15. Astraea
Chapter fifteen
Astraea
I don’t even know where I’m going. All I do know is that the walls of the cabin felt like they were closing in on me.
I needed air more than anything else and still can’t seem to catch it.
My feet keep moving, and I am now well beyond the treeline.
I have to keep moving. I suck in a huge lungful and slowly try to blow it out before I pull in another. And another.
My feet are powering me forward, but my mind is like an anchor making everything in me heavy.
It's a struggle to keep moving when I feel like every truth, lie, and hidden secret is like a stone hanging from a rope around my neck.
The weight of it all is finally too much, and it's crushing my windpipe, not allowing the vital breath I need to feed my lungs.
I hear Kyros calling my name, using the nickname he insists on calling me, but still, I don’t slow.
I don’t turn to look at him. I urge my legs to move faster.
Harder than I have ever run before. The packed dirt of this land lets me push from the earth more firmly than the unforgiving sand ever would, and I take advantage of it for as long as I can.
When I finally do consider stopping, there is a pain stabbing me in the side below my ribs. I clench my stomach and hunch over in an attempt for relief while my feet continue to pound forward. Each one of my labored breaths is like a hot poker to my ribs.
“Astraea, stop! Shit, just STOP!” Kyros shouts from behind me.
He is getting closer. His legs are longer and more powerful.
He will be caught up to me in no time. He has trained for stamina his whole life.
Running after a caged princess is nothing for him.
I halt my running mid-stride, deciding right then that I am done.
My eyes have been closed to enough of the world already in this life due to my father’s shielding.
I am facing everything with open eyes from now on.
I turn to him, just as he comes skidding in behind me.
“You stop!” I yell back. “You knew! You knew that we were twin flames all this time, and you still didn’t tell me the truth?
! What kind of man—no, what kind of mate—does that?
” I seethe, stabbing my finger into his chest. Still breathing heavily, I fist my hands at my sides.
My stomach churns uneasily. The breakfast is now souring from this situation and the intense exertion and emotion.
I feel as if I could vomit. “Twin flames,” I scoff, keeping my eyes narrowed on his.
He doesn’t get to look away from this conversation.
“I told you, I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t.
I couldn’t say anything for so many reasons.
I didn’t even tell my brother or any of the others.
It wasn’t until they heard me call you ‘Shula’ that they figured out what you were to me.
They tried to get me to tell you, but at that point there was already so much between us.
I planned to tell you everything after the ceremony.
I wanted to tell you so many times before then.
” His hand extends between us, but I take a step back and out of his reach. It falls between us.
“You didn’t though, did you?” My voice cracks on the last word.
“I didn’t. It never felt like the right time.” He says, raking his hand through his hair as he takes a step closer, and I take two steps back.
“You mean to tell me it didn’t seem like the right time when your cock was buried between my legs? Your lies sure seemed to come easy enough during that time, though, didn’t they? Promises?” I scoff.
“I never lied to you.” He argues, unyielding.
“PAH! Okay, Kyros. You never lied, but you sure as hell hid the truth! You are the rightful king—to a throne I was going to be putting a consort on—mind you. Do you not see how fucked up all of this is?”
“I learned a long time ago that fate is cruel. It’s not my fault that you’re just now realizing that. You knowing wouldn't have changed anything.” His voice takes on a new tone than before, more harsh as anger fuels his emotions.
“The world is cruel, because human beings are cruel. Fate is just a word. A word that gives people a reason to believe they don’t have the power to change the outcome of their life.
” I spit the words out between my teeth.
I know better than most how true that is.
Despite being the princess, I have been treated with enough cruelty to know that much.
Just because people don't know your whole story doesn't mean the blood it's written in is any less red.
If I had told myself that it was just ‘fate was cruel’ and had accepted that everything I was going through was because of it, I never would have survived as long as I have.
I never would have had the strength to run.
I would not be where I am today. I simply would not—be.
“Is that what you want?” His already dark eyes flatten to a nearly empty void.
“I—I have to believe that we are given opportunities to choose what paths we take. Our lives are not just determined by the one we were born into…” My brows pull my face into a frown, my eyes filling with tears.
“I want to be better than what I was born into, Kyros.” Heat wraps around my center, and it has nothing to do with the man who stands in front of me.
The same powerful feeling that has risen in me before.
It continues to ignite as it burns up my spine.
Closing my eyes, my tears fall, and I take a deep breath, urging the feeling away.
When I open my eyes, Kyros is studying me with a keen eye like he always has. Though he has not made a move to come closer again. He nods, coming to a decision. To what, I don’t know.
“Fine. We choose the paths we take, and fate has nothing to do with it… What choice are you going to make now? Are you going to let your father keep hold of you like this? Forever in the back of your mind, creeping into every aspect of your life? Or are you going to prove that everything you have been through at his hand has made you strong?” He challenges me.
It’s an invitation to prove I believe everything I just said.
To show I am ready to do as I said and carve a path in the sand.
“I am not my father.” I say with as much conviction as I can muster.
“No. You’re not.” He turns his back on me, and I watch as he walks forward a few yards before stopping and pointing at a small clearing in the large knobby trees that stand in an almost perfect circle.
“This is where we’ll train. You’ll learn how to wield those blades.
Properly defend yourself. I still hope that you never have to use this particular skillset, but it’s clear that they want something from you.
I want you to be strong and able to defend yourself, even if I’m not there to protect you. ”
I open my mouth to protest. To say that I don’t need his protection, but he raises his palm with a shake of his head.
“Regardless of what you need to tell yourself, Shula, fate did choose our paths to cross. What happens next is where the choice lies—I have already made mine. You are right about this… there is always a choice. I chose you in the dunes when I took you away that night. We all have scars, but like you said, our lives are not determined by the ones we are born into; they are crafted from decisions we make when we finally can. What is your choice now?”
I stare at him defiantly, chest still heaving and lip quivering, but I nod.
I chose to run the other way already. It wasn’t enough.
This time, I plan to run toward the raging fire.
I refuse to let my father keep destroying everything he touches.
I refuse to let any more of Eathian's people die.
If there are secrets that I can help uncover for the better of the kingdom, I will do it.
I chose to follow the pull I feel in my gut.
“No more scars,” I say, eyes locked with his, and he nods.
Sweat rolls down my spine. It’s burning my eyes, stinging my nose, and soaking the unruly hair that has fallen from the pleat I’ve tried to keep it in.
Now, my dark tresses hang loosely down my back, clinging to my neck, and tickle my face.
Kyros has not held back. My body aches in places I never knew I could ache.
Muscles I didn't even realize I had access to burn with every breath I draw into my lungs.
He snaps his fingers, and I grit my teeth as he gestures for me to get ready to go again.
Crouched low, we stare silently at each other.
My breaths heave from me like a dying animal, while Kyros has hardly begun to sweat.
His hair is only just starting to fall from its tie.
Although he did peel his tunic off what feels like hours ago, it was likely only minutes.
It’s a distraction, and judging by the smirk on his face, he knows it.
“Don’t look at your feet. You are opening yourself up to a hit every time you do.
” He says, just before he takes said hit.
His arm comes out for my ribs, and I parry with a downward flick of my wrist. His arm falls, and I use the angle to push him further forward; at the same time, I bring my knee up to ram it into his nose.
He catches my leg with one hand behind my thigh, and for what could very well be the hundredth time, then he drops me.
I never meet my mark. I squeeze my eyes shut as I hit the ground, and the breath whooshes out of my mouth as the air is knocked from my lungs.
“Good.” He says, and I groan.