Chapter Sixteen- The Prince in Tatters
When I finally make my way back into the palace, night has long since fallen and Luca takes Zena back to the stables. He mumbles about having her away for too long but I ignore him. Cain’s ghost trails me, begging me to avenge him. I intend to.
I don’t expect Thorne to still be in the Luminaria garden, but his laugh travels to me. I know I should report to Reese that I’ve returned but he can wait. My heart is thumping with need, exacerbated by a life bond and a prophecy, this all consuming need to be near him. Thorne.
I find myself leaning against an aged stone statue depicting the first King of Netherhelm when I hear him talking softly.
“...You are kind, my dear, but my heart is ruined. There is no one else I can love.” He caresses the cheek of a young man, perhaps twenty-two, who has blonde shaggy hair.
I recognize him as Evander, a courtesan who prowls the palace.
Very kind boy, very tragic back story. Truthfully, I thought he was more of Asterin’s plaything.
Evander reaches up with painted nails and strokes Thorne’s face, illuminated by the pale moon.
I feel the sensation through our bond, my heart seizing with something too close to anger.
“I’ve spent many full moons over asking Xeusis to turn your heart for me,” Evander tilts his head as he beholds Thorne.
I shift, only able to see the back of Thorne’s head.
He sprawls in the garden against a tree, his flower petals still scattered around him.
“Is it true then, you hold affection for Briar Insinuer?”
Thorne grips Evander’s wrist and pushes him to an arms length away from him.
“You may please me. But you may not love me.” He traces Evander’s bottom lip with his thumb. The gesture sends pins and needles through my body, leaving heat behind. I feel like I should leave but I can’t look away.
When Evander unbuttons Thorne’s pants, there’s a moment where I pace around in a circle, unsure of what to do with myself.
To my absolute horror, my mouth waters as Evander reaches into his pants.
Desire and disgust melt into a storm of jealousy until my fingernails are breaking against the stone of the statue next to me.
I avert my eyes as Evander takes Thorne into his mouth.
I want to twist my ears off at the sound of his ecstasy, at how he sucks air through his teeth.
Thorne releases the most distracting moan, throwing his head back to absorb the pleasure.
I’m a mess of hatred for Evander and jealous of the position he’s in, need straining against my pants.
Fuck.
I can’t stay stagnant anymore, I need to stop this. Need to find a way to trade places with Evander. I am feral with need, nearly gasping with it. I’m just stepping from the shadows when Thorne moans.
“Harrow.” And it’s the most beautifully wretched thing I’ve ever heard. My knees weaken, sending me fleeing the garden as the last of my resolve threatens to snap.
I want Thorne face down in the garden, crying out my name because I’m the one pleasuring him. While I fuck him so thouroughly that no one else will ever satisfy him.
Titan’s bleed me!
The courtesan didn’t protest the name slip which is equally horrific. Has he moaned my name before?
Thorne is rotten, forbidden fruit, growing into the cracking window of my soul.
Darkness stirs within me, begging me to find someone to kill to free myself of the need to open the window and allow him in.
Unfortunately, though, the monsters that also occupy this body do not take kindly to sharing their toys.
I remind myself of this as I pant against a tree in the Northwoods.
I finish myself with a blood stained hand, spilling into the soil at my feet.
A sick and twisted part of me hopes that Thorne’s climax found him in the same moment.
Shame grips me like a vice, nauseating me and demanding better like a disappointed guardian.
The hour is approaching three in the morning when eventually I collapse into my bed, but only after ensuring my face was seen around the palace.
Elm cursed me for waking him up but he will at least remember seeing me far from the incoming Serpent of Netherhelm encounter that will rock the kingdom when it wakes.
I’m certain I’ve hardly had a chance to doze off when a loud clambering and crashing startles me awake.
I groan, my back muscles protesting the sleeping position after stringing up body parts all night.
I sit up to see a dark shape getting up off the floor, where a small table and footstool have apparently met their demise.
“...sorry,” Thorne drunkenly apologizes to the inanimate objects.
The morning sun is threatening to rise as I wrap my waist in the comforter and stand.
“What are you—” I start but he cuts me off.
“Shhhh Serpent, pretend I’m not here,” he hiccups and burps before laughing at himself.
He’s a mess, his silver hair disheveled, dirt on his clothes, a few stray flower petals clinging to him.
I nearly obey the request until he tries to pitch himself onto the chaise, only to miss completely and hit the floor. I snap my fingers to illuminate a candelabra next to the bed with a sigh.
“I have half a mind to leave you there,” I cross my arms. He lays there defeated, no more than a dead branch on the forest floor.
“You didn’t tell me you were back,” he huffs and drags himself up to sitting despite his shaking limbs.
“I didn’t know I was supposed to report to you, Princeling,” I sass.
Thorne drags his knees up to his chest and leans his forehead against them.
He’s wearing dark leather pants with an extravagant sapphire mantle.
His loose white shirt boasts untied strings tonight instead of undone buttons, teasing his porcelain skin.
His sleeves are wrinkled, telling part of the story of the night.
His mantle is only a half one, draped over one shoulder with its edges feathered with black iridescent plumes that reflect the flickering candlelight.
My heart sinks, recognition setting in—the mantle is a relic of ceremony now dulled by exhaustion.
He wore this to the entombment of his mother.
The Queen has been laid to rest. I eye the harness that secures it across his chest, a single band of control in a look otherwise undone.
Queen Ivy has been laid to rest. Her prophecy, her demand crawls back into my consciousness:
When death slithers closer, the blade craves the bite.
The hand raised to strike will falter yet.
The Executioner is coiled, his curse holding fast.
When scars mar the innocent, turning the heart to stone,
The life meant to end will bind instead.
Dressed in sin not born of him,
The bastard prince finds solace upon the throne of his kin.
Or will the Serpent become the Executioner’s salvation?
Again, I find myself recounting my own loss and wondering how in the five Titans I’m going to destroy the Titan’s Kyanite.
That would explain his behavior, his recklessness tonight. His mother is well and truly gone, her funeral over, leaving her to slowly fade into nothing but memory and passing conversation.
“You weren’t there,” he accuses. He looks up at me from the floor, eyes burning with tears.
“You’re always there. But not this time,” his bottom lip wobbles and I’m struck by the sudden urge to hold him.
I should ask him what he means by ‘always there’ but I have a feeling my ego won’t like the answer.
Is it possible he knew I was following him? What is the true extent of his power? What would it be like unrestrained?
I swallow at the thought, straining against the contacting muscles in my throat as if swallowing soil. I can’t think of what to say to that.
“You need to sleep,” is all I have to offer. I cross my arms and try to stare at him indifferently.
But it feels equivalent to the time Toleus made me watch a maimed cat run around in circles as it died an excruciating death. Thorne is an injured animal in need but I can’t bring myself to help. I frown at him instead.
“I have to pee,” he mumbles and lulls his head back.
I hate when he does that. Exposing his throat, showing me the perfectly sculpted column of his neck.
Everything in me wants to run my tongue and teeth over the delicate skin there.
To hold his life in my hands again, to choose ecstasy over death. Xeusis take me.
“Come on,” I offer him a hand as I still grasp the comforter to my nude body.
“Is that some kind of fashion statement?” He takes my hand and clumsily rises from the floor as he looks me up and down.
“Yeah, it’s called ‘don’t come into my room unannounced’,” I snark. I grip the blanket around my waist; it’s far too long and threatens to trip me but Thorne still leans on me.
“So must I announce myself to see you naked?” He looks at me through hooded eyes and gives his best seductive grin in his drunken state.
Still, his words cause my body to heat up as I guide him to the washroom.
When I step out of his hold, pointing him towards the toilet, he sways a moment. He turns to look at me for help, his eyes spinning, which tells me all I need to know about how dizzy he is.
“No way, I’m not helping you,” I draw the line firmly in stone. I will not touch him when he’s drunk.
I do not want to see anything beneath his belt line. There, see? Now if I say it enough, perhaps I’ll believe it.
“But—” he whines and he’s in such a playfully vulnerable mood that my head could split open. A year ago, I might have tried to kill him at this moment, but now I’m fighting the urge to embrace and care for him.
“Nope, sit down if you have to.” With that, I leave the washroom and shut the door. He made it all the way to my room alone. He can manage to pee on his own.
Why did he make it all the way to my room? Probably for the same reason he moaned my name with Evander…