Chapter 34
Mora
Soft strands of fawn-colored fur bunched between Mora’s fingers, sticking to her clammy palm. She stood stark still, staring at the mattress. The lumpy pillows. The gray sheets threatening to swallow her whole if she so much as sat on the damned bed.
All the while, Castellan and Imani’s warring voices slammed against the kitchen ceiling below, their muffled quarrel trickling into the small space. Despite the deafening thrum of her racing pulse, Mora heard it all.
Thank the gods she’d had Eris show her to her room—his room, his musk crowding her senses like a fresh winter breeze slipping through cedars. It was soothing, nothing like citrus, but that didn’t stop her hands from shaking.
“It’s the best tactical option,” Castellan insisted, his loud voice betraying his frustration.
Gone was the smoothness, the self-assured timbre of a man who knew what had to be done; Imani had him shaken.
It didn’t stop him from trying to win her over.
“The bridge is the only entrance by land. Easy to guard. And simple to destroy if we need to cut off access to the islet to protect ourselves.”
“That would trap us, you fucking dunce,” Imani shouted, voice booming so loud it was a wonder the farmhouse hadn’t trembled in its wake.
A sharp thud followed an exasperated breath—had Castellan slammed his fist on the table? “It would save us!”
With a tired sigh, Mora tore the furs from a bed she couldn’t bear to use and backed away until she bumped into an old, dark green sitting chair by the window.
Rumpled laundry hanging from the armrests.
A deep, heavy exhaustion clung to her bones, demanding she give up...
on everything, Castellan’s proposal another weight on her weary shoulders.
She dropped onto the seat, worn fabric dipping beneath her, and burrowed under the blanket, a pair of beige trousers and a few tunics making for fine enough pillows. When she rested her head, the laundry shifted, royal blue peeking out from the pile.
Tears welled in Mora’s eyes, the hue tugging on a painful thread in her heart.
The rich color was one she had once seen daily, its deep tones decorating much of Castle Berwick. Accenting its halls. Bleeding into its furnishings and swathing those who patrolled the yard and stood guard.
She tugged the top free, lower lip wobbling as she stared at the silver filigree decorating its shoulders.
Already, she’d seen Eris and Castellan in their King’s Guard uniforms, but alone in the candlelight, all she could imagine was the red hair and kind blue eyes of a man who would have given anything to see her safe.
“I miss you, Philip,” she breathed, clutching the tunic to her chest. Hugging it close.
“I miss you so much I can hardly stand to remember you.” It was an impossible feat, holding herself together when her soul felt as if it were made of glass, cracks tarnishing its once pristine surface until she was certain it would crumble into nothing.
Part of her wouldn’t have minded. To feel nothing—be nothing—was a boon as she walked through this endless nightmare.
Her body shook as she cried, clinging to a piece of the past. To a life that felt so far away it hardly seemed real.
“I hope you’ve found peace,” she whispered. “And I pray you’re with my parents, creating a new kingdom together in a different realm—a better realm—where...” Sobs made her voice break. “Where a creature like me could never hurt you again.”
Castellan was wrong to look at her with so much hope. Everything Mora touched—everything she loved—became tainted. If he got his wish and took the throne by her side, would she stain his future too?
The floor creaked in the hall and she flinched, heart galloping when a knock rattled the door.
“You awake, Vicious Thing?” Eris asked quietly from the other side.
Mora wiped the moisture from her face with her forearm and placed the royal blue tunic back with his laundry. “Yes,” she called, careful not to allow her voice to waver.
The bedroom door whined on its hinges when he pushed it open, a tray balanced on his other hand.
It carried two earthenware bowls, steam curling around the top before wafting in the air—had he reheated the soup for her?
“I thought you might be hungry,” he said, slipping into the small room and closing the door behind him.
She gave a noncommittal shrug, blanket wrinkling with the movement. Eris frowned, dark brown eyes flitting to his bed to find his furs had been torn free so she could make a nook on the chair. “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”
“Your laundry certainly makes for good bedding.” Her smirk was weak, barely able to cling to her lips, but Eris grinned in return.
Then it melted into a pout, the expression so adorably pathetic it made her think of a puppy. “If you’re not hungry, I beg you to pretend; please don’t make me go back down there.”
“Are they that bad?” She strained to listen—gone were the angry voices fleeing the kitchen to haunt the rest of the house, though that didn’t mean the arguing was over.
There was barely enough room between the bed and the wall, but Eris managed to wander to the bedside table, carefully placing the tray down. “I’m surprised there isn’t a tree tearing through this floor as we speak. Do you think we should escape together in the night?”
If only. Mora huffed a tired laugh through her nose. “One can dream.”
“Are you okay?” he asked, picking up a single bowl and moving closer, the soup’s herby aroma blending with his soothing musk to create a delectable scent.
“Do you want an honest answer, or would you prefer something more palatable?”
He winked. “I’ll take whatever you give me, Princess.
” His voice was smooth. Inviting. The light of the flickering candles gently slid over his warm face.
When he offered her the bowl, Mora accepted, somehow not cringing when their thumbs touched.
The delicate drag of his calloused skin against hers was quick, heat blooming in its wake.
Or was that simply the earthenware cuddled in her grip?
He didn’t mind when she said nothing; the guard retrieved his meal and sat across from her on the bed, sipping on broth and observing her face. Waiting for whatever words she might offer.
Dipping her spoon in the steaming liquid, Mora watched chicken and vegetables bob as she stirred, flecks of green herbs and potato bits twirling around like a tiny vortex.
It was easier than staring into Eris’s eyes, searching for glimmers of stars she knew she wouldn’t find.
“This is the first time I’ve had a meal with someone in...
gods, I have no idea how long it’s been. ”
Eris averted his gaze, fixating on his own bowl, the dish balanced carefully on his crossed legs. “Oh?”
“How long ago was Harvest?”
His spoon was inches from his lips, but he paused, brow wrinkling while he searched his memory. “A little over five months, if I’ve counted right.”
“And how long was I missing?”
The strong columns of his throat worked as he swallowed, his discarded spoon clattering against his dish. “Nearly a year and a half.”
She nodded solemnly, wiping her face on her sleeve before a tear could trickle free. “Then it was the Harvest before last; that’s how long it’s been.” Her last Harvest, her last meal with her father... The last time she felt alive.
“Mora, I’m so—”
The door creaked open, pulling his attention away. Castellan let himself in, a single brow arching when he saw Eris there. “Am I interrupting?” he asked, running a hand through disheveled curls. Red stained his cheeks, swallowing his freckles whole.
“Of course not,” Eris offered, leaning back so he could better look at his friend. “The Vicious Thing and I were taking bets on who would leave the kitchen alive. Looks like I’ve won.”
Castellan gasped in mock hurt, hand smacking against his chest. “You bet against me, Princess?” His mouth gaped, a glimmer of mirth in his stormy eyes.
Mora shrugged a shoulder, careful not to jostle her soup.
“I already watched Imani kick your ass once.” As she lifted a spoonful to her lips, she felt a full, genuine smile rise on her cheeks, warmth spreading through her chest. Fed by a rich, savory flavor bursting on her taste buds, tender shreds of chicken settling on her tongue—praise the gods, Eris was a good cook.
She was beginning to think she might like him.
Marching to the bed, Castellan dropped onto the corner, ignoring Eris’s sharp glare when broth spilled over the lip of his bowl, drops splashing onto his gray sheets. “She caught me off guard,” he countered. “In a fair fight, I—”
“How many fights are actually fair?” Mora laughed, a soft, joyful sound she hardly recognized as her own.
Eris snickered with her. “She’s got you there, Cas,” he said, dark eyes lifting to hers while he licked an errant drop of soup from the back of his hand.
The warmth in her chest grew hotter, her pulse jumping in her veins while a flush darkened her cheeks.
Castellan searched her face, head tipping to the side, his expression growing serious. Then he sighed. “If I had any interest in being berated, I would have stayed in the kitchen.”
Eris’s coy smirk didn’t waver. “What can we do for you?”
“I wanted to make sure Mora was all right before I turn in. It looks like you’ve taken care of her for me.” He swept his hands along his breeches, smoothing out the fabric, before pushing off the bed. “Could I have a word with you in the hall, Eris?”
“Of course.” Eris set his bowl aside on a small table tucked in the corner.
It brushed against a candle, the light wavering.
Shadows skittering across the room as they ran from the tiny flame’s judgment.
When he stood and followed Castellan to the door, the crushing pressure returned in Mora’s chest, the walls suddenly looming over her as if they’d push her into the bed and hold her there until Dother returned.
She wrung her trembling hands, detesting the way her breath vibrated in her lungs. “Castellan,” Mora breathed, her traitorous voice hitching.
His hand stilled on the brass doorknob. “Yes?”
“Please don’t leave me to sleep alone,” she muttered, hating herself for being so gods damned weak. The furs cuddled in her lap, warmth emanating from her soup while Eris’s cushioned chair cradled her body. It did nothing to soothe her.
A few long strides and Castellan knelt before her, those gray eyes glittering in the low light. “I’d be honored to stay by your side.”