Chapter 30 #2
Asbel doesn’t even look up when he says, “You’ve asked about her every day. Torin must be growing weary of repeating himself.”
“I just want to know if she’s alive,” I snap, tossing the rest of my cards down.
“She’s alive and still better with a sword than you,” Lioran says cheerfully, slapping down his useless hand. He nudges Asbel with his elbow. “Remember how she beat him every time they trained together. Every time. Imagine that. Losing to your future wife before the vows are ever spoken.”
“She’s not—” I cut myself off. Why the hells did I agree to spend more time with these guys?
Asbel gives me a pointed look. “Not what? Not your future bride?”
I swallow, trying to keep my voice steady. “She doesn’t even like me.”
Lioran gives me a smug look. “Funny, because Ren actually likes me.”
I shoot him a glare.
His grin turns wicked. “But don’t worry. We are better as friends. I never stood a chance at her heart. That disaster’s all yours.”
Asbel’s mouth curves faintly. “Everyone already knows that she chose Koen on day one. Just neither one of them has realized it yet.”
My pulse stutters. I shove down the warmth rising in my chest and drown it with wine.
“It’s so fun to mess with you, but enough talk,” Lioran says abruptly, slapping the table, clearly more drunk than I realized. “Time for a real game. Dares!”
“Dares?” I frown. “...Like what children play?”
“Exactly! Loser does whatever the winner demands,” he says. “Perfect way to test courage and stupidity.”
Asbel sighs. “You’re already winning at stupidity.”
Lioran ignores him and deals the next hand. “Lowest hand loses first round.”
Two rounds later, Asbel is balancing three cards on his head, though I suspect he’s using his wind magic. Lioran shouts his encouragement, and I try not to choke on my wine.
I lose the next round, and Lioran’s grin turns sinister. “Time to confess, big bro. First kiss.”
I freeze. “Um…” I clear my throat. “...never happened.” A lie, but definitely less embarrassing than the truth. Though I’m sure Calder has no qualms with talking about it.
They both stop and stare at me for a long moment before exploding into laughter…even Asbel. I’m not sure if I have ever seen him actually laugh before, but here he is, laughing so hard he can’t catch his breath.
“What?! Not even a stolen kiss at a festival?” Lioran asks, barely getting the words out through his laughter. “And here I thought I was giving you a really easy question to start with.”
I scowl, wishing for this night to end. I’d rather be fighting wraiths again than have this conversation. Why didn’t I lie? I could have just given him a random name and moved on. “Not everyone is like you, Lioran.”
Asbel looks at Lioran, finally regaining his composure. “Just makes it all the more obvious who he’s waiting for.”
I groan, burying my face in my mug. “Bastards.”
The night only unravels from there. Lioran spills wine, drops cards, and acts like every minor mishap is the end of the world. Asbel remains relaxed. And I end up laughing more than I have in years, my face sore, my chest lighter than it has been in days.
By the time the jug is nearly empty and the fire burns low, Lioran is half-asleep on the floor, muttering about ceremonies and destiny. Asbel is still upright, sipping the last of the wine with that unshakeable calm, while I slump against the table, warmth buzzing through me.
“She doesn’t hate me,” I murmur with a smile, thinking back to what Asbel said.
The familiar tightness returns to my chest, a quiet stirring of longing just before the ache settles in.
I want nothing more than to see her, to hear her laugh at me like she does in my dreams. I would even take her glaring at me and throwing insults.
Without her, even the quiet feels like a wound that won’t heal.
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Sunlight pours through the branches of a forest I have never walked in…or have I? The warmth strikes my skin, sharp and tangible, tracing every muscle, every nerve. I turn when I hear Serenya’s laughter. It's bright, clear, and utterly hers, filling the air, vibrant and impossible.
She steps closer, the golden light reflecting off her white hair and catching on the edges of her cloak. My hands itch to reach for her, and when I do, a spark leaps across my skin. It traces from my fingertips to my shoulders, and I feel it wind through me with every heartbeat.
She tilts her head, curious. I brush a strand of hair behind her ear.
I have never touched her like this in reality, only in these dreams, yet it always feels like home.
She laughs again, and it’s a sound I want to memorize forever.
I lean closer, drawn as if by some invisible current, and kiss her.
The kiss is warm, soft, and urgent. My chest hums with sunlight, the lines rippling across my arms as if the magic itself has noticed my joy.
Her arms loop around my neck, grounding me even as the world around us seems to pulse with every heartbeat, every breath, every laugh. In this impossible, blazing moment, everything feels right . Safe. Perfect.
Then, like always, I wake up.
The light of dawn shines through the high windows of my chamber.
The room is quiet and empty. No laughter, no warmth.
Just the pale gray morning light. My chest aches.
Every night, the same visions. Every night, she feels closer than reality will allow.
And every morning, I’m cruelly reminded that she’s out of reach, and no one will tell me anything.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, bare feet cold against the stone floor. I have no right to feel this way. No right to allow myself to fall so deeply without knowing if she even cares. Yet, the dreams are relentless, gnawing at the walls I try to build around myself.
By the time Torin knocks for training, the frustration has settled into a low, simmering weight behind my ribs.
I move through the motions of dressing, forcing my body to act before my mind can spiral further.
How can one person occupy so much space in my thoughts without even being here?
How can I feel so certain of something that’s still a question?
The training yard smells of wet stone and iron, sunlight smothered by the clouds. Torin stands waiting, sword in hand, scanning the area with that practiced precision. I move to join him, spine straight, every muscle drawn taut.
Sparring begins. Steel against steel, footwork against footwork. The clash echoes in the air, but the rhythm doesn’t settle me. My mind keeps returning to the dreams. The curve of her smile, the way she seems to belong in both light and shadow. I can’t escape her. She’s haunting me.
We move on to magic next. Golden streaks flare across my skin as I push to control it.
I shape it into beams, direct the arcs, and smooth the bursts.
Each attempt is better than the last, but it doesn’t matter.
I’ve become hollow. Every successful strike reminds me she isn’t here.
I move the way she taught me, but without her beside me, even progress feels incomplete.
By the end of the session, sweat clings to my hair, chest heaving, muscles screaming in a mixture of exertion and frustration. Torin lowers his blade, wiping his brow.
“You’ve been quiet today,” he says, neutral but observant.
I don’t respond. Words feel useless.
He tries again. “You haven’t asked about her.”
I freeze mid-step, exhaling through my nose, slow and bitter.
“Pointless,” I mutter. “Because all you’ll say is that she’s resting.
You know, I can’t decide if you think I’m stupid or if you just can’t be bothered to think up a better excuse.
” Without another word, I walk away, leaving him standing there.
By the time evening comes, I feel like a shell of myself. Skipping dinner, I move through the quiet halls of the palace to my chambers. The bath water is hot, burning off sweat and tension, but it cannot wash away the hollow knot twisting in my chest.
When I finally stand before my bed, I hesitate. Another night, another dream. I’m not sure I want it. The dreams are messing with my head, showing memories I can’t trust. It’s beginning to become impossible to tell what has actually happened and what is conjured from desire.
I stand there, muscles tense, staring at the ceiling. My magic flickers along my skin in the darkness, reminding me how much I want her, how much I need her…but also how dangerous it is to feel this way.
The night waits, inevitable. I take a slow breath, knowing that when sleep comes, it will carry me back to her, whether I’m ready or not.