Chapter 32 Wren
Isleep in the next morning. I don’t know what time it is when I finally wake, and I don’t care to find out. I want to stay wrapped up in my lumpy bed and the remnants of whatever it was I was dreaming before I woke. Not fire, not again. It was something peaceful and soft.
Cassiel. I remember him coming to me in the night, comforting me, holding me. I remember begging him to stay.
Only, I didn’t need to beg. I only had to ask. I shouldn’t have, but… I don’t regret it.
I wonder if Evander regrets his actions last night. Probably not.
Slowly, I creep out of my bed. Summer is ending now. There’s a chill to the air that wasn’t there before. I’ve still got no robe, so I dress instead, stepping into the next room.
Cassiel isn’t there.
I panic. “Cassiel?” I call out, hoping he’s just out of sight. The bathing room, maybe, although I usually hear him in there.
There’s no reply. The curtains are open, the windows shut fast. No one could have gotten in. I would have heard, Dain would have heard—
The door clicks open, and Cassiel steps in with a bright face and a burly-looking man who smells strongly of sawdust.
“Cassiel—” I start, barely hiding the relief in my voice.
Cassiel’s beam increases. “Good morning!” he says. “This is Marcus, the castle carpenter. He’s come to measure you for a new bed.”
Marcus doesn’t bother with a greeting, other than a curt nod. He moves into the next room immediately and gets to work.
“My new bed?” I ask.
“Indeed. Your current one really isn’t suitable for a permanent resident, and, well… I’m rather hoping you’re planning on being here for some time.”
I don’t know how long my mission will last or even what it really is… but at the moment, I don’t think about the mission. All I think about is how desperately I want to stay.
And how much he wants me to.
“No,” I say quietly, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Cassiel steps closer. His hand finds my own, fingers slotting into mine. I’m about to take it fully when Marcus barges back into the room.
“Measurements are all done,” he says. “I’ll be back tomorrow to assemble it.”
I wrench my hand away from Cassiel’s. “So quickly?”
“Unless you want something fancy?”
“No, no! Nothing fancy!”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He walks off without another word.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell Cassiel, when the door closes.
“Invite him up here? He was insistent—”
“I meant order me a new bed.”
“I really did. You can pretend it’s for my benefit, if you prefer. A well-rested guard is a better one.”
“It was sweet.”
“It was the bare minimum.”
It isn’t, and we both know it. “Thank you,” I tell him.
“You’re welcome.”
By the looks of things, Cassiel has already eaten.
Cassiel let me sleep in, even though I should definitely be on duty by now.
I’m grateful for it, but I’m in no mood for cold porridge, but I remember the package of moonberries that Zephyr left for me.
I dip into my room and retrieve them from the satchel.
It’s probably a bad idea to eat moonberries in front of a mortal, but I’m awfully hungry. Cassiel can’t see them anyway.
I pop one in my mouth, bite through the skin, and stifle a moan as the sweet juices explode onto my tongue. I eat another three before Cassiel frowns.
“Wren,” he asks, “what are you eating?”
“Nothing…” I return, too quickly.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
I’m an excellent liar.
“It’s a type of berry that grows back home,” I admit. “Don’t see it much around here. My cousin sent some to me yesterday.”
“From Thornvale?”
I hesitate a split second before replying. “Naturally.”
“You don’t often talk about your family,” he says, settling into the seat opposite. “Tell me more about this cousin of yours.”
“Oh, well, his name’s Zephyr,” I tell him, remembering my grandma’s advice that I limit my lies.
“He’s older than me, although not by too much.
” For a fey, anyway. “I didn’t know him before my mother’s death, but he took me under his wing when I went to live with my grandmother.
He’s… a lot softer than she is. He used to carry me when I was little and stop the other kids from picking on me. ”
“People used to pick on you, Thornvale? I find that hard to believe.”
“There’s a reason I wanted to learn to fight when I was young.”
Cassiel goes quiet for a moment. “Why did they pick on you?”
“What?”
“Children always have a reason. Usually a terrible one. Did you have buck-teeth or a stutter or something?”
No, I want to tell him. Humans picked on me because I had gold eyes and air of magic, and the fey picked on me because I didn’t.
“I don’t remember,” I tell him.
“Liar. That’s all right. I don’t need all of your secrets, Thornvale.” He pauses for a moment, chewing his lip. “I’d settle for one.”
“One?”
“One secret. I’ll trade you, if you like. One thing about you that I don’t know.”
How much I could tell him. How much I won’t.
I’m secretly a fey sent to infiltrate the palace.
I’m frightened of the power I used to wield.
I think I killed my mother.
I like you far more than I should.
I can’t tell him any of that, but I want to give him something. Something real, something true.
“I’m worried about disappointing people.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You? Who?”
Everyone. All of my people, and yours. You.
“My grandmother, mostly. She has… high expectations.”
Cassiel smiles. “If she’s not satisfied with you, Wren, then it’s her that needs to change, not you.”
Heat prickles in my chest. That’s a kind thing for him to say, but he’s wrong, of course.
My grandmother is ancient. She knows so much, and I know so little.
She can see the bigger picture, the sacrifices that need to be made for our people to be free.
She’s raised me. I owe it to her. I’ll have earned her disappointment if I fail her.
You don’t know what she wants from you yet, says the awful, flickering voice of hope inside me. Maybe you won’t have to hurt anyone.
“What about you?” I ask, partly to stop my own train of thought.
Cassiel goes quiet for a moment.
“I think I could come to terms with being blind,” he says eventually.
“I think I am coming to terms with it. But I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing being able to see, and I’m worried that, eventually, I’ll forget what things look like.
” He inhales carefully. “And I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting to know what you look like. ”
I take a deep breath. I want to joke—to ask him, Why me, specifically?—but I’m afraid the answer won’t be a joke, and the last thing we need right now is the truth.
“That’s quite a lot of secrets, Prince.”
“You’re right. You should trade me one of those delicious-smelling berries to make up for my overpayment.”
I hesitate. Moonberries are perfectly safe for human consumption—I’m almost certain Magda slipped a few into her brew last night—but if there’s even a chance he’s tried them before, if he recognises what they are…
“Am I honestly not worth even a single berry to you, Thornvale?” He sighs, clutching a hand to his chest. “That wounds me. Deeply. I may never recover.”
I huff a laugh. He grins. It’s distracting, and it does things to my body I want to fight, so I seize a berry, get out of my seat, and shove it into his stupid, beautiful, laughing mouth.
He makes a startled noise and bites down clumsily. Juice spurts down his chin.
I reach instinctively, fingers brushing his lips, then his jaw. His laughter fades. His breath hitches. So does mine.
His hand comes up, cupping my face. His thumb traces the corner of my parted mouth, slow and thoughtful.
I should move. I should. But my gaze is locked on his lips, and without meaning to, I lean in.
We might as well be drawn by magic.
I don’t pull away. I don’t laugh. I’m not even sure I breathe.
Cassiel’s thumb ghosts over my cheekbone. “I wish I could see your face right now,” he murmurs. “Then I’d know what you’re thinking.”
My throat tightens. I want to say something easy, something sharp—but all I manage is, “Maybe it’s better you don’t.”
“Why would that be better?”
I don’t have a reply for that.
“Wren?” he presses. “Why would that be better?”
I don’t have an answer for that, either. I don’t have an answer for anything. All my words have faded away.
Cassiel tilts his head, as if waiting. An invitation. A question.
I should pull away. Say something flippant. Break the moment before it breaks me.
Instead, I lean in. I want to fade away as surely as my words. I want to disappear inside him.
It’s barely a kiss at first, just the brush of my lips against his, a hesitant touch, a testing of limits. He stills beneath it, breath catching, and for a moment, I think he’ll pull away. One of us has seen sense. That’s good. Let’s both just pretend that—
But then his fingers tighten on my face, his hand sliding back into my hair, and suddenly there’s nothing hesitant about it at all.
Cassiel kisses me like he’s been starving for it. His lips part against mine, his breath warm, his touch insistent. He tastes of moonberries and faerie liquor and home, and I miss home so much, and I want him so badly.
I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly I’m in his lap, crushing him against the table. My hands are in his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as his other arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer.
Heat flares in my chest, curling through my spine.
His teeth graze my lower lip, and I gasp, which is a mistake—because he swallows the sound with another kiss, deeper this time, slow and hungry.
The world narrows to this moment, to the press of his body against mine, the way his fingers clasp my skin like he’s memorising me, like he never wants to forget.
I don’t realise I’m shaking until his hand slides down my back, soothing and steady. He kisses me slower then, softer, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.
I’m not going anywhere, I want to tell him, because surely I can make that the truth if I want it to be?
And I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to ever be anywhere where he isn’t. I want to fold myself inside his touch and stay with him forever.
You are not his, says an icy voice. And he is not yours.
It jolts me back to my senses. Because much as I want this—and I do—I am going to do something far worse than vanish.
And I don’t want to hurt him anymore than it’s already going to.
I tear myself away, pushing off his lap so fast I nearly stumble. My breath is unsteady, my pulse a riot. Cassiel’s hand twitches as if to reach for me, but he stops himself. He stares sightlessly, lips parted, his chest rising and falling too fast. His mouth is red from mine.
“Wren?” His voice is hoarse, uncertain.
“We… we can’t,” I manage.
“Can’t what?”
“You know what.”
His brows draw together. “Am I supposed to pretend that I’m not attracted to you?”
I swallow hard. “We work together. It’s not appropriate.”
“Surely we’re the ones who get to decide that?”
“I am deciding that.” I force steel into my voice. “You’re a prince. I’m your guard. You’re supposed to marry some well-to-do lady and make royal babies.”
His expression darkens. “What if I don’t want that anymore?”
“Cass.” His name is barely a whisper. I shake my head, even though he can’t see it. It’s more for me than him, anyway. “Don’t. We’d be no good together.”
“Why?”
I hesitate.
“Why would we be no good together?” he presses.
The words lodge in my throat. I turn away, hands clenched. “I’d destroy you,” I murmur. In more ways than one.
Silence stretches. Then, softly: “I might be all right with that.”
My stomach twists. I close my eyes, willing myself to be firm.
“I wouldn’t.” I step back, putting distance between us.
“Please, Cass. Don’t push. Let’s just… pretend this didn’t happen.
” My voice is brittle now, like I can shatter if I stay a moment longer.
“We both got caught up in the moment. We spend a lot of time together. We’re both young and attractive. It’s a proximity thing.”
He exhales sharply, almost a laugh but not quite. “A proximity thing.”
“Yes.”
I hope I sound more sure than I look, but I doubt it.
Cassiel exhales sharply, tilting his head as if listening for something that isn’t there.
Then, after a beat, he lets out a quiet, breathy chuckle.
“Right. A proximity thing.” He shifts in his seat, adjusting his shirt as though that will somehow smooth over what just happened.
“Well, in that case, I suppose we should—”
He stops as I let out an undignified snort.
His brows lift. “What?”
I press my lips together, trying—failing—not to laugh. “You… Cass, you have berry juice all over you.”
“What?” He frowns.
“Your face… your clothes… Stars, it’s everywhere.”
He lifts a hand to his face, swiping his thumb over his lips. It comes away stained deep red. He hesitates, then groans. “Fantastic.”
The sight of him—dishevelled, lips kiss-swollen, and now streaked with berry juice—makes something in my chest go dangerously soft. I shove it down.
“Here.” I grab the sleeve of my tunic and rub at his chin, but the juice has already dried sticky. It smudges instead of coming off.
His breath catches.
I freeze. My hand lingers, the warmth of his skin beneath my fingers a quiet betrayal.
He could kiss me again. I know it. He knows it.
But he doesn’t.
He sits there, still as stone, letting me be the one to pull away.
So I do. “You should… go and clean up in the bathroom,” I suggest.
“Yes,” he says quickly, “Probably best.”
“I’ll… fetch you a change of clothes.”
“That would be kind, thank you.”
He heads towards the bathroom. After a moment, his dirtied clothes come sailing out. I pass him the fresh ones, not looking. He closes the door as he changes.
“Cass?” I whisper against the panel.
His reply takes a while to come. “Yes?”
“Are we all right?”
Another pause. “What’s a little kissing between friends?” he says. “You’re hardly the first girl I’ve kissed, and you won’t be the last. You’re right. It’s not a good idea. Definitely brought on by proximity. Nothing at all to do with your warm body and very shapely thighs.”
I laugh. It’s good to laugh with him again. If I concentrate on it for long enough, perhaps I can make myself believe it’s a few minutes ago, and we’re just laughing about the berries. The kiss never happened. It’s a figment of my imagination.
My very, very active imagination…
“Good,” I tell him. “I’ll get these clothes down to the laundry before they stain.”