35. Peter
Peter
Iused to hide amongst the shelves as a child.
It seems some things never change. I flip through the worn parchment of my youth, lying on my stomach, smiling at my innocence, illustrated with brightly colored beeswax—the sun with a smile, puffy white clouds, flowers taking up half the page.
The sticky-sweet feelings of my adolescence leave a residue on my tongue.
The happiness I felt as a child when my mother was here, I thought I’d never feel it again.
Now, it’s not happiness, not yet, but it’s near.
I can feel it almost as certainly as I feel life flowing back through the grounds of Hollowbrook, through the entire island of Neverhaven, in fact.
It’s been two days since Belle killed my father.
There should be chaos, squabbles for the throne, but the moment Belle placed the crown upon her head, Neverhaven came back to life.
Not all at once, but the land showed its approval, green peeking out from the dusty grounds.
The rioters at the gates knew the magic in the land had been restored. Peace spread throughout the kingdom.
Okay. It wasn’t that easy. Everyone didn’t skip away with song and dance.
The Shadows didn’t immediately bow at the feet of their new pixie queen, but after my proclamation of her new title, I blacked out, and somehow, I awoke to order, the red-headed maid shouting commands to the people in the halls.
I missed it all, the passing of hands. Perhaps it’s better this way. I was never meant to rule. A crown wouldn’t suit me, but I wish I’d been there for her. It couldn’t have been easy to claim a kingdom.
I sensed she came to me while I healed, her presence like a warm ball against my chest. She wiped her blood over my wounds. She must have, or I wouldn’t be as whole as I am now, only subtle scars lining places with phantom aches.
I woke alone to a sunwashed room. A maid informed me I’d been out for two days—a maid with a bare neck—impossible to miss.
I was restless. I wanted to seek her out, but where would I find her?
What would I even say? So instead I came here to hide.
Belle has always frightened me in a way, even with her Darling.
Every second in her presence contorts me into less of a man and more of a desperate leech, ravenous for anything she’ll allow me.
I wouldn’t have it any other way, though.
Not only has she returned my humanity, but she has freed me of my binds.
I rub my finger, comforted by the loss of my chain.
“You’re up.”
My heart picks up speed as I arch my neck to watch Belle approaching down the aisle, books towering on either side. I flip to my stomach, propping my head in my hands, attempting to appear casual when I want nothing more to kiss the soles of her feet.
“Barely,” I groan with a smile.
She smiles softly and sits in front of me, pulling her knees to her chest. “Good book?” She points to The Adventures of Peter Pan resting beside me.
“Nah, the author can’t spell for shite.”
“I heard he’s cute at least.”
“Cute? I heard he was devastatingly handsome.” She snickers and pushes my arm, the contact burning my marrow.
An uncomfortable silence passes between us. I can’t help but fill it with foolish words. “So should I stand, kneel and bow in your presence?”
She rolls her eyes, a tidal wave of ocean blue. “Please, don’t.”
I examine her simple yet elegant dress. I’d put her in something different—lower, less fabric, and more gold lining to catch the gleam in her eyes, but she could wear a sack and look lovely. Right now, though, she looks like a queen.
She clears her throat. “Might I remind you, you declared me Lady of Neverhaven.”
I smile, rolling to my back and staring up at the ornate high ceilings. “Might I remind you, you already had the crown on your head.”
“Would you rather have me place it on yours? You can still have it if you’d like. I don't think I’m cut out to rule.”
I shoot her a look. “It doesn’t matter if you’re cut out for it. You’re born for it.”
I expect a quick response, for her to argue like she always does, but instead she pulls her legs to her chest and rests her chin on her knees.
“So I’ve been told.” A sadness washes over her fine features.
She must know Neverhaven needs its magic born on the throne.
My father’s plans could have worked. She could have birthed the heir of Neverhaven, my child, or Rourke’s.
It would have healed the land, but not like this. This is what was destined.
“I’ve been meaning to thank you,” I say, keeping my eyes fixed overhead.
“For what?”
I check whether she’s joking. There are so many things I could name. Instead, I choose the most recent. “For killing my father.” She freed me of the binds, a debt I’ll never outlive, but my father’s death is the largest blessing on its own. More than my Darling, I’m free of his tyranny.
We lock eyes.
Belle crawls next to me, lying on her side. “I’m sorry, Peter.”
“For what?”
She scoffs with a smile, contemplating before answering. “For your mother.”
My body aches under her soft gaze—unable to stare directly at the sun, but feeling its warmth.
A silence passes. I choke out the words before I lose myself to the sorrow. “She would have loved you. I think that’s what hurts the most.” I look at her, finding tear-rimmed eyes.
She blinks the mushy sorrow away. “What do you want, Peter?” she asks in a whisper.
She could mean so many things, but I don’t ponder, turning to her and taking her hands in mine. “You.”
She shakes her head, blonde tendrils falling loose. “I can’t be yours alone.”
I grab her hand, kissing its back. “I’d take mere scraps, remember?
” I said it the first time in the heat of the moment, so drunk off lust that I didn’t register how I’d feel when I shared her with my brother.
I was wrong. I was jealous, but that was before we almost killed each other, forced by the same tormentor.
We were never enemies. We were always brothers, perhaps not by blood but by our scars—a bond stronger than our Darlings.
“But you’re finally free. Why be chained to Hollowbrook with me?”
My lips curve in a soft smile. I grab the back of her neck, flexing my fingers against her skin. “I’m not free, not in the slightest.” I can’t handle the distance anymore. I crash my lips against her, cursing myself for letting us go this long without this embrace.
She doesn’t resist, only nestles into me, pushing away the thin fabric of my shirt. Her hands run down my abdomen, trailing lower, my heated beacon calling for her touch.
It’s not fair. I need to feel more of her. I make quick work to remove her dress, still green as always, but for the first time in my life, I enjoy the color. Not that much, though, because I would rather see it off of her.
I roll her to her back, caging her between my thighs.
The light streams through the high windows behind me, catching every glinting piece of her, sending her into an array of color and light.
I’m lost, heavy, nearly releasing in my pants just from the sight of her labored breathing, ignited under my touch.
She’s so clearly the queen of Neverhaven—my queen, deserving of me to bow before her.
I lower my head, kissing between her breasts, trailing down her abdomen.
“Peter,” she moans like a prayer. More of me mends.
With each kiss on her flesh, I’m healed again and again and again.
It’s so good, the act feels selfish, as if all of Neverhaven should be allowed such splendor.
No. The thought of someone else touching her like this—dipping between the heat of her thighs, pressing their lips against her slick seam—it makes me sick.
But that’s not true; there’s one other person I wouldn’t mind sharing with.
She tugs at my hair as I lap through her valleys, soaking in her building moisture as it coats my tongue. “I love you, Peter,” she moans, her body tightening as if she’s on the brink of her edge.
I jerk upright, her words causing a crippling pressure at the base of my spine. I must have her completely. I can’t keep coming in my pants just at the sight of her ecstasy, or the sound of her sweet words.
She clings to me as I enter her, fast and desperate. Always desperate. “I love you,” I say, more like begging than proclaiming. “I love you. I love you.” I repeat it like a chant, wanting her to think of nothing else as her nerves explode, causing me to convulse into oblivion.
It’s over too quickly. We catch our breaths and I lie on her chest, tears sliding over the slope of my nose and hitting her skin.
She strokes down my face and kisses the top of my head.
The smell of old parchment reminds me I’m not in another realm, but here in Neverhaven. “My dear Peter. So perfect.”
Such praise. I thought I would never hear sweet words again after my mother’s death. Nothing will ever replace my mother, the mother who, in fact, didn’t leave me willingly.
But my new Queen may be the balm that heals me and all of Neverhaven—for good.