Chapter 42
Drystan woke before dawn. Ceridwen lay curled on her side in his bed, chest rising and falling with easy breaths. The oil lamp on the table burned low. It gave just enough light to see Ceridwen’s blond hair strewn across the pillow like a golden cloud.
Watching her was a dream. What they shared the night before, even more so. His chest drew tight as he imagined a future with her, one he’d be determined to have if he were any other man with any other past. How easily she slipped into his life and his heart. How wonderful it would be to wake to the sight of her each morning and cherish her in his bed at night.
He’d give every piece of gold he had to clear the sins of his past and live a simple life together with her. But he wasn’t some normal man, no matter how much he might yearn for it. He knew darkness, tasted it, lived with it. It would grow until it crept across the whole of the country, seeking him out once more. More than that, he couldn’t live with the guilt of being able to do something—to kill the king and stop the darkness from spreading—and choosing not to.
Drystan quietly slipped from bed and donned fresh clothes. At his desk, he wrote two letters, and then he crept down the stairs in search of Jackoby.
The task complete, he briefly returned to the tower. For the still-sleeping Ceridwen, he left two things: fresh clothes and a rose from his favorite plant.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. He left a third there with her in the tower: his heart.
It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but there was no one more precious to him, no one he longed to keep far from the danger and darkness in the capital more than her.
He packed a few essential belongings and descended the tower stairs again. With a quiet farewell to his friend and butler, Drystan left the manor to catch the morning train.