Chapter 20 More Than That
More Than That
Asterious
Asterious watched the door close behind Caramyn as she disappeared into the darkness of the castle, taking his last hope with her.
Slamming his fist against the door, he released a howling groan.
He trembled as he succumbed to the storm raging within.
He’d held it back as long as he could. Long enough to keep from hurting her. But he almost had…
Marching back towards the dining room, his eyes blurred as he braced himself over the table.
Trembling, he looked up and saw himself for what he was in the grand mirror on the wall.
Pathetic. Broken. A vessel of destruction.
He picked up a chalice and hurled it at the mirror, the glass shattering his reflection.
That horrid reflection. He wanted to pick up the pieces and bleed himself out doing it, but as he dropped to his knees, a nagging voice warned him of the dangers if he crossed this line, if he lost himself to his fury and shame. Blinking, he eased himself.
He didn’t know what pained him more—the fact that he’d failed to convince Caramyn to help him or the fear that he had pushed her away.
And he didn’t understand why the latter was part of the question.
Why did he ache to be near her? Why did something in those eyes call to him like a siren he couldn’t silence?
Why couldn’t he stop thinking of her, standing in the sunlight in that thin, flowing nightdress, staring at him like he was a murderer?
Though he very much deserved for her to look at him that way.
Because he was. Whether he liked it or not, he was.
And now he’d touched her. Grabbed her and nearly couldn’t let her go.
She had every right to be disgusted with him.
Just as disgusted than he was with himself…
with the way he held onto the fleeting memory of feeling her skin against his hands.
He’d touched her…but not the way he should have.
Not with the hands of a killer…of a monster.
Fearing for her safety was not an obstacle he’d anticipated.
He brought her here to keep her safe, but he was beginning to realize he might have dragged her to a much worse fate than whatever she was already running from.
He was a fool. And damn well the monster she accused him of being.
He caught his shaking breath, desperately fighting the churning in his heart as he remembered the claw marks.
If that beast was roaming outside in the night, it meant far worse was to come. ..especially if Caramyn stayed.
And how he needed her to stay…
It was late, but the prince knew Riven would likely be in the training room, as he often stayed up in the night hours sharpening his swordsmanship skills. It’d be the perfect distraction from himself, from the tangled emotions erupting within him.
Pain is a tool…a necessary teacher.
He repeated Wyran’s instructions to himself, silently scolding himself for letting himself feel this much. Flinching was to be punished. Crying, never permitted. Anger should be beaten down until it learned to stay quiet. Discipline, Wyran called it. The only way to stay in control.
Train the body not to react, and neither will the mind.
He trudged down the castle halls, towards the training room, pushing through the simple wooden door bearing the Vaerwynd coat of arms—the silver moon phases—on a shield emblem.
Sure enough, there was Riven, swinging his sword at an invisible opponent in careful formation as he perfected a striking technique.
Asterious’ boot on the marble floor made the slightest tap, and Riven stopped to look over at the prince in the doorway.
“Care for a spar?” Asterious asked.
“Always, Your Highness.” Riven dipped his head forward and walked over to the weaponry table to put away the sword.
“Don’t address me with titles right now, friend. Just let me be your worthy opponent.”
As the two men wrapped their knuckles, Riven raised an eyebrow. “Dinner didn’t go too well, I’m assuming?”
Asterious shook his head. “It went to hell. She doesn’t trust me.
And I don’t know what else I expected.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“I pinned her to the door, Riven. I almost didn’t let her leave.
I almost…” He trailed off, staring at the far wall.
“And she had claw marks. Beastly claw marks.”
“You think it’s coming back?” Riven was trying to look composed, but Asterious could tell by the slight waver in his voice that he was just as concerned as he was.
“I don’t know. But it’s been like this since we brought her here. I’ve been fighting it more than usual.” A long silence hung in the air before Riven eased the tension.
“Did you at least find out if she can lead us through the Shadow Woods?”
Asterious rubbed his wrist as he stared at his open palm before starting the next wrap.
“I think she can. I think she knows she can, too. But something is clouding her head. Something troubles her beyond just not trusting me. But it doesn’t help that she thinks I’m only using her as a pawn to get to the Blade. ”
“And is she wrong? Is she more than that?”
Asterious turned his head without offering a response at first. He didn’t know the answer. He let the echoes of their footsteps in the cold chamber drown out his thoughts about questions he didn’t want to ask himself. Was she more than that?
“Why the hell would she be?” He brushed it off and ripped off the wraps. He didn’t need any protection. He should feel every bit of pain he could. That was the point. His magic would dull him to any pain while in combat, but he would feel it twice as severely later.
He stood squarely in position ready to throw the first punch, his Lightborn magic coursing through his veins.
Riven positioned himself opposite him, facing him in a blocking position.
Then the controlled hits went flying. With his precision and speed, Asterious would have battered his opponent to a pulp had he been making full contact.
He pulled his blows, aware of the lethal force that would obliterate anything in his path if he didn’t, thanks to the way his magic reinforced his bones and skin like armor during combat.
He dodged every block with inhuman speed, moving before thought could form, pushing Riven back with each step forward into his swings.
Riven ducked and made for a swift defense move, but Asterious was quick to counter faster than lightning could have struck.
His silver eye sparked like steel, and he overpowered every possible movement Riven could make, his own body its own kind of weapon.
In a moment of pause, unable to stop replaying the way Caramyn had looked at him in that dining room, through her tears, he felt his heart twisting in knots.
She looked at him with such fear and disdain, as if seeing what he was, as if knowing he deserved none of her.
And since that moment, he’d been lost in a storm of rage, hurt, desire, and shame.
And he had to stop it. He had to make it hurt.
He had to attack whatever he was feeling. "Get your sword, Riven."
“Are you sure, Asterious?”
“Yes. Do it. And don't you dare hold back.” Asterious panted, his raven hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead.
Riven returned with the sword and gave no warning before coming down swinging.
Asterious dodged with a leap to the side and then grabbed the sword by the blade, twisting around in attempt to dislodge it from Riven’s grasp.
But his own grip faltered, slick from the blood seeping from his hand.
With another jab of his elbow, he knocked the sword from Riven’s hand and reached to catch it as it fell.
When his hand touched the hilt, searing pain surged through his arm and up through his heart like hellfire.
Even with all the determination and pent-up fury in the world, he couldn’t have willed himself to grasp the sword through the agony.
Dark sparks flew from his hand and the weapon’s handle, a force pushing them apart like magnetics, and the sword dropped to the ground beside the prince on his knees.