Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
D awson led her further into the Hollow of Echoes. The forest was bigger than she’d imagined.
Solflara and Beck had finally gone off to hunt, leaving her and Dawson alone. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that.
He stopped at a clearing that looked identical to their earlier training spot. Alaire opened her mouth to object but closed it again. The goal was to get through whatever other training Dawson had in store and that was all.
He insisted on setting up camp alone, assuring her she’d only get in the way.
His movements were efficient, practiced, as if he’d done this plenty of times before.
The fire crackled softly while shadows flickered across the clearing.
Alaire tipped her head back. The sky had deepened to indigo, scattered with stars.
Somehow, they still managed to take her breath away.
Breaking the silence, she finally asked, “So, what’s the plan?”
“We’ll rest here for a few hours tonight. At dawn, we’ll continue training.” Dawson didn’t look up from his task.
“And what does that training involve?” Alaire stuck out her tongue at him, though he couldn’t see it. “Can I look forward to being knocked on my ass?”
Setting down his pack, he began unrolling his bedroll. “If that’s what it takes. Here.” He tossed another bedroll to her.
“Thanks. This still isn’t as great as the mattress back in my room.”
“We’ll make our rounds there too. Don’t worry.”
Her eyes widened.
He gave her a heated stare.
Oh .
She unrolled her bedroll with shaky fingers. No way am I getting a wink of sleep tonight. Not with him this close.
He leaned against his pack, legs stretched out toward the fire, a groan escaping as he lifted his arms—just enough to reveal a slice of olive-toned stomach.
Alaire fixed her gaze on the flames, anything to keep from staring at him.
“Tell me about home,” he said.
“Which one?”
“Both.”
“Cielore was never my home…” Alaire’s voice wavered.
“The last real thing I remember from childhood was waking up in an orphanage with no memory of how I got there. A stranger left me there, saying my parents had died in a fire—that they’d sacrificed themselves to get me out.
” She forced herself to continue, trying not to dwell on the aftershocks that still rippled through her.
“The only other information they were given was my name, Alaire Aerendyl, and that someone would be back for me.”
Her voice grew small. “I waited eight years. No one ever came.”
She twirled a stray lock of light-brown hair around her finger, unsure how much she wanted to share. “There isn’t much I remember about Aurelia. Just pieces. Bits of love I can almost feel but can’t quite reach.”
She smiled at the few memories she had. The rest remained out of reach. Still, she treasured the brief flashbacks—her mother’s melodic voice, her father’s scent.
“I’m sorry, Alaire. For what it’s worth—and I know it’s not much—they sounded like wonderful people.”
“Your turn, tell me about your home,” she countered, not ready to dig deeper into Dawson’s unexpected show of empathy.
He laced his fingers behind his head and tipped his face back to the stars, exposing the column of his throat.
Throats should not be attractive, but somehow his was.
“Home is…” He blew out a breath. “Expectations.”
“How so?” Alaire’s brows drew together.
“Being heir to House Aetheris is tied to expectations. My destiny is duty—to my crown, my territory, my family. It always comes first—before me, before anything else.” He tipped his chin further back.
“My childhood was a slew of endless council meetings, all dull and formal, but necessary. I was lucky to have Dexter to guide me through it.”
Alaire didn’t bother to hide her dramatic eye roll. Barf .
“Home was a castle that barely felt lived in. It was rigid and stuffy. For the number of people always around, it still felt lonely. I already told you I didn’t grow up with my father around.
My mother was busy with state matters, alliances, and her seat on the Consortium.
I had Caius and later Beck.” His throat bobbed.
“It wasn’t perfect, but I don’t have much to complain about.
” His eyes lingered on the shadows stretching beyond the trees before returning to her.
The loneliness in his words struck her.
“What happened that day at the Crux when you were sparring?” he asked suddenly.
Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, you mean the day you decided to play knight in shining armor.”
“More like prince in shining armor.” He gave her a lazy wink.
Alaire drummed her fingers on her lap, each tap filling the growing quiet between them. “Sickness spread through the orphanage swiftly and often. Without a soulwarden to ease the illnesses completely, children suffered far longer than they should have.”
Her fingers stilled as she focused on the ground, losing herself in blades of grass as if she could still see those sallow faces.
“A fierce round of fever hit us hard. I developed a hacking cough that wouldn’t go away.
Tightening in my lungs would always precede the coughing.
Weeks passed, and once it finally began to subside, it returned whenever I ran or played.
” She twisted her fingers in the grass, grounding herself.
“Eventually, a healer diagnosed me with breathlock—an affliction of the lungs when the tubes in your airways tighten and close, triggered by allergens, sickness, panic, or anxiety.”
She hated the word affliction . It felt like a brand burned into her, a permanent reminder of weakness.
Dawson untangled his fingers and propped an elbow on his knee. “Is that why I’ve seen you take a deep breath into your palms sometimes?”
Alaire’s cheeks reddened. She pulled out the silver compact. “Yes. It’s called a breathbind reliquary. A soulwarden gave it to me, imbued with potent magic usually reserved for the fae. Inside is the essence of windroot, a rare herb that eases my airways when I’m on the verge of an attack.”
She tossed it to Dawson. “See for yourself.”
He examined the small device that had saved her countless times since arriving at Aeris Academy.
“It’s small things like this that, if willingly shared with humans, would greatly improve lives. Everyone deserves equal care—especially children.”
Dawson said nothing. His jaw tightened, a vein throbbing at his temple as he stared at the tool.
He stood and closed the gap between them in three strides. Holding his palm open, he carefully offered it back to her.
Gently, she took it and slipped it into her pocket. The metal was still warm from his touch. Her fingers tingled.
Dawson craned his neck, scanning the clearing. “Where did those two go off to? They should be back by now.”
“Solflara probably used Beck to find food and then ditched him.”
“Or they could be up to something else.” A sly smirk spread across his face as he settled back down.
“I do so enjoy that smirk. It’ll be a shame when Solflara melts it off your face.”
“Threatening me with your phoenix? I always prefer it when you handle me yourself.” Dawson flashed one of his patented half-smirks.
“Work smarter, not harder, Knox.” She gave him a genuine smile.
He answered with a full one this time, as if he were memorizing every detail of her face in the firelight.
Alaire nestled against her pack, curling onto her side to face him.
She felt a world away from Aeris Academy, from responsibilities and the weight of court expectations.
For tonight, they were just Dawson and Alaire.
She shouldn’t have liked how that sounded.
But, like everything else about the arrogant prince, she did.
“What does your tattoo mean?”
“Pardon?”
“With those larger-than-life fae ears, don’t pretend you didn’t hear me.”
“Fine.” He glanced down at the ink trailing past both cuffs of his leathers.
“I laid my tormented and troubled past at your feet. It’s only fair you answer a trivial question about tattoos.”
“It’s not that. It’s just—no one’s ever asked me about them before.”
Her brows puckered. “Not even Caius?”
“He doesn’t count. There aren’t many others I’m… close with.”
“Ah, so the beloved, coveted prince is a lone wolf.”
“Coveted?” He arched a brow.
“ Dawson ,” she warned.
“Okay, fine. I get a certain”—he ran a hand through his dark hair—“level of attention. They like the idea of me. The image I present. My position. My status. But they don’t know me. It’s the little things that make a person unique. They make you who you are.”
“This is only adding to your entire heartthrob factor.”
“So, I’m a heartthrob?” He waggled his brows.
She rolled her eyes. “A smug ass is what you are.”
“Sure, sure.” He winked, stretching out to face her. His hair was damp and mussed from training, strands clinging to his forehead. A thick layer of stubble shadowed his jaw. No one had any business being this mesmerizing.
It was beyond annoying.
“And you?” he asked. “Always keeping everyone at arm’s length, never giving anyone the time of day?”
“Perfect. Exactly what I was aiming for.”
Except she had given him the time of day, against her better judgment—only to be frozen out. She’d received that message loud and clear. Safer this way. Easier. Partners. Friends.
Glee curved the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t make me ask you again. Otherwise, you’ll have to answer two of my deeply personal questions—ones not conveniently inked across your skin for the world to see.”
His smile deepened, revealing the dimple in his left cheek.
A light breeze stirred the campsite, raising the flames.
Was that Dawson?
The wind sent a wave of goosebumps down her arms.
Dawson’s gaze flicked between her mouth and the curve of her shoulder, enthralled.
Alaire swallowed hard. “Well?”
“It’s a combination of many moments strung together into one design. Over the years, I’ve added to it.”
“That’s all I get?” Her exasperation bled through.
“Yup.”