33. Chapter 33
33
Chapter 33
Bronwen
The morning air was crisp as I stepped into the barn, my boots crunching against the frosted ground. Shadow’s stall was the first on the left, his black coat catching the pale light that filtered through the slats in the wooden walls. He neighed softly when he saw me, his dark eyes watching as I approached.
“Good morning, boy,” I murmured, reaching out to run a hand down his neck. His warmth was a welcome contrast to the chill that clung to the barn, and I could feel his muscles relax under my touch. “It’s getting colder, isn’t it?”
He nudged me gently, his way of agreeing, and I couldn’t help but smile despite the weight of the previous day still lingering in my chest. I set the basket I’d brought on the ground, pulling out a thick blanket I’d stitched together last night. The soft fabric felt reassuring between my fingers as I draped it over the railing of his stall.
“This should help keep you warm,” I said, arranging the blanket along the side for him to nuzzle into when the nights grew colder. I added extra hay to his stall, spreading it out evenly to create a thicker, softer bedding. Shadow watched my every move, his ears flicking as I worked.
It was a relief to focus on something simple, something tangible, after everything that had happened. Lowen’s death. August’s words. Another nightmare after forgetting to ask August to bite me. The weight of it all pressed against me like the icy air outside, but here, with Shadow, I could let it rest for a little while.
When I finished, I stepped back to admire my work. “There. You should be comfortable now,” I said, leaning against the stall door. Shadow snorted softly, nudging my shoulder with his nose.
I chuckled, rubbing his muzzle. “You’re welcome.”
But the peace didn’t last long. My thoughts drifted back to August, to the journal we hadn’t touched yesterday. We’d been too consumed by the chaos of the day, and now, with the morning stretching ahead, I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer. The answers we needed were somewhere in those pages, and despite my frustration with him, August was the only one who could help me find them.
I sighed, giving Shadow one last pat. “I’ll be back later,” I promised, grabbing the empty basket and heading toward the barn door. The sunlight outside was brighter now, the frost beginning to melt, but the chill in the air remained.
***
The streets of town were bustling despite the chill in the air, but I barely noticed. My jaw was set, my lips pressed into a tight line as I walked beside August, refusing to meet his gaze. His presence loomed beside me, silent for once, though the tension between us was thick enough to cut.
I hadn’t said a word to him since we’d left the woods. I was still fuming, my arms crossed tightly over my chest to keep from shoving him. When I’d been walking to meet him, he’d appeared out of nowhere, grabbing me before I had a chance to protest. Without warning, he pinned my wrists together, rendering me unable to pull magic to take us to his home. Then, he’d carried me— ran with me —all the way to the edge of town.
“You can’t just do that,” I snapped under my breath, finally breaking the silence.
His lips quirked into a faint smirk, but he didn’t look at me. “You’re the one who can’t be trusted not to drain me dry.”
I stopped abruptly, forcing him to halt and turn to face me. “You didn’t even give me a choice, August! You just decided what was best and did it.”
His smirk faltered, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face before he recovered. “We got here, didn’t we?”
“And now we’re walking through town because people are everywhere,” I shot back, gesturing to the bustling streets around us. “Some plan.”
He didn’t respond, his gaze drifting to the cobblestones as if he were searching for an answer there. The silence between us was heavy, but I didn’t care. Let him stew in it. I wasn’t going to let him get away with pulling that stunt without consequences.
His gaze shot to a small trinket shop. “Be right back,” he said before darting inside.
I glared at his retreating figure. “Are you kidding me?” I yelled after him, drawing a few curious stares from passersby. My cheeks burned, but I held my ground, crossing my arms tightly.
When he emerged, a grin plastered across his face, I knew trouble was coming. He knelt in front of me with a dramatic flourish, holding up a simple ring as if it were a priceless treasure.
“Please forgive me, Winnie,” he said, his voice dripping with exaggerated emotion. “I can’t bear for you to be angry with me. Think of our kids! What would they do without me? Please let me come home.”
A crowd was beginning to gather, drawn by his antics. August, ever the performer, even managed to make his eyes glisten with fake tears. My face burned hotter, but not from embarrassment. This was infuriating.
Without a word, I turned on my heel and strode away, leaving him kneeling in the street. The sound of muffled laughter followed me, but I didn’t look back. Let him explain himself to the gawkers. I had better things to do.
I pushed the door open to his home, the creak of the hinges echoing in the unsettling silence. The air inside was damp and chilling, biting through the fabric of my dress. Shadows lingered in every corner, stretching and shifting as I stepped inside. Shivering, I went straight to the fireplace to start a fire, my hands fumbling slightly as I gathered the kindling.
Striking the flint, I focused on coaxing the flames to life, the small sparks catching until a faint glow began to illuminate the room. The warmth spread slowly, chasing away the lingering chill and the oppressive darkness.
The front door slammed open with a force that made the hinges groan, and I spun around, startled. August strode in, his coat swirling dramatically as he stepped inside. A mournful expression overtook his face, his lips pulling into an exaggerated pout as he met my gaze.
“You didn’t like my performance,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sorrow. “I poured my heart out in the street for you, Winnie. Do you know how many people laughed at me? Laughed!”
I sighed. “What are you talking about?”
He flung himself into a nearby chair with all the grace of a sulking child. “You left me there, kneeling in front of everyone, broken-hearted and humiliated. Do you even care how much that hurt me?”
I straightened, brushing the soot from my hands, determined not to feed into his nonsense. “I started a fire. It’s freezing in here.”
“Ah, of course,” he said, sitting up straighter as his eyes flicked to the fireplace. “My poor, shivering Winnie, forced to warm herself in my cold, lonely home. What a tragedy.”
“August,” I said, crossing my arms and fixing him with a flat stare. “Do you have a point, or are you just trying to make me regret every decision I’ve ever made?”
He smirked, his faux sadness evaporating in an instant. “You wound me. Truly. I’m just here to make sure you know how deeply you’ve bruised my delicate ego.”
I rolled my eyes, gesturing to the desk. “Can we please just work on the journal?”
He huffed dramatically, but obliged, making a show of trudging over to the desk like a man carrying the weight of the world. Dropping into the chair with an exaggerated sigh, he looked up at me expectantly. I ignored his theatrics and sat next to him, flipping the journal open to the page where we’d left off.
As I leaned over to study it, August’s hand brushed lightly against my shoulder. The touch was warm, his fingers slightly rough as they swept my hair to the side, exposing the back of my neck. My breath hitched, the heat of his palm lingering against my skin as his lips teasingly ghosted over my neck.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, my voice catching despite myself.
“Nothing,” he murmured, his tone low and unapologetic. His breath was warm against my skin, sending shivers cascading down my spine as his lips pressed gentle kisses along the curve of my neck.
I turned my head to glare at him, but the look in his eyes stopped me. Mischief danced there, softened by something deeper, something almost tender. “August,” I said, my tone half a warning and half a plea.
“Yes, Winnie?” he replied innocently, his lips brushing against my skin as he spoke.
I forced myself to focus. “No. None of that.” I pushed him gently away. “You’re being punished.”
“Punished for what? For saving you yesterday? For not letting you drain me just to get us here? Or for my grand gesture?” His smirk widened as he added, “Which, by the way, had several women wanting to make me feel better after you left.”
I tensed at his words, narrowing my eyes. “For inconveniencing me. Always.”
“Winnie, I can think of far better ways for you to punish me,” he said, his voice low and teasing as his hand slid slowly up my thigh, deliberate and unhurried.
Before he could go further, I caught his hand, holding it in place. “No,” I said, my tone steady as I placed his hand firmly on the journal. “Read this to me.”
He sighed as he straightened, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the journal.
“I found one,” he began, his voice quieter now, “A witch with a vengeance. One with her own personal motives, though I don’t care enough to know them. But I still needed a place to inhabit. Somewhere protected by an army, a fortress where thousands would bow before me. A place where I could live eternity and rule. I had to be the—”
August’s voice trailed off abruptly as his eyes caught on the next line of text, his jaw tightening.
“Had to be the what?” I glanced at him, but his silence stretched. His shoulders stiffened, and I could see the hesitation in his expression, as though he’d said more than he intended.
My gaze dropped to the page, but the ancient language was nothing more than incomprehensible symbols to me. Still, a sketch at the bottom drew my attention. The lines were bold yet precise, forming an unmistakable image. A black raven on a deep red banner.
“That’s—that’s the royal banner,” I breathed, my stomach twisting with a mix of recognition and dread.
August’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling around the edge of the journal as though anchoring himself. His eyes flicked to the window, avoiding mine, but the tension in his posture spoke volumes.
“He had to be the king,” I murmured, my voice barely audible as the realization settled over me like a heavy weight. “Carrow is the king of Joveryn.”