Chapter 40 Drowning In Her
Castien pushed shaking hands into his hair and tugged on the ends.
He stared at his bedroom wall with apprehension curling through him.
It was only her. All of it. Every line, every letter, every sketch.
Wren covered the wall. Every moment was interrupted by thoughts of her.
When he took his tea, he thought of how she hated it.
When he sparred with Finn, he wondered if she had recovered from her soreness.
When he looked up at the sky, it made him think of her favorite color and how she must miss not seeing it each day anymore.
In less than an hour, he would go to giftings class where he would turn in the essay about her that lay on his desk.
He’d rewritten it four times. Not because he didn’t have enough to say, but because he had too much.
Ambassador Westover would be delighted, but Wren would not.
Her journal bled into every sentence. After going through concerning amounts of parchment and ink, he managed to write an essay that gave enough to show he had made an effort but not so much that it would tell the ambassador things he didn’t deserve to know.
Castien hoped that it would be sufficient to garner a high mark.
His gaze strayed to the top corner of his terrifying masterpiece, where he wrote Wren’s secret.
He couldn’t believe she’d given him a secret.
Castien paced in front of the wall. He had learned long ago to expect the unexpected.
His Gift aided in that. It was rare that anyone moved outside of the pattern he determined they fit in.
But Wren seemed to laugh in the face of Castien’s Gift.
“Why would you take the risk?” he asked the pencil sketch of Wren he’d pinned to the wall.
He hadn’t drawn in years, but after seeing Wren’s neck at the tip of his blade during dueling class, Castien was overwhelmed with the urge to capture the look in her eyes.
He failed and cursed the Tides more than once in the process.
Still, the best of the sketches ended up on his wall with the rest of the details he had collected.
A sharp knock at the door made Castien jump.
Heathford entered the room, a letter in hand, but this one had a black seal instead of Wren’s lavender one.
Castien’s mind drifted as he questioned why she used purple wax if she preferred the color pink.
He forced his mind back to the present when Heathford cleared his throat.
“An invitation, I believe, Your Highness,” Heathford intoned.
Castien crossed the room and took the paper from his butler. He tore it open without care and confirmed Heathford’s statement.
Prince Castien Valengard of the Lucent Enclave,
We hope you will join us in the assembly hall on the eve of next Adira for Adira’s ball. Dinner will be served, and there will be music for dancing.
The academy dress code is lifted for the evening, as is the curfew. There will be guards stationed around the hall who will ensure that all students may safely enjoy the festivities.
Thank you,
Obsidian Academy
So they were continuing to pretend that they had everything in hand. Castien shook his head and handed back the invitation.
“Will you be attending, Your Highness? If so, I will ensure that one of your suits is pressed and ready for you.”
“I will be in attendance,” Castien said and turned back to Wren’s wall. “Thank you, Heathford.”
“I am always honored to serve, Your Highness.” Heathford did not move. “Would you like me to cover up the wall once you leave, to avoid–”
“No,” Castien cut him off sharply. “None of this is to be removed.”
There was a moment of silence. “I was not suggesting to paint over it as we have done in the past, Your Highness. There is a tapestry with the Valengard crest in one of your trunks. Perhaps I could adhere it to the wall to ensure privacy in the event that someone arrives unexpectedly.”
Castien ran a hand down his face. “Right, yes, that-that would be good.”
“I will see to it. Are you finished with your breakfast tray?”
Castien had taken breakfast in his room while he finished his letter to Wren.
It had been difficult to write, considering he wasn’t prepared to give up a secret.
He couldn’t go back on his word now. If he did, then she was likely to halt their communication entirely. He glanced at the barely touched food.
“Yes, I’m finished,” he murmured, then drifted back to the wall.
Castien kept hoping that his Gift would connect new dots with the old. He also felt this peculiar pull to it. The compulsion concerned him, but he never denied himself when the urge came about. Nor did he stop himself from reading over Wren’s letters and journal whenever he liked.
“I don’t wish to bother you while you work, Your Highness,” Heathford entreated. “But given the time, perhaps it would be best to wash up? Your class will begin within the hour, and you are not yet dressed.”
Castien looked down at his clothes. His white shirt was half buttoned and covered in ink and pencil smudges, along with his hands. His trousers were rolled up at the bottom, exposing his bare feet that he had somehow managed to splatter ink upon as well.
“Thank you for the reminder, Heathford. Is there a fresh pail of water?”
“Yes, Your Highness. I boiled it on the stove. It should be warm. There is a stack of clean rags and a bar of peppermint soap available as well.”
Castien nodded and headed to the powder room while stripping off his shirt. It would take the entire stack of rags to get his skin clean, and even then, it wouldn’t be entirely gone. He set to work scrubbing at his hands and arms.
Heathford cleared his throat outside the door. “Do remember to wash your face as well, Your Highness.”
Castien set aside a blackened rag, then retrieved a clean one.
“Thank you, Heathford.”
He dunked the rag in the warm water and scrubbed his face with it.
The water sharpened his senses and gave him a new perspective.
He would need to keep a level head going into class.
The secret he revealed in his letter was enough information to give Wren for one day.
He needn’t let her feel his emotions by letting down his guard.
As he washed, he began walking through the history of the Lucent Enclave for the last three hundred years. He had committed much of it to memory as a child, and the action of going through the major events served to center his mind and remind him of his ultimate purpose: to become emperor.
Castien exited the powder room after scrubbing his skin raw.
He put on the academy uniform Heathford had laid on his newly made bed, then walked over to his desk.
Out his window, he saw several of his housemates leaving for their classes.
They walked into the mist and all but disappeared.
Castien squeezed his eyes shut as thoughts of Wren’s love of sunshine appeared. Madness. It was madness.
He placed the letter and his two essays in his school bag before securing it closed. It was likely to be much easier to give Wren a letter today, since he imagined Ambassador Westover would send them off on their own again. He slung his bag over his head and across his chest.
“Am I presentable?” Castien turned to Heathford, who stood by the hearth, stoking the fire.
Heathford straightened. “Yes, Your Highness. You look refreshed.”
Castien dipped his chin. “Good. I am off to class.”
Heathford bowed in response. Castien headed out the door, down the stairs, and into the mist. As he walked, he battled to keep his mind on the Lucent Enclave instead of Wren.
But thoughts of her seemed as inevitable as the fall of the Adiran star, as sure as the rising of the Tides.
There was no escaping. Castien could only try not to drown in her.