Chapter 19 #2
His firm grip braces at my wrist—stable.
“Pixies, of light or dark disposition, have quite impressively limited attention spans. She doesn’t mean anything by it.
Their bodies are just too small to hold more than one memory, idea, or emotion at a time—especially when they are so young and do not yet have the ability to even change their form.
She probably forgot everything else she’s ever known when she saw something shiny. ”
There were an awful lot of shiny things in the halls of this palace, so that makes sense. Even if it hurts a bit to know I have been thoroughly forgotten.
The longer I stand, feeling Castor’s hand like a shackle around my wrist, the calmer my heart. Peace saturates my limbs, freeing them of tension.
I let my hand slip to his chest, and I sag, forehead to heart.
The frantic pounds should ring like a warning in my skull, but they don’t.
They don’t, because I’ve felt them in my own body ever since I started focusing on his magic, the ripples, the waves.
It’s beautiful, his magic. So beautiful that if I’m delusional enough—and I think I am—I can convince myself he’s made this dress for me out of pure love.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
Hesitant, his arms close around me, tucking me safely in against his body. Soft, he murmurs, “I know. And I’m…desperate.”
Tilting my head back, I look up at his face, at the ragged cloth protecting me from his deadly eyes. “Desperate?”
His fingers tangle in my hair. “To be loved.”
Well.
Isn’t that…
Familiar.
No one else can make this choice for me. I’m not being forced. I have options.
Willow was right, I guess.
I have already grown to want him. I don’t want to imagine a world without him. I don’t want to live apart from him. I don’t want to stay if it means hurting him.
Standing on my toes, I let my lips skim his.
His breath catches, holds.
“Take care of me?” I whisper.
Rigid, he utters, “Yes.”
“Promise me with your tongue that can’t lie.”
“I promise. I promise, Mine. I will take care of you until the stars fall from the heavens and the world rots into nothingness. Then, I will take care of you an eternity more. Until I am what I was born from, and my atoms dissolve.”
His damp breath fans across my cheek—spearmint and cool.
I fill my lungs with it as our hearts pound together, sharing the cavern of each other’s chest. Unbidden, a tiny smile softens my lips and settles my anxiety.
Right or wrong, good or bad, healthy or toxic…
he will take care of me. And that’s miles more consideration than I’ve ever had before.
I whisper, “You’re a little dramatic, aren’t you? ”
“I…have been told.”
“Castor…”
At any moment, he might crumble in my arms. “Yes, Mine?”
“I accept you as my soulmate,” I say, then I meld our lips together.
Castor’s body seizes, and his fingers twitch in my hair before he swallows me up in his embrace, fusing us into one creature. Firm muscles press into my curves as he unravels my matter.
His hands don’t rove.
But one does twist in my hair and pull.
And, heaven help me, a pitiful sound escapes when I gasp.
His swear hits my tongue, then a, “Please, may I?” skates past my ears.
I don’t know what I agree to. I just know that my garbled reply leaves vaguely affirmative.
He deepens the kiss, rewriting every interaction I have ever had with a man against my will.
My knees buckle. He catches me, spins me, sets me on the railing without pulling back for an instant.
I teeter on that edge, grabbing his broad shoulders as I float above air, losing every drop of it from my chest.
My heart. His heart. They sit—thundering—in the dark, oxygenless matter that’s left.
Pulling my hair again, Castor forces a break between us, and I gulp sweet, cool inhales, desperate to refill the atmosphere.
A tickle races through my stomach when his mouth plunges—hot and wet—against my neck.
“Castor,” I plead.
He licks a trail up to my ear and nips. Breathless, he rasps, “Yes, love?”
My insides constrict, and I become liquid in his palms.
It is truly a miracle I don’t plummet to my death off the side of the balcony rail.
One strong arm supports my back as he tiptoes the smallest kisses across my cheekbone to my nose. Barely still conscious, I grip the collar of his robes, drag myself up, and kiss his jaw. His smile flashes, violent, in the corner of my eye before he smothers me in a hug.
Delirious, I laugh.
His damp chuckle follows. Then, he sniffs. And I realize he’s shaking around me as he sobs quietly, feeding stilted breaths into his lungs.
My crazed mirth mellows. I cut my fingers sloppily through his long hair, accidentally loosening the pin holding his bun in place. Gripping it so it won’t fall, I murmur, “Castor? Are you all right?”
“I love you,” he says, swallowing hard. “I love you so much.”
Something bruised inside me swells, and I cling to whatever monstrosity this is.
Trembling, he says, “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“No.”
He nestles himself against my neck, fitting perfectly. “I’m not going too far?”
His hair is like silk in my hands, and the coolness of his hair ornament grounds me. I murmur, “No.”
I feel the flick of his tongue against my clavicle when he wets his lips. “Tell me if I do something wrong. Please. I couldn’t bear to continue unwittingly distressing you.”
For the first time in my life, I decided to kiss someone.
I am the furthest from distressed I perhaps have ever been. So I hold him. “I’ll tell you, and you’ll listen, won’t you?”
“Always.”
Warmth spreads through me, starting at my toes. My eyes close, and I wait for something to prick, for unease to rise. Instead, soft swells of boundless peace respond. So I remind myself that this man I’ve just accepted as my soulmate put a knife through his hand with very little prompting.
Clearly, my delusion knows no bounds because my thoughts very swiftly descend into recalling that it was his favorite knife, yet he traded it to Willow for my sake.
“Can we go home?” I ask. “Please?” I want to sleep. I want to wait and see if horror strikes me in the morning. I want breakfast. Pancakes, maybe. My eyes snap open. “Frel. I almost forgot about Frel.”
Castor tucks an arm beneath my legs and back to lift me off the balcony and settle me against his chest. His lips brush my forehead.
“She’ll be fine.” Even though it’s trembling—cautious and ecstatic—his smile heals the aching inside me.
“You are her origin. She will always be able to find her way back to you.”
“What exactly does being her origin mean?” I ask, because I’ve heard the term a few times now, but without much explanation. I think it’s what a faerie is born from. Unfortunately, Castor doesn’t get a chance to reply before the door to the lavish pink room flies open.
Irate, wings flared, Cael marches forward. “Castor.” He stops in the center of the rug, beside the shoes I neglected earlier. His nostrils flare as his hands grip into fists.
Suddenly, something vibrates in the air, stinging my nose.
Castor scowls as his grip on me solidifies. “Well, if it isn’t the glorious moth prince… I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’ve already used up all my good behavior where it concerns not killing someone today.”
It strikes me that Castor has possibly said something deeply concerning, but the tickle in the air is far more unbearable so it takes precedence. Rubbing my nose, I wave my hand to disrupt whatever’s gotten near, and—blessedly—the sensation shatters, falling like glass to the ground.
Cael’s eyes widen as his body goes limp.
A woman with short dark hair and large dark wings tumbles in behind the good moth prince, and I have a feeling she must be his wife, Alana, before she grabs his wrist. “Cael, please. Don’t get carried aw—”
“How…” Cael says, staring directly at me. His eyes harden. “What are you?”
Jumping, Castor settles himself on the balcony railing and lets a positively seductive—or perhaps chilling—chuckle free. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Cael lunges. “Castor—”
We fall.
Unceremoniously.
Castor merely steps back, and the breeze flies past us, whipping my hair.
I bury my face against Castor’s chest, hear his, “Shh, everything is okay, my feather,” amid the wind.
His lips graze me, teasing memories of what seemed so short lived just moments ago.
Graceful as a swan, he touches down in the grass and turns on his heel.
Flower petals underfoot, he walks into the vacant field beyond the castle and its prison of tree branches.
Daring, I lift my head and look back toward the balcony in time to find Cael and Alana standing there, watching us with varying levels of distress and concern.
Inexplicably, Alana meets my eyes, lifts her hand, and waves.
A second after I register that she’s smiling the entire scene shifts, and the castle with its moth monarchs disappears.