundle of black fabric still in his hand.

“Are those my clothes?” I ask.

Atlas clears his throat and nods, setting them down on my bed. I know he notices how it doesn’t look slept in, but he doesn’t bring it up.

“Yes. They should be perfect for your training this morning.”

“Training?” I furrow my brow and swallow the bite of apple I’d been chewing. “I thought the king wanted another demonstration.”

“He does,” Atlas confirms. “He’s quite excited about you. But he also wants to see your more natural skills—the way you fight, specifically. Are you comfortable wielding a blade, my lady?”

I let my eyes become cool daggers and drag their gaze up his face. 

“I am,” I answer, allowing danger to play with my voice.

This seems to excite him: he straightens and offers me his prettiest crooked smile, showing off perfect white teeth. “If you don’t mind me asking, how are your skills? I’d be happy to spend some time with you and teach you some of my most used tips and tricks.”

I smile but it doesn’t reach my eyes. 

“Thank you for the offer, but I’ve been trained by the best,” I answer. When he tilts his head with curiosity, I add, “Wolves, all of them.”

A stupid wolf with a crooked canine and eyes the colour of the wild forest floor, things I find myself missing in Atlas’s face.

“You get more and more interesting each time I talk to you, Reyvan,” he compliments. 

“Mm, talk to me all you like,” I tell him, tearing off a piece of toast with my fingers and swiping it through the dish of honey. “I swear I’ll never bore you.”

“Of that, I am certain,” Atlas replies, his tone meant to lure and excite. Instead all I feel is distress.

I expect him to leave and let me eat my breakfast alone, but instead he sits on the edge of the bed, wrinkling the covers beneath him. He inclines his noble head in my direction and the way he’s looking at me forces me to break eye contact. I busy myself with my porridge as an uneasy feeling settles, cold and hard, in my gut.

He’s looking at me like he wants to rip my clothes off with his teeth and fuck me senseless—but he’s acting like it, too. What alarms me though is the way that seeing a beautiful man look at me like that only causes me to feel sadness. It doesn’t hold a candle to the way Ren looked at me that night in the inn, like I was the only thing tethering him to this realm. Like I was all he’s ever known. 

Like maybe he could love me.

My heart clenches painfully in my chest as I allow myself to acknowledge that thought just this once. Never again.

“Did the king want to ensure his prize didn’t choke on her breakfast?” I ask sarcastically, watching him closely in all his arrogant comfort.

Atlas laughs, a soothing sound like water rushing over the smooth stones of a riverbed. 

“Forgive me, my lady. You’re right, I should go…but, I can’t seem to find the courage to leave your company.” 

He’s bold. Foolishly so.

“Mm, I suppose even the best soldier has his weakness, then,” I sigh, playing along but simultaneously setting the rules. 

“Indeed,” he concedes. “Are you pleased to no longer be on the road?”

“I suppose. I am pleased to be of service to the king.” 

“What was it like, travelling with that demon across Ebonreach?” Atlas asks after a brief silence. There’s a shift in his voice now—it has a slightly sharper edge to it. 

I pause for a second, then swallow my food before I answer, trying my best to keep the poison from my tone. You clearly don’t know a real demon when you’re bowing at his feet.

“What do you think it was like?” I decide to answer his question with a question. Perhaps if I can evade the point long enough, he’ll drop the subject entirely. 

Atlas’s eyes spark like amethysts caught in the sun. I see the way his lips tighten, drawing into a stiff, sneering smile. 

“I imagine he was as boorish and arrogant as he usually is,” Atlas says, keeping his voice low. “Did he make you feel inferior to him? Did he touch you?”

His chest broadens with a deep breath and I can tell he wants any excuse to make himself look good to me. To play the hero. 

But I don’t need one. I never have.

I cross my leg over my knee casually and narrow my eyes, letting a cunning smile grow on my lips.

“What would you do if I said he did?” I ask.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Atlas growls. “He’s a filthy troublemaker and he always has been. I would get revenge on him for you, my lady.”

“Why?” 

A simple question, yet it draws him up short.

“I am not yours, nor am I his,” I explain succinctly. “I believe I am your king’s. If memory serves, I don’t believe the king likes others coveting what is his. Is that not correct?”

His expression darkens, turns lustful, like I’ve alighted something primal within him. He gets off the bed and walks towards me in a fluid motion, his steps silent. He’s all predator now. 

That urge to run from him comes back to me in full force.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he says huskily. He slowly curls a lock of my hair around his finger. “Normally that doesn’t affect me, but I admit I’m struggling now. Watching you show everyone what you’re capable of yesterday enraptured me. It was incredible to witness such immense power. I felt the cool, dangerous softness of you in those shadows—I want to feel it again.”

“Is that so…?” That could be arranged. 

“I know it’s wrong, but all I can think about is the fact that the king won’t give you all that you deserve. He can’t. It’s so unfair: a powerful, beautiful woman such as yourself being left to rot in the king’s palm. I find myself tempted by you—enough to risk going against protocol. How does that make you feel, Reyvan?”

“You—”

“Caralark.”

The voice makes my heart jump into my throat as my eyes snap to the door I didn’t hear opening. It’s his voice.

It’s him.

Kylo stands in the doorway, his hulking frame taking up so much of it, and there’s such violence in his glare that I’m surprised Atlas isn’t dropping dead on the spot.

I should feel thrilled to see him. He finally came for me, after all. But instead, a complicated mess of emotions swirls within me. Anger, excitement, fear, hurt. It’s a potent brew that leaves me feeling unsteady.

Atlas stands straighter, finally letting my hair slip off his finger. His back is to me, but I can hear the smug grin in his voice when he speaks.

“Ren. What are you doing here?”

I can almost hear Kylo’s teeth grinding together behind his tight, angry lips. 

“I’ve come to escort the witch to the yard,” he chews out. 

“But I—”

“The king needs you on patrol,” Kylo snaps. “So I suggest you get moving.”

Atlas chuckles darkly. “I see. I’ll go, but my lady still needs to change into the clothes I brought her. I’m afraid I may have been distracting her from her breakfast…”

It was a clear taunt, and also a direct hit. Kylo’s hands tighten into white-knuckled fists and he takes two steps into my bedchamber. His glare promises a brutal death.

“If you touched her—”

“I did nothing of the sort,” Atlas says, feigning offence. “But I think I’ll remain in the hallway until she’s finished dressing, just to make sure you don’t cross any lines.”

Shadows flare around Ren’s hands, pulsing angrily. He’s losing control. He’s one more taunt away from wreaking havoc.

“Then by all means,” he snarls, “get the fuck out.”

Atlas walks casually to the door and stops before Kylo.

“After you,” he says silkily.

Kylo retreats with an angry huff and Atlas follows. Before he closes the door behind himself, he turns back to me and throws me his sweetest smile.

“I’ll be right here should you need any assistance, my lady.”

I say nothing, I don’t even move, until he’s shut the door. Immediately, I hear angry voices erupt in the hallway, threatening violence.

I dress quickly, adorning the combination of soft, breathable fabric and leather armour. It’s a night black robe with slits up the sides of the skirt and leggings beneath, cinched at the waist with a black leather holster belt and fitted with a sleek leather breastplate and arm braces to match. A large hood hangs off the collar and a lightweight cape trails from the shoulders. I stash my dagger in my belt and rush to the door, where the voices have begun shouting on the other side.

“—if the king let me take her from you? Hm? Perhaps all I have to do is ask him for her. He actually trusts me, after all.”

“He wouldn’t give you that kind of opportunity.” Kylo is wrath personified. His rage seems to make the earth tremble in fear, and all he’s done so far is speak. 

“And what, do you think he’ll give it to you? You do seem awfully affected by her, Enforcer. It’s a tad curious, you know.

“And anyway, you won’t be so pessimistic when I manage it and make her mine,” Atlas jeers. His arrogance compels him to argue, but it will damn him. “And when I do, I’ll be sure to make you watch as I fuck her pretty little mou—”

There’s the repeated sound of flesh on flesh and then a heavy thud that makes the wall shake. I wrench open the door, eyes wide. Atlas is on the floor, glaring up at Ren after spitting blood out of his mouth. His lip is split, his nose is bleeding, and judging by the red welt on his jaw, I’m willing to bet a few of his teeth are loose, too.

Kylo is standing over him, his broad shoulders heaving with his rapid breaths. Shadows dance along his fists and arms, threatening to deliver more than just a solid punch. I can feel their frigidity cooling the air in the hallway, raising gooseflesh on my arms. 

His head snaps towards me, and I’m taken aback. I’ve seen him look enraged, even a little wild, but this is something else entirely. 

His eyes are black and his teeth are bared, his nostrils flaring. His hair is a wild tumult around his face, tangling across his forehead. He looks like a fallen god in its true form, clawing his way back from the Underworld, hungry for blood and chaos.

My lungs freeze in my chest—I can’t take a full breath. He looks more animal than man and it terrifies me. Normally he can keep his rage somewhat under control, but apparently that doesn’t apply here in the castle. He’s been much more poised to fly off the handle from the moment we entered the gates of Marbhan. Seeing the way others treat and look at him, it’s no mystery why.

“What did you do?” I hiss.

My voice snaps him out of it. He blinks rapidly and his eyes return to their normal, lovely shade. He looks from me to Atlas, who’s finally standing up, and back to me. My eyes fall to Atlas once, tracking the movement of his thumb as it smears a line of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, and then Ren’s hand roughly grabs me by the arm and spins me around.

“Let’s go.”

He drags me down the hall, not caring that I’m tripping and stumbling to keep myself from falling at his fast pace. I try to jerk my arm loose when we turn a corner, but he squeezes harder.

“You’re hurting me,” I wince as pain trickles down my arm.

He doesn’t hear me. He keeps squeezing, keeps pulling, until I finally snap and beat on his arm with my other fist.

“Let go of me! You’re hurting me!” I scream.

He releases me immediately and goes completely, deathly still. His eyes are wide and they’re darker again—the irises almost match the pupils. 

“What is wrong with you?” I whisper, a chill racing down my spine.

He blinks once before he grabs me again and swings me sideways into a darkened alcove that smells like old smoke and soot.

“Did he touch you.” It’s a demand, not an inquiry. His voice shakes the same way his hands do—one word away from losing all sense of control.

“He touched my hair once,” I tell him, “that’s all.”

His lips tighten into a thin line and he stands tall, his large chest heaving with heavy breaths. The look in his face is dangerous and half-crazed.

“I’ll kill him,” he says in a low, deadly pitch.

“No, you won’t,” I snap, keeping my voice to a whisper. “I’m certain he only did it because he knew you were watching. He doesn’t seem to talk so overtly to me if you’re not nearby.”

“Just because he doesn’t say it doesn’t mean it’s not his intention,” Kylo says through clenched teeth. “Don’t be a fool, Rey.”

“Do not imply that I’m a fool when it’s you who is acting like one! And do not think for one second I can’t handle that cocky little pervert myself! I am so sick of you males and your hero complexes.”

He says nothing and stares at the wall to the left of my head. It angers me that he won’t look me in the eyes. I cling to that emotion because my only other option is heartache.

“You didn’t come to my chambers last night,” I say coolly. “Why not?”

“I couldn’t.” The words are flat and expressionless and they are not an explanation. Explicitly and purposely so.

“I killed a man yesterday. Brutally. In public. I was spiralling afterwards and the only person I wanted to talk to was you.” The admission spills from me on a barely recognized whim. My hands begin to shake as I remember the black stain splashed across painted porcelain.

The muscles in his neck and jaw tighten. “I thought I made it clear to you that there would be tasks set before you that would go against your morals.”

“Oh, so I’m just not supposed to feel anything about it, ever, even when I’m alone?” I scoff. “I’m just expected to fold it up really small and shove it to the back corner of a drawer somewhere, like my emotions are a horrible secret? The way you do?”

He drops his chin and doesn’t answer me, because he doesn’t have to. I know I’m right.

“Where were you last night, then?” I ask sharply. “Did the king keep you up all night? Or did Serafine?”

I don’t know why jealousy decides to rear its ugly head, but I can’t take it back now. I can still see the way she’d looked at him in the throne room yesterday, all fluttering eyelashes and suggestive smiles. It makes me sick, reliving it in my mind.

His eyes finally roam to my face and my breath catches when I notice how tired they look. How lifeless. How hurt. 

I’d hurt him just now. I hadn’t wanted to, but maybe I’d been trying to. Lashing out because his absence last night had hurt me, even though I kept telling myself it hadn’t. But isn’t it my fault for getting my hopes up? Does he deserve to have my pain thrown at him? The way his expression makes me feel like complete shit tells me he doesn’t.

I open my mouth to apologize, but he grabs my wrist and tugs me out of the alcove.

“Come, witch,” he grumbles, his mood foreboding, like a black storm on the horizon, getting closer fast. “The king is waiting.”

His words are sharp and their laceration stings. He’s completely shut down—whatever has transpired since we’ve been here has destroyed him and I feel the hollow ache in my soul as though it were my own.

I was just starting to memorize his smile and the way it brightened his face. When will I see it again? 

He says nothing else to me as we reach the yard. Then he nods a curt bow to his king and disappears, leaving me to the vultures without looking back once.

Maybe this is what I deserve.

“My Shadowsmith,” King Orin beckons to me. “Come here, pet.”

I take a deep, steadying breath and try to still my shaking hands before I step into the yard.

It’s a large space with a dirt floor and stone border, encased in green glass walls and a ceiling to keep out the chill of a northern winter. The afternoon sun shines through the glass and naturally heats the area. There’s racks of weapons and weights all along the opposite wall, shining invitingly in the green-tinted light of the yard. The king stands by this wall of death, Serafine at his side. The sour expression on her face betrays the crisp, pure white of her clothing.

I hold my chin high as I walk towards them, biting my tongue as I bow before the king.

“Choose a weapon,” he says, gesturing at the plethora laid before me.

I assess my options. I’ve never used a flail before, nor sickles. There’s five quivers of arrows and two beautifully crafted bows, but I don’t think they’ll suit for whatever is expected of me today. I have a feeling things will move quickly, so I need to as well.

In the end, I select a sword with a black blade and silver handle. 

“Excellent choice,” the king says, and I don’t miss the sardonic tilt to his words. 

“Today, I want to measure your skill in combat,” he explains. “We’ll begin with no magic. Both of you, put one of these on.”

A servant steps forward and opens a wooden box, exposing a crimson silk cushion inside with two silver and black bracelets atop it. I know before I slip it onto my wrist that it will close off access to my magic. I don’t make a sound or a face as I put it on, but Serafine winces and shudders. She’s not used to this. Good to know.

“I’ve had some practice dummies set up. Why don’t you show us what you’re capable of, Reyvan, and then Serafine can have a go.”

All eyes are on me. Uneasiness settles within me, making me feel queasy. But I remind myself this is all an act, and one I have to pull off as flawlessly as possible. 

While I don’t have my magic right now, I still have my rage.

I channel it as I stand before the five straw men with targets hastily splashed on their chests in red paint. As I lift the blade into a proper position, they move, shifting in different directions in front of me as if they’ve been tugged by invisible strings. This isn’t a display of how I can finesse a murder—this is a lesson in how to kill a moving target. 

I breathe, and I remember how Ren taught me. Then I put that knowledge to use.

I slash the blade in a blurry arc in front of me, slicing across the first dummy and spilling golden straw onto the ground at my feet. The remaining four move positions again, getting farther apart. 

I dart across to the one on the left. It moves backward as I lunge, so I propel myself hard with my back foot until the sword is embedded deep within it. It’s kind of sloppy, but I tug the weapon free and move on, sprinting to eviscerate the next one and raising dusty clouds in my wake.

The last two dummies are moving more erratically now, front to back and side to side. I jump towards the closest one, using my momentum to tuck and roll across the dirt, springing up at the last second and using the sword to extend my reach, slicing clean up the front of it. Straw particles scratch at my eyes, and through the blurry agitation I can tell the final dummy is several yards away from me now. I pull my dagger out of my holster belt and pinch the tip of its blade between my fingers. I spin around and line it up through squinting eyes, throwing with all the strength I can muster and praying to Solara that the dummy moves in the direction I anticipated it to. 

It’s a direct hit to the chest. Not quite in the centre of the target, but close enough to count.

I’m panting and rubbing at my eyes when I hear someone clapping. Squinting, I feel that familiar chill of disgust in my chest when I notice it’s the king, and he’s grinning at me like I just won him a high stakes betting game.

“Well done,” he shouts. “There’s room for improvement, of course, but overall it was quite impressive.”

I want to tell him to take his assessment and shove it up his ass until he can taste it, but I swallow the words back down—barbed as they might be. 

As I take my place beside the king, Serafine cuts me her meanest smile. I keep my expression impassive, refusing to give her any satisfaction. It seems to annoy her the most when I act like she bores me.

The dummies I slaughtered are hauled away by servants and replaced by five new ones. Serafine walks confidently onto the dirt field, her hips swaying. I watch closely as she takes her position and removes that nasty looking whip and a shortsword from their places on her person. She spreads her feet and bends her knees, her eyes locked on her targets.

“Watch closely,” the king murmurs to me. “This is really quite something.”

The dummies start moving, and so does Serafine. She’s little more than a blur of white as she darts across the dusty ground, burying her shortsword in the first two. Her whip lashes out at the third and splits its chest wide open with a loud snap. She races to the fourth and catches it just before it moves again, stabbing it brutally and repeatedly. Once she’s satisfied, she cracks her whip and I watch as it wraps around the fifth and final dummy. She gives a hard tug and the dummy is pulled forcefully towards her, where she meets it by burying her blade to the hilt right in the middle of the target.

It lasts all of thirty seconds.

I hate when a bitch is also formidable. 

She’s grinning at me, showing me her teeth, when she steps before the king and bows.

“Flawless, as always,” Orin says. 

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Serafine says in her smoky voice, preening. 

 He sighs then in a way that says he’s pleased. Then he looks at each of us in turn with a menacing smile that promises violence for the sake of violence.

“Now,” he says, “take your skills and test them on one another. No weapons, though. I don’t want my new addition sullied with too many injuries just yet, Serafine.”

Sickness crawls down my spine in waves as I reluctantly give up my sword and dagger. Serafine does the same with her weapons, never once taking her emerald eyes off of me. They glint with malice and the promise of swift brutality. 

She thinks me to be a simple little girl raised in the bland backwoods of the south who’s never fought someone of her calibre before. I look forward to taking her by surprise.

We step out onto the dirt and circle one another slowly, eyes tracking every twitch and blink as we await the king’s command. When he gives it, the war begins.

I lunge for her, but she’s agile and quick, easily stepping out of my path. But her hair is long and trails behind her body, and it’s that which I grab onto and pull, yanking her back towards me until I can kick her legs out from under her. She utters a short yelp before she falls onto her back, but she’s up and on her feet again in the blink of an eye. Her fist connects hard with my jaw and then my stomach, making pain blossom across my face and abdomen. I dodge the next swipe she takes at me, but the following one lands. Sharp nails scrape across my cheek like small daggers, leaving stinging, jagged scratches in their wake.

We dodge and jump around one another for a minute before my foot connects with her side. I hear the breath whooshing out of her as she spins away from me with the impact. As she’s turning back around, her expression more vengeful than ever before, I let my head connect with her nose. I hear the crunch of it breaking and feel the spray of blood across my face. Her next scream is primal and angry. 

She leaps onto me, throwing me to the ground with more force than someone her size should be able to command. Her knees settle sharply on my upper arms and keep them pinned to the dusty ground. Her warm hands wrap tightly around my throat and squeeze, cutting off my air supply completely. I gasp and choke, kicking my legs and bucking my hips in an attempt to unseat her, but she holds firm.

Leaning down, a malicious smile growing on her bloody lips, she snarls in my face. Blood from her nose drips onto my cheeks. “I’ll have your blood one day soon, if I don’t kill you today. Then I’ll make you do whatever the fuck I want you to, you pathetic fucking vermin.”

The edges of my vision blur and fade. I’m going to pass out if I don’t get her off of me right this second…

“Enough!” 

The king’s demand has Serafine jumping off of me and standing to attention by my feet while I haul in a breath through my raw, aching throat and cough. My head spins and I shake as oxygen flows freely through my body once again. 

I struggle to stand but know that I must, so I force my trembling legs to support my weight, even if they do hurt terribly.

“You’re both so quick! A fascinating display of power, even without magic,” Orin compliments, his devious smirk growing. “I am curious what you’ll do next…”

He summons a servant with a simple crook of his index finger. The small boy rushes to his side, eagerly awaiting his command.

“Collect their bracelets,” Orin says.

My heart thuds as my magic rushes back to me when the bracelet is removed from my wrist. Shadows crawl across my body, caressing the places where I hurt the most, cooling my skin with their misty touch. Serafine inhales deeply beside me and I watch her eyelids flutter closed as though she’s in the throes of ecstasy. It disturbs me.

“Do it again,” Orin shouts at us, taking a seat in a velvet-covered chair one of the servants had hauled in. “Use your magic this time. Do not fight to kill.”

He wants a show. Evil fuck.

Serafine laughs, and somehow it’s both menacing and pretty all at once. I watch in confused horror as she turns to me and peels up the sleeve of her robe, exposing an arm full of criss-crossing scars, the majority of them a pale, ghostly white, like the face of the moon. Some of the fresher ones are still slightly pink. There isn’t an inch of her exposed skin that isn’t marred. 

“Oh…” She sighs as she drags her index finger across the crook of her elbow, leaving a fine line welling with crimson dots of blood that sparkle like rubies. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

I’ve never seen anything like this before and my confusion over it screws me. She mutters foreign words under her breath and it makes the blood she drew glow and flicker before it vanishes, as though it’s been claimed by an unseen force. A sacrifice to Bàs for his blessing, I realize. And then pain erupts within me, and I can do nothing other than scream.

Fire floods my veins, consuming me in internal flames that lick at my arteries and  scorch my intestines. I scream and fall to my knees as the pain drowns out everything else. My body spasms and quakes. I feel her magic moving through my veins, redirecting its target time and time again until it reaches my head. It feels like my eyeballs should be melting out of my skull as the pressure builds and builds, quickly becoming unbearable. I feel wet warmth in my eyes and I know it’s not tears streaming down my face.

She’s going to give me an aneurysm. 

I can’t see as I whip my magic around; the only things I feel are what my shadows touch. I know her shoulder when I brush against it, and I waste no time smothering her with my darkness.

She releases her hold on me as she scratches at her head, trying to peel the shadows away from her face, but they aren’t something that can be caught, and I can hear her muffled screams. I can feel her panic brushing against me, icy cold and sharp. 

Slowly, I stand and sort of regain my sight, though things are horribly blurry and unsteady. I force myself to stalk over to her, to concentrate my shadows at her throat so they can squeeze and squeeze. I throw her to the ground violently and jump on top of her, digging my knees into her chest to force all her air out. She’s clawing at my arms but I barely feel it. My shadows protect me, flaring out and pinning her wrists to the dirt. 

I let my shadows slip into her ears and whisper to her. They ravage her mind. They tell her how she’ll die and how no one will care, not even a little.

Her eyes are getting more red as she stares up at me in horror. I smile while I wait for her lips to turn blue.

“Stop! I said stop!”

I stumble sideways off of Serafine as if the voice physically shoved me. I cast my gaze about, but everything is blurry and has a strange blueish hue to it. I try to stand but the world tips on its side and throws me back down into the dirt. 

I can hear Serafine gasping and coughing behind me, still struggling to catch her breath. Soft thuds tell me she’s also having a tough time finding her legs.

Good. Crazy bitch.

“Never in my life have I seen two women fall victim to bloodlust at the same time.”

The king’s voice is nearby. I squint my eyes and I think I see a swish of a cape or the glint off a ring, but I can’t place him exactly. He sounds like he’s simultaneously right next to me and a thousand leagues away.

“What a fascinating spectacle,” he continues. “It seems it’s true what the books say: ‘there is no crueller death than that bestowed by a Shadowed One, for if they want you dead, you will be—but they’ll break you first.’” He chuckles at this quote and I gag into the dirt. 

“We may end it here for today, girls. Go and get yourselves set to rights.”

His retreating footsteps echo like rocks on a tin sheet. It feels like every nerve and vein in my body has been severed and flayed. My stomach heaves and I fight to keep my breakfast. Eventually I simply curl up on my side and tuck my knees in tightly, resigned to lay here all day. 

I don’t know how long it’s actually been before strong arms wrap themselves around me and lift me from the dirt. The chest my body is pressed against is firm. Immediately my mind is filled with thoughts of sable hair tickling my face, gentle fingers tracing circles down my arm, and toothy grins paired with warm, addictive laughter.

“Kylo…?” I groan, my voice as rough and scratchy as it is groggy.

I know it isn’t him the moment I say his name. This person smells like laundry soap and lavender. Like a warm early spring instead of a dark, deadly winter.

“Afraid not, darling.” 

Atlas’s voice is quiet and curious, and so fucking disappointing it makes my heart seize. 

“Oh…you,” I mumble, lifting and dropping my aching head.

“Me,” he says, his tone significantly cooler.

“Where are you—where’re we going…?”

“To your chambers, my lady,” he explains. “You need to get cleaned up and rest. I can’t believe the king let her play with you like that. But I guess you gave as good as you got. She’s in no better shape than you are.”

Good.

I fade in and out of consciousness on our way to my chambers. I come to for the third time when I feel something firm beneath me.

“I’m setting you down on your bed, my lady,” Atlas explains. “Are you alright here for a moment?”

A shiver rolls through me. If I stay perfectly still, it’s not so bad. I nod.

“Alright, then I will go and fetch a maid to bring more warm water and help you bathe. Just stay here.”

I reach out blindly and manage to catch a slip of his uniform’s sleeve between my fingers. He stills in my grasp.

“My lady?” He asks, puzzled.

“Thank you,” I say softly. 

“Oh. You’re welcome…”

“Atlas?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“If I ever hear you talking about fucking my ‘pretty little mouth’ again, I’ll rip your cock off your body with my own two hands and make you eat it.”

Sharpened silence extends for nearly half a minute before he clears his throat and steps out of my hold. 

“Of course. My sincere apologies, my lady. You shouldn’t have—I am sorry.” I’m surprised to hear some actual embarrassment in his words. Whether or not it manifests as regret is unknown to me.

I lay back on the bed and he promptly takes his leave.

The pain takes me in gradually fading waves over the next few hours. The bath helps some. I feel like a doll as the maids tend to my injuries, clean and dress me and brush my hair before tucking me into bed. Eventually, the stinging sensation within me abates, transforming into an aching numbness. 

Sleep finds me before long, restless though it may be. I have strange dreams all night—things like vines of ivy climbing to choke out the sun, the moon collapsing, a beautiful man with long, pale hair and jet black wings, horns curling out of my skull. But I also dream of warm fingers brushing the hair off of my forehead and soft lips on my cheek—whispered words that I can’t understand, as though they’re being spoken in a foreign language. But the voice is familiar. I would know it anywhere, in any language.

But when I open my eyes in the early minutes of dawn, Kylo isn’t there with me, even though I swear I can smell the spiced, wintry scent of him on my pillow.

I am going to go truly crazy in this place, all on my own.

Chapter Text

I’m lying on my back, watching the late afternoon sunlight catch the motes of dust that swirl above my head, making them sparkle like diamonds. My hut smells like Aurore’s sweet rolls and chokecherry wine. I can feel the warmth of both in my belly, making me sleepy and giddy all at once.

The little wind chime I’d constructed from scavenged bones, feathers, and river driftwood clatters musically, caught in a lazy breeze outside my window. The uneven floor beneath me isn’t the most comfortable spot, but I don’t want to get up. I’m content just laying here, listening to the sounds of the forest outside my home, knowing I’m safe within its walls.

I lift my hand above my head and reach for the narrow stream of sunlight that seeps in through a crack in my curtains. It turns my skin a golden colour where it touches it. I twist my hand slowly. As I turn my palm back away, the air around my hand begins to sparkle and glow in a way that seems both completely natural and extremely strange. Shock rapidly cools my body when tiny, glimmering threads twine around my fingers and the back of my hand, moving purposely over my skin as their gracious touch warms it. I can barely comprehend what I’m seeing when the wisps of misty black swirl amongst the gold. 

Then the pain starts.

My skin burns. Like I’ve just shoved it into a roaring flame, the nerve endings in my hand scream and die off. I’m sure my skin has started to bubble before I’ve even made the conscious decision to wrench my hand out of the light.

I clutch my hand to my chest and writhe in pain on the floor, twitching and crying. 

Bam!

I jump, my eyes flying to my door, which trembles dangerously in its frame when another severe knock hits it. 

Bam. Bam. BAM.

It flies inwards with an explosive crash and I have to roll out of the way to avoid it landing on me. I hear a scream, and it takes a second before I realize it came from me.

A massive, shadowy figure steps into my hut, taking up all the space and consuming all the light that touches it. It has no defining features aside from the fact that it’s in the shape of a human man. 

And it’s wearing a jagged, glittering crown atop its head.

I can’t see its eyes but I can feel it when they land on me. Gooseflesh erupts over my entire body and I think I’ve stopped breathing. 

Is this Death? Has he finally found me?

The shadow reaches for me, its beckoning grip a terrifying promise of destruction.

It touches my shoulder and squeezes, shaking me. I blink, and though I can barely make out my surroundings in the penetrating dark, I recognize that I’m in bed. When did I get here? 

That hand still grasps me, shaking lightly, its fingers applying pressure. I reach out with my other arm and my fingers curl around the textured handle of my dagger I keep stashed beneath my pillow. I swing my arm out, aiming to kill, but another hand grabs me by the wrist and halts my attack. 

“Rey! Wake up, it’s me!”

I gasp as my consciousness finally catches up to my body. My surroundings start to come back to me and it feels like I’m being buried under the truth.

I am not in my hut. The air does not smell like sweet rolls and wine, I feel cold and empty inside, and there’s no wind chime making pleasant music outside my window. I am in Marbhan, lying in a bed that doesn’t feel like mine, in a dark room I don’t want to have to myself. 

And Kylo is kneeling at the side of my bed, his eyes wide in the silvery light of the moon as he holds my dagger at bay a mere two inches away from his throat.

“What…?” My voice is sluggish and croaky. The pain in my body seems to erupt all at once, reminding me that every inch hurts to some degree, my head most of all. 

“You were dreaming,” Kylo explains in a whisper, slowly urging my hand back down. “You started to scream, so I woke you. At great personal risk, apparently.”

I return the dagger to its spot under my pillow and sit up a little, keeping my eyes on him lest he disappear. 

“You’re here,” I say, not keeping the shock from my voice.

He simply nods. Though the light is dim, I can see the way his mouth dips down at the corners, pained.

“It’s been almost two weeks since I saw you last.” 

Venom seeps through the words as I speak them. I’ve thought of little else other than him in the last twelve days and it’s been maddening, searching for him everywhere and finding him nowhere.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“I know we’re supposed to be pretending, but this is starting to feel a little too realistic to me.”

“I haven’t been staying away because I want to,” he snaps. “The king knows I’d give anything to destroy him, so he thinks the busier he keeps me the harder it will be for me to try anything. It’s like this every time I return from a mission. Everything becomes a test, including you.”

“What do you mean ‘including me’?” 

“He wants to make sure I don’t care for you or sympathize with you—that I haven’t softened to you in any way since I found you. Keeping me away from you, asking me to bring you to the yard once—he’s watching how I react. If there’s a difference.”

I don’t answer. I simply mull it over in my mind, assessing the plots of a madman. 

“He’s had me training the Ufrarians, helping them set up camp, and he’s sent me on a few short scouting trips as well. Day and night. No stopping.”

Concern creases my expression. “Have you slept?”

He takes a minute before replying, “Here and there.”

I chew on my bottom lip. I suddenly need to see him, and the darkness of the room isn’t making it possible. I move off the side of the bed next to where he’s kneeling.

“Hang on, let me light some candles.”

I rummage around in the bedside table until I feel the box of matches. Once I get one lit and a yellow-orange glow flares to life between my fingers, I touch it to the white candle in the copper chamberstick. I go around the room in silence, lighting all the other candles with the first until the room is bathed in warm, flickering light. I walk back to where he’s now standing by the bed and set the chamberstick down. 

“There, that’s better,” I sigh, casting my gaze up to his face. 

He’s smiling weakly, and his eyes have dark rings beneath them. He looks paler than he did before. His stare slips down from my face to my neck and chest, where they pause just as the smile falls off his lips. His expression hardens, becoming almost murderous, as he steps towards me and gently pushes the unbuttoned collar of my sleep shirt to the side, exposing my upper chest.

I look down, confused until I see it and remember. There’s a two-inch long gash there—a narrow, clean cut but a deep one—and spilled blood dries in streaks down the front of me. 

“Serafine.” He spits her name like it tastes toxic on his tongue. 

He knows. He recognizes the wounds inflicted  by her whip. And he looks very frightening right now.

“Yes,” I confirm.

“How? Why?” He demands harshly.

“You don’t…know?” 

“Know what, Rey?”

“That’s been my ‘training’ experience thus far. The king’s been pitting her and I against one another day in and day out while he sits in his comfortable chair and watches like it’s his favourite show,” I explain. It hurts to tell him—to watch the way it paints his face with agony and rage.

“Fuck, I—” He stops himself and runs a hand through his hair, his fingers viciously cutting through the strands. 

He takes a minute to calm himself and doesn’t look at me for the duration of it. The air around us feels volatile and sensitive, like walking on thin ice over a deep and vast lake.

 “I’m so sorry, Rey.”

All I can do is nod. I don’t really want to talk about it, and hearing him apologize for something that isn’t his fault hurts too. 

“Why has the wound not been cleaned? Where are your maids?”

“I…I sent them away,” I answer sheepishly. “I wanted to be alone.”

I’d limped back into my room to a steaming bathtub full of fragrant oils and two ladies immediately fretting over the state of me. I’d batted their hands away and demanded they leave. I can do it myself. Please leave me alone. I’d felt so uncomfortable in the robe and leather armour that I’d at least taken the time to change. But the thought of a bath or taking care of myself in any way repulsed me, so I’d extinguished every candle in the room and crawled on top of the comforter on the bed and fallen asleep.

He sighs, but it’s not in annoyance. “That explains why your bathtub is full of lukewarm water. You didn’t get in it.”

“No. I didn’t.”

He does nothing but simply look at me for a moment in contemplation, those pretty eyes slowly raking over my body, making my head swirl with heady desire despite my exhaustion.

When his fingers begin undoing the remaining buttons of my top, I go completely still, surprised.

“What are you doing?”

“You need to bathe and get the mud and blood off of you, and we need to clean that wound before it festers,” he answers matter-of-factly. 

I make a sound that’s part scoff, part giggle. “You’re going to bathe me?” I ask.

His eyes flick up to my face and he throws me a playful grin.

“Whether you like it or not.”

In what world wouldn’t I like it?

“Fucking gods.”

His voice is suddenly deathly low and it makes me nervous to hear him sound so devastated. He’s looking at my abdomen like he’d looked at my cut earlier: like he craves cruel and immediate retribution.

I look down at myself and take note of the mottled bruises dotting my ribs and stomach. The ones I got today are vibrant pinks and purples, stretching out in odd shapes. The older ones are varying degrees of blue and yellow.

I can feel his anger prickling my bare skin. His hands, which still grip the soft fabric of my shirt, are shaking. 

“Kylo…” I say gently.

“I didn’t know,” he says, anguished. “I didn’t think he’d—this is even more barbaric than I anticipated. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I tell him earnestly. “If nothing else, I do enjoy kicking her ass when I can.”

He doesn’t laugh or seem impressed. He just carries on undressing me, his expression unreadable. 

“I’ll fix this,” he announces as he helps pull the sleeves off my arms. 

I want to tell him he doesn’t have to. I want to say it’ll stop soon, and not to worry. It’s okay. But it’s not. And I can’t. So I don’t.

Once my shirt is discarded on the end of the bed, he helps me to stand and coaxes the shorts I’m wearing past my thighs until they slip down my legs and pool at my feet. Then, he gently lifts me out of them.

When he sets me back down he doesn’t let me go, but he does afford himself a good look at me. There’s still pain in his gaze, but there’s a greed in it too that levels me.

He picks me up in his arms and carries me into the bathroom, where he then helps me settle into the water.

“It won’t be the warmest bath you’ve ever had,” he says.

“It’s fine,” I shrug. “They make boiling hot baths here and after bathing in mostly rivers and ponds for close to a month, I’m not very used to it. This is much more my temperature anyway.”

He makes a noise in his throat and then quickly lights some candles in the room to help chase out the blinding dark before returning to me.

He starts with my hair, wetting it and combing his fingers through it as gently as possible. I watch as flakes of dirt and blood stain the water around me. My eyes flutter closed when he moves on to massaging suds that smell like ripe oranges into my hair, his fingers a delicious, relaxing pressure on my aching skin. 

Next, he uses a sponge to dab at my injuries, wiping away the remaining streaks of dried blood. He’s gentle and careful, his eyes constantly flicking to my face to monitor my expression for any sign of discomfort as he tends to the cut. But I just watch him, enraptured. Never in all my days did I imagine meeting someone who would care enough about me to be so tender with me. It’s intimate in an entirely different way and the things it makes me want to do are intimidating and new. 

I know my feelings for him have quickly evolved, otherwise these last few weeks wouldn’t have felt so difficult, and I wouldn’t be biting back the words that desperately want to slip past my mouth. Maybe someday I’ll tell him about it. Maybe when we’re safe and the world is finally set to rights, I’ll look him in the eye and tell him I think I might be falling in love with him. 

But that’s the idealistic hope of a woman who would stay. A woman who would be his queen.

That woman is not me. And so the words turn sour on my tongue.

When he’s satisfied with his work, he pulls a fluffy towel from the rack and throws it over his shoulder while he helps me stand in the tub. Then he encases me in it and pulls me from the water, carrying me back to the bed where he works at drying me off. I’ve dampened his shirt to the point that it sticks to his skin, so he removes it and carries on, unbothered.

He brushes through my hair and helps me back into my sleepwear, then fluffs a pillow before sitting me up against the headboard of the four-poster. As he’s leaning over me, adjusting the pillows arranged around me, I can’t help but feel reckless. I feel things for this man I’ve never felt before, but I know in the end his path will divert from mine, and I will have to abandon those feelings along with him. But in this moment, when he’s fussing over me and being more protective than he necessarily should be, I want to call him mine. I want to imprint myself onto his skin and have him do the same to me. I want him to be everywhere now, before he can be nowhere at all.

I lean up and press my lips to his surprised ones, gently coaxing him down to me. He sighs against my mouth and it sounds full of emotions that can’t be unpacked. 

He moves to bracket  me with his knees, cupping my face in his hands and tangling his long fingers in my wet hair. His mouth is pliant and demanding against mine. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open them for him, delighting in the taste of him. His breathing becomes ragged as he presses me into the headboard, all but consuming me with his body. 

I’m arching my back, desperate for more contact, more pressure, more intensity. A soft moan slips from my lips and brushes over his, prompting one of his hands to trail down, skirting lightly over my breasts to plunge further down my body. His fingers find a sore spot and I wince a little, and that’s when he shudders and goes still. It lasts for just a moment, and then he’s pulling away from me, angling his face to the side. His hair falls over his eyes, hiding them from me, as his shoulders tremble with fast, heavy breaths.

“Kylo?” I ask, my voice a ragged whisper. Apprehension and dread settle deep within me, cold and sharp.

“We can’t.”

Two simple words, and yet it sounds like it took all his strength just to force them out. Two simple words, yet they cut me like the sharpest blade right now.

“Why?” I can’t keep my voice from sounding small and desperate. It’s pathetic, but at least it’s honest.

“Rey, you’re really injured,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to risk hurting you further.”

“You won’t,” I argue. I sit up straighter and hold his face between my palms. “I’m not scared.”

“But I am.”

Now he’s being honest with me. I can tell in the way his brows are knit with concern and regrets. I don’t push the issue and allow my mind to settle, even if my body takes a little while longer to do the same.

He builds a small fire in the fireplace and as he does I watch him, fascinated by the way the muscles in his back and arms move as he adjusts the kindling and logs with the poker. As the fire grows, it kisses his body with its orange glow, illuminating his silhouette. His shadow trails out behind him like a regent’s cape, shifting and moving across the floorboards. 

Once he’s satisfied, he returns to me, all the candles in the room going out at once behind his back, leaving only the crackling light of the fire to be our light source. He pulls the sheets back a little further and slides under them beside me. Instinctually, I lean into him and he folds me into his arms, keeping me as close as he dares to. He’s warm from standing by the fire, and his hair smells faintly like burning pinewood and it reminds me of home.

“Can I stay for a while?” He asks in a whisper pressed against my hair. 

“Please do.”

“It’s okay that I won’t be here when you wake up?”

“It’s not, but I understand.”

“Okay.”

I feel his lips press against my head more than once. His fingers dance lazily along my shoulder and arm, coaxing me further into a deep relaxed state with every brush of his skin on mine. I know I’d missed this—simply being with him—but I didn’t realize just how much. I nuzzle a little closer to him and press a kiss to his collarbone, memorizing the feeling of his skin beneath my lips in case I don’t get to do that again for a while.

He sighs a low noise in his chest at the gesture. 

“Go to sleep, mo rún, or you’ll be the death of me.” His voice is a husky murmur by my head and a thrill zips down my spine. 

I don’t want to sleep, I want to drive him insane. I want to make him struggle against the bonds of his restraint, just to see how far I can stretch those limits of his before he completely breaks and takes everything he wants from me. But he’s right—I am tired, my entire body aches, and my energy is practically non-existent at this point. 

Next time.

I’m wondering what the northern phrase he said means when I fall asleep to the sound of his slow, steady breaths, having not felt this safe in weeks. 

My mind stills and calms. My body temporarily releases the weight it’s been carrying. And I don’t dream. 

In the morning, I still miss him the same. Desperately and intensely. I think this is how it will always be, for the rest of my life. The only difference will be the distance I’ll need to keep—the kind that makes the pain of missing him burrow deeper into my chest, punishing me forever for wanting what I shouldn’t and taking what can’t be mine. 

I am selfish and greedy and masochistic, and I can’t take any of it back now. As I hold the pillow that smells like him tightly to my front, I know for certain it’s far too late for that.

Chapter Text

“Rowan!”

I spotted his unique hair across the courtyard and couldn’t keep myself from shouting his name before racing towards him.

He’s standing alone writing in a small leather-bound book. His head whips up when I shout his name and he grins ear to ear. I’ve barely seen him since we arrived—he was in the infirmary for most of it. But clearly he’s been discharged and I’m relieved to see him looking better. There’s colour in his handsome face and the energetic light has returned to his golden eyes. 

“Well, look who it is,” he croons. “I thought you’d forgotten about me, Sparrowhawk.”

I stop myself just short of hugging him, lest anyone be watching us. But I can’t wipe the smile off my face if I try. 

“I could never forget about you,” I admit. “I wanted to come see you, but I didn’t know if it would raise some kind of suspicion—”

“It’s okay, Rey. I’m only joking.” He chuckles. “How’ve you been…er, adjusting?”

I shrug. “It’s not been easy so far. This is an entirely new playing field for me and I’m scared out of my wits still. But I’m managing.”

“That’s about all one can hope for in your position,” he tells me softly. “You’re doing just fine.”

I offer him a weak smile and push the focus off of me. 

“How have you been? How’s your injury healing?”

“Better,” he answers. “It still hurts and I can’t move too vigorously without nearly passing out, which is a real disappointment on lonely nights, you know.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m sure.”

“I’m taking it slow. The healers in the infirmary think I’ll be mostly back to normal soon, but I might never be one hundred percent again.” 

My heart breaks for him. He’d always seemed so formidable, so strong, with a spirit that could never be broken. To hear there’s a chance he may never return to that version of himself is like a spear in my gut. It feels like a loss.

Clearly he sees the sadness in my face, for he swiftly changes the subject again to something he innocently assumes won’t make my mood worse.

“So, did you finally take my advice about Ren?” he asks, nudging me coyly with his shoulder. 

A blush creeps up my neck, and I know he sees it. “…Yes.”

“Oh, gods, fucking finally,” he groans, dramatically emphasizing his relief. “You two were agonizing to watch, did you know that? I was half-tempted to kiss you myself just to make him do something.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, you’re so clever,” I quip. “However did you come to know us better than we know ourselves?”

“Well, you know how I’m not an idiot?”

“Mm, debatable.” 

“Nice.” He smirks though, conceding to a good comeback when he hears one. “So? How’s that been for you? Tell me everything but the gross stuff.”

I look down at our feet as a collection of difficult emotions swirls within me. I take my time finding an answer as I parse through all of it, attempting to determine what the best version of the truth will be.

“Rey?” he prompts, worry in his voice.

“It’s been good,” I admit quietly. “Far too good for two people who can never be together in the end.”

His brow knits together and he slips the small journal into the back pocket of his trousers, focusing all his attention on every minute change in my face.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t be his queen, Rowan. I can’t wear a crown and sit on that throne, on the same dais my parents were murdered on, living in the same castle where they fell in love. I just…can’t. And I’m afraid—” 

I choke on a sob that surprises me. I shake my head hard, damning my weaknesses, cursing them to stay locked up and hidden.

“I’m afraid I’ve already let things go too far with him.” 

“Do you…” His lips press together as he struggles with his words. “Do you love him?”

The question is like a knife in my heart, its answer far too complicated to figure out. That question terrifies me. It leads me down a path that was never meant for me, full of dangers that are sure to tear me to shreds. 

I try to blink back the tears that have swelled in my eyes before raising my face to his.

“I can’t,” I answer, and it’s all I can say.

He just nods and accepts it, but I can tell he knows the truth—he can see it in my eyes. He knows the pain and recognizes it, but won’t acknowledge it until I do. 

If I can manage it, I never will.

“Anyway,” I mutter, swiping quickly at my eyes and forcing lightness back into my voice. “What does ‘mo rùn’ mean?” 

Once again, his brows furrow in confusion. “Why do you ask? Where did you hear that?” 

“Kylo said it to me,” I answer, growing more and more concerned by his reaction.

His eyes go wide and his lips part as hasty words form on his tongue. He chooses to swallow them before he replies.

“...He did?”

“Yes…does it mean something perverse?”

“Uh, no,” Rowan replies quickly. I can tell by the way his eyes jump around that he’s scrambling for an explanation.

“What is it?” I demand, leaning in closer. It’s suddenly very important to me to find out what this term means, even though I wasn’t so concerned with it this morning. I’d just wanted a change of topic, but now I’m determined.

“I don’t—I don’t think I should be—”

“There you are, darling.” 

I wince when I hear Atlas’s silky voice and the sound of his footsteps growing closer. Rowan looks from me to him, his expression hardening. Clearly he doesn’t like Atlas Caralark any more than Ren does. 

I was hoping he wouldn’t find me—that maybe if I avoided his summons for long enough, I wouldn’t have to go to the yard and suffer today. But I can’t seem to ever get so lucky.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he says as he comes to stand by my side. His smile is warm and brilliant and it opens a pit in my stomach. I take note of the fading bruise that sprawls along his jaw and remember the angry fist that gave it to him in my defence.

“I went for a walk,” I reply, and it’s the truth. “I suppose the king has summoned me to the yard?”

“Actually, today he’s requested you go to the library for some research.”

My face contorts in confusion. Research? Since when? Though I’m glad to not have to physically exert myself today, I can’t help but feel suspicious.

“What sort of research?” I ask.

“The sort that will aid you in the task the king wishes to set before you,” Atlas responds, violet eyes darting to Rowan, untrusting. 

Rowan, for his part, rolls his eyes. “Get over yourself, Caralark.”

Atlas just smiles smugly at Rowan. It annoys even me.

“Fine. Let’s go to the library.”

I bid Rowan a silent goodbye over my shoulder as Atlas leads me to the library. Rowan waves, but his eyes don’t lose their concern as they watch me go.

I pay attention to the route we take in the hopes that maybe someday I’ll be permitted to travel through the castle on my own. Atlas is a quiet but heavy presence in front of me and all I can think about is the look on Ren’s face after punching him in the hallway.

The castle is a sprawling place with so many staircases and narrow hallways. Eventually we make it to two massive double doors with the royal crest carved into them. Atlas opens one and leads me through it, and my breath leaves me.

The library is a massive circular tower with pristine white walls with golden trim and filigree and a wide spiral staircase winding upwards in the middle of the floor. Stacks of books line nearly every inch of wall space—thousands of multicoloured spines facing outwards, begging to be chosen. I’ve never seen so many books in all my life. It’s already overwhelming and this is just the ground floor.

“Are you alright?” Atlas asks, pulling me out of my shock. 

“Uh, yes. Yes, I’m alright,” I answer, quickly attempting to school my expression into something less than complete awe.

“Do you like to read books, Reyvan?” He asks. He leads me up the spiral stairs at a leisurely pace. It gives me plenty of time to continue to gawk.

“I do,” I confirm quietly. “I didn’t have many books back home, though, so I usually read the same ones over and over again.” 

“Ah, then this must feel exciting for you to have so many choices.”

“I-it does.”

“Well the books the king wants you to read are on the fourth floor,” he explains. “You’ll be learning everything you can about the godstones and their alleged locations.”

“Why?” I ask, feigning ignorance.  

He tells me the king’s insane ambitions and I act as if it’s my first time hearing it in detail. 

“If you are to help us find Nos’s stone, you’ll need intimate knowledge of her story and where it’s thought she hid it.”

I already know Nos’s story intimately. Out of all the gods, hers is the saddest. It just so happens that her story is just as intricately tied to Bàs as it is to her sister, Solara.

For millennia, she’d been pursued by Bàs, the God of Death and the afterlife. Named as the most powerful and most beautiful of the three male gods, Bàs was not easy to ignore. They’d toyed with one another in an artful dance, slowly falling for one another as time went on. And just when she thought she loved him, when she finally let him in, he betrayed her. He corrupted her magic with his own in a bid for ultimate power. She cut herself off from Bàs, hiding herself and any of her Blessed from his view with the help of her sister, whose sun magic Bàs could never stand. He could no longer find Nos on his own. But the damage had already been done. Every person who received her blessing was cursed with twisted shadow magic that usually turned them towards insanity and emotionless murder.

When she prophesied the coming of a Blessed One who could succeed over the God of Death, Bàs flew into a rage. He hunted her down with a crazed fervour, across different realms and through time, never succeeding. He swore if he ever found her, he’d steal her away and keep her locked in an iron cage for eternity, so only he could lay eyes upon her. 

So she would depend solely on him.

“Is it true it’s been lost?” I ask the question without thinking, immediately regretting it. Atlas shouldn’t know that I know that.

Something flashes in Atlas’s violet eyes and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards for the briefest of seconds. I tilt my head to the side as I try to determine what expression I just saw there, but he wipes himself clean of it and gives me a noncommittal shrug.

“Some say that,” he admits. “But there’s no proof either way. At least, there won’t be until you try looking for it.”

“And will—how perilous are these hunts, exactly?”

“Very.”

“How many have died before finding their stone?”

“Too many to count.”

“That’s great.”

Dread creeps into my system, chilling me. I’d been trying hard not to think about what the king expects of me. Pretending to have no issue with this tyrant angling for immortality and deification was bad enough; being forced to learn all about the godstones that could make it possible will be like rubbing salt in a wound. I can already feel its sting.

We reach the fourth floor and the only other person seemingly occupying it is an archivist in their grey robes, reshelving books. They give us a passive glance over their shoulder and continue on, ignoring our presence.

“So where should I look?” I ask, gazing out at the rows and rows of books all around me.

“Come with me.”

He takes my hand and leads me through several desks across the floor. His hand is soft and slight in mine; I find myself missing the callouses of Ren’s, and the way his grasp encases mine. 

Atlas stops before a tall shelf and lets go of me before grabbing the nearest rolling ladder and bringing it over. He climbs up a few steps so he can reach the tenth shelf and starts gathering books in his arms. When he has what he can carry, he returns to me and thrusts the heavy books into my hands. 

“I’d start here,” he explains. “These mostly go over the lore of the gods, which will give you a more well-rounded idea about the creation of the stones. This whole shelf has plenty of information, and there’s a bit more on Nos and Bàs over there on the north wall. Do you want me to pull a few for you?”

I look at the sizeable stack in my arms and back to him. “I think I’ll just start here for today. We’ll see if I even get through all of these.”

“You can skim read if you must,” Atlas shrugs. “If you need a paper and quill to take notes, just ask an archivist.”

“Oh, you’re not staying?” I ask the question with faux curiosity. In reality I was hoping he’d leave, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Unfortunately no,” he replies, giving me a cheeky smile. “I have other duties to tend to this afternoon. Perhaps next time, though.”

I just nod politely and take my books to the nearest desk, where I sit down and flip the first one open. 

“Goodbye then, my lady.” Atlas offers me a bow before departing from the library. I listen to the echo of his footsteps as he makes his way down the staircase.

So I flip open the cover of the first book and start reading.

And I keep reading, long after the sun has kissed the horizon.

I’ve never known the details of the godstones, having not had much access to that knowledge unless it was shared in someone else’s stories. The more I read about them now, the more fascinating they become.

It’s said they were made because the gods wanted to test humanity’s cleverness by setting what they considered to be a near impossible yet incredibly alluring task before them. They misjudged how greedy and selfish people can be, though. Searching for the godstones has resulted in murders, bloody skirmishes, disappearances, and even environmental destruction. 

The gods never anticipated that a king like Orin would gain power, though. He’s the greediest and most selfish of us all, gladly exterminating countless Blessed Ones and innocent people for his own gain.

The problem, though, is that Nos’s stone is seemingly impossible to find. It’s believed to be hidden in the Witching Wood, but countless Shadowsmiths have reported sensing no sign of the goddess’s presence within the wood for generations now. Some say the stone was stolen and hidden elsewhere by Bàs, simply as a way to feel some kind of control and possession over his former lover until the day comes where he captures her. Scholars theorize that as the God of Death, he could possibly negate the power emanating from the stone so Nos’s Blessed can’t sense it. But even if he possessed it, it wouldn’t grant him the ability to lift the veil she hides behind, so it would ultimately be useless in his pursuit of her. He was notoriously petty though—the only fact that really lends any credence to this theory. 

Some also say he bequeathed the stone to a family who supported him and gave them the task of keeping it safe while he hunted and searched for a way to lure her out of hiding. Allegedly, he placed a death curse upon the family to ensure they’d remain loyal, lest they all be wiped out in one fell swoop. And still, there’s always another story. Some people believe that the guardian family, as the books refer to them, are actually a powerful clan of shifters whose beast forms are almost as terrifying and deadly as the god they work for. That’s if they even exist at all, which no one has been able to prove. All in all, the truth is just as obscured as the goddess herself. No one has been able to say for certain what happened. 

A shiver passes through me as I read someone’s theory that Bàs awaits the Blessed One who Nos prophesied in the hopes they will bring the goddess to him or at least use them as a bargaining chip to lure Nos to him, only to kill them once he has her to torture. 

The lamplight flickers as I turn the page of a book titled The Undoing of Death: Nos’s Prophecy & the Fall of the God of Death. My eyes ache dully and I know I should retire, but I tell myself just one more chapter, then I’ll go to bed. And before I know it, I’m always halfway through the next chapter and saying the same thing.

My fingers reach out to part the pages once again, but before my skin can touch the paper, a dark mist flips the page for me, curling slowly over the words before disappearing. 

My heart jumps in my chest as I snap my head up. I don’t need to cast my gaze around for him. Now that he’s grabbed my attention away from the book, I can feel his eyes raking over me; I can smell the evergreen air around him like the intoxicating perfume it is. So when my stare immediately finds him half-hidden in shadow leaning against a nearby shelf of books, he grins.

“Hi.”

His voice pebbles my skin. I’m all at once enthralled and terrified by the intense way he affects me.

“Hello,” I reply. I don’t move a muscle as he pushes away from the shelf and takes a few slow steps towards me.

He’s wearing a dark green tattered cloak over his usual black ensemble, with no armour. As he pushes the thin hood off his head, the warm glow of the lanterns strikes his face, highlighting the beautiful angles of it and the scar that cuts across the right side of it. His hair is a tousled mess of dark waves cascading down the back of his neck, kissing his jaw in the same way I want to. 

I suddenly find it very hard to remember how to breathe.

“Doing some light reading at midnight, are we?”

His gaze lands on the stack of books spread before me. There’s a humorous tilt to his eyebrows as he appraises them all.

“Midnight?” I ask, shocked. “Is it really?”

He nods. 

“Oh, gods,” I sigh and scrub at my eyes. “I didn’t realize. Is that why you’re here? Were you sent to fetch me?”

He looks at me for a moment as though deciding how he wants to answer. A slight smirk colours his soft lips.

“No,” he finally says. “I’m just here because you’re here.”

“How did you know I’d be here? Also, how did you get up here without me hearing you?”

“Am I not allowed to have secrets of my own?” He asks. The shadow of a dimple on his cheek draws my eye when he smiles.

“You are,” I respond. “Just not this one.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “Shadows can be used to muffle the sound of your footsteps. Ran out of time on the road before I could teach you that one. And I knew you were up here because I told the king he can’t expect you to succeed in a task you know almost nothing about, having grown up in a ‘backwater poorhouse’.”

“You are the reason I was suddenly sent to the library? Also, ‘backwater poorhouse’ is a tad unfair.” 

He nods. I note that he keeps his distance still, as though he’s expecting to face my anger. 

Foolish man.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “I’ve appreciated this little reprieve.”

“Figured you might.”

There’s something tight about the smile he gives me—something withholding. I tilt my head at it, wanting to pick it apart with my fingers and stitch it back together again with my words.

“Is everything alright?” I ask, hesitating only a little.

“It’s fine,” he replies, his words clipped.

“It’s not. What’s the matter?”

I rise from my chair and walk towards him, closing the distance he’s let linger between us. 

I reach for him, and he turns his face away from me, masking his emotions in shadow.

“Nothing.” His tone is hard and dismissive. I ignore it entirely.

I touch my fingers to his cheek and turn his head back towards me, forcing that burnished stare of his to meet mine. I let my body press lightly against his, keeping my hands on his face. He leans into my touch just a little—just enough to let me know he doesn’t wish for me to step away.

“I hate that they did that to you,” he finally says. A tight throat constricts his words. “And I hate that I delivered you to them in the yard that first day. That I turned my back on you and walked away.”

“You had no choice, Kylo. We have to pretend, remember?”

“I didn’t think he’d—” He grumbles deep in his chest and his eyes squeeze shut for a brief moment. “The last thing I wanted was for that fucking whip of hers to touch your skin.”

“Kylo…” I sigh against him as sorrow wells in my chest. “I’m okay. I survived it. I’m still here. Surely you must know I can handle it—I’ve been battling bullies my entire life.”

“I know that, I just—” Again, he pauses, swallowing hard. I can see him mulling over his next words in his head, and I give him all the time he needs to speak them aloud. 

“When it happened to me, it nearly broke me.”

Cold dread clashes with fiery anger inside me. Why did I not think he’d suffered the same pain, only worse? My mind recollects staring at the broad swells and curves of his back, taking note of the pearly-white slashes that criss-crossed over it. My heart crashes into my stomach and nausea briefly rolls through me.

“Your back…” I whisper.

He nods once, slowly, between my palms.

“When?” I ask softly. “Why?”

“Years ago. For fun, it seemed.”

Rage flares to life and smothers every other emotion within me. 

“Serafine’s job is to keep me loyal to the king. Prevent me from straying out of line. But she can make me do whatever she wants if she feels like it. This was the one and only time Orin let her off leash. He never did it again after what she made me do.”

I almost don’t want to ask, but I have to. “Kylo, what…?”

“She set her sights on me from the start,” he explains, pain lancing through every word as the memory claws at him. “She knew the king hated me and thought I’d be easy to manipulate, and that she’d be allowed to do so. When I refused her time and time again, never once masking my hatred for her, she got angrier and angrier until eventually she had me drugged and locked in her casting room. 

“When I woke up, I was half-naked, bound in nullifying chains, and barely cognizant. She…she tried to force me to touch her and though her magic bit into me with her command I fought it. This only angered her further. She whipped me repeatedly, until the floor was slick with my blood and I could barely stay upright through the pain.

“She said if I stopped fighting, she’d let me go. The pain would stop. She’d bring a healer to me. So I—”

He looks like he wants to be sick at the mere thought, and I feel much the same way. I can’t believe I ever thought there’d been something other than cruelty between them. I’m ashamed that my jealousy took hold, doubly so for throwing her name at him so carelessly, not thinking it would affect him. 

My trembling thumb stills just long enough to swipe away the tear gathering at the outer corner of his eye.

“You don’t have to say anything more,” I tell him, my voice harsh and gravelly. “Are you okay?”

He nods and squares his shoulders some. His eyes harden and I realize something about him. He’d crafted that terrible memory into a finely-honed blade of rage and patient retribution. He leaned into the bloodthirst of vengeance. He was only biding his time until that blade finally found its target.

“I’m going to kill her.” I seethe on his behalf, my body tightening with the desire for a fight.

He offers me a weak smile and presses a lingering kiss to my forehead. He trembles lightly against me as the traumatic memory dissipates in his mind. 

“Not quite yet, little witch,” he murmurs into my hair. 

“When?” I ask sharply. “I’m not going to be able to hold back for much longer now.”

“I know. Soon. The king needs a little more time to decide you’re his favourite weapon.”

“This is getting more infuriating the longer we have to wait,” I groan against his chest as he holds me close.

Killing Serafine and the king, placing the crown back on the head of the real blood royal—these are all things I’m eager for. Prolonging the wait for them is painful, nearly as much as prolonging our goodbyes is.

“I know. I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

We sit with the truth of that statement for a little while, holding onto each other through the silence. After some time has passed, I feel his lips press to my head again. His rumbling voice next to my ear melts me.

“I’ve missed you, little witch.”

I smile against his cloak and allow my eyes to flutter closed for just a moment, with the echo of his words still ringing in my ears.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

 “It’s terrifying, you know,” he murmurs, “how quickly I’ve grown hopelessly addicted to you.”

I nod, because he’s giving voice to my thoughts. 

“I’m frightened by it too,” I reply. I’m even more frightened at the inevitability of our demise—of walking away from you not because I want to, but because I have to.

His hands roam down the sides of my body, slowly mapping the dips and curves. 

“Well, I didn’t come here to frighten you,” he says. “Shall we talk about something else?”

“Mm, like what?”

“Hmm…like how I dreamed of this place last night.”

I pull away from him just enough so I can look up at his face, astonished.

“You did?” I ask.

He nods, a playful grin on his face. “Mmhm. You were there.”

“Was I?” Scepticism enters my voice. I think I see where this is going. I could put a stop to it right now—tell him to save it—but I’m curious to see exactly where he takes it, and what his story could do to me.

“Yes,” he continues, leaning into me a little just to get me closer. “We were together in that alcove over there.”

I look to where he gestures. Hidden between two bookcases is a shadowy alcove with one lantern weakly flickering above it. 

“The one you told me we could meet in?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“And were we…meeting?” I look at him with raised eyebrows, fighting back a smile.

I see the flash of his smirk before he ducks his head and I shiver as I feel his lips brush against the shell of my ear. 

“In a manner of speaking.”

I let my fingers comb through the gentle, thick waves of his hair as he leans into me. My heart thrums between us at a breakneck speed. The thought of him dreaming of me like that has heat creeping along every inch of my skin, no doubt reddening my features. I’m suddenly quite thankful that my face is hidden by his shoulder.

“What was I doing in your dream?” I whisper.

“You were making me lose my control,” he answers. “Reducing me to my true form—that of a man who would gladly bow at your feet. A man who would kill just to be next to you. A man who can think of little else besides you, even when he’s unconscious.”

“I think I’d like to see that man,” I tell him. I delight in the way he stiffens, shocked by my response. “The thought of him bowing before me is very intriguing…”

And then he’s slipping down my body to kneel at my feet, just like he said. I inhale sharply as I watch him. There’s something very important about this moment, I can feel it even if I don’t understand it. 

Seeing his dark head bowed in front of me makes me feel more powerful than anything I’ve done yet. 

I hook my finger under his chin and tilt his head up until he’s looking at me. 

“And to think, I had to work my ass off to make you yield to me before,” I murmur, smirking as I run my finger down the side of his throat. “Now look at you.”

“See what you’ve done to me, little witch?” He says, eyes molten as they caress my face and body. “I yield only to you, now and always.”

“My cocky, charming king.” I say it so quietly that only the two of us can hear it; it doesn’t even make an echo in the room. 

My hand runs over his stubbled cheek and he turns his face into it, pressing a kiss to the pad of my thumb. His eyes flash with firm resolve before he says into my palm, “Yours.”

This is dangerous. Everything about this is like a knife in a bouquet—agony hidden within bliss. 

The thought makes me shiver. A prickly, uncomfortable feeling sweeps through me like a phantom, leaving mounting panic in its wake. I take a step back from him, suddenly unsure and fighting that urge to run and save myself. 

But he stands, and he calls me back into his arms, and I go willingly. This torturous, cursed love is where I live now. It has been my salvation, and it will be my utter ruin, too. 

But right now, it feels like the only thing keeping me from falling apart, so that is what I choose to hold onto tonight. He is mine just as much as I am his in this moment. Damn the future. We’re not there yet anyways.

“Will you show your dream to me, Ren?”

His yearning eyes fall to my parted lips and turn dark, possessive, at my whispered request. I can tell it takes effort to make them climb up my face to meet mine.

“Are you sure you want to do that? My thoughts of you can be pretty depraved when I don’t see you for a couple of days…” 

I kiss the curve of his smirk and his hands tighten on my body. 

“I promise it’s nothing compared to the real thing.”

He groans softly and two of his fingers slip beneath the waistband of my leggings, skimming the sensitive flesh by my hip bone.

 “You really will be the death of me,” he mumbles. His lips glance off my cheekbone and my jaw before hovering next to mine.

“Think you can be quiet for me, mo rùn?”

There’s that name again. It rattles around in my mind enticingly, but right now, I just don’t care to ask what it means. 

“Well, we are in a library,” I pant. “And I am nothing if not a strict rule follower…”

His teeth are a flash of white. 

“Shall we put that to the test tonight?”

I smile slowly and my lips brush fleetingly against his. He huffs at the tease and draws me closer but I lean my head back and make him wait.

“Shh,” I whisper. “You’re being far too loud already. It’s a library.”

A deep rumble emanates from his chest and he shakes his head. He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh right before he grabs me around the back of my thighs and hoists me up his body. I gasp and laugh, the sound carrying around the room in tinkling echoes. I wrap my arms and legs around him and squeeze tightly.

“Oh,” he growls playfully, “you’re gonna get it.”

Giggles bubble out of my mouth, one after the other, until I’m breathless with my lips against the side of his throat and his hair brushing over my forehead. I barely register the movement of his footsteps as he carries me across the room to the alcove, never letting me slip even an inch. 

Soon, my backside is greeted by the hard surface of a desk. Before I can even fully register that fact, he’s all around me—bracketing me with his arms, laughing into my hair and trailing lopsided kisses over the tip of my ear down to my shoulder.

I laugh right along with him and hold him exactly where he is. I wish I’d never have to let him go from this place where his heart is beating right next to mine and his breath is warm on my skin and the sound of his joy is in my ears. 

Damn the future.

Giddiness swells and bursts within me, overloading my senses with exhilarating peace and affection. Words tumble from my lips precariously, and I catch them just before they can smash to the ground and puncture this bubble surrounding us.

“Kylo, I think I—”

I bite down on my tongue, hardly believing the words I almost spoke aloud. I’d just told Rowan this morning that I can’t love Kylo. But can’t is different than won’t.  I never said I wouldn’t, only admitted that I know I shouldn’t. 

He pulls back just slightly to look at me and for a split second I worry that he knows—that, somehow, he overheard my unspoken thoughts anyway. My secret is out and I didn’t even have to breathe life into it.

But then he gives me an amused yet puzzled look, and I start to breathe again. It’s not the look of someone who almost just heard some of the most damning words in the common tongue. 

I think I might be falling in love with you.

“What is it?” He whispers, lightly bumping the tip of his nose with mine.

I search my mind for something else to say—anything else. And for what seems like an eternity but is only a matter of seconds, I can’t come up with anything. But I suddenly come back into myself and feel the warmth of his hands against my thighs and the smoldering heat in his earthy eyes and I know what I can say. 

It’s the same thing as before, only disguised, and I just hope he doesn’t peer at it too closely.

“Kiss me.”

He looks at me then, and I swear the entire night sky lives within his eyes. They’re so full of passion and tenderness and desire, it’s almost overwhelming to have their constellated attention completely trained on me.

But then his lips press against mine, and I lean into the canvas of stars that is him, silently willing it to keep me. To hold me firm in its endless grasp like the moon, forever fixed amongst the constellations over our heads, shining so brightly against the contrasting backdrop of its home.

The more he touches me, the faster my heart races. With every kiss and whispered word I feel myself growing brighter until I’m certain I’m incandescent. And in this moment I know he’s the only person I’ll meet in my lifetime who will possess the ability to make me feel this way. Though it will make the loss of him even more devastating, how lucky am I to get to experience such a feeling, when there are those who will never have the chance? 

So I commit this feeling to memory. 

I hold him in my heart like a knife. Like he’s the only thing keeping me alive, for the moment he’s removed from me, I will bleed out and never return to my body—to moments like this. 

In my mind, I tell him I love him over and over again, too cowardly to say it aloud. 

I feel his heart racing beneath my palm as he kisses along the sweaty skin he’s given me, whispering my name on repeat, and I wonder if he’s saying it quietly, too. Somewhere between those panting breaths, there’s an emotion so deep and all-encompassing, and I recognize it. 

I think he sees it in me when he holds me like he’d sooner die than let me go.

I recognize that, too.

Chapter Text

“Surely I don’t need to attend that.”

“I’m afraid you’re expected to.”

“You can’t be fucking serious, Rowan.”

But the look he levels at me is the definition of the word.

Dread tries to drown me but panic keeps me breathing.

“A ball?” I nearly shout it at him. “Do I look like someone who’s been to a ball before? I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve worn a dress since childhood. Both times were on the bloody way here!”

His lips twitch as he fights a smile and I could smack him for it. 

“It’ll be fine,” he says, waving my concerns away with an errant hand. “Maybe you won’t even have to wear a dress. And if you do, the royal dressmakers will create one for you.”

“Okay, and what about everything else, hm? I’ve never ballroom danced before, will I have to suffer through learning that in public? I don’t know how people conduct themselves at these things. I don’t know the social rules for it. This is a nightmare, Rowan, and—are you laughing?”

He clears his throat and shakes his head, very quickly fixing a solemn expression to his face.

“Absolutely not,” he says firmly.

I spare a sharp look for him before groaning and dropping my head into my hands. 

“This is terrible news,” I grumble, my words muffled by my palms. “No one told me I’d have to attend balls…”

“There’s always a winter solstice ball,” Rowan shrugs. “Every year, always around the same time. You know, like the solstice?”

“Well I didn’t know that!” I snap, lifting my head just to glare daggers at him. “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid…”

“Aw, I’m sorry,” he says, shoulders dropping. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

I sigh deeply. “I know you didn’t. I’m sorry, I just—I don’t want to do this.”

He pats my shoulder with a warm hand. “It’ll be okay. I’ll save you a dance.”

His words have a small smile tugging on my lips. 

“Do you enjoy having your toes stepped on, then?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah. It excites me.” He winks at me, coaxing a laugh out of me. “Hey, maybe he’ll dance with you, too.”

My heart leaps into my throat and then just as quickly tumbles down into my stomach. 

I should probably be concerned that he doesn’t even have to say his name, but then again, we are in the Great Hall with dozens of people around us, any number of which could be listening in. 

I move the remnants of my breakfast around on the plate with my fork, suddenly no longer hungry.

Dancing with Ren? What would that be like? I can’t stop myself from imagining it—imagining the feeling of his hand on my lower back, gently guiding me. The way our bodies would be so close, but never touch aside from three anchor points, in a way that is both exquisite and not enough. I imagine my face close to his, watching his emotions flicker in his eyes as I silently tell him I love each one I see.

And then I imagine stepping on his toes. Swift embarrassment brushes my cheeks in red.

“Th-that wouldn’t be appropriate…would it?”

“Him dancing with you just once at an event where dancing is the main attraction? You’re right, that would be unheard of.” He cuts me off before I can interject. “People dance with anybody and everybody at these things; I doubt anyone would bat an eye if you shared one stilted dance with him.”

“Stilted? Really?”

“I’m just assuming.”

“Ugh. What if someone I don’t even know asks me to dance? Rowan, I don’t know how to dance at these things! The only dancing I’ve ever done has been at festivals, and I don’t think those sorts of lively moves fit in with a classical orchestra, or whatever they have at royal balls. I’m quite certain there won’t be a half-drunk fiddle player for entertainment, so it’s leagues out of my realm of experience.”

He chuckles at me and levels me with a searching gaze. His eyes are like the centre of a flame burning itself into my brain. I can’t hold his stare for very long before it starts to sting.

“I could teach you a few things,” he suggests quietly. “Just so you’re a little more prepared.”

“Would you?” I ask, gripping his forearm atop the table and leaning in eagerly. 

He blinks and his maroon eyebrows rise just before he gently removes his arm from my grasp and leans back in his chair, feigning casualness, though there’s a flush underscoring his tanned face. Is he embarrassed to admit that he knows how to dance? I bite down on a smirk.

“Well…I’m probably not the best teacher you could have,” he admits sheepishly. “But I’ll be damned if Atlas tries to teach you, and I’m sure Ren would rather do other things when he gets the time to see you.”

I chuckle now, my eyes warming. “Fair point. Anything you can teach me would help me feel better about it.”

“Alright,” Rowan grins brightly. “If you’re still working in the library in the evenings, I can meet you there around nine and we can practice for an hour.”

“That’d be perfect, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

***

Her white-blonde hair disappears around a corner several yards ahead of me. 

I stick to the shadows along the wall, becoming one of them, creeping across the veined stones and cracking mortar in search of my target. When she begins to climb the stairs, I follow soundlessly, muting my steps with my shadows. 

A trick I quickly figured out all on my own.

The darkness keeps me cold, but I don’t allow my teeth to chatter. 

Around and around we go, climbing up the stairs of the north tower. She doesn’t speak, but I can feel her fury saturating the air she stirs in her wake. It’s bitter and violent and directed at me. She hates that I’m here; hates the way the king has eagerly welcomed me into his collection and placed me right next to her at the very top. She’s never been one to share, I can tell. 

I know she hates rejection, too. She’s greedy and self-obsessed. The scars on Kylo’s back tell that story in disturbing detail.

I stop part-way up the stairs when she reaches a landing and disappears behind a heavy wood door. There’s a strange, frenetic energy in the air up here that tastes metallic on my tongue—like litres of blood have spilled here, saturating the wood floors and stone walls, forever engrained there as a record of violence.

Narrowing my eyes, I delve deep into my magic in an effort to try something a little new. I push my shadows through the crack at the bottom of the door. Tiny tendrils that stick close to the inner edge—innocuous and natural. I close my eyes and through them, I can get a sense of the room beyond.

Serafine is pacing. Her hurried footsteps make the floorboards tremble. And past her…I sense evil. A darkness more potent than even my own; hundreds of stolen souls screaming at once. Nestled within all that chaos is something familiar. 

A heart that beats like mine, that is encircled in shadow and sorrow and still, somehow, hope.

Like calls to like.

I gasp, my eyes opening as my shadows retreat, and an unsettling chill has frost creeping over my bones. 

I felt him there, in her casting room. I felt the vial that holds his soul, currently nothing more than a string for her to pluck as she likes.

Quickly, I start my descent back down the stairs, barely remembering to muffle my footsteps. My heart is racing and anxious thoughts are making my head hurt. But I’m nearly to the bottom now. I can race back to my chambers and honestly try to process this—

“What were you doing all the way up there, darling?”

I come to a wobbling halt on the final stair with a gasp. My eyes find silver hair that glints like cool steel in the pale moonlight and a crisp, white and crimson royal guard uniform. My heart stalls in my chest and shock steals my words for a panicked moment as I decide how to play this to my advantage.

“Atlas!” I gasp his name, allowing my eyes to stay widened with surprise.

He doesn’t speak, only tilts his pretty head to the side. Those strange eyes are searching me, making note of any perceived cracks in my facade. 

“Oh, thank gods,” I exclaim, clutching my chest in a display of immense relief. “I am so happy to see you.”

His brow knits with obvious confusion. “…You are?”

“Yes!” I finish descending the staircase and walk up to him eagerly. “I’m lost. As you can clearly tell.”

“You certainly are,” he murmurs. 

The way he’s looking at me makes disgust skitter beneath my skin. All I can hear in my head are his previous comments towards me; how he made it so obvious that he’d quickly use me just to spite Ren if given the chance. I feel so incredibly unsafe here, alone with him, but I refuse to let it show on my face because he can’t know what I was doing over here. He might have his suspicions, but I cannot give him any reason to confirm them. 

“I don’t know what happened,” I groan. “I guess I was a little distracted when I left the library mulling over what I’ve learned so far and I wasn’t paying enough attention to where I was going. Obviously I took a wrong turn somewhere. I don’t even know where I am right now—this castle is so confusing.”

“You don’t know where you are?”

“No…”

“Darling, you’re in the north tower.” He gives me a pitying look that has my hands clenching into fists beneath the sleeves of my cloak. “If you’d gone all the way up those stairs, you’d find the king’s chambers, where no one is allowed to go.”

I let shock and fear paint my face for a moment as I absorb this “new” information. I look back at the stairs for effect and then return my attention to him. 

“I—I didn’t know,” I stammer. “Oh, my gods…”

“It’s quite alright,” Atlas says, patting me on the shoulder. “No harm was done, right?”

“Right…”

He smiles warmly at me, but there’s a cunning gleam in his eyes that I don’t like. I fear he may be a little more intuitive than I’d prefer. It just means I need to make everything I do around him entirely believable. 

“Atlas?” I ask, lifting my eyes to his face.

“Yes, darling?”

“Can you lead me to my chambers, please? I promise I’ll pay closer attention this time.”

He chuckles and offers me his arm to hold. “Of course. Come along.”

 We walk in silence for a while and the entire time, I want nothing more than to rip my hands away from him and run. If there weren’t so much at stake, I’d do exactly that. 

Finally we make it to the part of the castle I’m more familiar with, and my pulse evens out. If he tries anything here, I know where to go. 

“I’m assuming you know about the upcoming solstice ball?” 

I’m looking down at my feet, watching the red and gold carpet runner beneath me, when his question jolts me out of my head.

“Oh. Yes, I do,” I reply quietly. 

“It’s quite the celebration,” he says, a note of excitement in his voice. “The food is incredible, the music even more so. I think you’ll enjoy it very much.”

“It sounds wonderful,” I admit.

“The dressmakers will likely stop by your chambers in the morning and take your measurements for your gown,” he tells me. My heart sinks.

“That’s…great,” I lie. “I didn’t realize I’d be wearing a gown.”

“Yes, and I already know you’ll be the fairest lady there,” he compliments. 

“Oh…maybe. Thank you.”

I’ve never been so grateful to see my chamber doors before. We stop in front of them and I carefully slip my arm from around his and take a step back. I offer him a small bow and the best smile I can currently manage.

“Thank you for showing me back to my chambers,” I say politely. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come along.”

“I am all too happy to help you, my lady,” he says, bowing back to me.

“Well, goodnight.” 

I reach for the handle to my door but his fingers close around my hand, stopping me as ice fills my veins. I look at him warily, afraid of what he’s preparing to say.

“Before you go, I was hoping to ask you something.”

Slowly, I nod my head. My hand, now shaking, returns to my side. Does he know what I was actually doing in the north tower? Is he going to report me to the king?

“Yes?”

“I would be honoured if you’d save me a dance at the ball, Reyvan,” he purrs. He tries to give an innocent performance, but I see right through it. A nefarious idea in disguise.

“Oh,” I whisper. My instinct is to scream no. To step inside and slam my door in his face. But I can’t. Showing Atlas anything less than polite friendliness could be a threat to Kylo’s plans, and I won’t ruin this for him.

“Of course I will save a dance for you,” I say with a forced smile. 

He grins and I hate the way it looks.

“I look forward to it very much,” he says. “For now, though, I will let you get some rest. Goodnight, darling.”

I give him one final nod before swiftly disappearing through the door and locking it behind me. I press my forehead to the rough wood of it and let a shaky breath escape me. I made it. Nothing happened, and I made it. 

My room is dark apart from the shafts of moonlight bleeding in from the tall windows that cut through it. I sigh and shrug off my cloak, electing to not light candles or a fire and instead allow the darkness to swallow me up until I fall asleep within its jaws.

But when I turn around to face my room, I nearly scream.

His dark hair is more tousled than I’ve ever seen it before. There’s dark circles under his eyes and he’s sitting on the edge of my bed with his white shirt undone. The moonlight kisses the muscled planes of his bare chest with soft, silvered lips.

There’s a bottle of something in his hand that he holds loosely. 

When he sees me, he smiles, and my eyes are instantly drawn to the dimple in his cheek. 

I know right away I’ve just traded one headache for another.

He doesn’t tell me what he’s doing here, or why he’s clearly drunk. He just stands from the bed and tilts his head at me and says words I’ve heard from him before.

“There you are.”