Chapter 53 Wren
In the early hours of the morning, I feel Cassiel’s mouth brushing slow, reverent kisses along the curve of my spine.
It’s a soft, barely-there touch, like he’s afraid to wake me and can’t help himself.
I stir with a sleepy sigh, turning toward him, and find his face already close, his breath warm against my skin.
“Yesterday I touched you everywhere,” he whispers. “Today I intend to kiss you everywhere.”
What follows is languid and lovely, a slow unravelling of touch and laughter.
He kisses every inch of me with the kind of focus that makes me blush, and we’re lost in each other for what feels like forever.
When it’s over, we collapse into a tangled heap of limbs and sheets, breathless and giddy.
I bury my face against his chest, and he presses a kiss to the top of my head, threading our fingers together.
I know he’s not looking at me, but the grin on his face is so dazzlingly pleased it almost feels like he sees me perfectly.
“My cheeks are flushed,” I tell him. “My hair is decidedly messed up. My lips are red from kissing you. I look absolutely ravishing.”
Cassiel grins further. “I know.”
I lean up on one elbow, brushing a soft lock of hair from his brow. There’s a glow to his face—his cheeks tinged pink, his lashes a dark fan over his cheekbones.
“Your hair is tousled too,” I tell him. “Your skin is pink. You look irritatingly smug, and stars, if I don’t think you’re the most beautiful person in the whole wide world.”
His smile stretches until it seems almost too big for his face, wild and delighted. “I know.”
He wraps his arm around my waist, drawing me in like I’m the most natural thing in the world, and kisses me again—slow and smiling. Our chests press close, hearts thudding in an unsteady rhythm.
When we part, he stays close, resting his forehead against mine. His fingers slip into my hair, not playing so much as savouring. “Why do you like me?” he murmurs.
“Ooh, are we playing that game? Can you go first?”
“No.”
I laugh, breathless again, softer this time.
“Very well. I like you because you are brave and strong and brilliant. Few people have ever irritated me as much as you, or made me laugh as much, either. You are unnervingly smart, but you are also kind, and I’m not sure I’ve had as much of that in my life as I ought to.
” I pause, formulating my next words. “And, although I’m very aware of the irony, I’m also quite sure that no one else has ever seen me as keenly as you do. ”
Cassiel’s smile changes—no less radiant, but gentler now. There’s a reverence to it. He leans in and kisses me again, tender and deep.
I’ve quite forgotten that I’m due a reason as well.
“I love you because you’re strong and brave and brilliant, too,” Cassiel says.
“You’re so fierce that you’re practically on fire.
You’re witty and determined, you’ve never treated me like I was incapable, never let me give up.
And you can be kind, too. The way you are with my sister… with me, on occasion…”
He lifts a hand and cups my cheek, his thumb brushing just beneath my eye as if trying to memorise the shape of me. “You brought me back to life, Wren. My life is only dark without you in it.”
I freeze, stunned. “Did you just say you loved me?”
“I’m sorry,” says Cassiel, smirking, though there’s something unsteady in it, “have I not made that abundantly clear by now? Yes, I love you, Serawen Ashwood. You’re the one who has swallowed my soul.”
I draw in a breath to respond. The words are there—bright and fierce and certain—but before I can speak them aloud, Cassiel suddenly sits up in bed, his expression sharpened like a blade.
“There’s some commotion in the courtyard.”
The shift in his voice makes me still. I follow the turn of his head towards the window, already sliding from the bed and pulling the blanket with me. Padding across the cold floor, I tug back the curtain and peer outside.
All I catch is a carriage vanishing around a corner, guards jogging in its wake. The early sun glances off the stone, but something in the air feels… wrong. The kind of wrong that prickles beneath the skin.
Cassiel clambers out of bed. “Let’s get dressed.”
I nod and move quickly, not bothering to lace everything perfectly. Cassiel’s shirt is misbuttoned.
Someone knocks on the door.
We freeze.
A voice follows. “It’s me,” says Evander. “May I come in?”
Cassiel angles his face towards me. “Are you decent?” he whispers.
“Yes.”
“Come in!”
Evander steps inside, his expression grave.
“What’s wrong?” Cassiel asks.
Evander doesn’t delay. “We’ve apprehended a fey male.”
Cassiel stiffens beside me.
“You brought them back here?” he asks, aghast.
“We wouldn’t usually,” Evander says, his jaw tight. “But this one…”
“What?”
Evander looks between us, and for a moment, his expression flickers with something unsure. “When asked if he knew who blinded Prince Cassiel, his answer was yes.”
Cassiel goes pale. The colour drains from his face like a candle being snuffed, and for a moment I see the shadow of the memory flash behind his eyes.
Evander continues, quieter now. “I’m about to begin the interrogation. Would you like to come with me?”
Cassiel doesn’t answer right away. His mouth is tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Then he gives a sharp nod.
I touch his arm gently. “I’m coming too.”
Cassiel’s fingers clench around mine. “Of course you are.”
We follow Evander through the halls. The castle feels different now, quieter, heavier. Cassiel walks beside me, but there’s a tension in him I haven’t seen in some time—like he’s bracing for another wound.
I keep a firm hold of his hand.
The stairwell to the dungeons is lit with blue lanterns, and the air grows colder with each step. My heart pounds against my ribs. I don’t know why I feel like this. Just a bad feeling—like something old and buried is about to crawl out of the dark.
We reach the door. The guards posted here nod to Evander and unlock it. It groans open, revealing the cold stone corridor beyond. At the end waits the cell.
Evander moves to open it—and then I see the prisoner inside.
My breath catches. My blood turns to ice.
It’s Zephyr.
He’s bruised and shackled. His lip is split, his temple bleeding. He looks up as we enter, and recognition flickers in his gaze before he quickly drops it.
My knees nearly give out.
Zephyr just sits there, perfectly still, his chains rattling softly as he leans back against the wall.
Cassiel senses my tremor. He holds my hand more tightly.
Evander steps into the cell. His voice is calm, but laced with steel. “State your name.”
Zephyr’s gaze flicks to him, and then to Cassiel behind him. I know I’ve told Cass the name of my cousin. If he mentions it, he’ll give himself away.
“I doubt my name is what you’re interested in,” he replies flatly.
“That may be true.” Evander takes a step closer. “You were caught in the woods nearby. My guards tell me that they suspect you were watching the castle. Is that true?”
I search Zephyr’s gaze for an explanation, but he doesn’t give one. Evander sighs. I’ve no doubt that he dislikes the idea of torturing a response out of him.
I also have no doubt that he’ll do it.
Evander folds his arms. “When asked if you knew who blinded Prince Cassiel, you said yes. Would you care to explain what you meant?”
The silence stretches.
I see the struggle behind Zephyr’s eyes. He’s trying to think around it, trying to dodge what he cannot dodge.
“I want a name,” Evander says. “A location. A reason.”
Zephyr closes his eyes.
“You will answer.”
His breathing picks up. His jaw flexes. “I can’t give it to you.”
“Who was it?” Evander presses, voice colder now. “Was it you?”
A flinch. Barely visible. “No,” he says. “Not me.”
“Was it someone you know?”
Zephyr’s hands clench in the chains. “Yes. And for a terrible reason, but one I cannot tell you.”
I take a step forward, hardly knowing what I’m doing. “Evander—”
Before I can say anything, Zephyr throws himself forward, teeth bared—and bites down on his own tongue with a sickening crunch. Blood bursts into his mouth, pouring down his chin. He gags, tries again, harder, like he means to chomp it out—
No, he absolutely does mean to do that. Because he can’t tell Evander the truth. Either because he’s been sworn to secrecy, or because he doesn’t want to implicate me.
It’s not often I scream at the sight of blood, but I scream now. Cassiel pulls me backwards, not sure what’s going on, but acting instinctively, pulling me away from the thing I fear. “What’s—” he starts.
The guards surge into the cell. “Damn bastard’s trying to bite out his tongue!”
One of them grabs Zephyr’s face, forcing his jaw open. Another pins his arms. Zephyr thrashes, blood running down his front, gasping through it, furious and frightened and so, so stupidly loyal.
“Stop—stop!” I shout, to the guards or Zephyr or Cassiel’s arms around me, I’m not sure.
Zephyr’s eyes meet mine again, glassy now, pain shining through. And I know, with perfect clarity, what I have to do.
I have to get him out.
Before he dies.
Before he dooms us both.