Chapter 39 Nox
Chapter Thirty-Nine: Nox
I had made this journey what felt like a hundred times.
Had traversed these woods when I was undercover, leaving behind my life as Nox and returning to my secret mission as Flynn.
Traveling alone with only my thoughts had been the exact thing I needed to transition between the two, regardless of which kingdom I was returning to.
This time is different.
Despite how I have pushed my body to walk from before the sun rises to long after it sets, I know based on landmarks that I’m not progressing as quickly as I need to.
Pain radiates from my upper back, encompassing both shoulders and settling deeply in my chest. It’s as if I’ve gone through battle, exhausted myself to the point that my body can’t remember what normal feels like anymore.
I’m sure sleeping on the forest floor for the past three nights isn’t helping.
But I’ll take every ache and pain, every discomfort this continent has to offer, if it brings me to her.
Letting out a long exhale, I tuck an arm under my head and stare up at the night sky. Stars dot it in a beautiful array and the sight reminds me of what I saw in the Middle.
When Rhea and I left the Mortal Kingdom, I assumed it would be the last time I’d traverse these woods. To do it again without her by my side is only a cruel reminder that there are others out there that want to harm her. And through her, me.
I replay what I remember from the night of the ball, over and over until I’ve run my mind ragged, but I’m no closer to knowing who took her.
And that thought makes sleep—even with exhaustion—elusive.
Sighing, I sit up and pull my pack closer, undoing its leather strap.
Inside a small black velvet pouch rests on top, and I untie it to reveal a flame gem.
I use it to search for the one item that I hadn’t deemed necessary for this trip, but instead simply wanted to keep close.
I had been stumped on what to get Rhea for her birthday, finding that everything I saw in the local shops of Vitour were not worthy of being held by her.
She had lived through hell and had done such a damn good job at hanging on to her humanity that everything else seemed so mundane in comparison.
It was as I was perusing a bookstore that the idea struck me.
I knew she would be free of that tower, even if she ended up staying in Celatum and refusing to come with me.
A journal would allow Rhea the privacy of writing her thoughts out but also give her a way to document her new life.
And now, I stare at it like it holds the secrets of a long-forgotten goddess.
I trace a finger over her name, back and forth until I’m afraid I’ll rub the gold right off.
Flipping the cover open, I reread the only page I dare to look at.
The one that I wrote on before I gave it to her.
I skip over my own handwriting, the words on the page ones I know by heart, and move down to the space beneath my signature.
When I was still too afraid to give her my real name because losing her meant accepting that she knew all of me and rejected it.
That, perhaps, in the moments I had never let anyone else see, there was truth to the thoughts that ate at me.
Being prince and carrying the weight of my kingdom on my shoulders had always felt like a privilege, a self-sacrificing one but one that I was all too happy to hold.
But at that moment, as I was writing out what I felt and how she had changed me, I didn’t feel selfless.
I didn’t feel motivated by keeping my kingdom safe or returning to my life back home.
I just felt her, and I only wanted more.
This letter wasn’t just a confession of deeply rooted feelings; it was a line drawn in the sand.
It was the moment I tossed everything that I was out and vowed to be whatever she needed.
It was when I became selfish.
And there, written in her beautiful and distinct script, were just three words repeated: I love him. I love him. I love him.
I’m not sure when she wrote it, if it was right after she learned of my true name or if it was later after we had become even more.
But the timeline didn’t matter so much as the words themselves, and if I can’t hear them in person from her, then I will read them.
Because to be loved by Rhea is to bask in the sunlight, and I am terrified that if I don’t get to her soon, I’ll find myself once again in the dark.
Morning comes quickly and brings with it a heavy rainstorm.
My magic is useless, nothing more than a small trickle of power balling in my palm when I call upon it.
But I use what I can to cover the top of my pack, protecting the contents.
My eyebrows draw low as I clench my jaw, the strain of holding the magic causing a headache to bloom.
My boots crunch over the dead leaves that coat the forest floor, the sound muffled by the rain. If I can push myself, I should be able to reach Vitour in another handful of days. Still too slow, but given that my body cannot seem to handle anything more, it will have to do.
The rain falls harder as the day continues, and I pull my traveling cloak around me more tightly, tugging down on the hood to help shield my eyes.
Mud makes it harder to hike, my steps sliding over the wet foliage and then suctioning to the ground.
I finally reach a thickly woven canopy of trees, providing a small dry patch for me to rest in.
Leaning against the rough bark, I close my eyes and try to slow my racing heart, furious that I’m too taxed to continue without a break.
Leaves rustle nearby, and I assume it is from the falling rain until a snapping branch draws my eyes open.
I scan the trees ahead of me, reaching to palm the dagger sheathed on my belt.
My breath rattles as I slowly draw it in, sheets of rain falling so heavily I can only see a few yards ahead of me.
Turning to face the way I came, I squint into the distance. The magic I’m holding falters, and for the briefest second, I feel it—the presence of another.
Then pain erupts at the back of my head before everything goes black.
She tastes like honey—like sunshine and melodies and other things that I’m not poetic enough to describe but that fill me so wholly, I know I’ll be starved once she’s no longer on my tongue.
Leaning back, I stare at her swollen lips.
Desire and yearning and love fiercely flood my veins as my gaze rakes over every perfect inch of her.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m desperate for her to know just how much she means to me.
Just how much her forgiveness is a treasure I’ll never part with.
“I love you,” I rasp, leaning in to taste her again. Mouth searching and heart screaming, I move down over the curve of her jaw to her neck, the warmth of her skin awakening every part of me. “There is only you, Rhea. Only you.”
“I love you,” she says, her hands moving from my hair to my shoulders, fingertips digging into the muscle. “Nox, I love you.”
Gods, when she says my name, my true fucking name, it takes everything not to lay her down and ensure she’ll scream it over and over again. There is nothing like hearing her moan, nothing like feeling her body against me as she does. “My name from your perfect lips is a godsend.”
I want to worship her. In whatever way she’ll have me.
In control or on my damn knees begging for a single piece of her, it’s never mattered to me.
There may be a list of gods one could pray at the feet of, but the only altar I’ll willingly choose is hers.
I flick my tongue against her collarbone, waiting for the small gasp I know she’ll give me as a reward.
But instead, cold rushes in. Water splashes my cheek and then my forehead, an icy chill invading my bones.
Rhea slips through my fingers, turning into mist before fading away completely. Someone begins to whistle—the tune coming from above me. My surroundings grow hazy, swirling like the galaxies in the Middle as everything blurs and I’m once more alone.
Whistling. Someone is whistling. The thought stirs me awake from my dream fully and into a reality where a terrible ache at the back of my head throbs in time to my heartbeat.
I force my eyes to open, only to immediately be pelted with bitterly cold drops of rain.
Reaching for my magic, I direct what small remnants of it I can to that ache, the pain only mildly relieved.
Moving my hand to my face takes far longer than it should, and it isn’t until I’ve wiped away the rain that I realize the whistling has stopped.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Your Highness,” a voice from above says. I arch my neck, looking at three figures that morph into one and then back to three again squatting in front of me. “Sorry for the hit, but I was afraid you’d give me a decent fight.”
When my vision finally focuses, I meet the gaze of a man. One who I don’t immediately recognize. “Who are you?” The words come out groggy and slurred.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. See, it would ruin my plans, and there is nothing I despise more than ruined plans.” He brushes a long strand of rain-slicked raven hair from his face. “Though finding you was a happy accident.”
I take in our surroundings, relieved to find that we are still in the forest but it’s impossible to tell exactly where. My eyes go back to his, and that’s when I notice their color. Gray. “What kingdom are we in?”
He smirks, smug satisfaction wafting from him as if it were his fucking magical signature. “Mortal, though I’m afraid we’re no longer heading to Vitour. That’s where you were going, right?” He squats down, elbows resting on his bent knees. “Going to save her.”
My lips pull back from my teeth. “You made a mistake stopping me.”
He laughs, reaching to secure two ropes before standing. I follow the length of them to where they connect to a makeshift stretcher made of branches beneath me.
“You know, I didn’t think it would be so easy.
” He brings his hands out wide, adopting a boisterously deep voice as he taunts, “The great and powerful Prince Nox Daxel! With the magic of the gods in his veins!” Licking his lips, he drops his arms to his sides and stares at me, something shifting in his expression.
“You’re a legend in the kingdom. Fuck, you’re a legend outside of it too.
It’s funny, isn’t it? How quickly the mighty can fall. ”
I don’t respond but press back against the branches, hoping to feel the outline of my weapon.
Disappointment surges when I realize he’s taken it, along with every one of my possessions except for my clothing.
My pack is tied at my feet, at least. I can only hope he hasn’t gone through the items there.
I take stock of my faculties, noting that in addition to the ever-present pain, my limbs also feel entirely too heavy.
Any other time, he’d be dead. My shadows racing in from every corner to strangle the life from him.
Or I’d simply do it with my hands. Unfortunately, he is right.
I didn’t sense him at all, and now I can’t even defend myself should he attack me again.
“Oh, I recognize the look in your eyes,” he acknowledges, putting the ropes in one hand before digging the other into his pocket.
“But I recommend you tuck those murderous little thoughts back into your mind for now. Based on how weak your signature feels—hardly existent at all—and the fact that you’re all but limp on my comfy stretcher, you’d likely just hurt yourself. ”
“Why don’t you come a little closer, and we’ll test that theory out.”
He chuckles, removing his hand from his pocket to reveal a cloth and a small vial of liquid.
“That’s the spirit, Your Highness! I can see why she likes you.
” Everything in me stills, honing in on the man as he steps between muddy puddles and clumped leaves to stand near my head, squatting once more.
“What the fuck did you say?”
His cockiness morphs into something darker, his eyes matching the tone. “She is beautiful, I’ll give you that. Though I like them a little less mouthy.”
Fury grips me, tossing me in its flames as I reach out to grab him. But my body is so weak, my reaction time even more so, and he’s able to deflect me easily.
Uncorking the vial, I watch as he pours a light purple liquid onto the cloth before corking and pocketing it again.
“Your effort is valiant, My Prince, but there are larger games at play. Ones that require your fiancée to be elsewhere.” He holds the cloth up, looking from me to it and back again.
“I’m sorry for the side effects of this tincture.
Gelsemium is quite the nasty flower.” Quick as lightning, his hand covers my mouth and nose, and I take a full breath in, an herbal bitterness filling my mouth and lungs.
I struggle against his hold, every warning bell in my body screaming to fight.
To do something—fucking anything. It starts with my tongue, a tingling sensation that deprives it of feeling when I try to push it to the roof of my mouth.
Then it moves down my throat to my chest. My arms are next, followed by the rest of my torso and legs.
The last bit of movement I feel is my toes wiggling in my boots before they too become numb.
The man watches, his smile growing after a few moments when he realizes I’m completely immobilized. Patting my shoulder, he pockets the cloth and grabs the ropes again in both hands. “Time to go back home.” My eyes fall of their own volition as he begins to drag me through the forest.