Chapter 40 Thunderstorm
A tear splashed onto one of Castien’s letters.
“No, no, no,” she whispered as the ink spread and words bled together in that spot.
Wren quickly swiped at her cheeks to avoid any more blemishes on the parchment.
She didn’t want a single word to disappear.
They were all too beautiful. Wren had spent her days confined to libraries, read thousands of words penned by the greatest sages in all the Seven Havens, and nothing she’d ever read compared to the letters spread across her quilt.
Castien had read her deepest fears and insecurities, but instead of using them against her, he dismantled each one. Not only that, but he told her he loved her. She traced the word with a trembling finger.
Why would he love you? The monster’s voice snarled. You’re a broken doll, used up and stained.
“There is no black mark upon your soul.” Wren read Castien’s words aloud.
Could she believe them? Was he telling the truth?
He’s lying. He’s telling you this because he pities you. He will claim to love you, then once he uses you, he’ll leave you in the dirt where you belong.
“N-no,” she cried, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes.
Sobs racked her body. She wanted so desperately to be free of this pain. Of the voice that haunted her at every turn.
No one will ever truly love you. The only person who did is dead. You’re ruined and incapable of love even if you had it. You’ll be alone forever.
Wren scraped at her tear-soaked face with her sleeves. She sifted through the letters, searching for something to combat the darkness.
“There is nothing that would stifle my love for you.” She whispered the words. Then, louder, she repeated, “Nothing.”
Silence. Wren drew in a shuddering breath.
The voice did not return. She looked down at the letter in her hands again.
Despite her earlier efforts, it was tear-stained and slightly crumpled from the way she clutched it like a lifeline.
But Wren knew where she could hear these same words.
She didn’t have to cling to letters, because the man who wrote them was waiting for her to respond.
In spite of her past and her fears, he was waiting. No, not in spite of. He wrote that he cherished every part of her, including the scars and shadows. Somehow, she’d met a man who saw her in full and didn’t hate her. Far from it, he loved her.
“Love,” she breathed out on a disbelieving laugh.
That someone would love her in the way Castien did and that she could feel the same …
she could not comprehend such a thing. Her life since the incident had been spent avoiding romance at every turn.
The only love she dared to accept was that of her brother, who had then been ripped away from her.
Would she be capable of such a thing? Or would the darkness be right about her?
Wren dried her face again, then gathered up all the letters in a stack.
If the past was any indication, the monster’s voice would be back.
Castien’s assurances might have quieted it, but Wren needed to confirm that Castien meant his words in person before fear took control in full.
She rushed to the door, then swept out of the house.
Her fellow peers likely thought her out of her mind, what with how she ran down the fog-drenched path that led to House of Arythes with her hair streaking behind her and tears soaking her red cheeks.
But Wren did not care. Her heart was beating like mad.
Pure, unfiltered hope rushed through her veins.
She pounded up the stairs to House of Arythes's entrance, barely glancing up at the large sea beast carved above the door before she flung it open. There was no one in the foyer, and Wren realized she didn’t know which room was Castien’s.
She saw a door open up ahead and heard voices, so she rushed toward it.
When she appeared, the room went silent. Their surprise tickled her senses.
Finn sat at a card table with a few other men Wren vaguely recognized. His brows rose in question. His amusement curled around her.
“Castien.” The name fell from her lips.
A slow, knowing grin took over Finn’s face.
He answered her unspoken question. “Top of the right tower.”
She nodded her thanks before spinning on her heel and following his directions. The stairs were not easy after the accelerated pace she used to get there, but still she pushed. When she reached the door at the top of the tower, her chest was heaving.
Wren stared at the heavy wood door. Doubt started to creep in. What if she had taken too long? She shook her head. No. Castien said he loved her. He’d told her nothing would stifle that love, so she would have to trust that not even time would do so.
She lifted her hand, held her breath, and knocked. After a moment of silence, her stomach dipped. Had he gone out? Or was he simply refusing to answer the door? She gathered up her tattered courage and knocked again.
The door ripped open, and she was hit with a wave of frustration, grief, and pain that made her wince.
Castien’s stormy expression went slack with shock at the sight of her.
Wren stood before him, panting and devoid of words.
His dark hair was a mess, sticking up in ways that made her wish to smooth it.
There were shadowy half-moons beneath his red-rimmed eyes.
He truly had been grieving the loss of her.
None of that affected her as much as what his askew nightshirt revealed.
There, framed by the gaping fabric, was a thin white scar. He bleeds for those he loves.
“Wren.” His voice broke on her name. His eyes flickered over her figure, as if he wasn’t quite sure if she was real or a figment of his imagination.
She held up his letters. Fresh tears wet her cheeks.
“Did you mean what you wrote in your letters?” she asked around the emotion lodged in her throat.
“Every word,” he promised.
“You love me?” she choked out.
His eyes filled with tears of his own. He nodded.
“With every part of me. I—”
Castien’s words cut off when Wren flung her arms around his neck.
Without hesitation, he wrapped her in his embrace.
Her face pressed against the scar on his chest. His skin was warm, his arms strong and secure.
He slowly walked them backward into his room and reached out to close the door.
Wren did not worry for her safety. She had been alone with Castien and knew him too well to think the worst. He held her in a way that made her believe every word he had written.
You do not know how to love him. The monster’s voice rankled in her mind like chains. You can’t give him what every man wants.
Wren squeezed her eyes shut and clung tighter to Castien. He responded by pressing the gentlest of kisses to the crown of her head. Warmth spread from the spot. Her whole body stilled. She felt his panic collide with hers.
“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, and pulled away. She immediately mourned the loss of his comforting touch. “I shouldn’t have. Forgive me, dearest. I have missed you—” He sunk his hands into his hair and pulled. Dark eyes wild, he pleaded, “Do not hate me. I’m sorry.”
Wren shook her head.
“I do not hate you, Castien,” she assured him. “Quite the opposite,” she admitted, her voice trembling.
“Opposite,” he echoed, hope igniting in his gaze. “Do you mean to say you return my feelings for you?” His hands dropped to his sides.
Wren placed a hand over her speeding heart, the other clutching Castien’s letters.
Did she love him? She considered how safe she felt with him, how much she had missed him in spite of his actions that had hurt her so badly.
Wren recalled how the foolish young woman had described feeling in the book she had read to Castien while he was Tidesick.
If Wren was honest with herself, though she was terrified, she felt awfully similar to the silly princess.
Light as a feather and warm as though she’d drunk too much berry wine.
Incapable of thinking of anything other than the next time she would see Castien, longing to be near him always, giddy that he felt the same.
“I-I think I might,” Wren uttered, not fully comprehending the words.
Castien’s elation flooded her.
“Truly?” he exhaled, a smile melting across his features.
You know he will change his mind if you can’t give him what a man needs.
Fear struck her like a blow to the stomach, causing her to drop his letters. The emotion warred with the flood of affection pouring off Castien.
“But I don’t know if I can give you what you want.
” She spoke quickly, wishing for all the world she was a normal young woman and didn’t have to say such things.
Castien did not give her the impression of a man out to use her the way the duke had, but she couldn’t ignore the expectations surrounding relationships and marriage.
Why couldn’t she be unblemished, free from the bruises of her past?
“All I want is you,” he told her. “Only you, for the rest of my days.”
“For the rest of … you mean to marry me in earnest?” Wren asked, barely able to put voice to the words.
“If and when you are ready,” Castien answered with so much certainty it made her chest ache.
“Castien.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I do not know that I can be a wife in the fullest sense of the word. You must want that. Need that. Tides, you’re going to be an emperor. That requires an heir—” Wren cut off, swallowing a sob.
Castien reached for her hands. She let him take them, desperately wanting the comfort his touch provided.
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. His thumbs rubbed soothing patterns against her skin.
She let out a soft sigh of relief. The corner of his mouth hitched up in a little smile that made her stomach swoop.