18. Chapter Eighteen Rhea
Chapter Eighteen: Rhea
I couldn’t sleep. My mind was plagued with unwanted memories every time I closed my eyes, so I came out onto the balcony for fresh air. Leaning forward on my elbows, I watch the water of the lake ripple in the wind. The scent of flowers and earthy grass from the rain travel on the breeze, surrounding me with fragrances that I don’t know the names of. I’m lost in the headiness of it, eyes closed as I finally start to relax, when there is a knock on the door. I whirl around—the door to my tower directly in my line of sight from where I stand on the balcony. Keeping my steps silent, I slowly walk to the door, my heart curiously pounding.
“Hello?”
“Hello, My Lady,” he says. “I have another gift from Tienne and Erica for you.” My eyebrows draw up in surprise at the, once again, thoughtful gesture of the two maids. “I’m happy to leave it out here for you, if you’d like,” he adds.
I chew on my lip, unsure of what to do. It’s not that I exactly want to talk with him, but even I must admit that these days of complete isolation are beginning to wear on me. Yes, I have Bella, and I am so grateful she is here, but a part of me yearns to hear another voice. Even if it is just so that I don’t only have to hear my own. I’m tired—so, so tired—of this aching, heavy feeling that threatens to pull me under every minute of every day. Maybe talking to this guard can somehow reset my brain so that it doesn’t keep haunting me nearly every night.
“Can you,” I start and then pause, clearing my throat before trying again. “Can you wait a moment?” I ask awkwardly through the door as I stare down at my nightgown.
“Yes,” he answers in a slow drawn-out drawl. Before I can second guess myself, I quickly run up the stairs to change into something more appropriate. I grab one of my more plain dresses, the light blue color and cut of it unremarkable. When I finally come back down, I rush to answer the door but don’t see anyone at first. My brows draw in as I stick my head out past the door frame, disappointment at the guard no longer waiting threatening to bring me to tears. Turning my head left, I yelp when I see him leaning against the wall next to the door, his eyes closed and arms folded over his chest. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, opening his eyes and straightening back up.
My hand goes to my chest, feeling my heart pound against my rib cage. I watch as he slowly moves to close the distance between us, stopping a few steps in front of me.
“Hello.” His voice quietly caresses my skin and makes the magic inside me perk up with interest for the first time in a while. Or maybe that’s my nerves.
“Were you sleeping?” I ask him, practically gasping while I try to tame the thumping in my chest. He chuckles and shakes his head, his hand running through his hair. Even with the dim lighting of the tower, I can’t help but stare at him. My heart never actually calms, but it beats excitedly for a different reason now.
“Just tired,” he answers with a grin. “I do have another gift for you though.” He holds out his hand, something wrapped in light brown parchment paper resting on his palm. The scent of it is delicious, but I’m uncertain what exactly it is I am smelling. There’s an underlying sweetness that I do recognize; it reminds me of apples.
“From Tienne and Erica?” I ask as I take it from him, the bundle still warm.
“Yes. I’ve apparently become something of an errand boy to them,” he says flatly, though the humor that I swear I see in his eyes relays that he doesn’t actually mind. He studies me, his gaze roaming my face for a moment. I want to ask what he’s searching for—what he sees when he looks at me. Instead, I look down at the ground and notice his boots. They are the same boots Alexi had—the same all the guards have. I pry my eyes away from them, emotions thickening in my throat. “Did you like the sun I drew?”
I have to tilt my head back to look into his dark eyes. His hair is styled the same as before, the inky wavy strands rumpled on top with a few of them tumbling over his forehead. A moment passes before I remember he’s asked me something. “What?”
His grin widens, and those stupid butterflies come to life again in my stomach. “Did you like the sun? In my note.” he repeats, arching a brow. His arms fold over his chest, his dark silhouette outlined with the flame of the torch behind him.
“Was that your first time drawing anything?” I respond, surprised by my own audacity.
His eyes sparkle as he laughs, the sound catching me off guard. His laugh is rich and deep—like his voice—and though it is strange to admit, the sound is like a balm that soothes something deep inside me. “You wound me,” he mocks, placing a hand on his chest. “I tried my best.”
I snort in response, still holding the bundle in my hand as I inspect it. “If you had not told me it was a sun, I don’t think I would have known,” I joke as I unwrap it and see there are two small baked items lying in the middle of the parchment paper. They are round and light brown in color, and the smell of them is even more divine now that they are out in the open. “What are—” I begin to ask but then hesitate. Embarrassment burns under my skin at him finding out that I don’t know what these are. My eyes flick back to his and, instead of seeing mocking cruelty or even pity like I expect, his face is soft and open.
“They are apple cinnamon muffins,” he explains, clasping his hands behind him. My eyes draw down to his broad chest, his muscles flexing with the movement, and I notice he isn’t wearing any armor again.
Nodding, I take one of the muffins off of the paper and extend the other out to him. “Do you want one?” I offer, barely above a whisper.
He regards me, head tilting to the side. I wonder then if it’s stupid to have done so. Deep and uncompromising sadness creeps into me—a knowing sort of beast that tells me I will never fit in with others, so what’s the point in even trying to escape? Dreaming of an existence beyond these stone walls is easy, but as I’ve often been reminded during my life, reality is all too eager to steal away those fantasies. To shred them apart piece by piece until all that remains is the staggering truth that I could never actually belong anywhere.
My hand begins to withdraw when the guard steps a bit closer.
“I’d love one.” He moves to carefully pluck the other muffin from my hand. “Thank you, My Lady.” I shift on my feet, something the guard notices before bringing his eyes back up to mine. “I should probably get going,” he says, jerking his head towards the stairs. There is an odd feeling of disappointment that flutters through me.
Alone. Alone. Alone.
My eyes start to water, overwhelming feelings of isolation and anguish threaten to burst free from me like a tainted butterfly emerging from its cocoon. I’m transformed by this despair in ways I never thought possible, in ways I can’t properly fathom. I nod my head and step back, ready to close the door. This is insanity. I don’t even know this guard, and yet some small part of me wants to. Maybe to feel less alone or less insane, I’m not sure.
I miss Alexi so much.
As if he somehow sees the emotional turmoil raging inside of me, the guard clears his throat and draws my attention to him. “Have you ever played noughts and crosses?” he asks quickly. I shake my head and take a deep breath, pushing down those feelings inside of me along with the curiosity that starts to bubble up at his question, until I am— “Would you like to play? I can bring the game tomorrow night and teach you.”
My spiraling thoughts freeze at his offer, like a string suddenly pulled taut. I stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s being disingenuous. “Why would you do that?” I ask cautiously.
A line forms between his brows as he smirks. “Why wouldn’t I do that?” he counters while his dark eyes hold mine.
“Because you are… You’re a guard,” I argue hesitantly, leaning a shoulder lightly on the door.
“And guards can’t play games?”
“Well, of course they can. But what about your post? You aren’t supposed to leave,” I say.
“I will have already fulfilled my duties for the day,” he replies. My eyes narrow at that, a question burning on the tip of my tongue. “One game. If you absolutely despise it—or me—then I won’t return,” he proposes coolly, shrugging one shoulder up.
It’s dangerous, reckless, stupid even. But before I can let myself second-guess my response, I nod, tucking my hair behind my ear with my free hand.
“Great!” he grins, the smile appearing effortlessly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He steps back, popping the entire small muffin into his mouth as he does so, then spins on his heel and walks down the stairs, a noticeable bounce to his step. I listen as his steps echo down the length of the tower before I step back into the living area and shut the door.
Walking over to the couch, I take a seat and bring the muffin to my mouth for a small bite. Warm and spicy flavors burst onto my tongue—unlike anything I have ever tasted before. It’s sweet without being overly so, the texture dense yet fluffy. I hear Bella pad down the stairs, her nose sniffing the air when she reaches the bottom. Holding out a little bite for her in my palm, she carefully licks it up—tail wagging as she does.
I replay the strange interaction with the guard in my head. I still don’t understand why he wants to spend any amount of time with me in any capacity. Surely he must have other things to do that are more interesting. Or maybe he is just curious. He had said that I wasn’t what he expected, so perhaps he just wants to figure out what I am. I’m probably just an oddity to him, a thing that doesn’t quite belong.
I find myself with a ridiculous nervous energy the next morning, so I work through my chores for the first time in a week. I clean my bed linens and wash the laundry. I dust and sweep and mop until I’m sweating from the exertion. Hunger rumbles in my stomach, so I make a plate of dried fruits, some nuts, and a slice of bread and head outside to the balcony to eat. Only a few wispy white clouds are painted above me, the sun shining brightly in the sky. As soon as I cross into its warmth, some of the tension constantly coiled within me begins to marginally ease.
I’m afraid, however, that if I relax too much, all the things I’m bottling up will rush to the surface with a force so strong that I won’t be able to recover. But even spending time outside, one of my favorite places to be, sets off so many memories and moments when he was here. My heart is in juxtaposition—I feel both everything and nothing. The aching loss of never seeing Alexi’s face again battles with the invading numbness I’ve come to prefer at the memory of his death. I’ve always felt some sort of loneliness and sadness because of how I’m forced to exist, but this feeling? It’s oppressive—like being trapped in a well and watching water slowly pour in, looking up at the sky and knowing you won’t be able to tread water long enough to survive.
I stay outside for a while, looking out to the edge of the forest in the distance. My mind wanders to the guard and the strangeness of him coming over tonight. Do I let him in the tower? What if his intentions are nefarious? I suppose Bella would protect me, but that would be a problem itself. My mind wars internally as I acknowledge that I’m so desperate for mortal interaction that I’m risking not only myself but Bella’s safety as well.
Sighing, I grab my plate and bring it inside to wash. Then I sit on the little seat by the window in the library and read until the sky turns from a light blue to a pale lavender. Closing my book, I lay my arms on the ledge and place my head atop them as I watch the horizon fade to pink. When the pitch black of night comes, only lit by the stars and moon gleaming brightly above, I make my way upstairs.
Sitting at my vanity in near darkness, the dancing flames of a candle my only source of light, I brush my hair out until it’s silky smooth—admiring my new brush as I do so. Frustration stings within when I tie my hair back into a low ponytail with a hair ribbon. I wish I had been taught to braid my hair; it would be nice to be able to style it differently every once in a while. Like when a handsome guard is coming over .
Tightness grips my chest at the thought, and I immediately blush, scared I’m going to look the wrong way in front of him. Or worse, say the wrong thing. I don’t even know why I agreed to this when the only thing I am capable of is being alone. Setting the brush down, I nervously fidget with my dress. I picked one of the lovely pieces from Tienne and Erica in hopes of feeling more confident. Or maybe less like the truth of what I am—a scared, lonely, and battered girl in a tower. My eyes squeeze shut, and I hold my breath, willing those thoughts that have rushed to the surface back into those boxes in my mind. Four gentle knocks on the door startle me out of my concentration, nearly causing me to topple off the stool.
I look to where Bella is laying on the bed, ears perked but body relaxed. I don’t have to tell her to stay, she looks more than comfortable where she is. With my heart inexplicably pounding in my chest, I make my way down from the loft, rounding the three spirals before stepping onto the wood floor. My hand shakes as I step forward and grip the handle of the door. For the love of the gods, Rhea, calm down . I blow out a breath at my own command and slowly open the door to the guard.
His eyes immediately ensnare mine—like magnets being drawn together. His mouth is relaxed into a small smile, his body language and posture calm and open. Like he knows I’m nervous being around someone new, so he’s making it as easy as he can. But that’s a ridiculous thought because why would he do that? He doesn’t even know me.
“Hello again,” he says, that charming voice setting something small aflutter in me. He’s wearing all black again, no sword or armor in sight.
“Hello,” I repeat quietly, holding his gaze while I twist my dress nervously in my hand.
His eyes dart down to my hands for a second before he brings them back up to mine. He ponders something for a minute, his fingers flexing around a black bag in his grip. “Is it okay if we play the game on the landing?” he asks politely.
My shoulders ease down from my ears—a position I didn’t even realize I was holding. “Okay.” My voice is a shaky whisper. I find it annoying and I wish I wasn’t showing how off-kilter I feel.
The guard just smiles and steps back to take a seat on the stone landing, leaving plenty of room for me to take my own. I notice that there is a second torch lit on the wall behind him, both casting plenty of amber light as their flames cause our shadows to sway around us. One foot steps beyond the door, and a realization hits me so hard that I freeze where I am, half in and half out. The guard notices immediately, a dark brow lifting in question. My cheeks heat up as I clear my throat and prepare for his ridicule.
“This is my first time stepping out past the door,” I confess self-consciously.
The guard stills, halting his set up of the game. “Your first time stepping past the door… ever?” His tone is incredulous. It makes me feel even more humiliated that I’m an adult and have never even attempted to walk out onto the landing.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I breathe, bringing my foot back inside. I can’t do this, I don’t know why I thought I could.
“Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off as rude or insensitive. I just assumed…” he says, holding out a hand to stop me. His head shakes before he clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”
I force back the knot in my throat. Why does it feel like even the smallest things are too monumental to get through?
“I would still very much like to play, but if I’ve ruined it and you want to leave, I understand.” Several moments pass as I mull over his words and contemplate what to do. I don’t want to go back to the quiet tower with only my consuming thoughts for company. Tentatively, I step back out over the threshold and take a seat across from him as he smiles, looking relieved and even delighted. There’s a wooden board with nine squares broken up into three rows of three.
“Do you want to be the naughts or crosses?” he asks, holding a pile of pieces in each hand out to me. I lean over to get a better look and point to one of the heaps. “These are the crosses,” he tells me as he carefully sets the wooden pieces into my hand. The warmth of his touch brings an intense sort of awareness to where our skin meets. My eyes flick up to his, but he already has his gaze on me. He looks at me like he’s discovered something new—something exciting. I quickly bring my hand back to my chest, cradling the pieces that look like their namesake. He holds up his pieces—the naughts—which look like the letter “o.” “The point of the game is to try to get three in a row. You can get them by going across,” he points with his finger, dragging it from the left to the right side of the board, “or by going vertically or diagonally. You can also block a person from getting a three in a row by laying your piece down to break it up.” I nod in understanding, and he gestures with a hand towards me. “Why don’t you go first? Lay a piece down anywhere you want on the board.”
Contemplating my first move, I twirl the cross piece in my hand. I decide to go for the middle, as it is likely the easiest way to have a few chances at getting three in a row.
“Interesting choice,” he says, smiling at me before laying his piece down. He chooses a spot also in the middle row, on my left. I place a cross in my bottom right corner. He blocks my attempt at winning by placing his piece in my top left corner. I’m so focused on trying to find another spot for me to win, that I lay a piece down on the top right corner. He smiles as he lays his piece in the bottom left corner. “I win,” he exults.
I narrow my eyes at him and grab my pieces off the board. “I want to try again.”
He grins, clearing his pieces off. “Of course. But I will start this time, since I won.” He lays his first piece down in the middle.
I jokingly scoff, “That’s not very gentlemanly of you.” Following his lead, I place my next piece down as well.
“Good thing I never said I was a gentleman,” he replies, his voice low and teasing. His pupils flare for a second before he breaks eye contact and lays a second piece down on the board. Back and forth we go in silence, but it’s not awkward or heavy. The game ends in a tie, so we start over. We play nearly twenty games before a yawn breaks free from me. He’s won six times to my four, the rest of our matches ending in ties.
“I should probably call it a night,” he groans, stretching his arms overhead after our next game ends in yet another tie. I yawn again, covering my mouth with my hand while nodding. I hand him the pieces and fold up the board while he puts them back in their bags. When everything is cleaned up, we both stand and dust off our clothing. I take a step back over the threshold, leaning on the door frame as the guard keeps some distance from me.
Clearing my throat, I look up at him through my lashes. “Thank you for teaching me how to play,” I say, chewing on my bottom lip. His eyes catch the movement briefly before he glances away and nods.
“You’re welcome.” He halts, his head tilting and causing some of his dark hair to slide over his forehead. “Would it be ok if I came back?”
His question is genuine, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel my heart beat funny because of it. Do I trust him? No, not at all. But is it nice to have someone else here? Is it welcome to have something different to break up the repetitive dullness that has me alternating between pretending to be fine and actively forcing myself to be? Is it a relief just to hear a voice other than my own?
“Yes, I would like that,” I answer before I can stop myself. I clasp my hands in front of me and glance down in embarrassment before sneaking a look back at him.
“Then I will see you tomorrow,” he responds, giving me a parting grin.
I close the door and lean my back against it, a small smile tugging on the corners of my mouth. Drawing my fingers to my lips, I realize that this is the first time I’ve wanted to smile since that horrific night. That darkness inside me falters faintly and a tiny bit of it is replaced with something pure—something reminiscent of happiness.
“Rhea.” The whispered voice tickles my ear as I open my eyes. Icicles—long and pointed—hang from the ceiling above the bed. Shadows dance in the corners of the room—writhing and swirling higher up the tower walls, moving to cage me in. “Rhea, why did you let him die?”
I shake my head at his sickening familiar voice, my hands digging into my hair and scraping my scalp. “I wanted to save him,” I whisper, tears dripping onto the blanket. There’s silence for a moment, the only sound my heavy breathing.
“But you didn’t,” he growls, “and he left you knowing that your fate would be with me.” His voice slices through my skin, my bones, my soul.
“I wish it had been me.”
“It wasn’t though, was it?” The shadows move in as the king’s oppressive darkness pushes down on me, my body crumbling under its weight. “And now, you are mine. Only mine. Forever.”
Gasping for air, I jolt awake. The details of the tower come into focus with the small amount of moonlight shining in through the windows. I push my tangled, sweaty hair away from my face as Bella lifts her head off of my leg. King Dolian’s voice lingers in my mind like a terrifying omen of my future. It reminds me that my time here is like sand falling in the middle of an hourglass, except I don’t know what will happen when time runs out.