Chapter Twenty-One
RIVEN
We step out of the cave into the open air. The other contestants are lingering in the arena, gushing over the couple who scored a nineteen and their prize of a private dinner in the clouds tonight. Reversely, Poppy and I both jumped from our seats the moment the Moirai dismissed us.
The roar of the crowd dulls behind us, sound falling away almost too fast as we splash through the same waters that brought us here a few hours ago.
I inhale deeply, scenting the smoke from the simulation that still clings to my clothes long after the magic is gone.
My muscles ache, adrenaline long gone, and yet my body still craves movement.
Like it is anticipating the next threat, which my mind knows won’t come. Not here. Not in paradise.
This is when people make mistakes. The battle-tired part of my brain mocks me. But I haven’t been at war in a long time. I know that letting myself loosen up today won’t cost anyone their life. I suck another breath in, and as I blow it out, I deliberately release all the muscles I’m holding tense.
Poppy walks a step ahead of me, instead of beside me like we usually do.
Her shoulders are tense, and I can see the subtle twist of her fingers and the erratic, unfocused magical reactions it’s causing.
A branch breaks nearby. The water shudders around us.
Her hair snaps into a messy knot on the top of her head.
She isn’t near me—no longer pushing into my space like she was in the arena. It almost feels like her magic is creating gravity between us. But instead of pulling us together, it’s keeping us apart. No accidental brushes. No hand-holding. No room for my arm to sling over her shoulder as we walk.
Distance: registered.
Change in patterns long held: noted.
And I know the cause.
She’s embarrassed by how I acted in the simulation. I was too loud, too much, and overdid it. Again.
In an instant, a vision of my mother’s face flashes in my mind.
She’s poised at the end of the pitch after one of my matches in grade school.
I know she’s angry from the tight-lipped scowl on her magically stiffened face.
She always hid disappointment so well behind her disguised calm.
I remember the day I tackled another player with my shadows.
It was allowed in the game rules, but she would hear none of it.
“Composure matters,” she’d said, finishing with, “People are watching. Do you know how this looks?” I’d later come to understand. Shadow fae were feared, and I’d made us look bad to the people from whom my parents were desperate for approval.
She would have hated the loss of control I displayed today. Not necessarily that I was violent, Fate knows she was too from time to time, but she would have hated that I made the mistake of making myself into a display.
Mistakes at home meant silence.
Mistakes at war meant friends leaving in body bags.
Strong emotion always led to mistakes for me, which is why I learned not to care. My persona of carefree ease was the perfect distraction. I strategize before reacting. I flirt, not love. It was haphazard swagger, but it was polished and controlled.
What happened in the cave was none of that.
Plants stir beside us as we walk, churned up by Poppy’s magic.
I watch her with a vigilant eye as the simulation plays in my mind.
The creature, the perceived threat, and what I could have done differently.
I recall Poppy’s face when I snapped and wince.
She looked…not scared. Shocked? Hurt? Surely not in awe, is all I know.
And why would she look at me the way she had? Why had she said my name like that?
I deliberately speed up my pace to match hers. My hands fist in my pockets, a forced stillness that sends my insides wild. Midnight Tongue rolls off my lips in a whisper, leashing my shadows tightly.
No more theatrics for today, lads.
I will be the version of myself that doesn’t make Poppy uncomfortable. I will lock it down and protect her. Even from me, if I must.
We continue on in silence, the other matches still far away and our bungalow now in sight.
I don’t ask if she’s okay, nor do I apologize.
Partly because I know she’ll want to come to me first, and also because I don’t know if I can take hearing her ask me not to do it again. Because if she were in danger, I would.
The space between us is less, but still so tangible it’s nearly alive.
I hate this.
I will be better. I have to be better. Less teasing. No shadow theatrics. Hands to myself.
Poppy stops, her toes in the sand by the steps that lead up to our bungalow’s porch.
“Want to sit out here with me for a while?” she asks, and I feel the air reenter my lungs. “I’m not ready to be in there just yet, and I don’t want to be alone.” She can’t be too mad if she wants me to stay. Mother would ignore me for days sometimes when she was mad.
My skin is buzzing. “Yeah, of course I will, Pop.”
She turns to look at me, really look at me for the first time since the simulation. Her eyes bulge, and a shocked gasp spills from between her pillowy lips. “Riven, you’re bleeding!” I look down, eyeing my legs and turning my hands over to find the offending blood.
“I don’t see anything.” I shrug, still searching and coming up empty.
“No,” she huffs, amused but exasperated.
“It’s coming from your nose.” With one hand, she guides me down to sit on the steps while the other twists with a flourish and produces a wet handkerchief.
She dabs gently. Normally, I would fake a big reaction.
Pretend she hurt me. But I only just promised myself I would hold back from flashy theatrics, and I can’t break a promise that quickly.
“I’ve seen this happen to witches that overreach their magic,” she says, eyes flicking up gently from my bloody nose to my eyes. “Has this ever happened to you before?”
“No,” I reply swiftly. And it’s true on all accounts.
I’ve never bled from using my shadows before.
But I’ve never wielded fire. Never pushed the boundaries of gravity.
It was…impossible. I wouldn’t believe a shadow fae from a low-ranking noble family to be capable of such power had I not seen it with my own eyes.
“Did you know you could…do that?” she asks gently, knowing how secretive the shadow fae are.
Hells, our home realm is unable to be crossed without shadow fae lineage or an invitation from the royal family themselves.
Maybe my freakish display of power today is an example of why they’re so secretive.
Maybe they don’t understand our magic as well as they pretend to.
“No,” I answer quietly, looking away as she continues to clean my dried blood with care.
If my war buddies could see me now, they’d never let me live it down.
I never used to let anyone tend to my wounds.
Once, I nearly lost a finger in close combat, and I stitched it up myself that night.
Even though I trusted them, it pales in comparison to how much I trust Poppy.
She has never once acted in selfishness in regard to me, and her heart is as pure as they come.
So I will sit and let her fuss over me. No jokes.
No sexual innuendos, no matter how much I want to, saints preserve me, tell her she looks devastating from this angle and watch her drop the cloth in scandalized outrage.
Or inform her that if my bleeding ends with her straddling my knees and dabbing at my face, I might start voluntarily injuring myself.
But no. I press my lips together. I shouldn’t push her good graces. I’ve learned that everyone has a limit when it comes to my nonsense.
The comfortable silence and her desire to have my company has ebbed away some of the discomfort I felt from my overreaction earlier.
She can’t hate me if she is personally tending to my blood when a snap of her magic could have it gone in a second.
Thankfully, she still must want to connect with me.
After a few minutes, with her sitting still beside me with the bloody ‘kerchief still in hand, I finally break the quiet—not with flirting as my instincts say to, but with sincerity.
“I shouldn’t have lost it back there.” My voice breaks. I don’t know why.
Poppy responds gently, hazel eyes finding mine with kindness in the golden flecks.
“You did what you always do. You kept me safe.” I relax a fraction.
“Now, quit being so polite and proper. It’s freaking me out.
You’ll need to make at least one inappropriate comment tonight, or I’ll think you were body snatched. ”
I sling my arm around her, tugging her in for a kiss on the head, unable to keep away now that I know she’s not mad at me. That she doesn’t hate me.
She’s fine.
I overreacted. Again.
And everything is back to where it belongs.
Poppy
Riven exhales and breaks the silence again. “Today kind of sucked.” I blink, then laugh. It slips out before I can stop it, sharp and real, the tension cracking clean in half. “I’ve crawled through mud under live fire. Somehow, this felt worse.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It did. And we still have to keep faking it. No breaks. No rest for the wicked.”
He huffs, scrubbing a hand through his damp hair. “What would we do back home if a shift sucked this badly?”
We turn, saying it at the same time, “Coins.”
He grins like he was waiting for that answer.
“I have coins in my bag,” he offers.
“I saw a cup in the bathroom.”
A few minutes later, we’re on the floor between the bed and the window, the glass nicked from the bathroom sink balanced between us. He flicks a coin with practiced ease, and it clinks off the rim and skitters away.
“Rusty,” I tease, flipping mine. It drops cleanly inside.
He groans. “Unbelievable.”
For a few minutes, it’s just that. Coins. Misses. Trash talk. Familiar rhythm. The world shrinks back down to something manageable.
Eventually, he crawls into the bed and sprawls onto his back, asking me to conjure a hologram with a lazy flick of his own fingers, as if miming the exact action I have to do to complete such a request. The Knight’s University jousting team bursts to life on the wall.
The sounds of lances splintering and crowds roaring echo in our bungalow.
I curl into the pillows beside him, a distance and nearness that has always defined our relationship. Far enough to breathe, close enough to feel connected.
Not lovers.
Not performers.
Just us.
Today hadn’t gone as planned. I internally snort. No. Nothing has gone to plan since the day Fate matched us. But if anything, this afternoon reassures me. He doesn’t see me as anything more than this. I need to put my emerging feelings away before they ruin everything.
Riven laughs at something stupid, and it settles something the simulation dislodged within me. He makes me feel safe. A little heartbroken, but safe.
I suppose this was the risk of faked intimacy with a best friend. If you have stakes in the game, you get everything except the part you want most.