Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
DRAVEN
Draven glances back up at the crisp night sky, irritation bubbling in his chest.
“What’s taking them so long?” Arden asks from beside him, dressed in a tight-fitted, plunging purple gown that accentuates the warmer hues of her skin.
“Maybe they all did themselves a favor and got lost,” he mutters dryly under his breath.
She shoots him a pointed look. “Can you at least try not to be the legendary Draven Dalmar, notorious asshole tonight?”
“Give me one name in attendance of tonight’s event that deserves a different side of me.”
“Arden Larking, Captain of the Iradine aggregate who just so happens to also be your date for the evening.”
At Draven’s at once noticeable and passive silence paired with the scowl on his face, her eyes soften, if only a fraction, and she sighs, lightly gripping her slender nose in a way that prevents ruining her carefully done-up face. “I didn’t ask for this either, Draven. You know that.”
He snorts, the sound devoid of any sympathy. “You certainly didn’t help matters either with all your pining and advances over the years.”
Her mouth pops open, and she looks uncertain as to whether the sentence makes her angry or pained. “In case you’ve forgotten, you were the one who brought me to your bed that night,” she hisses at him. “Not the other way around.”
He clenches his jaw. “It was a mistake,” he says tersely. “I was hurting, and you were there. I regretted it the moment it happened.”
She snaps her fingers, and a burst of light appears in front of Draven’s gaze, blinding him with a jarring, heat-licked intensity.
He winces, pressing his thumb and middle finger against his eyes.
She snorts a victorious laugh. “That’s for being such a damned asshole.
” A pause, and her voice drops. “I was only sixteen when I met you for the first time. Did you know that? We met at an event quite like the one we are attending tonight. My father said to me, ‘Arden, that is the man you are going to marry someday, and it is going to make you the pride of House Larking.’ And so that’s what I believed.
” Her features stiffen, hardening with an anger she seems to be releasing bit by bit.
“You were handsome and broody and muscular, and by the gods, you were all the things a sixteen-year-old is captivated by.”
Draven arches a brow at her, silently indicating he’d like to know if there is a point to what she’s saying. The sharp look she gives him in answer seems to tell him there is.
“I felt all the lust in the world toward you for many years following that,” she continues.
“My father kept saying to me that we would marry, and it was like a fan to those flames, making me so sure those feelings swirling around inside me were something real and special. Yet you barely glanced in my direction. Even while at Bathara. Even after becoming captains together. And then that night when I found you outside that tavern, I will never forget the moment you finally kissed me. How it was both everything I wanted and nothing like I thought it would be—hollow, empty, and cold. You tasted like sorrow. Then you dragged me into your bed, and…”
Arden drifts off, a moment of silence stretching between them.
Draven’s previous irritation toward her slowly gives way to regret and even a bit of a pity—though it’s a feeling he recognizes no person ever wants from a former sexual partner.
Still, he was a world-class asshole for what he did to her, and he knows it.
He knew how she had felt about him all those years.
He knew he would be crossing a boundary that, once stepped over, couldn’t be uncrossed.
But he was buzzed and lonely, and she was there, and he took advantage of that.
The stars twinkle overhead, bathing the rolling, shadow-kissed hills in a soft, luminescent glow. The glittering light reflects off the surrounding glassy waters, and the hums of the distant waterfalls lull softly in the background, a calming constant. Everything feels peaceful. Still.
Almost too still—like an omen of sorts.
Arden releases a quiet sigh. “Pining after you for a small time has never been the worst thing. Sleeping with you, only to find myself alone in an empty bed the following morning with a splintered heart, feeling—knowing—there was no chance it would ever be fixed by you was not the worst thing. No.” She returns her honey-tinted eyes to his, lifting her chin and keeping her voice sturdy, as if she is merely stating facts.
“The worst thing that has happened to me is finding myself betrothed to a man who I know will never want me. Will never touch me with the tenderness and reverence I deserve. To know I am somehow deemed the villain in his story because of my past affections, as if I want to be married to someone who wants nothing to do with me.”
Draven steps forward, dropping his voice. “Then help me find a way out of this arrangement.”
She scoffs, looking at him incredulous. “You made a gods-damn bargain, Draven. There’s nothing I can do.
You think me rejecting this proposal will actually make it go away?
” She snorts, the sound nothing short of bitter.
“For whatever reason, our fathers want this, and now they can have it—uniting House Dalmar and House Larking. At long last, darkness will finally merge with the light.” At his openly surprised expression, she shakes her head, her dry chuckle not holding the slightest hint of actual joy.
“What? You didn’t think your father would inform mine of the nature of our arrangement?
” Arden shrugs, trying to act like it doesn’t bother her, but he can clearly see it does.
“It’s rather romantic of you, really—to attach your life to someone you care nothing for to save the life of the girl you love. ”
Love.
What a foreign word that would have been to him a few short months ago. Even if he has still never spoken the word aloud to another person. Not since his mother’s passing.
“Maybe there’s a way we can both find our happy endings,” he counters, his rough voice steadied by an earnest determination.
“Happy endings are for hopeless fools, and I would’ve thought you of all people would know that.”
Draven opens his mouth, but before he gets his chance to respond, Kiran’s airy voice carries into the chilly night air.
“Children,” he drawls wryly, “we’re not already fighting, are we?” His lightened tone carries a hint of both amusement and accusation, his smirk wedged firmly in place. Though it looks…different. Less genuine, perhaps? Or maybe Draven’s just imagining it after the conversation he’s had.
Kiran is dressed in a fine black, silk shirt paired with a lavish red and black tapestry vest and fitted black trousers.
The upper portion of his face is covered in a golden mask adorned with rubies that compliment his red, slicked back hair.
The mask is framed by orange and vermillion markings, mimicking the path of flames.
A closer look, and Draven can see he imbued some of his fire magic into the outlines of the gold, presumably keeping it at a low enough temperature to prevent the metal from melting while the twirling tendrils flicker constantly in a never ending loop across the top of the glinting thing.
“And if we were?” Arden challenges, the corner of her mouth already finding itself curved into a half smile.
“Well then, I’d feel compelled to point out that’s no way to treat each other on the night of your betrothal announcement.”
Draven swears under his breath, and Arden hisses.
Kiran shrugs. “It’s true.”
“Thanks,” they retort bitterly in unison.
Draven offers her the smallest of smiles as he meets her sidelong glance, and Arden huffs a small laugh.
Only a few more seconds pass before Finlay and Rhea appear, strolling through the pathway lined by juniper trees to the west, the roaring flame torches illuminating them in the distance.
Draven braces himself for the inevitable sideway glances and comments Rhea is sure to give him tonight—she doesn’t know about the coming announcement yet. No one, save for Kiran, does.
Once they reach them, Draven does a quick sweep over Rhea, making sure she is alright.
Though they’ve never openly spoken about it, he knows she struggles with the image she has of herself.
That on the nights of formal events, her struggle intensifies—harms her more physically than most other days.
He also knows she has House Dalmar to thank for that.
Just another reason to hate his fucking name.
“You look breathtaking,” he says by way of greeting. He slides his eyes to Finlay, a taunting smile tugging at his mouth. “I guess you look pretty decent, too. Even if you don’t deserve to be standing within an inch of your date.”
Finlay rolls his eyes.
Kiran frowns, bouncing his eyes between the two of them. “What in the forces of nature convinced you two to go to the ball together?” He steps forward, taking Rhea’s hand and pressing a light kiss to the back of it. “And Draven is right—you are as radiant as the stars.”
Finlay seems to stiffen at the gesture, and Draven swears he sees him take a tiny step closer to Rhea, as if feeling the need to proclaim she is with him for the evening and no one else.
What in god’s veins?
“Tynan and Audwin insisted we accompany each other this evening,” Rhea answers, oblivious to everything else as she watches Kiran, who has now dropped her hand and stepped back into his original position. “Now where’s your date? After Ninmere, I’d have figured you’d ask—”
“I decided to attend the ball alone,” Kiran answers before she can finish.
Her eyes narrow on him, yet Draven’s eyes narrow on her, still assessing.