Chapter 19
MAE
The light begins to dim as the sun slips behind the Wolven Peaks. The bar, already dingy and dark, now grows even more so. I’m not sure how much longer the bartender is going to be able to continue his current task of cleaning dirty dishes unless he lights a candle soon.
Asmo and I have almost finished another pitcher, both of us feeling unquestionably tipsy and bordering on drunk, when the barkeeper clears his throat. “You folks planning to stay the night? You’d be the only guests, so I’ll give you the room for cheap.”
Asmo sets his glass down. “We’ll just finish this pitcher and then we’ll be out of your hair.”
The male’s hand freezes mid-scrub on a chipped plate. He eyes Asmo carefully. “You’re going to miss the curfew.”
His words sober me. Now it’s Asmo’s turn to freeze. “What curfew?” His voice is low and threatening.
The barkeeper is unaffected by it, rinsing the soap from the dish in his hand. “Not from around here, then?”
“What are you talking about?” Asmo leans forward, placing a hand on the bar top.
“Mandatory curfew in effect at sundown to keep Canis citizens safe,” he says flatly, now focusing on a stubborn stain that looks like it’s a permanent fixture of the plate by now.
“From what?” I ask, but I have a feeling I already know the answer. The last time we were here, being inside before dark wasn’t a mandate, just a strong suggestion. Granted, we didn’t listen to it, and we nearly paid the price. The wound on my calf throbs at the reminder.
“Damn witches and their pets,” he says with disgust.
I glance out the window at the empty streets, now cloaked in darkness.
“Shit,” Asmo grumbles. “You didn’t think to mention this before sundown?”
The barkeeper shrugs. “Figured you were either staying the night or you were locals who knew better.” He glances around the empty bar. “This isn’t exactly a tourist destination.”
Asmo stands and tugs me from the barstool. “Come on.”
The barkeeper chuckles. “You can take your chances, but I wouldn’t if I were you.
Entire town is spelled against any kind of portaling.
Guards roam the streets, hauling people to their homes or the dungeons if they have none.
All in the name of protection against the witches,” he says, setting the plate down with a little more force than necessary.
Asmo stops and turns slowly. He does a good job at looking calm, but the hunch of his shoulders and the clench of his jaw tell me otherwise. He tosses another handful of coins on the bar and holds his hand out in a silent demand.
The barkeeper tosses a key onto the bar and gestures toward a staircase on the opposite end of the room. “Second floor. Room eight. Gave you the nicest of the lot to make up for my mistake. Free breakfast at first light. You’ll be able to leave then.”
Asmo storms up the stairs and I hurry after him. Behind us, the barkeeper mutters an unenthusiastic, “Enjoy your stay.”
Ivan’s going to kill us.
Room eight isn’t as awful as I anticipated.
An empty bowl and a fresh canister of water sit on a small wooden dresser shoved against the wall by the door.
A double-paned window looks out onto the snow-capped mountain range, its peaks shrouded in the shadow of night.
Other than the window, the other hallmark feature is the bed that dominates the room.
A white duvet hugs the large bed, looking comfortable and surprisingly clean.
One bed. And there’s absolutely no way either of us can sleep on the floor, unless we want to sleep in the hallway or at the bar downstairs.
Asmo stares at the bed and ruffles his hair with his hand.
“Well, this isn’t how I was expecting the night to go,” he mutters.
He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the wooden dresser, then sits on the bed and unlaces his leather boots. I turn away, my chest too tight at the thought of spending an entire night alone with him in this room with no real escape.
I pull my knife from my boot and mar the sigil on my stomach. Without looking, I toss the knife on the bed for Asmo to do the same. I pour some of the water from the canister into the empty bowl and splash my face, hoping to wash some of the grit from the day away.
When I turn, the real Asmo is on the bed, back against the bedframe, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. “I hope Ivan isn’t too worried,” I mutter as I toss my boots toward the wall.
Asmo snorts. “He’s not your dad. He’ll be fine.”
I turn to face him, a lick of anger rolling up my spine. “You’re right. I must have somehow forgotten my dad is dead.” Murdered at the hands of your brother, actually.
His eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth, then shuts it. Probably a smart move.
I take a deep breath and sink onto the bed. Underneath the duvet are freshly laundered sheets. I lay down, my back turned to Asmo, and stare at the scuffed wall.
The sheets rustle as the bed shifts. “Mae,” he says, “I didn’t…I’m sorry for how today turned out. With Torben.”
I don’t want to think about how today turned out. I don’t want to think about the predicament that we’re in and how the well of hope I felt this morning was drained by the afternoon. I don’t want to think about anything.
“What are you even still doing here?” I ask, unwilling to face him as I voice the question that has plagued me for weeks.
Since I first woke up to find him leaning over me, eyes full of pain.
“Why aren’t you with your family? Why aren’t you with your court?
” Tears well, and I resist the urge to swipe them away.
But it’s not sadness. It’s anger, frustration, hurt that he chose his court over me when I chose him.
My relationship with Asmo isn’t the only thing that has me feeling emotional.
It’s a messy conglomeration of the entire month, of losing him, Elle, my father, my aunt, a sister I never knew, of nearly losing Cally.
I have no idea how to make this okay, how to save myself, let alone an entire kingdom from the betrayal of the people I once trusted.
Okay, and maybe the alcohol isn’t helping either.
I expect Asmo to respond with equal amounts of anger. I expect him to play the game back, the one that we’ve been so good at playing since we first met. The one where we circle each other, firing insults and hurling cruelties.
What I don’t expect is his hand on the dip of my waist, the feeling of him sliding me back toward him, only inches apart. Heat radiates from him. It’s not just the chill in the air that’s making my body yearn to be pressed against his warmth. It’s a need that I’ve tried to suppress for months now.
We lay there, my questions hanging in the air, his hand cupping my waist. My heart twisting in my chest.
When he finally responds, his voice is a whisper.
“I left everything behind for you. I should’ve made the decision sooner, but you have to understand my entire life has been my court.
I grew up thinking I’d be placed in a loveless marriage to someone my parents chose.
I never expected…you. Every interaction with you left me wanting more.
And that was terrifying for me. That’s not how my life was supposed to go.
But what terrified me even more was being without you. ”
I freeze. This is not the game we play. No, this breaks all our unspoken rules.
The rules that say we walk around our feelings, that we avoid mentioning the lingering looks, the too-long touches, the way our eyes connect and can never seem to pull away.
We’re supposed to tiptoe around anything that resembles a conversation about what we’ve done to each other and what the world has done to us—how it’s pushed us together by sheer force and how we continue to push back.
He takes a deep breath, his thumb now stroking the slope of my waist. “The day you asked me to marry you, I panicked. I wasn’t ready to make a decision.
I still hadn’t given up the idea of leaving my court, of throwing my future away in favor of a different one.
When you told me you picked Marik, I was devastated, but I was also…
happy. At least I’d get to keep seeing you. How fucked up is that?” He snorts.
I don’t say a word. The lump in my throat feels too thick and my vision blurs with the hot burn of unshed tears.
“But then, my idiotic brother, in the most fucked up way, gave me another chance to be with you. When I stepped toward my family on that day, it was like my heart faltered in my chest. It was like moving through quicksand. Everything felt miserably wrong. Being next to you feels right. It’s always felt right.
Even if you were the villain in this story, I’d still choose to be next to you. ”
Tears silently stream down my face in warm, salty rivulets.
“When Cora…” He inhales shakily, and his hand grips my waist tighter.
“I thought you were dead. It felt like my soul flickered when that bolt hit you. And in my own selfish way, when Torben said he wouldn’t help us today, all I felt was relief.
I saw a path that meant we didn’t have to fight.
That meant I could just take you and hide you away, keep you protected from everyone and everything.
” He pauses, a huff of warm laughter stirring loose strands of hair against my neck and sending shivers down my spine.
“And then you stood up to him. Like you stand up to me, every day. Like you stood up to Marik and Cora. And I realized you’re not meant to hide.
You’re meant to fight, to lead, to protect.
I want to be beside you for all of it, if you’ll have me. ”