31. Chapter 26
Chapter 2 6
Lillith
T he forest is still and quiet as Asher and I make our way beneath the spreading boughs of oak and elm. Shafts of late afternoon sunlight filter through the canopy, dappling the leaf-strewn path in front of us. The only sounds are our footsteps and the occasional rustling of small creatures amidst the underbrush.
I'm grateful for the serenity. My thoughts have been in turmoil since fleeing the collapsed underground lair this morning. The confrontation with Azantor rattled me, but not as much as the realization that I feared for Asher's life when he was threatened.
I risk a sidelong glance at Asher walking beside me on the path. His handsome profile is lined with golden light, his stride steady and tireless. Did I seriously just think handsome? When did I start seeing him as something other than a target? A mark to be manipulated? The unwanted affection growing inside me feels like vines creeping stealthily upward, wrapping themselves around my heart before I realize what’s happening.
Asher notices me looking at him and smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I swiftly turn my gaze forward again, an unwelcome heat rising in my cheeks. I don't know how to interpret these new feelings blossoming within me. I only know that being close to Asher stirs them dangerously near the surface. He’s a hero. Even if the thought of being romantically involved with a hero didn’t make me uneasy, the way our society works, it can never work. It legally isn’t allowed. If I really want this relationship, there’s no way Prince Perfect would go for it, not when it would mean breaking the very foundation of the kingdom and defying his own father.
We continue on in silence beneath the sheltering trees. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, avoiding stumbled steps or wayward roots—simple actions requiring no thought, no bothersome sentiments.
But when Asher brushes against me, reaching out to help steady me over a tricky bit of terrain, my pulse leaps at his brief touch. I mumble my thanks, hating how flustered he makes me with such innocent contact.
Get control over yourself! You are playing with fire with a man sworn to oppose all you are.
I force more distance between us, needing space to shore up my defenses once more. Out here alone with him, things have shifted. The thought of what might happen if I surrender to these tender feelings terrifies me. I'm not some naive girl, blind to the reality of our different worlds. There is no future for an upstanding prince and a cunning villainess who trusts no one.
Even now, part of me worries this growing closeness could be a cleverly laid trap. With villains, affection is too often used as a weapon for manipulation rather than given freely. Lexir is proof of that. While my instincts tell me Asher's heart holds only sincerity, old habits of mistrust die hard.
Letting my guard down again could prove more perilous than facing Azantor's wrath. At least pain caused by those who make no pretense of caring for you lacks the sharp sting of betrayal. Those wounds cut deepest of all.
No, it's far safer to play my part flawlessly, giving nothing of my true self away. I am ice—beautiful but cold and untouchable. The tempting warmth of Asher's kindness cannot reach my core.
"Lillith." Asher's voice breaks the silence, startling me from my brooding thoughts. "Let's stop here a while."
I follow his gaze to the creek up ahead, its water glinting invitingly in the slanted sunlight.
Suddenly aware of my thirst after the day's long walk, I nod. "A good plan. We should refill our waterskins as well."
We make our way down the sloping bank to the creek's pebbled edge in unspoken harmony. I kneel on a flat rock and splash the bracing water on my face before filling my skin. The chill helps sharpen my focus, washing away the haze threatening to descend over my judgment when Asher is near.
As we linger by the burbling creek, some of the tension eases from my shoulders. Away from the pressures and pretenses of society, I can almost forget the implacable differences dividing us. Out here, we are simply two travelers making our way together through the wilderness.
Who am I kidding? The prince could never be just a traveler.
Asher removes his boots and socks and steps into the creek, closing his eyes blissfully as the water eddies around his calves. The open joy on his face makes something catch in my throat. In moments like this, his gentle spirit shines through so clearly.
"It's freezing but feels wonderful." He laughs. "You should join me."
Before I can reject him, he playfully splashes water in my direction. I gasp as the cold droplets strike my face and arms. "Sire!"
He grins, unrepentant. "Yes?"
I want to cling to my composure, but his smile is irresistible. This new side of him is a delight .
"Just for that..." Moving quickly, I dip my hands in the creek and send a splash of my own directly at his chest.
Asher blinks in surprise then lets out a deep, full-bodied laugh. The sound warms me like honeyed mead.
He holds up his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Truce, truce! Unless you'd like to continue this water battle?" A competitive gleam enters his eyes.
"A tempting offer," I reply, lips quirking, "but we really should keep moving if we want to find shelter before nightfall."
The spark of mischief fades from Asher's face. "You're right, of course." He steps back onto the bank and sits on a boulder to put his boots back on.
I feel a pang of remorse, worried I disappointed him by declining to prolong our playful moment, but the day is quickly passing, and wandering unknown woods after dark would be unwise.
Rising to my feet, I hold out a hand to help Asher up. He grasps it firmly, his callused palm warm against my skin. Our eyes meet, and something passes between us, a flickering current I cannot name.
I let go hastily, flustered by the intensity of his gaze. "We should go," I mumble, avoiding looking at him directly again.
Every small connection only complicates matters further in my conflicted heart. I want to cling to this afternoon's easy joy yet dread what deeper entanglement might follow. For now, putting distance between us seems the safest choice.
Asher studies me for a long moment before nodding. "Lead on." His voice holds no judgment or demands, only patience.
It would be easier if he pressured me for more than I can give. Instead, he seems content with what little of myself I share, asking for nothing beyond the present moment.
I walk on along the leaf-strewn path, torn between gratitude for his consideration and frustration that I cannot shake my wariness, even with someone as kind as him. I crave the relief of fully trusting, of melting like a frost under spring's first light.
Yet, old habits of doubt wrap me in their chilly embrace, whispering words of warning in my ear. Many before have seemed virtuous on the surface, only to shatter faith when it suited them. I must protect the fragile hope now taking root inside me until I can be certain it is safe to let it bloom.
So I continue erecting walls between us, piece by piece, even as a deeper part of me yearns to tear them down. I act the part of the aloof villainess playing him false while secretly counting every smile he coaxes from me as a treasure.
For now, this dance of push and pull between wariness and wanting must suffice. My feelings for Asher are still too new and tender to expose without care, like a budding shoot emerging after winter's thaw. Time will reveal whether my feelings can endure past the first blush of blossoming.
Until then, I will relish the sweetness of this awakening within me, even as I shield it behind thorns and hope beyond hope that perhaps the warmth of spring will finally thaw the ice encasing my hesitant heart.
***
It is getting late as the prince and I come upon a small cottage nestled in the forest. Constructed from weathered gray stone and timber, it has the rustic, worn appearance of a structure that endured countless seasons. A simple thatched roof tops the building, with a lone stone chimney rising from its center.
I pause to inspect the dwelling, noting the heavy wooden door set into the front facade. Thick vines creep up the side of the cottage, weaving their way under the eaves like the tangled threads of an unkempt tapestry. Stepping closer, I press my hand against the sturdy oak door, comforted by its solidity.
"We should rest here awhile," Prince Asher suggests behind me, a note of relief in his voice.
I hesitate, eying the tree line warily for any threats. The forest is still, filled only with the muted sounds of birdsong and rustling leaves. Finding no immediate danger, I nod in acquiescence.
Inside, shafts of waning sunlight filter through dusty windows, illuminating the single-room interior. Faded wool blankets and a lumpy straw mattress occupy one corner, while a plain wooden table and chairs serve as the cottage's sole furnishings. The cracked hearth contains remnants of old ash, long cold. It will provide much-needed warmth when relit.
While crude and worn by time, the cottage has a certain rustic charm. As I run my fingers over the rough-hewn table, I imagine simple folk taking their meals here, perhaps laughing and sharing stories before the fire. For a brief moment, I wonder what it might be like to live a quiet, uncomplicated life in a place like this, but the thought quickly fades. I have a mission and a prince to keep alive, although dedication to the mission seems far less important to me now.
"I'll start a fire," Prince Asher offers.
"Thank you," I reply with a weary nod.
The day's events weigh heavily, leaving my limbs leaden and thoughts muddled. It’s bad enough my mind is running in directions about the prince that I can’t afford to allow to happen. I’m suddenly nervous about staying in a single room with him alone. Glancing around our shelter once more, I say, “I will fetch us some water from the nearby creek. I need to wash up anyway. ”
Ever gallant, Prince Asher begins to object.
I wave him off. “I’m unharmed, sire, merely fatigued as are you. After all, am I not here as your maid? Please, rest while I gather supplies."
After retrieving the battered pail from beside the door, I step back into the muted glow of dusk. The babbling creek beckons, just beyond sight but still within earshot. As I follow the sound over moss-strewn rocks and gnarled roots, I breathe deeply of the pine-scented air, allowing my racing thoughts to settle.
Since destroying the collapsed lair and leaving that chaos behind, I avoided pondering the ramifications too closely. Now, alone amidst the ancient trees, doubts creep in. Had I acted rashly?
Distracted by my thoughts, I nearly stumble over the creek's rocky bank. Righting myself with a murmured curse, I dip the pail into the crystal water, relishing its bracing chill. As I stand, movement sounds in the nearby brush. I tense, senses honed, prepared to defend myself.
From the brush lumbers an enormous shadowed shape easily three times my size. My breath catches in my throat, magic ready on my lips to strike whatever horror approaches, but as the beast steps into a shaft of fading light, dread turns to disbelief.
"Basilisk?" I gasp, immediately recognizing the scaled behemoth .
He is one of Silviana's creatures, carrying a leather satchel upon his back. How did he find me all the way out here?
With a rumbling grunt, Basilisk ambles closer, regarding me with one great amber eye.
I reach out slowly to stroke his snout, reassured by familiarity. "However did you come to be so far from home, my friend?"
In response, Basilisk dips his head, granting me access to the satchel. My fingers tremble slightly as I unfasten its ties and draw out a parchment sealed in wax. Unfolding the letter reveals Silviana's elegant script, infusing me with both relief and renewed worry.
Lillith,
I survived the destruction of our old romping grounds and hope that Basilisk finds you safe and sound as well. There’s rumors that the all-powerful Lillith Shadowend may have been behind it but no one can prove it or figure out why exactly. If only they knew...
Be safe and know that I am here if you ever need me. I’ve missed you, dear friend.
Yours, in friendship eternal,
Silviana
My vision blurs, eyes stinging with emotion I dare not give name to. Across all these years and falsehoods, Silviana still cares for me. The realization stirs both joy and sorrow within my breast.
Basilisk huffs, nudging at my shoulder until I stroke his scaly brow once more.
"Thank you, dear one," I murmur thickly, "for delivering hope when I needed it most."
I continue to rub Basilisk as I consider who I’m becoming. I don’t know if I entirely like the softer edges I seem to be forming the longer I am around the prince. It’s almost as if his goodness is rubbing off on me. A sickening thought, especially when I’m suppose to be corrupting him.
Basilisk nuzzles me and I chuckle as I remember my mother when messages would arrive for her. She had a nasty habit of killing all messengers no matter the news delivered. She was always a suspicious villain, convinced everyone was out to get her. To be fair, in the villain society, that’s generally how things work. Her unseemly habit did help me create rule number fourteen of how to be a good villain—don’t fly into a rage and kill messengers of bad news. Good messengers are hard to come by.
I fold Silviana's letter and return it safely to the satchel. After a final fond pat to Basilisk's snout, I bid the loyal creature farewell and turn back toward the cottage, water bucket in hand.
My steps feel lighter now despite the creeping shadows of dusk. Winding my way along the wooded path, I notice details that had escaped me before. Delicate crimson fungus sprout from a rotting log, crimson caps glowing faintly in the fading light. I kneel to gather a few, knowing their earthy flavor will enrich a humble forest stew.
Farther along, I spy clumps of emerald sorrel leaves peeking from the underbrush, tart and lemony once boiled down. I pluck a generous handful, savoring their vibrancy. Tiny wild onions present themselves next, pungent and savory, which I harvest along with sprigs of thyme and sage. As I select the herbs, I remind myself these are merely tasks to help the prince recover and feed us. Nothing more. I’m allowed to want my food to taste good as well. I don’t care if he finds dinner delicious, right?
A sudden sharp pain explodes against the back of my head.
"Ouch!" I cry out, whirling around.
Had something struck me? Squinting into the gloomy forest, I freeze as a flicker of movement catches my eye. Is that... No, it can't be, but for a moment, I could have sworn Mister Rotten Hand was lurking amongst the trees.
Heart pounding, I scramble in his direction, searching for any sign of my nemesis, but the woods are still and silent now, filled only with lengthening shadows.
Cursing under my breath, I rub the tender spot on my head. Perhaps a wayward pine cone struck me, and my mind is simply playing tricks on me. With the dangers we’ve faced, I’m jumping at shadows.
Shaking off a lingering sense of unease, I finish gathering ingredients, the last being a handful of wild radishes, their spicy kick sure to accent the stew. Bucket brimming with forest treasures, I hurry onward through the gloom, eager to return to the cottage.
The fire's welcoming glow guides me inside, where Prince Asher awaits, and I step into the cottage, the warmth from the crackling fire a welcome respite after the chill creeping into the night outside. Prince Asher sits slumped at the rough-hewn wooden table, weariness etched in the lines of his face. Dark circles ring his kind eyes, and his shoulders sag under some invisible weight. The day's healing magic has clearly drained his energy.
"Lilly, thank goodness you're back," he says, mustering a tired smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"I found some ingredients for a humble forest stew," I explain, holding up the brimming bucket. The pungent aroma of crushed herbs and earthy vegetables fills the small room.
"Wonderful," Asher replies, though without his usual enthusiasm.
He slowly helps carry the ingredients to the table, each movement betraying his fatigue. The prince sinks back onto the bench with a heavy sigh.
I set to work chopping the assortment of roots and leaves by firelight, my knife rhythmically thudding against the weathered wood. The sage's heady fragrance mingles with the onion's bite as I work, conjuring memories of my mother's own rustic stews from childhood, back when she tolerated my presence enough to occasionally feed me.
A contemplative silence falls between us, interrupted only by the scrape of my knife and the crackling fire's sporadic pops. Prince Asher adds another log to the flames, stoking their glow before returning to his seat.
"Were you in the village when the collapse happened?" he asks after a stretch, his voice raspy with exhaustion. "It must've been frightening to witness."
I tense, the knife nearly slipping to slice my thumb open. Where had I been as the underground lair crumbled? Right at the epicenter, unleashing explosive magic fueled by rage.
"I... I had just slipped out to fetch water," I lie, scrambling for a plausible story. "Utter chaos trying to get back and ensure you were unharmed."
Asher simply nods, seemingly too spent to detect the hesitation in my words, and I release a small breath, grateful to avoid further questions for the moment.
I continue preparing the meal in companionable quiet, the fire's sporadic crackles underscoring the silence.
"Whatever caused the collapse, I'm thankful you're unscathed," Asher says later, mustering a gentle smile despite his visible weariness.
His sincerity sends a pang through my chest, an ache from secrets untold .
Soon, aromatic steam rises from the bubbling pot suspended over the flames. I ladle the chunky stew into wooden bowls, and we sit across from one another at the humble table to eat.
I take a sip of the hearty broth, letting the stew's warmth spread through my body. "This is quite flavorful for foraged fare. What do you think, Your Highness?"
Asher blows on a spoonful before tasting it. "It's delicious! You have a skill for transforming humble ingredients into something special. Perhaps your talents would be better suited in the kitchen than washing my undergarments."
"You flatter me," I reply, unused to such sincere compliments. "My mother teaches me what little cooking I know when she is so inclined."
"I rarely see my mother as she usually is busy with royal duties," Asher says thoughtfully, "but our palace cook takes me under her wing at times. We'd sneak into the kitchens at night, baking honey cakes and seeing how tall we can stack them before they topple."
I laugh, picturing a mischievous young prince covered in flour and honey. It is the first unrestrained laugh I can remember in ages, surprising myself.
"We all have cherished memories, don't we?" I muse, my own rare happy recollections rising to mind.
Asher regards me with intrigue. "Indeed we do. Even in dark times, preserving those memories helps nourish the soul."
I meet his earnest gaze, feeling strangely seen. With a small nod, I raise my spoon again, savoring the stew's simple nourishment.
"What other talents are you hiding from me?" Asher asks before sampling more. "When you're not busy with... maid duties," he adds tactfully.
I consider his question. I have few hobbies besides scheming and magic, neither of which I can safely share.
"I enjoy reading when I can," I say after a moment. Tales offer brief escape from harsh realities. "And sometimes needlework, though I'm not very skilled. And you?"
"Reading is a favorite pastime of mine too," Asher replies.
His smile catches me off guard, stirring an unwelcome warmth inside. I tamp it down, annoyed at this unwarranted reaction.
"I used to get lost for hours in our library as a boy,” he continues, “but my chief joy is music. I taught myself to play the lyre and often compose songs."
I find myself intrigued by this new detail, trying to picture his calloused hands gently strumming.
He gives a self-conscious chuckle. "Not very heroic, I suppose, but we all need beauty as well as bravery. "
"Beauty takes many forms," I muse. "My mother disdains all things artistic, but there's power in creativity and vulnerability in sharing it."
The notion resonates with my own hidden talents. Perhaps we aren't so different after all.