Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
Ididn’t dream, but I couldn’t wake up either.
I tossed and turned endlessly, fighting the fire that tore through my veins and consumed my will to breathe. My heart was all over the place, racing one moment then slowing to a scary stutter the next.
Water was dribbled into my mouth at one point, and despite being warm and tasting earthy, nothing had ever been so sweet.
My stomach, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate the offering, threatening to reject it and causing me to curl into a tight ball until the raging cramping ended.
I could hear footsteps echoing around me and the occasional pop of a fire, but otherwise there was nothing but agony to keep me company through my sleep.
I could still feel the weight of Atlas’s coat on top of me. No matter how many times my thrashing shook it off, it always found its way back to me, soothing my endless shivering and sweating the fever out of my pores.
After what felt like an endless nightmare, my eyes finally allowed me to crack them open. They were dry and crusty from the cold air, but the spots in my vision had cleared up. The first thing I saw was the glow of the fire I’d been hearing crackle in my mind.
I appreciated it a lot more now that I could see it.
My body was blanketed in the heat it radiated, relaxing enough that I felt like I could properly rest. My skin was slicked with sweat, but I didn’t feel nearly as feverish as when I’d first blacked out.
I looked past the fire, noticing the mouth of the cave that I seemed to be inside of.
The storm whited out the sky, making it look like I was trapped inside a snow globe for the time being.
I attempted to sit up, my head instantly furious at me for the attempt but my sore back grateful to be off the hard ground. My palm pressed against my skull, and a soft groan rose up in my raw throat until the pain subsided enough for me to reopen my eyes.
“I was wondering if I’d see those eyes before morning.” Atlas’s voice cut through my headache, and I looked up to see him sitting against the cave wall across from me, a stack of dry twigs next to him.
Had he been watching over me all this time?
I tried to sit up further, but he held up a hand to stop me before I could.
“Don’t.” He stood, grabbing a flask from his hip before moving beside me. “I don’t need you passing out again. The last day has been dreadfully boring; the least you can do is stay awake so I have someone to talk to again.”
The last day? I looked back out toward the cave opening, noticing what appeared to be the crest of a sunrise glowing through the storm. Had I been asleep for that long?
Before I could ask any questions, I was startled by the soft press of a warm palm against my forehead. I made the mistake of looking at him while he checked my temperature, my cheeks flushing when I found myself locked onto those thoughtful grey eyes.
“Good, your fever has dropped significantly,” he said, sounding relieved. “How are you feeling?”
I cleared my throat, testing to see if there was still a voice buried in it.
“Like I drank three bottles of poison for breakfast,” I rasped.
“Fair enough, though technically that was yesterday’s breakfast.” He chuckled, the sound warm and just as comforting as the fire. He passed me his flask, and I eyed it for a moment before accepting it. “It’s just boiled snow,” he assured me. “Nothing stronger, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t think my head could handle anything stronger than a cup of Aemastian tea at this point,” I said, accepting the flask and popping off the lid. “But fortunately, the snow only has a little more flavor than that.”
Atlas rolled his eyes but didn’t argue my insult as I tipped back the flask to take a drink. It tasted a little like dirt, so I wasn’t too far off with my tea comparison after all.
“Thank you,” I said, wiping the edge of my lip as I handed back the flask. He never broke eye contact as he tucked it back into his belt, almost as if he was afraid that I would pass out again if I left his sight. “I would have died out there without you.”
“Don’t tell my father; he’ll be so heartbroken to learn that I sabotaged his dream come true,” he responded, settling down between me and the fire so his outline blazed with the glow.
“He’ll find another way to make that dream happen,” I said, carefully sitting up a little more now that my stomach had accepted the water. “I have no doubt.”
“I have every doubt that he’d succeed,” Atlas said, his tone chilling. The fire popped behind him, the mixture of its ambience and the whistling wind fighting each other for dominance. “You only needed me today because he forced you to drink poison. In a fair fight, he wouldn’t have a chance.”
“Except he doesn’t fight fair.”
“But you have,” he said. “And you’ve still survived.” The fire seemed to quiet then, leaving space for my thudding heart to fill the quiet. “He only knows of half the power you hold…” His voice lowered. “If he only knew the truth…I wonder if he would still be so quick to kill you.”
“He’d be quicker,” I said. “He already killed me once in his mind.”
“Yes, but that’s when he saw you as a prince,” he reminded me. “Even Lochlan knew the value of a princess enough to spare you.”
“What are you trying to say?” I asked, my tone a bit sharper than I intended. “That I should tell the king who I really am so he prioritizes marrying me off instead of killing me?”
“Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “That’s not a weapon he ever needs to wield.”
“So I’m a weapon now?”
“Were you ever not?” he asked with a coy lift of his brow. “Wasn’t that the purpose of disguising you as a boy? To utilize the strength that came with being a prince and ward off enemies?”
I shook my head, regretting the action as it worsened the aching.
“The goal was never to build me up into anything; in fact, that was exactly what my mother wanted to avoid,” I said, tucking my legs to my chest to rest my head on my knees.
My mother’s face came to mind, the memory more painful than any headache.
“As a princess, I would have been built up to become a prize. Princesses were traded, but princes were protected. Playing me off as a boy was my mother’s first attempt to save my life, but as I grew older, the role of prince developed into more than just a shield.
For King Leopold, it wasn’t enough just to be born a boy to be worthy of living.
I had to be powerful, intelligent, and resilient as well, all while remaining the best liar in all the kingdom. ”
He listened intently, his attention riveted to the story like he’d been wanting to learn more for as long as he’d known the truth but had never dared to ask.
I’d never openly spoken about my past with anyone before.
It felt wrong to speak of the secrets that could kill me, but I’d flirted with death too many times to keep being shy around it.
“My mother rarely let me out in the public’s eye,” I continued, my gaze fixed on the jasper stone on my finger.
“She tailored my clothes herself to hide my natural figure and trained me in secret to help me keep up with my father’s expectations.
It was brutal. Starting from age five, I had no choice but to endure sleepless nights of lessons, physical training, and hours of studying male mannerisms to make sure I didn’t let the truth slip.
My mother hated making me do it, but her desire for me to live outweighed her guilt.
She probably cried about it more than me, but I also had to give up crying at age seven to ensure no one suspected that I was more emotional than average.
” I took in a sharp breath, my throat stinging with the icy air, as I felt Atlas’s soft gaze sear into me.
I couldn’t look at him while I told the story, mostly because I didn’t want to think of him picturing me as a terrified child.
“The worst part of it all was that it worked. Leopold adored me. He loved the perfect prince that he saw in the daylight. I became his pride and joy, as well as the hope for Ivalon’s future.
He spoke of me to anyone who would lend an ear, all while never breathing a word of the first princess he had slaughtered. ”
I shuddered at the thought. The term princess had always sounded like a death sentence to me growing up, and now it was the only title that could save me.
“It sounds like he loved the prince, not his child,” Atlas said, his voice gravelly. “Tell me, did you ever enjoy making him proud?”
“Never,” I said assuredly. “Pleasing him was like impressing the devil; you did it because you sold your soul to him, not because you loved him. I hated Leopold. He may have been my father, but he was no better than yours. Before Ivalon fell, my only mission was to survive long enough that I could overthrow him.”
I probably shouldn’t have admitted that I was no stranger to revenge, but Atlas didn’t seem concerned by my treasonous thoughts. Instead, he looked almost like he agreed with me.
“That’s something you and I have in common, then,” he admitted, nodding grimly.
“I hate my father more than anyone. Like you, the only person who ever truly loved me was my mother.” He clenched his jaw.
“Then your father killed her, and then my father killed yours, and now we’re all one big miserable mess. ”
He locked eyes with me, our souls connecting with each other’s pain as the horror knit us closer together. Our stories may have been different, but we understood all too well how each other’s had been written. My heart burned the longer I studied the suffering in those eyes.
Why were we ever on opposing sides of this battle, then?
“Maybe we aren’t as fated to be enemies as I thought,” he breathed, his expression softening as my heart pounded faster. His gaze seemed to trace my face, taking me in with a whole new perspective while I did the same to him.
“Is that your way of saying you don’t hate me anymore?” I asked, the words painful to ask but freeing to speak.
“I hate a lot of princes,” he said, his lips pursing as he no doubt pictured his twin brother.
“And I despise kings.” He shifted closer, the air between us feeling thin as I felt incapable of taking a breath.
“As for princesses…” He reached for my face, pretending to check for a fever, but ultimately deciding to cup my cheek. “I’m still figuring that out.”
I knew my skin was burning hot now, but I felt far from sick. He moved closer, shifting to his knees so he could lean in without making me move. Never in my life had I expected to have this man on his knees for me…
His eyes devoured me, his lips hovering an achingly long inch away from mine. I’d wanted nothing more than to hate this man for as long as I’d known him, but sitting here by the fire he’d built, in the coat that he’d given me, under the touch that he caressed me with…
I had never been more ill.
“Do you hate me, Diaspro?” he whispered, his thumb tracing the bottom of my lip like he was testing to see if I’d bite.
“I…” There was no right answer, because I no longer knew what the word hate meant when looking at Atlas. “Atlas—”
Then a figure appeared in the mouth of the cave.