Chapter 14 #2
Herrin slipped into his study on the fourth day, surprising him with his presence.
He looked much like how Mina had described him.
Unkempt, with a haunted look in his eyes, eyes that took in the stacks of parchment covering the desk.
“I keep thinking you might come and find me, but now I see why you haven’t. ”
Rixon put his head in his hands and groaned, feeling a pang of guilt. “I never wanted this.”
“I know. But you never struck me as the type to turn away from a duty once you’ve accepted it, either.” Herrin leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. “Come on, take a break and let’s go burn off some steam. Looks like we could both use some roughing up.”
He would have protested, but already knew Herrin wouldn’t allow it. So he led the former head wielder through the palace until they found themselves in the royal sparring room.
“Fists?” Herrin suggested, as if knowing exactly what he needed.
Lola and Julian looked eager as they settled themselves along the perimeter of the room. He was so used to them now, he sometimes forgot they were present.
“Fists,” he confirmed.
They got into position and began circling. He lunged first, attempting a jab at Herrin’s side before swinging a fist. The male easily blocked. They exchanged a series of rapid blows before backing off to reassess.
They both needed this, perhaps Herrin even more so.
The former wielder’s grief was written in every movement, channeled into every swing.
He did the male the courtesy of holding nothing back.
He gathered his overwhelming emotions and let them power him.
Every assault brought pain, left bruises, and helped calm the thing inside him.
Eventually, he was sweating and aching—Herrin mirrored his state.
“Fuck, why didn’t we do this sooner?” he managed, hands braced on his knees.
“Because we’re stubborn males,” Herrin growled, then motioned for them to begin again. He stepped forward and moved through another series of offensive strikes. “Want to tell me what’s troubling you?”
“What makes you think I’m troubled?” Rixon managed, then swung at Herrin’s side. The male dodged before returning the blow.
“You’re fighting like I’m a problem your fists can solve.”
“Would…that they could,” he managed. Herrin took him down in a single sweep.
He panted several breaths up at the ceiling before the male offered a hand, pulling him up.
They began circling again. Finally, he said, “I’m having control issues.
I’m projecting those issues onto my lady witch, which isn’t fair to her. ”
“Ah. One of the hardest things as a wielder is giving up control when we take our oath and bond a witch. This was never a problem before, was it?”
“No. It shouldn’t be now, either.” He moved through a series of jabs and punches, only landing a single lucky one against Herrin’s shoulder. The male quickly recovered.
“What happens when you fight an opponent?” Herrin asked. “When you fight me? How do you combat your lack of control over my moves?”
He frowned, then dodged a blow that would have broken his jaw. “I…I don’t. I just react. For every move you make against me, I react in kind, either by blocking or by my own follow-up.”
“Exactly. Isn’t that life? A series of reactions?”
“Yes, but I’m the king. My reactions don’t just affect me, they affect an entire kingdom. If I can’t control the outcome, chaos will ensue.”
Herrin made a humming noise. “You can never control everything. But I understand your argument all the same.” They exchanged another set of blows before Herrin said, “Have you brought this up with Mina?”
“Sort of. But what I asked of her…” He wasn’t going to explain his sexual fantasies to Herrin. “She went behind my back after I confessed how I was feeling. I think she was trying to help, except it only illustrated one of my own failures.”
The fact that he’d had a week with the assassin and hadn’t managed to get a single helpful hint from the male.
“That must be a blow to your pride?”
“My…my pride?” He stopped and blinked. A bead of sweat dropped into his eye and burned. Was it a blow?
But of course it was. Mina had succeeded where his own efforts had failed.
Moreover, she’d succeeded because she’d used a demon to aid her, calling upon the thing that lived inside her, something that had always created a shiver of fear in him, because it was unpredictable.
That unpredictability went hand in hand with lack of control, though she’d gotten good at controlling it.
“Ah.” Herrin studied him. “We wielders have a fierce pride of our own. It often gets overshadowed by our witches. Our duty, first and foremost, is to protect our bonded witch. You now have two duties—to your witch and to your people. You’ll have to find a new balance.
I wish I could give you all the answers but, who am I to say what is right? ”
Herrin walked over to a stack of towels and grabbed one for each of them.
Rixon wiped his face, deep in thought. Mina had wounded his pride—making him feel less capable than ever in his new role—though, not intentionally. That’s really what this boiled down to, playing into the reminder of how out of control much of his life had become.
“I said it before, and I’ll say it again,” Herrin said, fussing with his clothes.
He was covered in marks that would soon turn to bruises, but didn’t seem to mind.
“You aren’t one to turn from a duty you’ve accepted.
Your lady witch, your kingdom. Perhaps you just need time.
Perfection is impossible. You’ll make mistakes.
People will suffer for it. There’s no getting around that.
You can only do the best that you can do, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll feel more in control of things. ”
He rubbed a hand over his face. Herrin’s words weren’t what he wanted to hear. He didn’t want to make mistakes. He didn’t want his people to pay the price. Still, he said, “Thank you,” and clapped his hand on the male’s shoulder, then went in search of his witch.