Shadows of the Crown

18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Caspian

A riella’s lips are slowly—too slowly—shifting back to their natural rosy pink. I roll her hands between mine, as I have been for three hours, willing them to warm enough that their blue hue fades. She’s ceased shivering, though her skin feels too cold to be safe.

I will know who dared poison her with Harrow. They will pay deeply for this.

The tightness in my chest dissipates the heat when she shifts—I must remind myself of her progress. She’s no longer wheezing, her color is returning, and she’s not dead.

There is no other reason for my puffy face and worried, bleeding lips than I care more than I should. Flirting with the beautiful assassin is one thing…but the manner in which my heart immediately fell from my chest when she held up the poison-tipped arrow? How I was scolding Elowen for not bringing the saida tea quickly enough? The realization that I was trembling so hard I couldn’t be certain whether it was her hands or mine that shook more? All of it was immensely out of character for me…innate reactions to watching her succumb to the poison .

This woman whom I barely know, but desperately want to.

There is so much she hides, though I have the distinct impression that no one has ever cared enough to find out exactly what.

Namely, her essence. To possess all three affinities…how long has she kept such a heavy secret to herself? The isolation from truthful relationships is lonely.

Something I intimately understand.

My hands squeeze hers—not a comfort for her, I realize. My eyes search her unwitting face; the delicate curve of her nose that connects to slightly parted lips. Dark lashes that oddly do not match her illustrious hair. From the moment I saw her in the guest training room, I’ve wanted to run my hands through the silken strands—much like the grasp she had on mine earlier. I chew on my lip.

She’d held onto me so confidently, molding my body to the exact position she desired. It is almost shameful how badly I want her to do it again.

My head turns at voices outside my door. Much to his blatant disagreement, I’d ordered Gavriel that no one is to enter, so the sounds eventually disappear. I allow myself to relax next to Ariella, fighting my heavy lids as I continue massaging her hands.

Warm skin brushes lightly over my lips, stirring my exhausted mind. I shift and groan at Gavriel to leave me alone. I’m not in the mood to train this morning; especially after the previous night’s events .

An amused chuckle shakes my head. “I am not concerned with what you and Gavriel do in the evenings, but if you mistake me for that brute again, you will no longer have the appendages necessary to continue.”

I jolt up, my eyes fully alert and scanning the bemused woman I’m…currently sprawled across. “Shit, I’m sorry—did I hurt you? How are you feeling?” I carefully push away from her abdomen, heat rushing my neck at the imprint of my head.

“Fine. Though I do not recall seeking out company last night…so how the fuck am I in your bed?” The heat spreads to my cheeks and her emerald eyes narrow threateningly.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Her shoulders drop as she crosses her arms, covering the taut nipples I absolutely did not notice before…

I drink in this version of her as she thinks. Her bright, mussed hair rests politely over an exposed shoulder; she purses her lips, wetting them with her tongue.

I should have chosen a less flattering shirt…only a few of the buttons are fastened, dangerously close to exposing the lines of her breasts.

“I left the guild. It started raining on my walk back to the castle, but it was interrupted—” Her eyes widen, and she shoves at the bedding, exposing her midriff and black panties. I swiftly avert my gaze, clearing the thickness in my throat. “The arrow. I was poisoned and I…I came to you?”

I nod, suppressing the satisfaction that I was the one she sought out for help. “You did. You were quite…contentious with Gavriel when he wouldn’t allow you to see me.”

“I see,” she murmurs, lost in her thoughts once more. After a few silent minutes, she tilts her head and looks down. “And why am I dressed in this shirt—yours, I presume?”

I raise my palms as an uncomfortable object swirls around my stomach. “I swear I did not touch you.” Her eyes flit to where I was indeed just touching her—I’m fucking this up. “That was not intentional…Elowen insisted on changing your clothes. By the time she treated you, your body temperature had cooled immensely. You were soaked from the rain, and it was worsening the effects of the Harrow, so Gavriel and I waited just outside while she dried and changed you.”

I expect a fight, but she only nods and chews on her lip. Not even a bratty rebuttal? Why does it bother me so much to see her look so…sad? I suspect she’s not aware of how vulnerable she appears.

“I need to know what happened,” I blurt, my disloyal mind too desperate for an answer. Her eyes meet mine, lacking their usual hardness. She mercifully decides to explain the events and—by the Angel—I didn’t think it was possible to be more attracted to someone.

I cringe at my internal distractions .

“Wait—” She pauses with her mouth open. “ Seven men ?” Her lip curls, and she blinks at me as if I just said the most daft thing she’s ever heard. “How in the Aether did you best seven men…amidst being poisoned, no less?”

There she is.

Her features sharpen and she appears as though she’s contemplating my death, unable to decide which method would be most efficient. I smile as I lean on a hand and wait.

“Okay,” she states, shaking her head—I may be a little disappointed that she doesn’t follow through. “It was your father’s men that attacked me. Sentries.” I wish I could claim that information surprised me…

“I suspected.”

“And I don’t fucking care if—” she halts, her eyes snapping to me as her brows furrow deeply. “You believe me?” Why wouldn’t I? She has no reason to lie.

“Of course I do,” I echo my thoughts, warring with my need to ensure he cannot attack her again, and upholding the duty I have to this family—regardless of their transgressions. “I will make sense of this.”

“Fabulous,” she mutters, swinging her legs off the bed to stand. Her hand darts to the mattress to steady herself when she rises, and I tense, prepared to aid her. Her face scrunches before she straightens and taps a finger on her barely exposed thigh. I’ll need to obtain smaller shirts…that is far too long on her. “I’m leaving. ”

She spins and saunters to the door, looking exactly how I imagined she would leaving my bed. I manage to swallow the groan that appears in my throat.

“Wait—” She pauses, peering over her shoulder. “Wearing just that?” Her eyes trail down until she focuses on the minimally buttoned shirt.

Perhaps it’s not long enough…

“Would you like it back before I leave?” Her tone is tantalizing as she reaches a hand up to playfully unlatch the highest button. I clear my throat, rubbing a hand over my heated neck.

“No,” I blurt too quickly. Fuck, I really am pathetic… “I have bottoms you can wear—if you’d like.”

She smirks, humming as she takes agonizingly slow, deliberate steps toward me. “I’m fine. Though I wouldn’t wish to be caught stealing from the prince…” she trails off, another button popping open. If she undoes the final two, the Angel will have an unexpected visitor today.

“You can keep it.” Please give it back.

“Are you sure?” she taunts lightly. One button left…the sound of my thudding heart nearly vibrates my entire body. She reaches the bed, lifting a knee to it.

This annoyingly irresistible woman holds my gaze, a mischievous glimmer filling her eyes. She pushes forward until she’s sitting on her bent leg, while the other remains to the floor…just a fu cking breath from my reach. The dryness in my mouth assaults my senses as I struggle to speak—or move.

“I’m sure.” An utter lie.

Her answering smile confirms that she caught that slip of truth. I jolt when her heated fingers graze my cheek, my eyes flitting to hers. “You don’t sound so sure…” I’m certain the evidence of her effect on me is filling the space between us, though I do not dare look away from her scrutinizing gaze. She barely leans forward, her lips a moment from mine.

This must be what it feels like to meet the Angel.

“Do I make you nervous, Caspian?” Her alluring whisper coils around my dick—it’s too difficult to breathe.

“Yes, though not because of any reason you’re used to.” A shadow passes through her eyes before her head tilts.

“Why? I could snap your neck before your next breath.”

“That’s exactly why…you could , but you haven’t. Yet. And why is that , angel?” My fingers reach to twirl a piece of hair that hangs between us. “I think I make you just as nervous. You’re unsure of how to handle the truth that I wish to bathe in every depraved part of you—or the extent in which I seek out your blade as I do my next breath.

“I’m an anomaly to you…but I think you like that, Ariella—don’t you? You secretly relish how I’ve seen every part of you, and instead of deterring me, it makes me want you more. ”

Her breath no longer warms my skin as we examine each other. The anticipation between our bodies nearly breaks me, but she sits back before I have the courage to push this further.

She peers down at the one button still holding the shirt together and smiles playfully. “Actually, I think I’ll keep this.” She makes for the door again, grabbing her boots and torn clothes from a chair before turning the handle.

She’s partially through the doorway when she looks back, her brows furrowed deeply. I wait, thoroughly interested in whatever could make the Silver Wraith speechless.

Her throat clears as her eyes flit to my desk before focusing on me. “Thank you.” A genuine smile tugs at my lips, and I nod before she closes the door behind her. She and Gavriel share words before she’s gone—walking through the castle…wearing only my shirt.

I allow myself to drop and breathe in the warm, sultry scent embedded into my sheets. No one will clean these until I say otherwise…

Before I get lost in her memory, I roll from the bed and swap my shirt for a less wrinkled one, running a hand through my hair as I walk into the hallway. I cannot focus on how I look at the moment—I need answers.

“You look like shit,” Gavriel mutters as I close my door. My mouth opens with an immediate retort, but the words halt when I see the dark circles under my friend's eyes. He gives so much of himself without complaint, so the least I can do is not tease him for it.

“Take the day and rest. I need to go speak with Varrick, but there are no other pressing matters that require your attendance.” I nod to his room down the hall and slap him on the shoulder before stalking in the opposite direction.

Varrick should be in his study, which is conveniently located at the center of the castle next to the throne room. He may be my father's political advisor, but there isn't a single thing that happens in these walls that he doesn't know about. The chance of him not knowing why royal sentries attacked and fucking poisoned Ariella…

But I cannot just march in there and accuse him or my father of anything. No, because if either of them are to blame and they suspect I'm suspicious of them, I'm not sure what they'll do. I don't know just how far Varrick's opinions influence my father's decisions, but the man has never truly liked me, so it's not a risk I'm willing to take. Especially when I have Ariella to worry about.

Should I go to my mother first? She and my father do not have the greatest relationship, though he is still her king. She defies him in her own ways, but it's only ever been petty things like the color of her gowns or her attendance at certain events. She has never spoken ill of him, nor has she fought against any of his decisions. She may be queen, but my father has never seen her as his equal—one of the many things I wish to change upon my claim of the throne.

I shake my head and rub a hand over the back of my neck. As much as I'd like to confide in her, I don't know if I can completely trust her not to tell the king everything. I know she loves Vespera and me, but that love has always warred with her duty as queen. It would be best if I didn't mention this to her, if only to spare her from having to choose between me and the king. And Vespera is too young to be forced into dealing with any of this…

It seems Ariella and Gavriel are the only two I can trust.

I snort—what an ironic fucking statement. The prince who can only turn to a royal guard and a famous assassin.

I should never trust her. I should hate her for what she does, what she is…and yet, I don't. I can't seem to explain these feelings even to myself, but the moment I saw her for the first time, I knew she'd mean something different to me than anyone else. I've yet to discover exactly what that is, but—

I jolt when someone clears their throat, my head snapping to the left, where Gavriel walks tall next to me. “I thought I told you to go rest.” He mutters something under his breath before focusing on me.

“I will not allow you to visit your father's advisor alone—I trust you with her more than I do Varrick.”

“What do you think he's going to do, Gav? We've known him for years…he may be a little strange, but he wouldn't dare harm me ,” I say quietly, nodding to a group of people that we pass. We're in the main part of the castle now, where many ears listen for any amount of information they could use to their benefit. Gavriel doesn't respond, just as wary as I am to speak around others.

I step quickly around three women, muttering a kind hello when they call for me, and knock on Varrick's door before one of them insists on a moment of my time. I do not wish to entertain them any longer. A muffled call to come in sounds, and I give Gavriel a pointed look before stepping into the study and closing the door behind me. A large, wooden desk is positioned to the left, resting on top of a deep green rug—I've always thought that was an interesting choice, especially as it clashes with the reds and golds of the tiles and walls. Though maybe he finds comfort in the color. The paintings lining the walls, each of different types of forests, speak to his love of the greens in nature.

But it's the painting behind him that tugs at my attention each time I visit. The background a mix of blues, pinks, and purples that suggest either the start or end to a day. Instead of a landscape, however, the scene is painted in the sky, where there are miles of clouds so realistic I feel as though I could touch them. On the clouds—not above—is a forest made of trees that match the colors of the sky. Most have pale pink leaves with white petals that fall from their burgundy branches. There are several crimson trees in the mix, their existence appearing like seeping blood .

I squint my eyes, noticing…noticing something I've not recognized before. The red trees are not that at all—no, they're the same as the rest, where the pink hues peek through the crimson in a few places. The red does flow like blood, though it seems to soak into the bark rather than fall from it, as if it's feeding the tree.

“Just one moment,” Varrick calls, waving a hand as he continues writing whatever is so important he cannot be bothered to greet his prince properly.

Not that he does, regardless.

“Expecting someone else?” His head snaps up, eyes widening momentarily before he stands and shoves several papers together until they're folded over his current work.

“Well, I was certainly not expecting you, Caspian. What brings you here?” I have to drag my eyes from where his hands rest almost protectively in front of something. His lengthy, black hair rests in a knot at the top of his head, while he wears clothes that are far more disheveled than mine.

Deep breath. “I wanted to speak with you about the attack last night,” I say carefully, watching for a flicker of anything in his features that would confirm what I wish wasn't true.

He blinks, forehead creasing as he crosses his arms. “Attack?” I almost laugh.

“Yes, it seems one of the competitors was attacked outside the castle grounds. ”

A shrug. “You know how brutish those people are—honestly, I'm shocked they haven't all killed each other off yet.” It's a struggle to keep my features relaxed enough; he's not going to give anything away.

“It was an attack by royal sentries, not another competitor,” I mutter distastefully, sliding the arrow Ariella brought from under my jacket. At least I had the foresight to wrap it, instead of coating my clothes in Hallow. He rears back when I toss it to his desk, studying it for only a moment before his deep-set eyes meet mine once more.

“Where did you get this?”

Something prickles under my skin, telling me to lie. Or at least withhold that Ariella brought it to me. “It doesn't matter—what's important is that it is an arrow from our guard and it is laced in Hallow. I want to know why the fuck one of the competitors is being targeted.” Fuck, I need to control my rage; I cannot allow him to see what she means to me.

Of course he doesn't miss the slip.

“Ah, you mean the wraith? She was the one attacked with this arrow?” I nod, not trusting my words just yet. “Well, I am afraid I do not know why she was attacked, however I cannot say I am either surprised or disappointed.” A barely perceptible smirk appears before he masks it.

“And the second trial? You've no clue how she was sent to steal from a griffin, of all things? ”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “What are you suggesting, prince?” A reminder of the lack of power I hold compared to the king.

I walk forward, pocketing my hands. “I do not believe I've suggested anything,” I drawl, already cursing myself for what I'm about to say. “Though I coordinated every part of that trial, and aside from me, you are the only other one with access to my design office. Or have you forgotten?” His jaw clenches, though he shows no other sign of his anger.

“Of course I haven't. But I'm uncertain what these attacks on the wraith have to do with me?”

“They have everything to do with you, Varrick! Is it not your job to protect my father?” He moves to speak, but I continue. “There is someone in this castle who was capable of tampering significantly with the second trial and organizing an attack by royal sentries who were given no such orders to fulfill. Why is this not a priority of yours?”

“Of course it is—I take such threats very seriously, though only in regards to the crown. I do not care that the assassin was targeted, though maybe next time they'll actually succeed in killing her. Angel knows we'd be better with her—” I slam my palms against his desk before he can continue.

“Finish that sentence or speak of her again, and I won't care who you are to my father.” There goes every plan I walked in here with, though the heat coursing through my body couldn't care less. I turn and walk out of the office, ignoring his triumphant stare.

Gavriel follows me back to my room, neither of us daring to speak until my door slams closed. He listens as I tell him of the conversation with Varrick, his brows scrunching further with each word.

He studies me for several moments after I'm done recounting my stupidity. “You need to stay away from her.”

“Excuse me?” I surely did not hear that right…

“We will keep looking into whatever the fuck is going on, but you don't need to be near her to do it,” he says harshly, holding his hands up to stop my retort. “Whoever is trying to kill her will likely keep trying, no? If you are placing yourself in her path, you're the one who will end up hurt or dead. I can't let that happen.”

The muscles along my jaw ache from the tension I've put on them over the last day, but I don't feel the pain as I clench my teeth together so hard I'm certain they'll crack. I want to tell Gavriel to fuck off. Tell him that he knows nothing of her, and he has no right to speak to me like I'm some ignorant child. Of course I fucking know who she is and the risks of wanting her. I do not need him, of all people, treating me as if I'm so blinded by desire that I cannot separate her from everything else.

I want to spit all of it and more at him, but the tightness in my throat softens the red haze in my head—he doesn't deserve such obscenities when his demands come from a place of fear.

I scoff, running a hand through my hair. If only I was scared for the same reasons.