Chapter 43
Chapter forty-three
There is a peace that comes with the acceptance of pain. We fight against it, brace for it, but the moment we stop, it becomes easier to endure. A tense body is far more breakable than a pliant one, built to absorb the impact rather than shattering against it.
It is how I feel as Willa and I settle back into life at the Lunaedon.
The danger of Peter returning with his new Strayed looms above us, while the danger of the shadow lies in wait inside Willa.
And though the threat of both has only grown over the past few weeks, for the first time, I allow myself to enjoy life where it has met me.
Even the pain of my death has become more bearable, and not because it has lessened—but because I have chosen it.
The threats will inevitably come, but the universe has gifted me a second chance and I will not waste it.
It is different than before, when I savored our every moment together because I knew they would be our last. This time, I cherish each moment simply because they are ours—because I know that together, we will be able to overcome anything.
We spend our days strolling through Caelum hand in hand in the company of our kingdom.
We laugh along with their merriment, and listen to their worries.
We meet with the pixies to discuss the best place to hide the remaining morphellia vines, and stay late into the night to join one of their many revels.
We visit Sam in the Grove. Willa sits at his bedside, reading story after story, her voice mesmerizing us both with its rasping tenor. Sam looks healthier every day, in part, no doubt, because he’s quit being a stubborn ass and allowed Adira to tend to him once more.
And on the occasion we find a night free of duty, we retreat to the sanctuary of the Lunaedon.
I play Willa song after song on the piano, with her tucked on the bench beside me demanding another, even after my fingers have grown numb and sore atop the keys.
She never tires of consuming art, and I never tire of giving it to her, if only to watch the wonder light her face.
So, I oblige her every request, playing every concerto I can remember, and others that come to me only when I watch her.
And after I’ve satiated her want of music, I satiate my want of her, taking her atop the piano. And I swear to the star above, the sound of her pleasure is a thousand times more melodic than any symphony.
For the first time in centuries, I feel like the king and the man I was meant to be.
With the acceptance of my pain, I am able to see beyond my own hurt to shoulder another’s.
They have all carried the weight of mine for so long—my friends, the kingdom, Willa—it feels almost decadent to be strong enough to bear even a fraction of their burden.
To be blessed enough to return the friendship they’ve offered me when I was hateful and horrible and deserved none of it.
I no longer want to shatter the mirror every time I gaze upon my reflection to see death staring back.
The monstrous black of my eyes, the sinful obsidian of my veins—it no longer feels like the curse it once did.
Because how could I ever loathe the very thing that led me to Willa?
Death is the only thing worthy of creation, and without it, I could not be hers.
So, I embrace my darkness with gratitude, just as I watch her embrace her own. With each passing day that she accepts a little more of herself—that she frees herself from shame—she pulls further away from the malevolent shadow’s control.
Tonight, I step out onto the balcony of the atrium to watch the last of the sun’s rays disappear behind the horizon.
Stars appear above me, the swirling violets and indigos glowing above the island like paths to ancient worlds.
I’d only ever been able to feel the chains of Letum. The regret. The stagnation.
But now, I see the beauty beneath the brutality—a world of wild adventure and lush majesty I’d give anything to protect, because she will give anything to protect it.
And I will be by her side as the villain I’ve always been to ensure she’s never forced to give all of herself.
For Willa was born to be the true guardian of the land of dreams. And I—I was born to be hers.
“Darling, might I remind you that we aren’t all immortal?
” I call out, wandering back into our chambers.
Flames dance happily in the lanterns hung on the paneled walls, their lights jumping as I pass through the sitting room to our bedroom.
“I may very well die of boredom if you leave me in suspense any longer.”
Willa’s laugh rings out from the bathing room. “You’d think you’d have learned a little patience since you were stuck on an island for two centuries,” she calls back in a sing-song voice.
I roll my eyes, stretching out on top of the duvet and staring up at the seven carved stars at the top of the headboard.
Willa has been oddly secretive today—first, insisting on going into town with Marina and then, upon her return, ducking immediately into the bathroom without so much as an explanation.
It is odd behavior for anyone, but for Willa—who I know to be both clever and diabolical in her schemes—it’s downright alarming.
“Should I be preparing myself for an ambush?” I ask dryly, grimacing as my death slides like broken glass over my chest. “Have you been collecting weapons in there?”
Willa pokes her head out of the door, her eyes narrowed. “Do you deserve to be ambushed, Corpsey?”
I shrug, warmth unfurling in my chest at the welcome sight of her face. “I’m sure that depends who you ask.”
She hums in amused agreement. “We’ve already established that if I’m going to attack you, I’m going to make sure you’re looking me in the eyes when I do. No ambushes.”
“You truly are a cruel little tease.”
Willa’s eyes sparkle, and at the small smile that plays at the corner of her lush mouth, I consider lunging at her to drag her back into bed with me. It’s been hours since I’ve had her beneath me, and suddenly, it feels unbearable.
Seeming to read my thoughts, she gives me a cheeky wink, and disappears back into the bathroom. “Two more minutes!” she calls out. “Don’t be a grumpy old man. It’ll be worth it.”
“You are also old!” I reply petulantly to the closed door.
Willa’s returning laughter is muffled. I do as I’m told, counting down the seconds impatiently in my head. My death shudders in time with my huffed sigh, and I’m just about to say ‘fuck it’ and deal with her wrath, when she appears again in the doorway.
Her long hair tumbles around her face and over her shoulders, the caramel and gold highlighted in the soft lantern light.
She wears only a silky black robe that comes to the top of her thighs, showing off the tanned expanse of her legs.
The corner of her mouth is tipped in a smirk, as she watches my teeth dig into my bottom lip with amusement.
My want of Willa has not lessened in the weeks since we reunited. It has flared like fuel poured onto a fire, growing and twisting me into the feral creature I am now—half out of my mind every time she so much as glances in my direction.
It takes me an entire fucking minute of staring at her to realize she’s holding something behind her back. At my questioning glance, a blush creeps over her cheeks, tightening my pants and increasing my curiosity.
“I—I had an idea.” Willa sounds almost shy, which only further confounds me as she’s never been one for demure diffidence.
“How frightening,” I reply mildly, pushing myself up to sit at the edge of the bed. “And rather ominous.”
Willa’s pout flattens in annoyance. I rise with a laugh, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her onto my lap.
Immediately something in me is sated, the pain and want of death muted momentarily by the rightness of her against me.
I pilfer the package from her fingers, and hold it up for inspection.
A tattoo gun.
“I don’t know if it will even work,” Willa blurts out before I’ve even gathered my thoughts. “Marina has been helping me toy with it, and we’ve made a few adjustments with my magic. But there’s no way to really know without trying…so it could all be for nothing.”
She bites her lip, glancing sheepishly from beneath her lashes. “But I—well, I thought…” She swears loudly, huffing out an annoyed breath before trying again. “I thought…if you’re the only one who can hurt me, maybe…maybe you are the only one who can leave a mark.”
I drag my gaze from the gun to her face, as something tightens so furiously in my chest that, for a moment, words feel impossible. Stunned silence stretches between us, until I finally manage to rasp, “What are you saying?”
Willa’s eyes dart to the door of the chambers for a long moment, like she’s considering bolting out of it rather than continuing this conversation. But instead, she brings her gaze steadily back to mine. “I want you to tattoo me.”
I stare at her. “You want—you want me to…”
My words trail off helplessly, my eyes drifting back to the tattoo gun in her hands. Small and silver, similar to the one Chrys has used on me over the centuries with a few added modifications as Willa said.
“I got the idea after you said you gutted Pan with a hook. It has to be intimate, right? Not magical, but physical. So theoretically…”
“What kind of tattoo do you want?” I ask faintly, feeling somewhat outside of my body. Like I’m floating near the ceiling, watching myself mishandle the conversation like an idiot.
Willa’s blush deepens, the delicious color serving to settle me back into my bones. “I want the story of us. I want to wear it on my skin, just like you do.”