8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
I struggle to fall asleep that night. And the next. And the night after that.
The fourth night, as I lie in bed, I know I probably won’t sleep yet again. My mind runs in circles, refusing to cease. I press my eyes closed, snuggling my head into the pillow. Though even when I try to focus on my breathing, all I can do is replay my conversation with Loren over and over again in my mind. Torturing myself with it, like I have every night since.
“You don’t… You don’t want more than that?”
“What more is there to want?”
Moving into an upright position, my brows knit together. The blankets fall from my chest.
“What more is there to want?” I echo, struggling to believe that he really said that. Loren, the carefree, outgoing man that he is, content to live a simple, quiet life in the same city we were born. The same city where our parents were born, where our grandparents—and gods above, even our great-grandparents—lived and died. The city we know like the back of our hands.
“What more is there to want?” I shake my head now, lips drawn back. So much more. I’ll be damned if I spend the next sixty years of my life in the same corner of the world. In the same gods-damned neighborhood.
I’d always thought that he and I would want the same things. That we’d both want to travel, to explore the world. To see as much as we possibly could, before our time in this realm came to an end.
But now… Now, I’m not so sure.
Maybe—
I pause.
Maybe Loren isn’t who I thought he was. Maybe, I let myself fall for an idea of him. One I so desperately wanted to be real.
Inhaling deeply through my nose, I take a long, full breath, thinking back to the day we met. My father was much younger, back then. It had been long enough after Mother’s death that he’d finally opened himself up again. And with only two young daughters to talk to at home, he’d begun seeking adult connections. Friends. I remember he’d come home one night with a charming, smiling man I didn’t know—Reth Grayweaver, Loren’s father. Beside him was a scraggly boy with the same bright expression. The same toothy grin. Acantha had run to my father instantly, peering at the strangers from behind his legs. I had stormed right up to them, demanding to know who they were and why they were in our house. Reth had only laughed and urged Loren forward to introduce himself. From that day on, Father and Reth became great friends. Because of that, we saw more of him.
And Loren.
I touch my fingers to my mouth. When we were children, it was so easy. We’d sit on the floor of our house while our fathers talked about work. We’d come up with imaginary friends and play games. We were content to have someone to play with. We didn’t need more than that.
I wish things could always be that simple.
Scooting back against the headboard, I pull my knees to my chest.
Looking back now, the human districts in Slyfell are so tight-knit, that I probably would have met him regardless. We were neighbors, and our fathers worked closely together in the mines. Why wouldn’t we have become friends? But if things had been different, if there were more children Acantha’s and my age, would we still have been best friends? If not for our fathers’ friendship, would I have sought him out ?
Something in my heart tells me that I wouldn’t have.
My abdomen constricts, winding my stomach.
Soon after Jemetha was born, Reth died in a mining accident. One day, the underground ceiling collapsed, killing all who were caught beneath it. Father would have been there, too, if not for me coming down with a fever the night before.
Our families only got closer in the wake of Reth’s absence. Father knew all too well what it was like to be on your own, raising young children while grieving the loss of your spouse. Because of that, he helped Catia were he could. And whenever he stopped by the Grayweavers’ house, he brought Acantha and I with him.
I press my lips together, tensing the muscles in my jaw.
What would have happened if Reth hadn’t died? Would Loren and I have spent so much time together? Would we have gotten so close?
Tilting my head down, I wrap my arms around my knees.
Maybe—
I don’t want to finish the thought. But I can’t stop myself.
Maybe our families were the only thing that ever kept us together. The only thing that let us get so close.
After all, what do we truly have in common? Loren enjoys social gatherings and mingling with others. I would much rather be alone in the summer meadows, drawing to my heart’s content. Loren’s the type to have many friends, the kind of man that every girl can’t help but fall for. Me, on the other hand, I’ve always thought of myself as an acquired taste. That I need time to warm up to someone, before trusting them with the things about myself that I’d rather keep tucked away.
As children, we would get into mischief. That, I remember with a small smile, was fun. Exciting. But as we grew older, the fun dimmed. Spending time with Loren shifted. No longer getting into harmless trouble, no longer going on adventures. Spending time with Loren became night-time visits to the stables, of being physically intimate with each other, instead of connecting—of truly seeing each other for who we are as individuals—on a deeper level.
There’s no doubt in my mind that I love Loren. He’s been there for me through it all. We grew up together. He is, and always will be, my childhood best friend.
But maybe, that’s all he is. My best friend. Someone that knows me as well as Father and Acantha. He may be an important part of my past, but maybe, that’s all he’ll ever be.
My past. Not my future.
I swallow the lump in my throat. That thought feels like a betrayal.
Because I know Loren loves me. He wants a future with me.
But the future he wants, and the future I want are not the same. And they never will be.
Tears gather in my eyes, a new, burning lump forming where air should be. I let out a breath. But my breathing only quickens and I gasp for air at the onset of my tears .
I scramble from my bed, so forcefully that I nearly trip. I wish that I had fallen asleep. That I didn’t have this realization.
I wish I never went to the stables that fateful night. That I never saw Loren or Viridian. That Theelia never bestowed her blessing on us, and I could go back to the way things were before.
I’m out the door and into the hall when my movements slow.
But would that have made me happy? Would I have been satisfied with the way things were before?
The sinking feeling in my stomach tells me that this would have happened anyway, regardless of whether I was brought to High Keep. Though, our current circumstances only seem to exacerbate this disconnect between Loren and me.
Maybe it’s better this way, I reason with myself. Maybe this spares us both from more pain.
I don’t know if I believe that.
Needing to move, I weave through the halls. Too caught up in the guilt eating away at me, I don’t pay attention to my surroundings.
Until I find myself outside.
Glancing over my shoulder, I stare at the castle behind me. High Keep looms overhead, making me feel so much smaller than I already do. Now that I’m out here, in the fresh night air, I finally let my tears fall.
My feet carry me forward while my shoulders shake .
I curse Theelia, for making her will be known.
I curse my mother, for dying and setting all of these events into motion.
And I curse myself, for not realizing how incompatible Loren and I are sooner.
“Can’t sleep?”
Wiping my tears with the back of my wrist, I spin around.
Sweat gleaming at his brow, Viridian stands before me, loosely holding onto a horse’s reins. A midnight stallion waits next to him, releasing a gentle huff from its nostrils.
“No,” I say, my eyes flicking between him and the horse. “And you?”
“No.” He sighs, a long expression wearing down his face.
I press my lips together, looking away.
Viridian dips his chin slightly, understanding crossing his features. I expect him to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he continues ahead, lightly tugging the horse’s reins. The creature responds, trotting alongside him.
He passes me, and I turn around to watch him. The sweat on his back makes his white shirt slick against his skin—revealing a clear outline of his back. Illuminated by the moonlight, his broad shoulder blades flex with his slight movements. And his ass…
Biting my lip, I avert my gaze.
Viridian pauses, looking back at me over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”
“Uh—sure. ”
I jog to catch up, and then we head for the stables.
Viridian is quiet. I am, too. Only, instead of feeling the need to fill the silence, like I would with Loren, I feel calm. Relaxed. There’s no pressure for me to say something. No awkwardness in the silence.
It’s… Refreshing.
Viridian leads the horse to the stables and into the nearest open stall. The horse obediently stays put, merely shaking its mane. Viridian crosses the stables and removes a brush from a hook on the wall, and then returns to the horse.
Craning his neck down, he places the brush on the horse’s coat and begins to brush it in long, smooth strokes. It’s not long before he falls into a rhythm, and he moves with such ease that I can’t help but think he’s done this before. Many, many times.
I cock my head, the corner of my mouth tugged upward, into a questioning look.
“You groom your own horse?”
“Yes,” Viridian glances at me, amusement playing at those delicious-looking lips. “I’m sure you find that shocking.”
As much as I don’t want him to be right, I can’t say otherwise. I didn’t expect that from him.
“I thought such a menial task would be beneath you.”
He pauses, turning his face to look at me. “So because I’m the Crown Prince, I can’t enjoy ‘menial tasks?’ Now whose the one making assumptions based on one’s birth? ”
“I didn’t—” I stammer. “I didn’t mean—”
“Relax, Little Fawn.” Viridian grins at me, and sure enough, I do find the tension in my shoulders fading. “I’m only poking fun.”
Still, I turn my face and cross my arms.
We’re quiet for a moment.
“It soothes me,” Viridian says at last. “Grooming the horse. It’s one of the rare moments I have to myself. You’d be surprised at how difficult it is to slip away.”
“Oh.” My expression softens. I’d never thought of it like that before.
“Yes.” He lets out a long, tired sigh.
I step forward, holding out my hand. “May I?”
Viridian’s mouth brightens. “Of course.”
I stroke the horse’s dark coat. “What’s his name?”
“Nightfoot,” Viridian tells me, eyes on the horse. He raises his fingers to the horse’s muzzle. The creature tips its head forward in response.
“Nightfoot,” I repeat, still moving my hand back and forth. “He seems to like you.”
“He does,” Viridian smiles.
“And you seem to like him, too.”
“I do.” He turns those amber eyes onto me now, meeting my gaze.
I hold his stare for a moment, before looking away. A blush rises to my cheeks.
Viridian does the same, pressing his lips together. He adjusts his grip on the brush before returning it to its spot on the wall.
I back away from Nightfoot, giving Viridian room to close the stall door and secure the latch.
“You should try to get some sleep,” he says softly.
I nod. “You, too.”
He looks at me again. “I will.”
My mouth suddenly dry, I swallow.
Viridian’s eyes linger on me as he steps back toward the door into the castle. Opening it, he gestures to the threshold, motioning for me to go ahead. I duck into the castle, and he follows me inside.
I can feel his body behind me. It sends waves of heightened sensation trickling along my back. Just for a moment, I close my eyes and imagine what it would feel like to have him behind me, with his chest pressed to my back. His hips against my ass.
The subtle echo of the door closing bounces off the castle walls. It’s enough to snap me out of my stupor. Brushing my hair behind my ears, I quickly start down the hall.
Keeping my pace, I climb the stairs, highly aware of Viridian trailing behind me the entire time. It’s only once I’m back in my bedchamber that I let out a deep breath.
After talking to Loren, I can’t help but question where my allegiances lie.
Viridian is still an arrogant, cruel noble fae male. Like all the other noble fae.
And Loren …
We may not be compatible romantically, but I still love him. Don’t I? Guilt fills my chest again. Regardless of our romantic relationship, or lack thereof, it’s still my fault he’s here.
Because of that, I have to break him out of that cell. No matter what it takes.
We may not have a future together, like I once believed, but he’s still my best friend. And now, he’s suffering, all because of me.
I owe him his freedom.
After we escape, we can figure things out between us.
We’ll deal with that when the time comes, I think as I climb back into bed.
Clearing my mind, I focus on the sound of my breaths. And before I know it, I slip into unconsciousness.