Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
A pale lilac dawn woke Cerise. She shifted onto her back, Oberon’s chest rising and falling with sleep next to her.
Through the open ceiling, snow fluttered across the sky in lazy drifts, evaporated by the hot springs’ steam before falling into the lodge.
As if the earth itself fought against this never-ending winter.
Wrenching hunger clenched her stomach and she groaned at the discomfort. They needed to get back to their supplies. Hopefully, they were still there and not destroyed by the elements or stolen by starving wildlife.
“Oberon,” she whispered, nudging the slumbering prince. His body shifted but didn’t wake. She pushed him harder, saying, “Oberon!”
He startled, eyes blinking rapidly. “What? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“We need to go.”
As Cerise flipped aside the blankets and sat up, his hand laced around her arm. “Wait.”
She paused, looking back at him over her shoulder. Tiredness clung to his eyes, golden-brown hair fanning around his head. A bulge grew in his groin, sending a thrill through her veins.
“Come here.”
Despite the pleasure from last night still lingering below her skin, her body aching to be touched again, they needed to begin the journey back. She needed Eirwen to know she was alive. That they’d all survive a while longer. “We don’t have time for that.”
“I know. Just kiss me.”
She lowered herself over him, chests touching, his strong hands winding up her back, holding her tight.
She parted his lips with her own, tongues tasting each other in steady, slow strokes.
His arousal pressed against her, and though she desperately wanted to throw her legs around him, to take him inside her and watch his expression shudder with pleasure as she rode him, there were more important matters to address.
Nipping his lip as she pulled away, he groaned, fingers tightening on her waist.
“Please tell me that’s a promise of things to come,” he said, voice low and gravelly. Satisfaction rolled through her at the desire, the need, for her in his tone.
Cerise peeled away from him and a small grin tugged at the corner of her lips. “Perhaps.”
He chuckled and stretched before standing, the two of them silently dressing.
Not long after, they were on the hike back to the temple.
Peaceful snow still drifted down, in small yet fluffy flakes.
Cerise used the old spear as a staff, but it couldn’t compare to Beloved’s sturdiness, and it failed to support her well.
The shaft creaked and bent below her weight, and though she knew it wouldn’t survive multiple days of this treatment, at this moment, it was better than nothing.
No traces of the spirits remained. No obscured footprints or glimmers of hazy green.
Again, she wondered where they went during the day.
If they still surrounded her and Oberon, despite being unable to see them.
Or if they dissipated to a restful place, only to be summoned forth as spirits every night.
Both of their stomachs complained, loud protests grumbling from their bellies by the time they made it back to the ruins.
Their tent still stood, covered in a thin layer of snow.
Cerise darted inside and exhaled a sigh of relief, finding their packs undamaged.
Frozen, but still there. She punched the ice and it splintered like cracking glass, forcing her way through the stiff fabric to the even harder bits of food within.
Cerise and Oberon shoved the frigid preserve jars and stone-like slabs of jerky beneath their clothes, letting their body heat thaw the food.
Once they’d eaten enough to calm their raging bellies and enliven their dwindling energy, they packed camp and readied to head back.
Before leaving, they climbed to the upper precipice once more, where they’d first seen Azkanix’s rib.
No more necrotic green spread through the grassy plains.
No raging, magic thunderstorm boomed through the air.
Only a massive, black void remained in the plains, the Lich God’s bone swallowed by the earth.
Without the threat of encountering Vraethik on their trek, with the runes carved into trees and bones rendered inert with the death of his power, the days and nights blurred into one another.
When Cerise’s leg ached too much, when the spear could no longer keep her upright, Oberon gave her his strength.
He’d wrap an arm around her back and she’d lean into him, soaking in his warmth while she could.
At night, he’d massage her pain away, the power and heat in his hands fighting against the stiff ache in her knee.
After, their hands would roam each other’s bodies, Oberon taking charge to ensure she felt only pleasure, never any additional strain.
They didn’t speak of what would happen when they returned to Cerise’s cabin.
They both knew the truth of what to expect, so there wasn’t anything to say.
She knew he’d return to Tyrnoraen; he’d need to tell his brother and advisors about what happened and continue forging his plan to reverse the curse.
And she’d stay with Eirwen at the cabin, for there was no way in Hrisadael’s hell that she’d ever return to the capital.
With each step closer, with each day and night that passed, Cerise picked up the crumbled stones around her heart that Oberon had obliterated.
She’d fortify her memories with him and protect her heart from breaking.
There was no room in this cursed world to succumb to woe.
Not if she wanted to enjoy the rest of her days with Eirwen, content and quiet in their cabin.
Which she did. And all other new wants were nothing more than fantasies, ideas to confine to dreams.
When they came to the crossroads, where an arm of the Merathel Mountain Range split the path between Tyrnoraen and her cabin, they simply stared at one another.
Cerise stood on the path to her home, Oberon on the one to his city.
She wouldn’t fill this time with foolish sentiments or useless pleading.
She’d had countless goodbyes in her lifetime.
This was just another one. Yet still, a hurtful heaviness weighed her to the spot.
Oberon’s expression mirrored her feelings, lips downturned, his eyes searching her own as if there was some sort of secret answer there.
As if waiting for her to say a certain combination of magic words that would change their circumstance.
As if he couldn’t bear to speak those that sat on his own tongue.
“I’ll come back,” he finally said, taking her hands in his.
“Don’t lie to me, prince.”
“I wouldn’t ever lie to you.” He tugged her closer, pulling her body flush with his, then lifted his hands to cup her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks. “I promise, Cerise. I’ll come back. There’re just a few things I need to take care of first.”
Her chest squeezed, at once wanting to believe him but also wanting to shove her fists against his chest. To tell him how arrogant he was for assuming she wanted him to come back, that there’d be a space for him in her home with Eirwen.
But the thought of sleeping with nothing but a wall, or worse, only air at her back once more, for the rest of her life weighed on her heart.
In the absence of words, he kissed her, tongue sliding against her own. But the longer their lips touched, the harder it was to drown her dreams. She stepped back, breaking the kiss, before the tide overwhelmed her.
“You should get going. Find shelter before dark.”
Something broke in his gaze, hands dropping to his sides. “Cerise, please—”
“Safe travels, prince,” she said as she turned away.
She’d prefer the memory of his face as her parting image, rather than his back walking away from her.
Eirwen ran into their frosted garden as soon as Cerise passed the creaking gate, cabin door slamming behind her.
Her bare feet crunched over the thin layer of ice, white hair and loose clothes billowing in her wake.
Despite the dark circles beneath her eyes, as if she had not slept since Cerise left, relief shuddered through Cerise.
Even with Zyrdriel’s Boundary and her ice magic, whenever she was away from Eirwen, a nagging voice whispered anxieties at the back of her mind.
That she’d return to find Eirwen massacred, clothes torn to shreds as she’d found her when they were still under the supposed protection of Vhypael’s Temple.
Yet her sister looked the same, albeit fatigued.
Without hesitation, Eirwen’s narrow arms flung around Cerise, squeezing her into the fiercest hug possible.
Cerise exhaled, worry leaving her shoulders with the realization that she was home.
Safe. No more exploding bones, lichboar tusks, or necrotic magic to harm her.
Despite the contentedness of being home, a vacancy still widened in her chest, as if she’d left a piece of herself behind.
“I’m so glad you’re back! I worried about you day and night.” Eirwen stepped away, her gaze sweeping over Cerise, assessing her for injuries. “Where’s Beloved?”
“Gone,” Cerise choked out.
Eirwen’s eyes flicked over her shoulders, peering into the woods. “And where’s the prince?”
“Also gone.”
Eirwen gasped, hands flying to her mouth.
“No, no. Not like that. He went back to Tyrnoraen.”
“Oh, I thought…well, I thought that—” Eirwen stammered, twisting her fingers together.
“What? What did you think?” Cerise spat, images of what had now been relegated to memories crashing through her mind.
At the comfort of Oberon beside her. The support he offered, easing her pains and responsibilities, now all colliding onto her shoulders once more.
The press of his mouth against hers. The reverence of her rage and scars, rather than fear and disgust. Gone now, forever.
Stupid of her to think she’d be satisfied with only memories.
“He was so kind and handsome, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. I just thought…”
“That what? After a couple weeks, we’d fall in love and live happily ever after?
Don’t be ridiculous, Eirwen. That shit only happens in fairytales.
” She swept her arm around them, pointing at the dead trees, never-ending snow, and bruised purple sky.
“And it’s plain to me we’re not in one. Regardless, he’s back in Tyrnoraen, Vraethik’s dead, and Azkanix can never return, so let’s just forget this ever happened and get back to our normal life. ”
Eirwen’s face dropped, still wrenching her fingers in such awkward positions Cerise thought she might break them.
Cerise covered Eirwen’s twisting fingers with her hand, stilling her. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just been a very, very long couple weeks.”
“I understand.” Eirwen looped her fingers through Cerise’s. “There’s soup on the fire, if you need some.”
Her stomach clenched and gurgled at the thought. “Please.”
Dry heat pulsed against Cerise as she entered the familiar cabin walls, replacing the woodcutting axes on their handles near the door.
The chickens huddled near the hearth, their stench clinging to the hot air.
As she ate, her and Eirwen spoke of what had happened the past few weeks, and Cerise felt her mind float away.
She didn’t tell her sister about any intimacy with the prince.
Admitting it happened, that it was real, would make her lose it all over again.
Even as Eirwen pulled the cold from her body and she climbed into her own bed, she seemed to recede, like falling into a repeating dream.
Everything was so…normal. Yet somehow it didn’t feel as it had before.
There was a shadow clinging to her back, a burly visage hovering in her wishful, peripheral vision.