Chapter 14 #2
I hated how much I could feel him. The heat radiating from his chest, the firm lines of his body pressed against mine—it all sent shocks of awareness through me.
I was determined to ignore it. I tried to focus on the rhythmic clip-clop of the horse’s hooves against the ground, anything to distract me from the fact each movement had my back rubbing up against his muscular chest.
His breath brushed against my neck, a soft exhale that sent a shiver down my spine. I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my body from betraying me.
“Relax,” Thorne said, his voice low, thick with something I couldn’t quite place.
“I’m fine,” I snapped, even though my pulse was hammering in my throat, and I was sure he could feel the way my body tensed, how every fibre of me screamed to break free, to move away from him.
His arms tightened around me, not in a comforting way, but to keep me steady as the horse trotted along. I fought against the tug of his body, the way he moulded to my back like he was part of me.
“You’re not fine,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, like the scrape of a blade against stone. “You’re wound tighter than a bowstring.”
I could feel his smirk without even seeing it.
My jaw locked, my fingers clenching around the reins until my knuckles blanched white. “I’m not the one with the control issues,” I snapped.
He gave a soft, humourless chuckle—one that sounded more like a warning than anything else. “Oh, little shadow,” he said, voice curling darkly around the words. “You’ve barely scratched the surface of my control issues.”
I felt him shift behind me. His body was a solid wall of muscle against my back, and I could feel the tension in him, the way he was fighting it just as hard as I was. Neither of us had spoken the words, but we both knew—this was dangerous.
Every inch of me wanted to turn into him, to lean into the heat of his body and lose myself in it. But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.
I refuse!
I elbowed him hard and heard him grunt in response.
Leo chuckled behind me. “Feisty," he murmured, almost admiring.
"Careful, little shadow," Thorne said in my ear, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Push me too hard, and I might just stop pretending to be a gentleman."
I just twisted around and glared. “Believe me, Thorne. No one ever mistook you for a gentleman.”
I heard the others laughing out loud now. I chose to ignore them.
Bunch of jerk faces.
The horse continued its steady pace, and for a long moment, the only sound between us was the soft rhythm of its hooves.
The trip into town seemed to drag on endlessly. When we finally passed through the final set of gates, I couldn’t help but tense at the sight that greeted us.
The remnants of the explosion were still painfully visible, as if the very air around the town had yet to recover. Charred buildings loomed, their once-pristine facades now scorched and crumbling. Burn marks marred the streets, and broken windows glinted in the dim light like shattered promises.
The smell of smoke lingered, a sharp reminder of the destruction, and the silence in the town felt.
.. off. Empty. As though everyone had retreated into the shadows, leaving only the ruins behind.
I couldn’t stop my gaze from wandering to the damaged buildings, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach as I wondered how many lives had been lost in the blast.
Every broken piece of this place told a story, but none of them were good. Not here. Not anymore.
On the walls, as we made our way deeper into the town, I couldn’t help but notice the symbol—etched in soot and blood, it was a crossed-out crown. A simple yet defiant mark, burned into the crumbling stone.
"Is that the resistance mark?" I asked, my voice quiet, careful not to break the fragile tension that hung in the air.
Of course, I had seen the symbol before.
I wasn’t completely oblivious to the hushed whispers that followed us when we passed through the shadows, the ones who dared to challenge the king, the ones who wanted change.
But seeing it scrawled across the walls like this, amid the full-scale destruction, hit me differently.
It wasn’t just a mark anymore. It was a declaration. A battle cry. It was everywhere now, in every broken piece of this town, as if the rebellion had taken root here and left its scars behind.
I swallowed hard, glancing around. My eyes landed on the wreckage, the ghost of something that had once been vibrant, full of life. Now, it was only an empty shell.
“They call themselves the Shattered Crown. They’ve been getting more vocal as of late,” Thorne said from behind me, his voice low and serious.
I glanced over my shoulder at him, curiosity piquing despite myself. “Who are they?”
“Terrorists,” he replied with a bite in his tone. “Prince Vael, their leader, is the king’s older brother. He tried to murder him a few years back, and now he’s building an army in the east. He sees himself as the rightful ruler—thinks the kingdom’s throne should be his.”
I frowned, trying to process the weight of his words. “So, this isn't just some group of rebels looking for justice, then?”
“No,” Thorne said, his eyes narrowing as he kept his gaze on the path ahead. “Vael doesn’t care about justice. He wants power—control over the kingdom. He’s ruthless. His followers… they’re dangerous.”
I could feel the tension in his voice, but there was something else there too, something darker.
“And you’re worried about them?” I asked, my voice quieter now, not sure if I was asking out of concern or curiosity.
Thorne’s jaw clenched slightly, his hand gripping the reins tighter as if trying to control his emotions.
“Worry? We’ve been fighting them for years.
They’ve been quietly gathering strength while the king has been focused on his own obsessions.
And now, with the way things are escalating…
it’s only a matter of time before they strike again. ”
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
“So, Vael thinks he can just take what’s not his?” I asked, my voice edged with something like disbelief.
“Not just take it,” Thorne muttered, his gaze hardening. “He wants to burn it all down and start from the ashes.”
“How very poetic of him,” I said.
“He’s not a poet. He’s a butcher with a god complex.” Thorne replied, his voice flat.
“So, we get to choose between two devils – Ashton or Vael. Seems unfair,” I muttered to myself, barely loud enough for him to hear. I swore I felt Thorne’s lips curl into the slightest of smiles behind me.
“Perhaps,” he replied quietly, his voice still as unreadable as always.
The words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken tension. It was an unsettling feeling, the way the world seemed to narrow whenever he was near. I tried to push the thought aside, but it slipped out before I could stop it.
“What about King Virell?” I asked, the question spilling from my mouth without warning. It felt like something I had to know, something that was clawing at me.
Behind me, I could feel Thorne’s posture shift, his body going rigid in a way I’d never seen before. “What about him?” he asked, his voice betraying the first crack of tension I’d ever heard from him.
I glanced over my shoulder at him, feeling the weight of his silence. “Wasn’t he the old king? The one who ruled before all this mess?” I asked, trying to sound casual, but the curiosity burned too fiercely. “What happened to him?”
Thorne’s gaze seemed to sharpen as his eyes locked onto mine for a brief moment, his jaw tightening. I could feel his thoughts turning behind the cold mask of his expression, and it unnerved me.
"King Alistair Virell..." Thorne's voice trailed off, his words heavy with something unspoken.
"He was the last true ruler of Varrowmere, a kingdom that—" he paused, eyes flickering toward the horizon as though seeking the right words, "—a kingdom that fell apart when he did.
" His voice dropped lower, almost imperceptibly.
“When he died, everything went to chaos.
His line was fractured. His legacy erased. "
I narrowed my eyes. "So, he’s just gone? No one knows what happened to him?"
Thorne’s lips pressed into a thin line. “The official story is that he died in battle against Ashton and Vael, when they were allies, trying to stop an uprising. But the truth?” He didn’t finish the sentence, leaving a gaping hole of uncertainty.
“What’s the truth?” I pressed, unable to hold back.
Thorne’s jaw flexed, and I felt the tension ripple through his body behind me. His grip on the reins didn’t falter, but the air between us thickened.
“You ask a lot of questions,” he said flatly.
“That usually happens when people keep hiding things,” I muttered.
A muscle ticked in his cheek. “King Virell died. That’s the truth that matters.”
“But not the full truth,” I countered.
“Stories,” he echoed, a scoff threading through his voice. “Fairy tales told in taverns and alleyways. People cling to myths when they don’t like the rulers they’ve got.”
I twisted just enough to glance at him. “But you’ve heard them too.”
He met my eyes for a second too long. “I’ve heard a lot of things,” he said carefully. “Most of them are distractions. Dangerous ones.”
My pulse picked up, not just from his words but from the way his voice dropped, low and unreadable. “So, you don’t believe the Virell line still exists?”
“I believe in what’s in front of me,” Thorne replied. “And right now, that’s you. And keeping you alive.”
That shut me up for a beat. His arms were still around me, solid and unmoving, and his breath brushed the curve of my neck every time he exhaled.
But something still itched at the back of my mind. “If they were real… if someone from that line returned… what would it mean?”
Thorne was silent for a moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was like stone. “It would mean everything changes. Which is exactly why it won’t happen.”