Chapter 75
Mora
The king-sized bed taunted Mora from its spot in the corner, wrinkled sheets glaring at her through the cracks in the ornamental canopy.
They were rumpled, tossed aside by Castellan when he woke that morning, everything a gaudy shade of red that hurt Mora’s eyes, even in the darkness.
She rubbed at them, blinking away the sting.
Waiting for Castellan to retire for the night.
Mora sighed, turning to stare out the window, the moon barely a sliver in the sky.
Dull moonlight slipped over the windowsill, spilling down the wall and onto an old wooden chest before it was devoured by shadows on the floor.
Fiddling with the journal in her lap, Mora traced the cracks lining the cover, the leather curling in places.
She was half tempted to pick at it until it peeled away.
It was a ledger of sorts, cataloging Halflings and their abilities—if Imani’s name were hidden within the pages, Mora intended to find it.
Castellan’s boots clicked in the hall, a sound she’d come to memorize since they’d settled in the Commander’s Quarters.
It felt wrong, claiming the most luxurious room for themselves, but he’d insisted—maintaining appearances was important, considering their plans.
It was sensible—Mora couldn’t argue against it.
If her mother lived and could offer counsel, she would have made the same assessment.
The door opened slowly, Castellan’s steps quieting as he slipped into the room. Flickering lights spilling from the wall sconces in the hall to play in the darkness. They fared better than the moonlight, curling around Castellan and illuminating his back, his face obscured in shadows.
“Hello, gallant knight,” Mora said, her voice tired. Defeated. It had been hours since they last spoke. Hours since she’d fled from him and hidden away in the records room with Jade.
“What are you doing in the dark?” he asked, pushing the door open further. He made for his bedside table, fumbling for the drawer handle. “I wondered if you’d managed to sleep without me near.”
“What a feat that would be,” she sighed. “Though, my dreams are better.”
“Still thinking of that fuckable man you haven’t been properly introduced to, Princess?” She could hear his grin, a slight chuckle on his breath. Wood squeaked when Castellan pulled the drawer open. “Where are the matches?”
Mora rolled her eyes. “I’ve told you to leave some out, but you refuse to listen.”
“You could have saved me the trouble and lit the candles yourself.”
“Maybe I prefer the darkness.”
Papers, coins, and gods knew what else crinkled and clinked while Castellan searched, his nails scraping the drawer’s bottom. “Don’t think you’ve distracted me from my question,” he said, waving a thin strip of sulfur-treated wood in the air. “Found one!”
With a halfhearted clap on broken leather, Mora asked, “Should I cheer?”
“I wouldn’t mind it.” Skirting the bed, he plucked a candle from its home on his dresser, a puddle of dried yellow wax staining the dark wood.
“Bear with me a moment,” he said, returning to the hall to steal a flame from the wall sconces and light the match.
Moments later, he circled the room and lit every candle he could find.
“Should I have someone gather wood for the fireplace?”
A thick down comforter slid off Mora’s knees when she sat up straighter.
It was too hot for the season—she often woke up slick with sweat, though the nature of her dreams exacerbated the issue.
Heat pricked her cheeks, memories of the scrape of the Fae’s teeth on her skin so visceral, it almost felt real.
And the freedom—the safety—she felt as he moved so perfectly inside her...
Mora pulled her blanket back up, pressing it to her chest, ignoring the way her nipples pebbled.
“I hadn’t expected talks of fantasies and fireplaces tonight,” she said, unable to look Castellan in the eye.
Castellan blew out his match, his lips tipping up. “So, there is talk to be had about this dream man,” he teased, moving closer. Lowering himself to the ground in front of her and placing a candle on the floor by his side.
The sweet, earthy smell of beeswax blended with Castellan’s sea salt and sage musk, along with a hint of smoke. It was pleasant. Simple. The candle’s aroma a scent Mora had known since childhood and enjoyed greatly. She took a slow breath, steeling her nerves. Pushing thoughts of her dreams aside.
“Do you have nothing to say about earlier?” she asked.
Castellan’s grin faltered. Dipping his head, he stared at the cracks in the hardwood and cleared his throat. “We lost so many people that day, Mora. I never expected...” Scrubbing a hand down his face, he was quiet for a moment.
Leather squeaked, Mora’s fingers clenching the journal in a tight grip. She shifted uncomfortably, ignoring the ache in her legs—it had been a long day on her feet, followed by a long night huddled on the hardwood. Waiting. Drowning in a barrage of racing thoughts as she anticipated this moment.
“I’m sorry.” He lifted pleading gray eyes so dark they were nearly slate in the low light. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did when I found Imani, and I shouldn’t have allowed my pride to stop me from apologizing. I’ve let this go on far too long.”
Tension bled from her shoulders, though she couldn’t convince her fingers to loosen. “Thank you,” she breathed, her focus moving back to the window. To the sliver of moonlight clawing at the darkness. “I found an old letter from your father.”
Castellan’s brow furrowed. “What did it say?”
“He requested an Enchanter be delivered to your household and Indentured to your family.”
The color drained from Castellan’s cheeks, his throat bobbing, the tiny flame flickering between them caught in an endless dance.
If not for the melting wax, Mora might have assumed time ceased.
That she was trapped, huddled on the floor, staring at Castellan’s ghostly complexion, forever. “Was that all?” he finally asked.
She cocked her head to the side, amber eyes roving over his face. “Was that not enough?”
He nodded, sweeping his fingers through his blond curls and pushing them away from his brow. “I’m not pleased to hear it, but I’m also not surprised.”
Mora reached out and placed a tentative hand on his knee. “I understand why you brought us here. It pains me, but I understand.”
His head snapped back toward hers, their eyes locked in a clash of storms and honey. His gaze filled with so much hope Mora’s stomach twisted. “You stand by me in this?”
“I can’t, Cas, not after Imani, but I accept it. For now,” she said, voice thick. “Promise me something?”
His hand cradled hers. “What would you have of me?”
“The moment we’re crowned, we will right this. We can’t leave them here.”
“You’ve seen the way things are, Mora.” He swiped his thumb over her hand, an apologetic look on his face. “It isn’t safe for them out there. It will take time for us to make things better, but we will if we’re patient.”
“Promise me we’ll fix it before we do anything else.
” Mora squeezed his knee, her clammy palm slipping when she pulled away.
She stared at the ledger gripped tightly in her other hand, wondering how many names were inside.
If any of them still lived. The lives they could have had in a better world.
“Promise them,” she pleaded, dropping the journal in his lap.
Castellan stared at the book, frowning while he traced the cover. “What is this?”
“Lives, categorized in black ink and tossed in a drawer as if they were nothing. Imani may be among them.”
A sad smile curled on his lips, but he picked up the book and dipped his chin. “I promise.”
Mora loosed a breath, a warm feeling glowing within her. It was hope, she realized, glimmering in her soul. A feeling she’d long forgotten. “Then I’ll stand by your side, and we’ll do this together.”
Castellan’s lips flattened while he flipped through the pages.
When he was finished, he closed the journal and handed it back to her.
“You can join me on the bed, you know.” He rose from his place on the floor, giving her his back as he peeled off his tunic and readied for sleep.
Powerful muscles flexing with the movement.
Mora’s eyes trailed up his spine until they traced over his broad shoulders—he was pleasing to look at, she had to admit.
Though, she hadn’t thought of him that way.
She wasn’t sure she could ever think of anyone that way again.
Not in the waking world.
To anyone else, his question would sound like a proposition, but she knew what he meant—you don’t need to sleep on the floor.
Yet she did. The soft dip of the mattress, the sheets curling around her legs, the musk of a man crowding her nostrils while his chest rose and fell at her side... Mora wasn’t ready for a bed. Especially if someone else was in it.
“No, thank you, gallant knight,” she offered, plucking the journal from the floor.
Mora flipped it open to a page she’d marked, not bothering to look up at Castellan as she rested her head on the cold brick wall.
Her eyes scoured the names, squinting in the candlelight.
Endlessly searching for something she was afraid she’d never find.