Chapter 28
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Sweet little mate o’ mine.
I don’t believe I’ve ever been this exhausted before in my life. With Frelsi sleeping peacefully on my reheated penguin, I know relief, on multiple levels. Firstly, she’s home and safe. And secondly? Secondly, I…survived.
I survived horrors. Agony. Sobbing through abysmal torture while Zahra held Castor back at the door to the bathroom and Frel—who wasn’t born with boundaries—clung to my hair and offered me all the strength she had in her little body.
Now, finally, the lingering pain is nearly manageable, and we are both completely worn.
After the risk of having Castor barge in on me during the blood bath had passed, Zahra headed home with promise of starting up a late stream to help distract me from the residual discomfort. I’m too tired to tune in right now, but the knowledge that it’s happening settles peace into my weary veins.
I am safe. I am loved. I am surrounded by warmth and care.
Dragging my heavy eyelids open, I find Castor sprawled on my giant teddy bear, head propped on its tan shoulder, fingers laced against his waist.
My soulmate is here, with me, in the bars of my cage, listening to an audiobook that I’m sure would turn my insides into soup.
Sniffling, I watch him.
Immediately, he removes an earbud and pauses his book. “Mine?”
My chest trembles. “Mm?”
“What’s wrong, darling?” Soft, sweet, soothing.
Nothing is wrong. Not now. Not after. I’m just…happy. Swallowing hard, I say, “Hormones. Mood swings. Like Pollux warned. I’m fine.” I temper my breaths, focus on not crying. “Are you okay?”
“Me?”
I nod. “I felt some complicated emotions when you went to get Frel.” I cover my face. “I’m sorry I asked you to. I was just…getting worried. And I missed her. And…”
“Shh.” He rises and crosses the cage to reach me. Combing my hair back, he kisses my forehead. “You were right to be worried. Cael had her in the dungeon.”
My hands move from my face. “What?”
“Apparently, she was going around stabbing people. And there may have been an incident with her art going unappreciated.” His fingers stroke my hair, methodologically. “It’s not important now. She’s safe. You’re safe. The pain is abating. My audiobook is delightful. All good things.”
I chew my lip and decide to broach the subject of his delightful audiobook. “What is…your book about? Or do I not want to know?”
“I don’t know why you wouldn’t want to know.
It’s about an average girl who’s in love with a celebrity.
One way or another, fate leads to their meeting, and they fall in love.
” He traces my ear with a fingertip. “It’s substantially brighter than the stories I tend to enjoy, so I thought it’d be quite boring, but the writing isn’t bad.
I’m glad I got approved for an audio ARC off NetGalley. ”
I stare up at the dangerous faerie man who has, in the past two weeks of knowing him, kidnapped me, antagonized royalty, and threatened on numerous occasions to disembody people for my sake.
I think that very same dangerous faerie man just told me that he’s listening to fanfiction, that he got early, off an advanced review copy site.
Which means he’s trusted on book review sites?
“Is it…from an independent publishing house?”
“An Ink&Paper audio production, I believe it said. I’m very grateful I got cleared for a copy. I’ve worked exceptionally hard to make sure my account looks favorable. I did worry that the overwhelming number of dark romances would make me seem an incompatible fit, however.”
“You really wanted this…” Fanfiction. “…book so badly?”
“Yes, well. It’s Brittny’s.”
Brittny… I feel like I’ve heard that name a few times.
Is that…one of the people in the friend group?
She’s with some guy named Ollie, right? And Zahra mentioned that they live in Faerie earlier, didn’t she?
I think so. There are authors signed under Ink&Paper in the friend group?
There are Ink&Paper authors living in Faerie?
That’s crazy.
They’re not a small publishing house by any means.
I think I met the head editor once… Nice man.
Tall. Blond. His name was Desmond, I’m pretty sure.
He really was so nice. I was there under a contract to model for some advertisements.
That was probably one of the best jobs I can remember doing, and possibly it was the first time I’d ever met a truly respectful man.
I sniffle.
“Ah dear,” Castor murmurs, attempting to catch tears that haven’t yet fallen on his thumb.
“You’re so sweet,” I whisper. “Supporting your friend.”
He bristles. “She’s not my friend. I don’t believe I’ve so much as interacted with her. I’m merely invested in the happenings of my…” His lips purse, wiggle, struggle to form the word he wants.
“Are you trying to say enemies?” I ask.
“Yes, bless you. My that.”
Uh-huh. Except, the sweet faerie man who can’t lie couldn’t call them that. He’s really…so wonderful.
He dwells on my emotions for a moment, caressing the magic of our bond, then he turns his face squarely off me.
“I might leave her a scathing review, crushing her hopes and dreams, decimating her self-worth. My schemes could be elaborate and wicked. You don’t—” His tongue ties again, on what I suspect is the word know, because not even he believes I don’t.
Muttering, he says, “I believe there’s a horrific chance that Polly might be right about me…
I’ve gone soft. I’ve…” He shudders. “…grown.”
Because he’s been lonely.
That thought is what does it—it being the full unleash of my pent-up hormones in the shape of tears.
Flinching, Castor bends to kiss my cheek. “Oh, love.”
“This is stupid,” I whisper. “I’m only a mess because I’ve been given permission, an excuse. If no one had said oh, by the way, you’re gonna have mood swings, I wouldn’t be having mood swings.”
“If you need permission to let your emotions free, by all means, take it,” Castor says, sweetly, while lingering to dot more kisses across my nose and cheeks.
I find myself sinking into the touches, relishing in his nearness, his kindness, his everything. “Castor?”
“Yes, mine?”
“Have you been yourself today?”
He pauses, lips at my hairline. With a sigh, he murmurs, “Today is a poor judge of my true character. I’m always less…
me when I am deeply unnerved or composed primarily of anxiety.
I’ve spent the day worrying for you and facing reflections of a past of inadequacies.
I have felt many things. And I have not enjoyed the experience.
It has left little time for me to exhibit the less savory parts of who I am. ”
I let my eyes close so I can dwell on the sensation of his nearness. “Oh, okay. That makes sense. Tomorrow, then? Tomorrow, you’ll be unsavory?”
“Pollux said you’d be unwell for several days more, dear heart.”
“The worst already feels over. I can handle unsavory in the,” I yawn, “morning.”
“I think I’ll continue to worry until I no longer register that you are in any manner of discomfort whatsoever.”
Wow. How positively savory of him.
Silly, sweet, wonderful soulmate of mine.
If he wants to believe he’s The Worst? despite these glaring truths, so be it.
I know better than to think fighting such an opinion will change his mind.
All I can really do is accept him for him, whatever him happens to be—from day to day, and moment to moment.
Loving someone at their worst, after all, is easier than trying to convince them they’re always at their best in your eyes.
My own thoughts drift like a tide, ebbing and flowing, coming and going.
Odd.
I could have sworn I just thought something profound and revelatory.
But, before I can figure out what exactly it was, it’s gone, stretched out again on the sea, and then I’m gone, lost to pleasant, warm dreams, faerie kisses, and tender souls.