20
Raiden
Asingle-stemmed, white hydrangea graced the silver platter of hearty boar stew and simple water. A fitting meal for any recovering soldier, aside from the delicate flora. Raiden knocked cheerfully before retreating from the tray, racing down the hallway to peer round the corner.
This had to work.
It swung open within moments and Kordelia peered out, her striking eyes casing the hallway like a predator.
It’d been exactly forty-eight hours since she’d kicked him out of her room, once again hiding away as she had done on Bone Rattler.
Despite her wishes to be alone, he couldn’t stay away, an invisible tether gravitating him towards her.
Exhaustion lined Raiden’s frame from spending both nights tossing and turning—both in the air and on his mattress.
He must’ve done something wrong, something to cause her to renege on her words aboard Leto’s deathly ship. Chef had confirmed she hadn’t eaten, and supposedly Aryn hadn’t even graced her chambers yet. Raiden ignored the relief settling within him at that fact.
“How long are we going to do this for?” Leto signed at Raiden’s side as he kept them invisible from sight. “This is the third time today.”
Raiden held a breath as Kordelia stooped to inspect the ceramic grey bowl. She grimaced, withdrawing into the room hastily. Fuck. The breath he held deflated, as another meal Raiden had prepared failed.
“Until she eats something,” he signed back.
Leto rolled his eyes. Usually by this time, they would both be in the tavern Raiden owned—The Lost Lagoon—with several ales lining their stomachs. His best barman currently manned the tavern, and Skylar had taken over training the latest young recruits for their army.
It was one of the very few things Raiden’s father had allowed him to do.
After losing his title as Prince, Raiden had also lost his privileges for caring for the citizens of Galen.
Of tending to their needs, answering their prayers, and resolving their disputes.
He’d become another body of muscle for Zephyr to weaponize at will.
Starting with training the next generation for the day the empire came for them again.
But Raiden couldn’t bring himself to leave the confines of the castle, not with a single wall separating him from Kordelia.
He neglected to admit every meal he’d created had been from a suite of Kordelia’s previous favourites. And every single one the Huntress had rejected, abandoning it in the warm hallway, the food hardening and growing cold.
The water within the glass rattled and rose into the air. It shot through the thin slit of the door before it slammed shut.
Well, at least her power was returning.
Mara ruffled her grey feathers, her beady eyes pinned to the bowl of stew. She soared from Leto’s shoulder, landing beside it to drink the hearty broth. The males followed, Raiden’s shoulders drooping as he approached his latest failure.
“She’ll eat eventually.” Leto inspected the hydrangea with a raised brow. “I don’t think this is edible.”
“I’m just trying to make her feel welcome.” Raiden’s cheeks heated, refraining from revealing hydrangea was Kordelia’s favourite flower.
“What’s going on, Windward?” Aryn rounded the corner, his brown hair flopping and his eyes a normal hazel hue.
The tattoo on his cheek crinkled as he smiled.
Why was he so gods-damned happy? “I’m sure there’re more entertaining things to do than watch a parrot eat stew,” Aryn mused as he glanced down at Mara.
“Kordelia’s not eating,” Raiden signed, motioning for Aryn to do the same outside of her door. “I keep making her favourites, but she’s refused every single one. She’s getting thinner, and if she doesn’t eat soon, we might have to tube her.”
“Well, that’s your problem right there.” Aryn rolled his eyes.
“Stop trying to see her as Kordelia. When I said she’s still in there, I meant there’s parts of her akin to how she was before.
Sometimes, I genuinely thought she remembered me.
But Kora is her own person now, with her own desires, her own passions and tastes. Try something different next time.”
Raiden exhaled as Aryn strolled past him towards what he assumed was Aerion’s chambers, situated two hallways away. Was that . . . was he wearing Aerion’s shirt? A pang of jealousy consumed Raiden, intoxicating and bitter.
Despite Aryn and Aerion’s arguments, they possessed a shard of happiness, a kernel of the life from before the Mist they could still revel in.
Raiden wasn’t ready to welcome the archer back with open arms like the others.
Aerion’s heartbreak had been unbearable.
His brother’s pain had rippled through them all, and Raiden had been the one to pick up the pieces.
He only hoped this time Aryn was here for good. That he wouldn’t leave Aerion like he had last time . . .
“Don’t hurt Aerion again,” he pushed the thought and Aryn froze at the end of the hallway.
He glanced over his shoulder, blinking at Raiden for a moment, historic pain twisting his mouth.
Aerion didn’t know—could never know. The night before the Mist, their arguments had become so bad that Raiden discovered Aryn sneaking onboard Leto’s ship as it set to sail for Aldara.
“What do you think you’re doing? Go back, go back now!”
“Raiden, I can’t. I can’t keep doing this to him. I’m just causing Aerion more pain.”
“This will break him. You will break him. Don’t make me drag you back.”
“He doesn’t understand. He thinks I don’t love him. He can’t see I have no choice in what I do. I’m sorry.”
Aryn disappeared, his shoulders hunched as Raiden shook off the memory.
Perhaps Aryn was right. Skylar and Aerion, too.
Living in the past wasn’t healthy, just like how Aryn and Aerion had seemingly moved on together.
Raiden’s mind and heart warred, one desperately clinging onto the female he’d loved fiercely, who’d been the beacon in defeating the empire from before.
Yet, his mind wondered whether Kordelia truly was buried beneath the hardened shell of the pirate-hunter on the other side of the door.
Raiden needed to accept that he may never gain what he’d already lost. He needed to stop living in the past, to see the soul that was suffering, who felt alone in her present. He needed to see the Huntress for who she truly was. Whether she would be their salvation . . . or their damnation.
Raiden’s wrists ached the following day as he placed the tray before the shimmering moonstone door.
He had decorated it the month after Kordelia’s disappearance, as an homage to her memory and her power.
He flexed his stiff fingers, a persistent ache lining his taut frame that he’d been unable to shift since escaping Talmon.
Even breathing felt difficult today, the air he inhaled thin and raspy.
Leto’s magic pulsed before Raiden had the chance to step back, its familiarity sweeping over him.
Kora’s door opened dramatically. Raiden froze as he repeated her favoured name in his mind.
A rush of salted vanilla air blasting his face as she inspected the ornate tray by her bare feet.
Raiden held his breath, using his magic along with Leto’s as the thinnest of barriers separated him from Kora.
Her eyes widened and she sat cross-legged in front of him, tucking her pearl-white strands behind her round ears.
Raiden hovered, transfixed as Kora plucked a chocolate tart from the tray.
He’d painstakingly spent hours on the lamination of the pastry, until his wrists could’ve snapped in two. It’d been worse than sparring.
As the first of the Windward siblings, Raiden had fallen in love with cooking at a young age.
One of his favourite memories of his mother—Ilma—was in the castle kitchens.
The way the sunset walls had bounced off her sweeping blonde hair as her toned arms had kneaded dough to smooth perfection whilst singing.
They became his favourite moments throughout childhood, catching her in the big pauses between his siblings slowly filling the castle.
A place where a queen could just be who she was in her heart—a mother.
He’d learnt every recipe she’d shown him.
Tried different traditional foods from all the islands—including the continent—and yet nothing had been better than his mother’s cooking.
To this day, he still baked the first recipe she’d taught him on her birthday, honouring her memory.
A simple apple and cinnamon pie, using the local trees.
A moan broke Raiden’s thoughts and—holy Haizea.
Kora ate the chocolate tart in one mouthful.
Raiden nearly gods-damned pounced, his breeches tightening, the sound causing his blood to pound.
She tore into the spiced seabass covered in a cream sauce on a bed of rich tomato chickpeas.
The spice was unique to Galen, an exotic, smoky flavour with a hint of heat.
Kordelia had hated it, preferring hearty, simple meals to fuel her endless training for the Galenite War.
But Kora . . . she wolfed it down with impressive speed, with all the manners of a pirate.
Her beautiful lips working as she consumed the small feast Raiden had created, not even retreating into her room with the food.
Finally, she paused at a lone sea-biscuit on the platter, infused with local flora and a touch of apple.
Hesitation crossed her heart-shaped face, her teeth visibly nibbling her cheek, and Raiden resisted the urge to reach out and stop the frequent habit he’d noticed.
Eventually, she cradled it in her hands as though it were a babe. As she turned, a curse tore from Raiden’s lips. Kora donned navy breeches, with a white shirt that was far too big on her. But gods damn, her arse. Beautifully rounded and irresistible.
He knew Kordelia’s wardrobe was full of skirts, so where had Kora found the clothing?
His blood simmered at the thought of another male in her chambers, giving her their clothes.
The Huntress swivelled, her oceanic eyes staring right at Raiden, and he stilled like prey caught in a trap.
Her nostrils flared, and he wondered if she could scent him as easily as he could scent her.
He shut down the bond, not daring to probe it, not wanting to fuel her ire towards him.
A moment passed, and Kora closed her door with a pout.
The barrier vanished, and Raiden collected the tray before darting back to Leto, whose iridescent eyes were so wide, they nearly popped like his magic.
“That was close,” he signed as they strolled back to the kitchens. A smile tugged at the corners of Raiden’s mouth, his chest lifting as he glanced down at the empty tray. “Can we go to the Lagoon now? Why are you smiling?”
“I think I’m beginning to figure her out.”