11. 9
9
Draven
T he wind gets knocked outta me as I’m spat out right in front of the royal castle gates. One second I’m standing in Thorn’s cozy cottage, the next—bam—back in civilization faster than you can shout “goodbye.”
Still catching my breath, I gape up at the imposing fortress of stone looming above. Everdusk Castle’s spiked towers pierce the cloud-streaked winter sky, banners emblazoned with House Valisar’s crest flapping from the parapets. The last dregs of daylight wash the pale stone edifice in rosy hues. Looks like I made it back to the vampiric nest right on target.
As I get my bearings, memories of Thorn’s panic-stricken face flood my mind. Her voice echoes in my mind. “Storm’s passed. Time to be on your way!” Then, poof! Teleportation spell to the face and here I am.
What the hells went down back there? One minute, we’re all snuggled up sipping tea. The next, she can’t blast me outta her life fast enough and right after that spell mishap too, the one that somehow psychically tethered us before she got spooked.
I press my palm to my chest where an odd ache throbs. It feels like she clawed into my ribcage and ripped something vital out. Is this some lingering effect of our mental connection snapping so suddenly? Yet, this hollow pain feels deeper than physical, like a piece of my soul got left behind in her little cottage. So damn bizarre.
The creak of iron gates shake me from my daze. Right, oughta actually enter my ancestral abode now that I’ve spent who knows how long awkwardly loitering outside the place. The guards stare at me like they’ve seen a ghost as I stroll past into the bustling courtyard, which is carpeted in a fresh dusting of snow. Can’t blame ’em. Last they heard, I got buried in a freak avalanche on my travels. Yet here I am, without a scratch somehow. Well, besides the gaping emotional wound anyway .
The guards’ shock mirrors my own. I was warm and content in Thorn’s cottage. Now, I’m back in the imposing coldness of the castle courtyard.
“Prince Draven, you’re alive!” another guard exclaims, rushing forward.
I nod vaguely, still dazed. “Yes, I… managed to take shelter in a cottage before the worst hit.”
My words come out distant, my thoughts still consumed by Thorn’s panicked face as she shoved me into that transportation spell. Why had she been so frantic to make me leave?
The guards chatter excitedly, but their voices blur together into meaningless noise. Pain continues to pulse through my head and heart—hers, not mine. Our severed bond must have left some faint echo of connection.
I sway on my feet from a fresh wave of crushing heartache. Again, hers. Thorn must be in pure anguish for it to bleed over into me like this. I press a palm to my chest, willing my own emotions to remain separate.
“Prince Draven?” The guard’s voice filters through again, tinged with concern now. “Are you well? We should inform the king right away of your return. ”
I blink hard, trying to focus on his words. “No need to trouble my father yet. I’m simply… weary from travels.” I attempt to smile reassuringly. “Let me rest before presenting myself.”
The guards exchange a look but don’t argue. I take advantage of their lingering awe to extricate myself and make my way swiftly across the courtyard before more servants descend, pelting me with questions I cannot answer.
Not when my every thought bends toward Thorn.
Foreign emotions—pain, regret, and sorrow—batter my mind like a hurricane. Thorn’s anguish bleeds through our fading bond, assaulting my senses.
I press my palm harder against my chest, struggling to stay upright under the onslaught. Her weeping echoes faintly, as if carried on the wind. My fingers dig into the stone walls for support as we pass through the grand archway.
Thorn’s presence surrounds me, though she’s nowhere to be seen. It’s like I carry the ghost of her within me. I blink back hot tears that are not my own. I must retain control and keep my fractured composure…
“Draven! ”
My mother’s voice cuts through the haze as she sweeps into the courtyard, flanked by her ladies-in-waiting. Queen Vespera’s emerald gown billows around her, the skirt’s golden embroidery glinting in the torchlight. An ornate silver circlet crowns her flowing raven hair streaked with white. Her ageless pale face is lined with concern, cheeks flushed from hurrying outside to greet me.
I straighten instinctively before her assessing gaze. It’s her eyes, the same piercing silver as my own, that truly give me pause. They see through veils and shadows to cut right to the heart of matters. I resist the urge to shrink back from their knowing stare.
“We had feared you lost to the winter’s fury,” she says, cupping my cheek with cool hands weighed down by heavy rings. Her gaze searches mine intently, likely finding the secrets etched there before I can utter them aloud. “Yet it seems fate spared you once again.”
I open my mouth, but words fail me. How can I explain my mysterious survival? That a strange witch risked all to save me, only to cast me abruptly out again? Another wave of sorrow crashes through my mind, stealing speech .
Mother’s brow creases, fine lines furrowing. “You are unwell. Come, we shall tend to your needs.” She deftly takes my arm, steering me away from the guards’ prying ears. Her voice drops to a murmur meant only for me, soft yet steely at once. “There are shadows in your eyes, my son… You have brought something back with you.”
It is not a question. Her ancient instincts never miss anything.
I shudder out a breath, the first step to unburdening my chaotic heart. “Yes, but I don’t yet understand it myself.”
Mother nods. “Then we shall unravel this mystery together. For now, you need rest.”
“My men, Lord Anthony, are they safe? Have they returned?”
“Yes, they were how we knew you were missing. They returned in hopes of gathering more men and supplies to find you, but they are all safe.”
Relief floods me. I need to find my childhood friend later.
Too spent to resist, I let her guide me through the twisting corridors to my chambers. Thorn’s spectral presence clings to me like mist, a living ghost I cannot exorcise. Not until I understand why she haunts me so.
Inside the sanctuary of my rooms, blessed stillness settles over my mind. Thorn’s sorrow retreats to a dull ache as my mother tends the fire. I sink into a chair, rubbing my throbbing temples.
“Now tell me everything, Draven.” Mother’s voice anchors me as she takes the seat opposite me. “Omit no detail. The truth shall set you free of these shadows.”
I meet her eyes, finding patience and wisdom etched there by centuries of wear. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I grasp for where to even begin explaining the tangled events that brought me here.
“I… was saved by a witch after I got lost in the storm and separated from everyone,” I start hesitantly. “She healed me in her forest cottage.”
Mother’s gaze remains studiously neutral. “Go on.”
“She tended me for several days there, until the storm passed. Then, she sent me back here.” I spread my hands. “That is all.”
“Somehow, I doubt the full truth is quite so simple.” Mother’s piercing eyes seem to peel back my evasions. “Son, if she harmed you… ”
“No!” I cut in hastily. “She asked nothing in return, only for me to leave once recovered.”
I fall silent as echoes of Thorn’s weeping reach me. I press my palm harder against my chest, willing the sound away. Not now!
Mother scrutinizes me closely, missing nothing. “You did not wish to leave her.”
I open my mouth to deny it then slump back in my chair. What point is there in concealing the truth from one so perceptive?
“No,” I admit wearily. “I found myself… drawn to her… but I’m needed here.”
Mother nods thoughtfully. “You care for this witch, though you hardly know her. Curious.”
I stare at my hands, blistered now from the few days of honest labor. How much have I changed from the prince who left these gilded halls?
“She is an enigma, and now…” I trail off as sorrow stabs through me once more.
Mother reaches over, clasping my hand firmly until the fit passes. Her brow furrows. “My son, what magic has this witch worked upon you?”
I shake my head helplessly. “I wish I knew. ”
My fingers brush against the bundle of bread and cloak in my grasp. How strange that Thorn pressed such humble gifts on me.
I take a thoughtful bite of the bread, savoring the rich flavors that hint at the complexity of its maker.
Mother watches me closely. “May I?”
I pass her a piece. She chews slowly, tasting, assessing, and her eyes widen fractionally.
“There is old magic woven through this bread. Subtle but unmistakable.” She fixes me with a piercing look. “What has this woman been doing to you?”
I stare at the half-eaten loaf, remembering the herbs Thorn mixed in. What had she been trying to accomplish with such spells? Had it all been a lie?
Before I can dwell on that distressing idea, sorrow knifes through me again. Thorn’s muffled sobs echo relentlessly, clawing at my composure. Not deception, surely, but desperation.
I meet my mother’s eyes beseechingly. “Please, I need rest now. My mind is… tired.”
Mercifully, she rises without argument. At the door, she pauses, gazing back with ancient wisdom. “There is much left unsaid between us. When you are ready, we shall unravel this mystery of your witch together.”
The door closes behind her with an ominous finality, leaving blessed silence. Still, Thorn’s sorrow haunts me, her muffled sobs echoing relentlessly in my mind.
I stare down at the remnants of spelled bread in my hands. What desperate magic had she worked into this innocent loaf? And why had it caused her such anguish to make me leave?
Had it all been a deception on her part? The thought pierces my heart like a dagger of ice. Surely one who saved my life at risk of her own cannot be wholly false?
No. Her tears are real. Thorn regrets my absence as much as she fears my presence. Of that much, I am now certain.
I rise on shaky legs, hands clenching into fists. I cannot find answers here behind sheltered walls. The only path is back to that hidden cottage, wherever it may lie, back to the mysterious Thorn who even now calls to my soul from afar. First, I rest. Then, I will find her and get my answers.
** *
Bolting upright with a gasp, I clutch the silk sheets now damp with sweat. Panting raggedly, I rub my throbbing chest as the lingering agony from the dream fades. Gods, it felt so real, like razor-edged icicles shredding my heart. Probably just stress after recent chaotic events.
Blinking against the daylight filtering through stained glass windows, I take in the lavish suite of rooms. Gilded furniture, velvet drapes, a ridiculous excess of plush pillows on this massive canopy bed. Definitely not the rustic cottage I’ve spent the last week in. Home. My home.
As I awake, things become more clear. Thorn’s magical transportation orb zapped me back here to the royal castle. Back to the vampire nest.
A hollow pang hits my gut at the thought of her. No doubt Thorn is relieved to have her humble abode back to herself without this high-maintenance prince crashing on her floor.
I grimace, kneading the persistent ache behind my breastbone. It almost feels like… longing. Absurd. I only knew the witch for a few days before she sent me packing. Too bad the silken tassels on these obnoxious pillows can’t fill the void left behind.
Clearly, Mother was right about me needing rest. Nothing else explains such self-pitying thoughts over a near stranger.
With a groan, I peel back the velvet coverlet to rise. Time to face the inevitable royal duties awaiting my return.
Except the second my feet hit the ornate rug, all strength flees my body. I crash to my knees with an inglorious thud. It’s like the floor dropped out from under me. This fresh wave of agony rips through my chest even worse than the haunting dream. I gasp raggedly, clawing at my sternum which now feels eviscerated. What’s happening to me?
Get it together. You’re a deadly vampire prince, not some mewling human infant.
Gritting my teeth, I crawl my pathetic self back onto the massive bed, focusing on breathing through the pain. Maybe more rest will sort out this strange sickness.
Except the torture doesn’t ease. It only intensifies. This crushing pressure keeps building until I want to claw my way out of my own skin for relief. A faint sound pierces through the sheer anguish—the soft hitch of a stifled sob. What the…
Forcing myself motionless, I strain to listen past the roaring in my skull. There, beneath the frantic pounding of my heart, comes the whisper soft sound again—a woman weeping quietly.
Thorn.
Her name cuts through the mental haze with crystal clarity. It’s her sorrow I’m somehow feeling. The spell, right? That was what she was doing before she sent me back. Is this from that?
My fangs punch down reflexively with an animal snarl. Who dares reduce my fierce witch to such helpless tears? I’ll shred them to tattered meat! No, calm down. I’m a rational vampire. She was crying after I left too, right? Besides, Thorn doesn’t belong to me. More importantly, if I’m sensing her desolation over here, does it flow both ways? Is my own anguish compounding hers? The last thing I want is to deepen her distress.
I force my fangs to retract and try measured breathing instead, focusing on sending calming vibes through our peculiar bond. Can’t have both of us coming unglued. I’m stronger than this.
After several minutes, it seems to help marginally. The crushing pressure in my chest eases a fraction as rational thought trickles back in. Thorn’s muted weeping continues, but it’s more distant now. At least one of us is keeping it together.
Now that I’ve regained some measure of sense, I know what I must do. Get the blazes back to that cottage by any means necessary.
Throwing aside silk sheets worth more gold than Thorn’s entire homestead likely costs, I lurch stiffly from the massive bed to dress. No time to bother with the two dozen fancy clasps and buckles of formal court attire. I just yank on a simple tunic, trousers, boots and a thick cloak for the journey ahead.
I’ve just finished tying my bootlaces when the chamber doors burst open and a troop of guards march in, weapons glinting.
“Prince Draven, stand down this instant,” the captain barks out. “Queen’s orders that you remain confined to your quarters.”
Like hell !
They advance with chained silver manacles, prepared to shackle me by force.
I flash extended fangs in warning, crouching defensively. “I’d like to see you try containing me. Stand aside!”
The captain pauses uncertainly.
Just then, a commanding voice rings out behind the guards. “Stand down. Now.”
They instantly part as my mother, Queen Vespera, sweeps imperiously into the chamber, emerald skirts billowing. Her piercing silver gaze sizes up the situation in an instant.
“Leave us,” she commands sharply.
The guards file out without protest.
Her ageless yet careworn face creases in maternal concern. “Draven, what are you doing? You still seem unwell. Where do you think you are going?”
Despite her gentle tone, I force myself to relax my aggressive posture, not wishing to seem deranged. She’s always been able to see right through me, so I opt for honesty.
“Apologies, Mother, but I need to leave now.”
“In such a state?” Her searching eyes bore into mine. “You are clearly… unwell, my son. ”
I rake an unsteady hand through disheveled hair. She’s not wrong. From the bloodshot eyes to the inside-out tunic, I likely resemble a rabid animal more than a prince. Hardly reassuring.
Picking my words with care, I explain waking up connected to Thorn’s sorrow and this compulsory, all-consuming need to return to her side. Mother listens silently as I describe the frayed psychic tether causing me such physical and mental torture.
When I finish, she nods slowly, sunlight glinting off her silver circlet. “What you describe aligns closely with effects of the fated mate bond that sometimes manifests between vampires or other magical beings.”
I gape at her words. “You believe Thorn and I could be… fated mates? But how is that possible?”
Mother’s gaze turns thoughtful. “While rare, fate occasionally intercedes to bind two souls. The call between mates becomes impossible to resist.”
I grip my throbbing chest, my own impossible longing echoing her words, yet it seems fantastical that destiny could have matched us so peculiarly.
“However…” Mother taps her chin. “Bonds take time to fully root. Yours seems to have flared unusually swiftly. ”
I blink. “What are you suggesting?”
“Perhaps some catalyst accelerated your connection,” she muses. “A ritual… or shared blood.”
My thoughts race, reviewing my time with Thorn. I don’t remember any sort of moment that would have triggered such a thing, but if she was using spells on me… the tea, the bread… Could such exchanges have hastened our bonding, amplifying simple attraction into something more profound?
Seeing the dawning comprehension on my face, Mother nods. “Yes, an intimate joining of blood or magic could certainly ignite a mate bond. But why so rapidly… unless… “ She meets my gaze. “This witch, she is no ordinary woman, is she?”
I stare down at my hands, calloused now from days of honest labor beside Thorn. “She is an enigma,” I admit. “She is gifted in the mystical arts and hides her true self.”
“So fate and magic combined have woven this web between you.” Mother sighs knowingly.
“I still struggle to grasp that destiny could chain me eternally to a near stranger,” I admit.
Mother gives an understanding smile. “Such is the paradox of predestined love, but remember, fate may draw you together, yet the choice to nurture any bond remains your own.”
Her wisdom resonates deeply, kindling fragile hope within my tumultuous heart. If Thorn is my destined mate, I cannot force that fate upon her. Perhaps together, we can unravel this mystery and then choose our own path.
Mother clasps my hand firmly. “Be patient, my son. The answers you seek cannot be rushed, only revealed in their proper time.”
I nod slowly, the urgency to find Thorn tempered by Mother’s calming counsel. I know my place is here for the moment, not running off blindly after a phantom bond only half understood.
“You’re right, as always,” I acknowledge, squeezing her hand. “I will restrain my impatient heart and bide here awhile.”
Mother exhales in palpable relief. “Wise words. We have the best mages in the kingdom here. We can find a single witch no matter where she is hiding.”
I manage a small, grateful smile. “With your help, I know the answers will come in time and, with understanding, control over whatever enchantment has entwined our fates. ”
Mother presses a swift kiss to my forehead. “Have faith. No spell endures forever unchanged. The sun sets but always rises anew in the morning.”
Despite my mother’s calming wisdom, the phantom agony refuses to abate. Even with distance between us, the shredded bond tortures my heart.
Now alone, I pace my chambers, yearning for relief. The lavish gilding and velvet provide no comfort, only jar my senses.
I spot the bundle of provisions Thorn packed. An idea flickers through the haze of anguish. Perhaps her bread can grant some small relief? My mother said it was spelled. Perhaps that’s what it was for?
I hastily unwrap the linen-swaddled loaf and root around for a knife with fumbling fingers. After sawing off a hunk, I bring it to my nose and inhale the yeasty aroma deeply before devouring it in famished bites. Chewing slowly, I close my eyes, focusing every sense on the memories Thorn’s magic evokes… her shy smile when I praised her baking… the comfort of a meal shared in easy rapport. The vice around my chest loosens just slightly. I exhale in fragile relief, forcing myself to savor another small mouthful rather than glutting more greedily .
I dig my fingers into the bread, and fresh agony knifes through me as I imagine Thorn suffering alone. What darkness drove her to push me away so forcefully? Was she so afraid of me that she couldn’t stand my presence for a moment more?
There must be something I can do other than sit here futilely gnawing away anguish bite by bite! For now, though, this bread is my only lifeline to Thorn, so I wrap myself in the knitted vestige of our bond and endure this half-life purgatory swallow by swallow. Clutching the remaining loaf to my chest, I sink onto the plush bed, its comforts now alien and cloying. Somehow, I vow silently, I will find my way back to her hearth and her open heart. Back to the only place that feels like home.
Until then, I cling desperately to the lingering echoes of Thorn left in these gifted provisions, my sole solace until fate leads me to her light once more.