This is a little project I’ve been working on as an acotar/tog crossover. I thought I’d give you guys a sneak peek for if I ever decide to post the full thing. Anyway, you’ll never guess who Fenrys’ lover is. (Don’t tell me I’m weird if you figure it out)
*****
Whimpering, Fenrys put a shield around himself that he knew would do no good, his body shivering as the house shivered. His ears rung with every crash, the grumble bouncing around in his head.
The bedroom door opened. He should have locked it. Should have left before this city of light was torn apart, cast into eternal darkness along with all the people within it.
“Fenrys?”
Fenrys squeezed his eyes shut as thunder sent the windows rattling.
Someone was in front of him. Kneeling there. She was using his lover’s voice, coaxing him out only to go for the throat in the next. He knew it. She’d done it before.
“Hey, what’s going on? Fenrys. Look at me.”
No. Because when he opened his eyes, it would be real. She’d take him, thrust him back into a nightmare of her own making.
“Puppy.Look at me.”
The pure command in that voice called to him, a shout in the dark. And that name. She didn’t know that name. Only those here, those in the City of Starlight, had ever called that name and only to one would he listen for it.
Quaking, he peeled open his eyes to find a man before him, hands hovering over his body. No. Not hovering. The faint glimmer of gold in the air told Fenrys his shield had worked.
“There you are,” his lover breathed and the shadows around Fenrys tightened. “Can you put down this shield for me?”
*****
Anyway, let me know if you’re interested and if you have any guesses to who Fenrys’ lover is.
This may not be a completely exhaustive list, as I’m only a human, so if you notice any of yours are in the wrong spot, or are missing, or if you know of one that’s not on there, please let me know!!!
The categories are a bit arbitrary, and I did my best to divide it up and categorize them based on my own knowledge of the fics, so I will completely take recommendations on adjusting things or moving things around!
And note: this is a rowaelin list only, so anything that features another couple as the main couple or doesn’t have rowaelin as the only main couple, I didn’t include it, simply so that I could keep the lines clear and make this just a rowaelin list.
I’m going to be tinkering with it over the next few days, as it’s really late here and I know already that I’ve messed some things up, but I’m tired lol, this took me a really damn long time.
I just know tumblr can be difficult to navigate sometimes and I wanted to create a resource that was easy for people to find new fics and new writers, and just try to expand the fandom a little more!!!
Let me know if you have any questions!
You beautiful human— thank you for your service ♥️
To leave this island forever and not have to worry about being discovered anymore.
I wasn’t always this macabre, but two thousand days of checking over my shoulder and wishing for a man’s murder has dulled the wishful excitement I felt when I first got here.
Five years ago, I was grateful to even be alive.
I couldn’t believe a stranger give up everything for me and the others–couldn’t believe she’d agree to fight this battle because of my decision.
I have to actually remind myself to still be grateful to her, if I’m being honest.
Because sometimes I think about that night all those years ago, when she showed up in the darkest part of the night to kill me. When she’d held the knife with a trembling hand and told me that the price for betraying Arobynn Hamel was my life. When we discovered together that she couldn’t bring herself to kill me.
Sometimes I think it would be better if she would’ve just done it.
At least it would’ve been over.
At least I wouldn’t have to spend years on an island, living the same day over and over again. I think that’s what’s driving me mad, beyond anything else.
The predictability of my time.
Every day, I follow the same routine. The routine she laid out for me in a hushed whisper.
I wake up and go to the small café a mile down the road to watch the news. And every day, I pray to see Arobynn Hamel’s face next to to the words, “Breaking news: billionaire crime boss found dead.”
Because that was her only stipulation.
That the ten of us would stay on the island, hidden from sight, until news of his death was announced. In exchange, we got to live.
She’d warned me it would take a long time.
She’d told me to not get complacent.
And then she’d whispered what she planned to do.
Even now, over five years later, the words she’d whispered while shoving a plane ticket and a new passport into my hands were crystal clear.
“The devil isn’t going to go down easy.”
~Aelin~
The shaft of her recently-fashioned shiv was cold in her hand as she silently grabbed it from under her pillow.
The soft clink of the bars shutting again told her whoever had just snuck in her cell was now locked in with her.
Unfortunate for them.
She wasn’t afforded the luxury of a clock, but she knew it was the middle of the night. Normal visiting hours were far over. There was no one here but the bored night guards, four janitorial staff, and rows and rows of sleeping inmates.
And the idiot trying to sneak up behind her bed.
She kept her eyes closed as she listened to the quiet steps walk closer and closer. Right when she was about to turn around and attack, they stopped.
Then the weirdest thing happened. It sounded like whoever it was slid down the wall directly across from her bed.
A killer wouldn’t do that.
Curiosity piqued, Aelin turned her head to see who and what was going on.
It was dark in the cell, but she’d recognize that shock of silver hair anywhere.
“Rowan?” she whispered, so quietly she almost didn’t even hear herself. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t respond, but the way his muscles tensed told her he’d heard her.
Slowly, she sat up so she could see him better and maybe figure out what was going on.
For the first time in a long time, he looked less than perfect. Far less than it, actually.
His hair was going every possible direction, like he’d been running hands through it and pulling on it. He was wearing a gray t-shirt, rumpled dress slacks, and tennishoes that weren’t even tied.
But that wasn’t what worried her most. It was the way he was sitting completely still and silent.
He didn’t even look like he was breathing.
“Hey,” she tried again. “What’s going on? Look at me.”
Another few heartbeats passed, and then he slowly shook his head.
“Please, Rowan. Just look at me.”
He winced, like hearing her say his name physically hurt him.
And then his head came up.
Deep green eyes met hers, and even though it was what she’d wanted, what she’d needed, Aelin instantly wished he’d look away.
Because with one look, she knew he’d figured it out.
He knew, and the pain and turmoil in his eyes… she’d put that there.
She’d seen him angry and sad and happy and everything in between, but she’d never seen him, or anyone else, look so broken.
He looked completely and utterly broken as he sat before her.
“Rowan,” she whispered, shaking her head even though she didn’t know why.
He bowed his head again, seemingly unable to even look at her.
“Ro,” she whispered, dropping to her knees in front of him.
Almost like the old nickname broke something inside him, Rowan’s shoulders started to shake.
And then he sobbed.
It was the kind of sob that couldn’t possibly be held in. The kind that made her heart clench and tears brew in her own eyes, the kind that told her how much pain he was in.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she put a hand on his arm. He shook off the touch like it burned him and looked up at her again.
“I ruined your life,” he croaked, the tears on his face reeking of self-hatred. “I ruined your life.”
She shook her head. “No, you didn’t.”
Anger bled into his tone. “I put you in prison for eight years for murdering people who aren’t even fucking dead, Aelin. I didn’t listen to you, didn’t look hard enough. I’ve had the clues you left me for eight years. We were in love, and I didn’t even try hard enough to… I… please explain to me how I didn’t ruin your life.”
“You did not ruin my life, Rowan,” she told him again, meaning every word.
“Eight years of your life, gone because of me. I don’t even understand how you can look at me.” He huffed a laugh, but he was far from amused. “No wonder you hate me.”
His chest was heaving, his hands were in fists, and his stubble-crested jaw was damp with tears.
And she’d thought he hadn’t cared.
Aelin felt like a fool–a horrible, stupid fool–for ever doubting him. For thinking him indignant.
Because this was technically what she’d wanted. What she’d plannedto happen.
She’d wanted it to hurt, had wanted him to feel an ounce of what she’d felt when he’d led the case against her.
But it wasn’t what she wanted anymore.
Moving slowly, Aelin crawled onto his lap, put her hands on the side of his face, and lifted his gaze to hers while she said, “Arobynn Hamel ruined my life, not you.”
He shook his head, breathing heavily. “No-”
She cut him off by wrapping herself around him.
Like she was trying to heal physical wounds, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled his head to her chest. She sank into him until there wasn’t an inch of space between them. Her hands wandered over his back as she held him tight to her.
He was stiffer than a board at first, but eventually he sagged against her, wrapping his arms around her in return.
It was like he was drowning in the sea, and she was the only thing preventing him from being swept away. He shook, his entire body trembling, and his arms became a vice around her.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered after a moment.
She shook her head, but it didn’t matter. He said it again, and again, and again, until his voice was hoarse and broken.
Aelin ran her hands over his back slowly, and just held him as pain he’d felt for eight years seemed to reach a crest.
Eventually he stopped crying and just laid against her, warm breath fanning across her collarbone.
“I’m so sorry, Aelin,” he whispered yet again.
“Please stop saying that. None of this is your fault. You aren’t the reason I’m in prison.”
“Yes, I am,” he insisted, shifting beneath her. “But I’m getting you out right now.”
He looked up, eyes bright with new-found purpose, and wiped the tears off his cheeks like they were distracting him.
“What?”
He nodded quickly. “We can bring those people back, and you can get your life back. I know it’s not the same, and I know I can’t get you these years back, but-”
“No.”
He paused. “No?”
She shook her head. “I can’t leave yet.”
“Leave? What the helldoes that mean?”
“It means I still have shit to do here. I’m not leaving before it’s done.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re acting like this is a hotel, not a high-security prison. And what do you even mean?”
Aelin had the good sense to feel a little guilty as she slowly got to her feet and walked to the wall at the back of the cell. A few well-placed taps later, it swung open.
Rowan’s mouth dropped open, then closed, then repeated the whole routine like he couldn’t decide what to say first.
He apparently figured it out, because it opened again so he accuse, “I knew you were robbing me! Where the fuck is my bed?”
She sighed and rubbed her temples. “That’s what you care about right now? Seriously?”
He grumbled something as he got to his feet and leaned into the makeshift doorway in the wall.
It took him a few moments to examine the ladder leading down to the tunnel, and then he straightened and looked at her again with a mixture of confusion, awe, and understanding on his face.
“You’ve been sneaking out this whole time.”
She nodded.
Most of her escapes had been in the past six months, but she’d occasionally left in the years before to check on something or track down a lead.
“You beat up your roommate so they’d put you back in solitary.”
Aelin nodded again.
“But how did you know they’d bring you to this cell?”
A small smile pulled on her lips. “Look again,” she told him, gesturing towards the open brick door.
He stuck his head in the hole again and couldn’t stifle his surprised intake of breath as he saw the other ladders.
He came back in the cell, and the expression on his face made her bite her lip to hold back a smile. “You… you tunneled intoprison?”
“Into every solitary cell,” she confirmed.
“When? Why?”
“One of my old jobs for Arobynn was to break a client of his out of solitary. I knew which cell he was in, but… getting locked up is kind of a right of passage for my former career, so I figured I’d plan ahead and give myself a way out, should I ever need it.” She smiled. “Hamel never could figure out how I did it, so it’s safe for me to use now.”
Rowan spent a long moment looking at her. “That’s… genius.”
“I tend to be,” she agreed.
They were both silent for a minute, then he said, “You need to tell me everything. Enough of both of us wasting time assuming what the other is thinking. We need to get everything out in the open, and we need to do it now.”
Aelin nodded, knowing it was true.
It was time to either finally trust him or kill him, and just the thought of the latter made something inside of her twist so hard she felt nauseous.
She nodded to the tunnel, not wanting to have the following conversation overheard by any prying ears. He nodded and followed her down, closing the door behind him.
When she knew they were alone, she started to explain.
“Maddison Kliff, my first so-called victim, funded her campaign for senator with money from Arobynn Hamel.”
Rowan’s eyebrows went up in surprise, but he nodded for her continue.
“He gave it to her, with the caveat that when she won, she’d vote against renewable energy for Rifthold. He has millions in oil, so when she did the exact opposite and voted for the green plan that switched the city to 70% electric, he took a pretty hard hit.” She took a deep breath. “The day after the vote, I got my orders to kill her.”
His jaw clenched.
“I went that night, thinking I could do it. Thinking I’d get it over with and never think about it again. I snuck in her townhouse and had everything set up.” She let out a laugh. “But then I realized my deal with Arobynn covered tenof Sam’s jobs. If I killed Maddison, and did a good enough job of it to get away with it, I knew he’d put nine more names on the list.”
“So you didn’t do it,” Rowan said, like he already knew but needed to hear her say it.
“So I didn’t do it.”
Aelin ran a hand through her hair, starting to pace. “I ran. And then I went back the next night with a suitcase, a new ID for her, and a plan.”
“Why Aruba?” he asked.
“I’d done all that research for our trip,” she said, a pang of sadness shooting through her at the memory of planning their first vacation together. “I didn’t have time to research another place. And I never told you, but the house I wanted us to rent? You kind of… own it.”
“I own a house in Aruba,” he repeated slowly, his tone making it clear he didn’t understand.
She rolled her eyes at his tone. “Arobynn might be a bastard I’d love to put in a grave, but he paid me well. I was eighteen and didn’t know what else to do with the money. So I bought a house.”
“In Aruba. In my name.”
She nodded. “No one can trace it back to you. It’s hidden in an off-shore corporation, owed by another off-shore corporation, but technically, yes, you’re the owner. It was going to be your Christmas present.”
“You bought me a house,” his lips twitched. “For a Christmas present.”
“I was in love with you,” she muttered. Then pointed out, “My lack of shopping impulse control really isn’t the point of the story.”
He rolled his eyes, still fighting a grin at her antics. “Please continue.”
“Right. So I sent her to the house in Aruba and told her to stay at the house with anyone else he wanted me to kill. I told her to not say a word to anyone besides those people, and that I’d be forced to actually kill her if she did. If Arobynn finds out they’re alive, he’ll send someone for me.”
She explained the list next. “He requires proof of all completed jobs, so I kept the "murder weapons” and made sure the crime scenes had enough blood to indicate the person couldn’t still be alive. It was mostly fake, but I took just enough blood from each of the victims and mixed it in to make it realistic enough to fool DNA scanners. Then I put the weapons in storage lockers he owns and wrote the numbers down so I wouldn’t forget them.“
Rowan nodded, most certainly remembering that part.
He was doing a good job of hiding his emotions, but she still saw how heavily this all weighed on him.
Everything he’d been feeling for eight years was hitting him at once, and while explanation made sense, it probably didn’t make him feel any better about the role he’d played in all of this.
He confirmed it by asking, "Why didn’t you tell me?”
He asked it almost casually, but she didn’t miss the pain he couldn’t keep from seeping into his voice.
“I wanted to,” she breathed. “Gods, I wanted to. I know now you investigated before giving the list to the cops, but to me, it looked like you found it and just turned me in. You never asked me. And you looked at me… you looked at me like you thought I was guilty. I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
Rowan went quiet, regret and shame coming off of him in waves so thick she almost choked on it.
“How is all of this going to play out?” he asked, seemingly trying to force himself to think about something else. “And what do you have to do that you need to be in prison for?”
She hesitated, suddenly not wanting to tell him.
Not out of a lack of trust, but because if she told him… he’d realize she’s guilty of the crime she’s in prison for. He might go back to hating her, back to thinking her a horrible person.
And she just got him back.
She’s pulled from her thoughts when he reaches a hand out, slowly gripping her jaw to tilt her face to his.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, the words final.
Of course he knew what she was thinking just from looking at her face. He always was a little too astute.
A part of Aelin wanted to put on a brave face and act like that wasn’t exactly what she’d been worrying about, but a bigger part wanted him.Wanted him to see that even after all this time, she needed him.
So she forced down the witty jokes and sultry smiles she usually used as ways to hide her vulnerability and looked up at him.
“Promise?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “I promise, Aelin.”
His hand was still on her face, and he leaned in until his forehead rested against hers. “I’m never going to leave you again. I’m so… I’m so fucking sorry I did in the first place. I should’ve come to you, or at least listened when you told me you were innocent.”
“I’m sorry I thought you didn’t fight for me,” she said back. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
They’d both done things they regretted, but Aelin knew that now, no matter what, he was telling the truth. He wasn’t going to leave her.
The knowledge felt like a weight lifting off her shoulders, and just to lighten the mood, she whispered, “And I’m sorry I stole your bed.”
He pulled back to glare at her. “You’re going to explain one day how you even pulled that off. But I’d like the answer to my other question first.”
Aelin took a step back and ran a hand through her hair.
“Arobynn Hamel dying is the endgame, Rowan. I have to stay in prison so I can kill him and have an alibi no one will question.”
He paused, and for a moment, her fears skyrocketed, so she rushed to explain, “As long as he’s alive, those people have to be in hiding and I have to look like I killed them. Once he’s dead, I can bring them back without worrying Arobynn will kill them. Or me.”
He gave her a strange look, but she spoke before he could, explaining, “It’s why I’ve been in prison for so long. I would’ve killed him and ended it years ago, but I only found him a couple months ago. He’s been in hiding ever since I was locked up, because the FBI knew I was one of his and started looking for him.”
“Okay, but Aelin-”
She cut him off. “I know it’s insane and not at all ideal, but I need you to leave me in here. Just until he’s dead, and then it’s over.”
He stepped forward and grabs her shoulders, shaking her slightly.
And then he did the weirdest thing.
Hesmiled.
“What the hell do you look happyabout?” she demanded. “I’m being serious-”
It was his turn to interrupt her. “Aelin, if that’s the stipulation, you’re already free.”
Unease drifted through her stomach. “What do you mean?”
“I mean he’s already dead.”
Shock rushed through her so fast and thoroughly, her vision swam and she swayed in his grip. “What… what did you just say?”
“That’s why I came today, now. I actually figured out you were innocent two days ago, but I wasn’t going to come until I could tell you with certainty I was getting you out, and I knew you couldn’t bring everyone back without risking your life. I’ve spent the past 48 hours planning a jailbreak and a way to sneak you to somewhere the US doesn’t have extradition.”
He grinned again. “But then it was announced on the 11 o'clock news tonight that he died last week of pneumonia complications. His family kept it private because they wanted a small funeral, but he’s dead, Aelin.”
Still feeling the weight of shock, she argued, “He’s not dead.”
“But he is.”
“No,” she insisted, pushing away from him and starting to pace again. “He can’t be dead.”
His face softened at the panic in her voice. “Aelin, I know you wanted it to be you, but-”
“No, Rowan, you don’t understand. I mean he cannot physically be dead, because I haven’t finished killing him!”
It was his turn to be shocked.
“What do you mean you haven’t finished killing him?”
She took a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. “I’ve been poisoning him since the day I figured out where he holes up. Turns out he has kidney problems and goes in once a week for dialysis. I show up and add a little… extra to his medication. The last time I went was less than a week ago, and while he might have been sick, he most definitely was still alive.”
Besides that, what were the odds that Rowan figured out her “victims” were still alive, and just two days later Arobynn croaks?
It would be one hell of a coincidence, and Aelin learned long ago to not believe in those.
His eyes went wide. “What? You mean he faked his death? Why the hell would he do that?”
“Because,” she said slowly, dread forming like a lead ball in her stomach as she realized what this meant for her, for the ten people whose lives she’d traded her freedom for. “I told Maddison and the others to wait for news of his death before coming back. I told them that until he was dead, they weren’t safe.”
She shook her head, whispering, “I told them to watch the news.”
Rowan realized what she was saying and cursed.
“He knows.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
Lemme know in the comments if you want to be tagged!
Part 5 will (realistically) be out in the next three weeks. Sorry for the slow updates; school is consuming all my time and energy.
There was something decidedly pleasant about sneaking out of prison.
It was the thrill, she supposed.
She’d always been a bit of an adrenaline junky, and there was nothing that matched up to the excitement of breaking out of a maximum security prison with no one being the wiser.
Aelin ran through the tunnel, her steps sure and soundless, a smile blooming on her face. What she was doing shouldn’t give her such joy, but along with being a thrill seeker, she’d always been just a little bit vindictive.
Or maybe a lot.
The map of the tunnels was still crystal clear after all this time, and she had it memorized down to the number of steps it took to get to the right turn.
It was a three hour run. Two underground, then one through the city out into the suburbs.
While the first two hours were definitely not fun, it was the last hour that was tricky.
Avoiding cameras, not drawing any unwanted attention, dressing so no one could see her face without looking too much like the criminal she was.
It was also more exhausting.
It was an hour of sprinting across rooftops, sprinting through town, then sprinting some more.
It was a little funny to her that the journey to where she needed to go was more difficult than actually breaking into the building.
She had a set of scrubs stored in a nearby lockbox, along with a wig and a few prosthetics to make her look more like Ansel, one of the nurses working the night shift.
The security guard, Shelly, was prone to reading romance novels during her shift and never questioned why she occasionally thought she saw two of the same person wandering around.
It was no different tonight.
Once she had everything in place, Aelin strode confidently through the halls, grabbing charts and nodding like she knew what the hell she was looking at.
No one stopped her, no one questioned her.
When she got to the room and chart she wanted, she slipped inside soundlessly and crept up to the bed.
Despite the ever-present urge to hurry things along, she stuck to her plan and kept the dose the same.
The person on the bed never woke up, never noticed her slip an extra drug into the IV bag hanging on the wall.
Silent, efficient, traceless.
Just like she’d been taught.
Leaving was even easier than entering.
She waited until real-Ansel had been out of the guard’s sight for a while, then walked out the back door of the facility like she hadn’t just committed a felony.
One of the few crimes she actually deserved to be in prison for, ironically.
Then she ran back, hiding in the traffic camera’s blind spots and ditching the wig along the way.
It was a little stupid and drawn out to do it this way, not to mention unbelievably cruel, but Aelin had always had a flair for the dramatic.
Plus, like she said: exciting.
~Rowan~
Doubt is a strange emotion.
It starts small, so small you hardly even realize it’s there.
And then, over time, it grows and grows like a fungus, eventually becoming something that you think about all the time. Something that kills you.
Rowan didn’t believe in doubt.
His problem had never been with not believing in himself, it’d always been with the opposite affliction: over-conviction.
He believed things so fully, so deeply, it was hard to see it any other way.
It was what made him such a good lawyer. As the top public prosecutor in the city, he had a reputation for being impossible to win against.
He convinced himself of the defendant’s guilt so completely, the jury had almost no option but to believe him.
He hadn’t always been that way, he didn’t think. Argumentative and stubborn, sure. His mother could attest to that. But never so unflinchingly self-assured. So alright with deceiving himself if need be.
If he had to guess, he’d say it’d started two months after the day of Aelin’s trial.
He hadn’t been lying to her four days ago; every word had been the truth. He’d worked his ass off all those years ago, trying to find something that would help him either clear her name or at least fucking sleep at night.
He’d given himself a timeline, deciding that if he couldn’t find a single lead in two months, there probably wasn’t one. Two months, and then he’d let it go.
He didn’t regret stopping his hunt–he’d seen what an obsession could do to someone.
And when that day had come, he’d thought he was ready. He’d exhausted himself working both her case and the ones he was assigned, burning the candle at both ends and sleeping in the office more nights than his own bed.
There’d been nothing to be found. The evidence, the testimonies, the medical examiner’s reports… they’d all pointed to Aelin.
So eventually he’d forced himself to stop looking.
But the sight of her swinging between the two court police officers, fighting for just one more second with him with a desperation he’d never seen from her… he hadn’t known how he could just forget something like that.
The image followed him, haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw hers. Lined with tears and disbelief and so much hurt he felt like invisible hands were wrapped around his neck.
So he’d hardened himself against it.
He’d repeated the pieces of evidence against her, told himself she was guilty until the words were easy to say, forced himself to visualize the crime scenes of her victims whenever he thought of her.
Piece by piece, he’d swapped out the months of positive memories they had with stone cold facts.
And it had worked.
After a month, he could sleep again. After a year, he hardly thought of her and when he did, it was with disgust.
Yet now, over eight years later, he found himself with just the slightest amount of doubt again.
It was the same nagging, incessant feeling he hadn’t been able to shake eight years ago. Back for round two, apparently.
At first, he’d played it off as nerves from their conversation. She’d worked him up so much he’d admitted how much he’d once loved her and said things he shouldn’t have.
His body was reacting to the sadness in her eyes, the surprise that had bloomed when he’d told her he’d fought for her. It was emotion, nothing based in logic, that made him want to start looking again.
At least that’s what he told himself.
But four days later, he found himself on the couch–he really did need to give up and just buy a new bed–staring at the ceiling, trying to sleep and not being able to.
Because… well because what if she was telling the truth?
Why else would she have told him that story?
What had he missed during all those late nights spent hunched over her folder?
The questions grew and grew, until that once-little shard of doubt started to slowly drive him mad.
The uncertainty, no matter how small it had begun, had grown to be almost irritatingly large and unavoidable.
He couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said. The breadcrumbs that apparently only hecould find.
What did that mean?
And why couldn’t he just let it go?
“Fuck!” he yelled, throwing his blanket off and storming to the closet.
Like a love-struck idiot, he’d kept a box full of the stuff she’d left at his apartment during their relationship. The stuff that wasn’t evidence, at least.
If it was something only he could find like she’d said, it was probably something only he had access to.
He dropped the box on his kitchen table and opened the lid.
Then cursed when the first thing he saw was a pair of red lace underwear. That was the lastthing he needed to be thinking about and remembering.
Especially when he’d barely been able to resist the temptation to kiss her in that interrogation room.
Something about the way she’d looked at him after he’d told her he’d fought for her all those years ago had rattled the grip he had on his control hard.
She’d seemed so… sad. So hopeless. It had brought out the urge to comfort her in whatever way he could.
Hearing about her childhood and how she’d been raised by Arobynn Hamel hadn’t made it any better. Truthfully, it’d broken something inside of him.
She’d always been so positive around him–a ray of light he’d felt was put on this earth just for him.
And all the while, she’d been forced to live with and work for one of the most notorious crime syndicate members of all time.
He’d always known she hadn’t had a good childhood, but there was a difference between foster care hell and an actual house of horrors. Rowan couldn’t even imagine the things she’d seen. Been forced to see, to do.
She made it out, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath.
But had she?
If what she’d told him was true, she’d killed those people because she’d been forced to.
It hadn’t been her choice.
But there was something else about her, something he couldn’t stop thinking about.
The secret she’d eluded to, the one that apparently only he had the key to solving.
A secret she’d promised would explain everything.
He tossed the underwear on the table, vowing to ignore them.
Then threw them in the trash a minute later when that became impossible.
You’re such an asshole, he told himself, shaking his head. It’s been eight years.
Even if thatpart of their relationship was most definitely memorable.
“Jesus,” he laughed, running a hand over his face. Why was he even thinking about that?
Maybe it was the look in her eyes four days ago, or maybe it was simply that Aelin had been an important part of his life. He’d never forget the connection they’d had. Maybe it would always be a part of him.
But that was ridiculous, because he’d been connectedto plenty of women since. Plenty of gorgeous brunettes and redheads.
For some reason, he hadn’t been able to date a blonde, but that didn’t mean anything.
He was over her.
Obviously.
Forcing his thoughts away from Aelin, he grabbed the next thing in the box.
Her address book. Maybe she’d left a note in there?
He flipped it open, scrolling through blank page after blank page. Her cousin’s address and phone number were there–both of which he confirmed with police records–but other than that, it was blank.
The next thing he found made the ache in his chest expand to a soul-sucking hole.
It was a travel brochure for Aruba.
The edges were frayed from how much she’d flipped through it, and notes in her handwriting were scribbled throughout the pages.
He remembered this, all right.
He’d woken up one morning, a morning that seemed like a lifetime ago, to find her laying on top of him, leafing through the travel pamphlet with a huge grin on her face.
“We’re going to Aruba,” she’d whispered in lieu of a greeting, leaning down to press her lips to his.
“Why?” he’d asked back between kisses.
“Because it’s the perfect place to hide from your real life,” had been her laughed response.
She’d planned a trip for them at Christmas. Their very first trip together.
Every time they saw each other, she’d shown him a new page or told him about a new activity she wanted to do.
In general, she was a happy, excited person, but he’d never seen her so thrilled over anything like she was that trip.
He’d hidden it better, trying to play it cool, but he’dbeen excited, too.
He’d pictured her on the beach, running in the sand and smiling and laughing and drinking from a coconut. He’d imagined sneaking to the beach one night and making love to her in the ocean.
He’d imagined getting down on one knee and asking her to be his travel partner for life.
She’d been arrested two weeks before they were supposed to leave.
He tossed the little magazine back into the box, shaking his head to clear it of the memories and long-lost dreams.
The only thing left in the worn box was books.
Aelin had volunteered at a publishing house, trying to get hired as a fiction editor, and she’d always had a book in her ridiculously heavy pocket book.
She’d given him a few of her favorites, claiming that if he ever wanted to know the “real her,” he had to read them.
A statement that made a lot more sense now than it used to.
He grabbed the one on top and leafed through it, going through the pages and scanning.
When that didn’t yield anything, he flipped to the back of the book and looked at the inscription she’d written him.
March 1
Rowan,
I know you’re not a fan of fiction, let alone romantic, feminist fiction, but I hope you’ll read this and fall in love with Elizabeth’s character like I did.
Aelin
He turned the book over and looked at the front again, then flipped through it again, then went through the whole process again.
Why did he feel like something about this didn’t add up? And why was this,of all things, what she’d left as a breadcrumb?
He didn’t figure it out until he reread the inscription for the fifth time and realized the date she’d written.
March 1st.
It was wrong; she’d given him this book on his birthday in February. He remembered because he’d laughed about her giving a grown man a romance novel for his birthday.
Why had she put March 1st? And why did that date stand out in his mind?
Stomach dropping, he finally figured out why that date was so important. It was the date of the first murder.
Maddison Kliff, a state senator who controversially wanted to fund renewable energy in the upcoming year, had been murdered the morning of March 1st eight years ago.
Breadcrumb.
He grabbed the next book from the stack, Wuthering Heights, and flipped to the end.
Almost the exact same inscription, except the date was April 13th, and the inspiring character was Linton Heathcliff.
April 13th was the day another victim died.
Rowan’s heart started pounding, so hard he thought he was going to either pass out or go into cardiac arrest.
What was the connection between these dates, characters, and victims? Rowan could feel it in his gut that this was what she’d been talking about. It had to be.
He flipped through the books again, looking for something else, but there was nothing there. Nothing was underlined or highlighted, and the books were all in brand-new condition, no pages were bookmarked.
“What are you trying to tell me, Aelin?” he whispered, rubbing at his temples.
He made a list of all the dates and characters, stared at it until he thought he’d go blind, and tried to think like her.
Except her mind was a complex puzzle he’d never quite solved, so that didn’t give him anything besides a headache.
He looked in the box again, hoping to magically find another note or something that explained everything in simple, idiot-proof terms.
But all that was there was that damn Aruba magazine.
It’s the perfect place to hide from your real life.
The words came rushing back to him, so suddenly and violently it was like his subconscious had been shouting it for a while.
Was that it?
Maybe the connection wasn’t only between the dates and characters, but it also had something to do with Aruba.
Maybe that was where this secret, whatever it was, was hiding.
Knowing he was probably grasping at straws, Rowan grabbed his phone and called the one person who’d help him.
“What the hell do you want?”
“I need a favor, Gavriel.”
He heard a heavy sigh. “Like a we’ve been friends for twenty years favor or like an I’m the Chief of Police favor?”
“The latter,” Rowan answered.
“Dammit, Rowan, you’re going to get me fired one day.” That was what he said every time. There was a long pause, then, “What do you need?”
“Flight manifests from Rifthold to Aruba from ten different days eight years ago.”
Gavriel caught on quickly. “This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with a former flame of yours, would it? One currently serving time for ten murders from eight years ago?”
“Of course not,” he lied, knowing he was busted.
Another sigh. “You need to let this go, kid.”
Rowan ran a hand over his face, knowing that wasn’t possible. Not when, for the first time since he’d been assigned this God forbidden case, he had a lead.
“Can you help me or not?”
“I will, as long as you promise to drop it once whatever you’re chasing ends up to be yet another dead end.”
Knowing he didn’t have another choice, Rowan agreed.
Gavriel told him he’d send them over, then said softly, “I know you loved her, Rowan, but it’s time to move on.”
It’s not that easy, he thought, thinking once again of Aelin sitting in that tiny cell, skin pale and hair too long.
“Thanks for your help,” he said instead, hanging up before the lecture could continue.
A few minutes later, he was printing out the passenger lists from all the Rifthold to Aruba flights on each of the ten dates.
Starting with August 1st, he went through, passenger by passenger, and looked for an Elizabeth.
There’d been three direct flights to Aruba that day, so by the time he found it, his eyes were so tired he almost missed it entirely.
But there was a name that stuck out, one that was straight out of his copy of Pride and Prejudice.
Seat 14C had been occupied by Elizabeth Darcy, and she’d flown directly from Rifthold to Aruba on August 1st.
Rowan’s jaw damn near hit the floor.
His hands shook as he highlighted the name, writing the victim’s name next to it to keep it straight in his head.
His mind whirled with possible explanations, but he didn’t let himself think about anything except the next date.
With a sinking feeling in his gut, he went through the passenger list for April 13th.
And sure enough, Linton Heathcliff was on one of the flights. In the same damn seat.
“Holy fuck,” he whispered, grabbing the next sheet of paper.
He went date by date, flight by flight, and by the time he’d located every character, he was sure of what he’d found. What she’d left for him.
It wasn’t a breadcrumb,it was the whole goddamn loaf.
Rowan barely made it to the kitchen sink before his stomach emptied as an explanation of what had really happened eight years ago started to form in his mind.
He didn’t have all the pieces, but the ones he did have made him literally sick to think about.
Her insistence on being innocent, her begging him to look again, telling him only he could find the clues… it all made sense.
The doubt he’d been struggling with for eight long years suddenly disappeared, replaced by a certainty so swift and thorough and all encompassing, it almost took his breath away.
She hadn’t been lying.
She hadn’t killed those ten people.
She couldn’t have, because…
“They’re still alive.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
dun dun duuuuun
part 4 out next Friday (sorry for the slow updates I’m in summer school)
Rowan didn’t think he’d ever been so pissed off in his life.
The only time that even came close was when he lost his first and only court case, but over the years he’d come to live with that.
Thisthough?
This immature, childish, irritatingly clever woman… he had a feeling he’d carry the rage he felt against her until the day he finally died of it.
Although, if he was honest, his returning move had been a little childish, too.
He’d ordered one of the guards to strip her cell of everything except the chess set. Her mattress, the makeshift knife he shuddered to think she’d had in the same room as him, her pillow.
If she wanted to steal his shit, he’d steal hers, too.
He’d also had the guard move one of his pawns forward on the board.
Not the most creative, but he didn’t have many options.
What did you take from a woman who had nothing? How did you punish someone who was already serving the longest punishment available?
The bank had seized her assets when she’d been locked up, and the lease on her apartment had long since run out. She didn’t have any personal items with her, didn’t seem to even care about anything besides making his life hell.
Case in point, when he got home that night, exhausted from dealing with Aelin and spending a long day at the office, he’d discovered her retaliation.
She’d stolen his bed.
The whole goddamn thing, frame and all.
How she’d managed to get it out of a penthouse condo with security not realizing a thing, he had no idea. He knew from experience it wouldn’t even fit through the door.
It’d seemed if she was going to be uncomfortable, so was he.
Steaming with anger, he’d showered and flopped on the couch like an idiot, not even able to sleep thanks to the rage she’d worked him into.
She was completely kicking his ass. From the inside of a jail cell.
He hadn’t gotten more than a few hours of sleep before giving up on even trying. At six, he’d dressed and driven to Whitehorn and Salvaterre, the law firm he was a partner at.
If he couldn’t sleep, he’d at least figure out how the hell she was pulling this shit off.
Looking through her folder, he went through her daily schedule, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.
Eight am wake-up, breakfast, shower, lunch, yard time, dinner, lights out at nine. Between activities, she worked out in her cell or read a book from the run-down prison library.
In the eight years she’d been in prison, she hadn’t had a single visitor. Her cousin Aedion–a playboy Rowan couldn’t be paid to associate with–delivered a care package on the first of every month.
Strange, considering nothing of the sort had been in her cell.
She’d been in solitary confinement ever since randomly attacking her cellmate a little over a month ago. She was still allowed yard time and meals with the other prisoners, but she was chained at all times.
Also strange, considering Aelin wasn’t the type to do anything randomly.
Rowan watched the security tapes he’d strong armed the guards into giving him, going through the past few days to see how she’d gotten out of her cell to rob him.
He watched as she was escorted to the yard, watched as she ate breakfast and lunch and dinner alone, watched as she put herself through vigorous training in her cell.
Days of footage, and he didn’t find anything.
Feeling like a bit of a creep, he watched the nighttime footage of her sleeping, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.
She didn’t move too much or too little–both of which would indicate it wasn’t really her under that thin blanket. There were no attempts to pick the locks in between her wrists and ankles, no digging into the wall behind her toilet.
Nothing.
Which meant someone was helping her.
He could go through the official channels and ask the police for her known connections, but he hadn’t reported either of the robberies yet.
Partly because he wanted to deal with her himself, partly because he felt a bit stupid getting robbed from a woman in the most secure prison in the city.
Which means he’d have to go about it a different way.
Grabbing his keys from his desk, he debated how else he could make her miserable, unfortunately finding nothing else he could do to her, no revenge he could get from robbing her tiny little cell.
No, he’d have to try something new.
Maybe he could bribe her into confessing. She didn’t have anything right now, but maybe he could give her something to lose.
He’d bring her lunch, force himself to apologize for yelling at her, and just politely ask who her accomplice was.
He thought on it as he rode down the elevator to the garage. It probably wouldn’t work, but he didn’t know what else to do.
And besides, he knew from experience Aelin didn’t respond well to his anger.
Checking his email to make sure he wasn’t missing any important meetings, he pressed the button on his car fob, expecting to hear the resounding beep from his designated parking spot.
Except the beep never came.
Slowly looking up, Rowan had to amend his earlier statement.
Nowhe didn’t think he’d ever been so pissed off in his life.
He stormed over to the security booth, hardly refraining from grabbing the man inside and throwing him to the ground.
“Where’s my car, Rolland?”
“In your spot, boss,” the stout little man replied instantly and surely, snapping his gum and looking at him in confusion. “Haven’t seen you drive out yet.”
“Yes, exactly. Which is why it’s a mystery why it’s no longer in it’s spot.”
Rolland caught up slowly. “You mean… it was stolen? From here? From you?”
Jaw so tight his molars were practically fused together, Rowan growled, “Just let me see the security tapes from this morning.”
The guard nodded quickly, eyes nervous as he typed something into the desktop in front of him.
“That’s weird,” he muttered a moment later, typing faster and sending Rowan a nervous glance.
“What?” he asked, trying to calm himself down with a few of the breathing techniques he’d learned over the years.
“The tapes are gone, but there’s… this.”
Rolland turned the screen so Rowan could see it, and all the breathing in the world couldn’t keep him from slamming a fist into the side of the security shack.
The footage was gone, and on the blank black screen read: Bishop to J7.
He was going to fucking kill her.
~Aelin~
“Enjoy your taxi ride here?” she asked sweetly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs.
Rowan scowled at her as he crossed the small room inmates could use to talk to their lawyers. He yanked the chair across from her out, then threw himself into it. “You are such a pain in my ass.”
She just shrugged.
He sat across from her, angry and broody, and for a long time, he just stared at her.
Finally he asked, “Why are you doing this, Aelin?”
“I told you. You locked me up for something I didn’t do. I want you to be as miserable as I am. It’s simple, petty revenge.”
Nothing about it was simple, but that was besides the point.
He was quiet for another moment. “Why now?”
She sighed, but she wasn’t upset. Truthfully, she’d been waiting for him to ask that question.
“I want to tell you a story.”
He stood up suddenly, face exasperated. “I’m not fucking joking around. And I’m not going to let you waste any more of my time.”
He made his way to the door, and his dismissal of her pissed her off enough to say, “Sit down, or your car’s going off Whigsby Bridge.”
He smiled like he’d won their little game. “So you admit you have it.”
“Sure,” she said casually, honestly not giving a shit about the car.
His brow furrowed. “You’re giving up? Just like that?”
“You’re a fucking idiot if you think this is about your car, Rowan. But sure, I admit I know exactly where it, and your bed, and your little dagger are being hidden.”
He narrowed his eyes. “This conversation is being recorded, and you just admitted to being an accessory to robbery, so-”
“You aren’t going to press charges,” she cut him off, pulling a cigarette out of her pocket and lighting it.
Nasty little prison habit she’d developed, smoking.
Or maybe she just did it because she knew he hated the smell.
“Oh, really?” he asked incredulously, eyeing the cigarette with disdain.
She grinned. “Once you sit and hear my story and realize I’m telling the truth, you’re going to feel so guilty you won’t even care about the car. Now sit down. I’d hate to see a classic get totaled because you’re being stubborn again.”
He glared at her, but came back to the table and sat down again.
Then reached over and snatched the cigarette from her lips, putting it out against the steel table top.
She just pulled out another, lighting it with one of her last matches. The irritation on his face made it worth the loss.
He waved a hand as if to say Get on with it.
She’d debated how to tell him this story for a long time. It was long, and messy and not particularly pleasant for her. But she wanted him to know the full thing, so she’d decided to start at the very beginning.
“My parents died when I was four,” she began, ignoring his dramatic sigh. “I went into foster care, and as you can imagine, I was a particularly unruly child.”
She smiled at the few memories she had. “I stole from the nuns, snuck out of my room at night and ran through the house, set all the clocks back an hour so we could sleep in. Small stuff. But it irritated them, because they couldn’t prove it was me.”
“Sounds familiar,” he grouched, making her grin.
“I was adopted by Arobynn Hamel a year later.”
As she’d predicted, his mouth fell open at that.
Arobynn was the known king of the underworld in Rifthold. He had a hand in every aspect of crime, yet no one could do anything about it because he never committed the crime himself.
His name was revered, so much so no one ever dared to cross him.
“But your record says-”
“That I stayed in foster care until I turned eighteen, I know.”
Arobynn hated public records and had a deal with someone in the system that he’d take some of the kids off their hands if they kept quiet about it. Illegal as hell, but he wasn’t someone you refused without suffering serious consequences.
It was the perfect crime. No one would miss unwanted kids, and it gave the system one less mouth to feed.
“I didn’t know it, but he’d been watching me for a while. He… I don’t know, saw something in me. Natural, innocent talent he could work with and turn into something different. He adopted me on my fifth birthday. And then he started training me.”
“To do what?” Rowan asked, shoulders tensing.
“Everything,” she answered with a shaky laugh, taking a long drag from her cigarette. “Stuff I wanted to learn, like how to pick a lock or walk without making sound. But as I got older, he taught me other stuff. Stuff I didn’t want to know.”
“How to kill,” he finished, picking up on her tone.
She nodded, finishing her cigarette and flicking the butt on the floor.
“I was good,” she told him quietly, looking down at the table. “By the time I was fifteen, he said I was the best he’d ever had. None of his other… children could beat me in a fight, not even the older ones who had a hundred pounds on me. And I could steal anything and not leave a trace.”
His eyes didn’t show an ounce of doubt, and she didn’t know how to feel about it. But she kept going anyway.
“I was his favorite. I was his best asset, and I didn’t care about anything that would compromise me. I lost my parents, and despite how much he wanted me to, I never loved him. I had no weaknesses. Except Sam.”
“Another of his students?” Rowan asked, and it wasn’t lost on her he said students instead of children.
She nodded. “We were adopted around the same time, grew up together. He was a year older, and whenever I had a problem, he was the one I’d turn to. He was good to me, and by the time I was seventeen, not a small part of me loved him.”
Aelin broke off and took a deep breath, wishing she had another cigarette and trying to figure out how to put into words how much he’d meant to her.
“Was?” Rowan asked, so softly and quietly and understandingly that she was reminded of the man he’d once been, the one she’d loved.
Shaking her head to clear it, she said, “He made a mistake. He went on a job; he was supposed to break into one of the underground casino’s owned by Arobynn’s competitor and memorize the ledger, but he got caught. It was messy and horrible and stupid, and the owner wanted blood. Arobynn promised he’d kill Sam as retribution.”
Rowan’s eyes widened, almost like he hadn’t realized how brutally she’d been raised until that moment.
“I begged him not to. Sam had saved me and helped me so many times that I couldn’t not do the same for him. I told him I’d do anything.”
She studied her hands, regret and guilt thick on her skin. “Arobynn said if I took ten of the jobs Sam was supposed to do, he wouldn’t kill him. I thought they’d be similar to the one he’d messed up on, small break-ins or robberies. So I accepted.”
A tear rolled down her cheek, and she batted it away as she continued, “The second I shook his hand, Tern–another of Arobynn’s–shot Sam in the head.”
Rowan’s face blanched so quickly, she thought he might pass out.
He started to say something, but she spoke faster. “I… snapped. I killed Tern, tried to kill Arobynn. You called me a murderer, and that’s true. I am, and I don’t regret it. Tern was a sadistic bastard, and I’m glad he’s dead. And one day, I’ll kill Arobynn for what he did.”
Rowan shook his head, confusion and shock and something similar to pity in his eyes. “Why didn’t you leave, run away?”
She leveled a look at him. “I didn’t exactly have a choice, Rowan. My punishment for Tern lasted for over a year.”
There was a long pause.
“Punishment?” he asked in a breathless voice that made something in her chest hurt.
She looked at the table again, skin pebbling at the memory of that year. “He locked me in a cell in the basement, in the dark. Once a month he’d come in to ask if I knew someone named Sam. It took me ten months to get confused, another three to say no.”
Still not meeting his eyes, she looked at his hands, noticing they were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. And a part of her, buried under all the rage and resentment and sadness, warmed at the thought that he was… he was angryfor her.
“It took me a long time after to figure out what was real and what wasn’t. But Arobynn never let me forget our deal. And right before I met you, he told me the first job.”
“What were the jobs?”
Aelin looked back up at that, the air thick between them as she said, “You already know.”
“The murders.”
She nodded, somehow managing to keep her spine straight despite the feeling of a hundred pound weight being lifted from her shoulders.
He at least knows why now, she thought to herself.
It was one of the things that had bothered her over the years. That he didn’t know why she’d done what he thought she’d done. That he thought she’d.. wanted to do it.
He was silent for a long time, just watching her with a carefully emotionless face. “Thank you for telling me that,” he said eventually. “I never could understand why.”
Then he stood and walked to the door again, and it was only when his hand was on the handle she spoke again. “You asked why I’m doing this, and why I’m doing it now.”
He opened the door but paused. Waited.
“It’s because I tried to tell you this all those years ago, and you didn’t care. You just assumed I was guilty because the evidence looked like it.”
She spoke around the lump in her throat. “I told you I didn’t kill those people, Rowan, and you didn’t even care.”
He spun around, slamming the door so hard it rattled, and in a split second, he was in front of her. A hand on the table, the other on her chair, he leaned down and got in her face.
He was so angry, so unbelievably enraged she couldn’t believe it. Hewas angry?
“I didn’t care? I didn’t fucking care, that’s what you think? Watching you get dragged away in cuffs was the worst moment of my life, and you think I didn’t fucking care?”
Shock hit her like a bucket of ice water.
That moment was crystal clear in her mind, and she couldn’t put what he was saying with what she knew.
He’d watched her with that same expressionless face, with cold eyes that had haunted her ever since.
She opened her mouth to say something, but he wasn’t done.
“I fucked loved you! I thought you were the love of my life, Aelin. I begged you to tell me something that would help, tell meanything. But you didn’t! You just kept saying you were innocent; you didn’t give me anythingto actually work with.”
“I-”
“I found that stupid fucking list five days before I reported it, did you know that?”
She shook her head, because she hadn’t.
“Exactly. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he growled, eyes flashing. “I spent five days investigating it myself, trying to make sense of why you’d know those names. After your arrest, I spent two weeks trying to find anything, a single piece of evidence, that said it wasn’t you. And after the trial, I spent another two months trying to poke holes in my own goddamn case.”
He slammed a hand into the table. “I did everything I fucking could! I was desperatefor it not to be you. I argued my case so your lawyer could plead circumstantial evidence. I put you on the stand so you could say anything you wanted. I went for life sentences instead of the death penalty to give you time to actually tell me what the hell was going on!”
She was breathing heavily, heart breaking and reforming over and over again at what he was saying, what he was implying.
“I didn’t assumeshit,” he said in a low voice, so close they shared air. “You didn’t tell me anything.”
Aelin’s voice trembled as she croaked, “I tried.”
He shook his head, letting out a breath of amusement. “No, you didn’t. If this past week has proven anything, it’s that you don’t tryto do anything, you do it. You didn’t tell me anything, Aelin. You’re stillnot telling me anything.”
“I’m telling you to look again! I’m telling you you didn’t look hard enough, because I left breadcrumbs only you could find, breadcrumbs that explain everything.”
“Stop playing games with me!” he shouted, eyes flashing with a fresh wave of anger. “It’s been eight years! Stop holding onto whatever secret you’re holding onto and just tellme!”
Gods, she wanted to.
He was the one person she couldn’t trust with this secret, this stupid, most important secret, and yet he was the also the one person she wanted to tell it to.
She opened her mouth to tell him, but what came out was, “I didn’t kill them, Rowan. I promise I didn’t kill them. I can’t… I can’t tell you anything else.”
“Jesus, Aelin,” he spat, pushing off the table and turning to leave.
“Just look into it,” she called after him, fingers digging into the table to resist the urge to try and follow him. “I promise you can figure everything out, and you’ll understand everything. Please.”
She knew why, after all this time, it was so important for him to know the truth when that hadn’t been her original plan.
It was because she’d spent eight years believing he hadn’t tried, believing she hadn’t been a good enough person for him to even look into the possibility it wasn’t her.
And maybe it was because he was once again leaving her, or maybe it was because she felt like she was in that courtroom again, begging him to believe her, or maybe it was because of something she didn’t even understand yet.
Regardless of the reason, she found herself saying, “I loved you, too, you know.”
He looked at her with sad eyes that she was sure mirrored her own and shook his head. “Not enough, apparently.”
“You don’t believe that,” she argued, shaking her head and trying to keep the building emotions down.
“If you’d loved me, you would’ve told me. You would’ve given me the proof, whatever breadcrumbs you’re talking about. You wouldn’t have let me watch them take you away.”
“Rowan-”
“You wouldn’t have thought, for a second, that I didn’t try to fight for you. And you sure as hell wouldn’t have waited eight years to do whatever it is you’re trying to do.”
“I had to,” she whispered, even as she knew it wouldn’t be enough.
She shook with the effort to not tell him everything, but even after all he’d told her and how everything had changed, she just couldn’t. Not yet.
He stood at the door, watching her with those eyes she’d once thought looked like the most beautiful emeralds. “Sometimes I think about it, you know. What life would be like if I hadn’t tried to fix your sink in the middle of the night.”
She smiled sadly. “Me too.”
Rowan shook his head, gaze taking in her face like he thought he’d never see her again.
He thought it was over now, she realized. He thought that now she knew he hadn’t given up on her immediately, now that she’d told him the story she’d wanted to tell him, that it was over and she’d give up.
“Look again,” she whispered. “You know I didn’t do it. It’s why you’re here, why you kept looking after the trial ended. You knowI wouldn’t.”
“Goodbye, Aelin,” he said instead, not telling her any of the things she really wanted to hear.
It wasn’t until the door shut behind him she finally let herself cry.
She’d told herself that it didn’t matter; that in a month the truth would come out and everything would be normal again.
She’d told herself she was only messing with Rowan for revenge, not because she wanted to see him again or test that he’d find the clues she’d left for him.
She’d told herself this was just a game.
She’d told herself all sorts of things that turned out to be lies.
Synopsis: Aelin Galathynius never thought of herself as a vengeful woman. Until her boyfriend not only testifies, but leads a case against her that lands her in prison for the rest of her life. Post I-Love-You’s. He didn’t believe her, and she’s about to show him that not only is she innocent, he made the worst mistake of his life betting against her. To a woman with nothing but time, life’s just a game, after all.
The cinderblock wall dug into her back uncomfortably as she reclined against it, the air in the room was stale, and she hadn’t showered in two days. By any measurement, Aelin Galathynius was far from her best.
And yet she somehow managed to look perfectly at ease–happy even–as she lounged in her cell, toying with the ends of her too-long hair.
It was a ruse, of course, just a little trick to piss off the man currently stomping into her space. By the flare of Rowan Whitehorn’s eyes, it worked.
“Hello, Rowan,” she greeted pleasantly, giving him a little smile and acting like it wasn’t taking everything in her not to use the makeshift knife under her pillow to gut him like the spineless coward he was.
She could tell, even across her 8x12 cell, that he was gritting his teeth and fighting a similar action.
The heel of his expensive Italian loafers clicked as he walked across the space to the small table and took a seat at the steel chair in front of it. He tried to push it out further, but stopped when he realized it was bolted to the floor.
“Aelin,” he said back, none of the so-obvious anger he was feeling present in his voice. “Been a long time.”
Eight years, six months, three weeks, two days, and thirteen hours.
Not that she was counting or anything.
She nodded her agreement, reclining further on the bed and crossing her legs as if she was in the finest dress she owned, not a faded orange jumpsuit.
“What brings you to my side of town, Rowan? Here to finally switch sides and represent me?”
Dressed in a two-thousand dollar suit and tie, hair perfectly gelled back, he looked like he was successful a lawyer meeting with a wealthy client, but they both knew the last thing he’d ever do was work for her.
“You know why I’m here.”
She did indeed, but she still said, “I must be exceptionally smart to know why you’ve come all the way here-”
“Cut the shit,” he snapped, finally losing a bit of his cool. He regained it quickly, though, and continued, “I want to know how you did it.”
She frowned at her split ends. “Did what?”
Rowan waited until she looked at him to respond. “You know what.”
Sighing so deeply it should’ve rattled the walls, she said, “I can’t believe I’ve spent the last eight years thinking you underestimated my intelligence. You clearly think I’m some sort of oracle genius.”
Rowan mimicked her sigh, and she bit her lip to stifle a laugh.
Probably trying to stall, he spent a moment looking at her cell, at the completely bare walls and lack of photographs. All she had was the tally marks drawn in pencil on one wall and a dusty chess set sitting on the table.
When he’d taken inventory of those two things, he sat and just looked at her.
It was clear she wouldn’t admit to knowing exactly why he sat in front of her, and he was simply putting off being the one to fold.
Predictable, proud little man.
Eventually, he took his loss and said, “I want to know how you managed to rob me from inside the most secure prison in Rifthold.”
She smiled, a full, undulated smile she hadn’t used in a long time.
She’d been planning this moment since the day the bars had locked behind her, and it felt damn good to finally see it come to fruition.
According to what she’d heard, definitely not what she knew from personal experience, the private vault in Rowan’s apartment had been broken into. Apparently, only one thing was missing: an antique dagger that had been handed down in the family and was now worth over a million bucks.
“Why do you think it was me?” she asked, still smiling.
He gritted his teeth some more, and she internally snickered at the idea he’d have permanent tooth damage because of her. Something else to remember her by.
Green eyes spitting flames at her, he growled, “You left a goddamn business card.”
Aelin forced her eyes up to the empty bed above her head, trying her hardest not to laugh. “Maybe I’m being framed?”
“Your fingerprints were on it.”
She did laugh then, then laughed some more when his eyes narrowed. He looked like he was about to strangle her. “Rowan, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m incarcerated.”
She gestured around them to her cell to prove her point.
The bastard just smiled.
Of course he knows that, she thought bitterly, forcing her hand back to her lap and away from where it’d started to creep toward the pillow.
“So how would I rob you?” she asked, getting her mind back on track.
“That’s what you’re going to tell me,” he demanded angrily. “I want to know how you got out of here, got all the way across Rifthold, broke into my apartment, and stole from me without any surveillance camera picking it up.”
Aelin ran a hand through her hair, fluffing it just right. When she caught sight of the impatience on his face, she fluffed it some more and readjusted the thin jacket on her shoulders.
It was always too damn cold in this place. She hadn’t been warm in almost nine years.
Because of him.
Just for that, she fluffed her hair some more.
Then she said simply, “I didn’t.”
“Stop lying!” he shouted at her, eyes flashing.
She wasn’t, but that was besides the point.
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes like he’d won. “I got my cousin to-”
“Aedion spent the night in Wendlyn. His travel is verified, and there are at least a hundred eye witnesses that witnessed him singing karaoke all night. Stop. Fucking. Lying.”
Once again, she wasn’t lying.
Aedion sure as hell hadn’t been in Wendlyn last night. She’d just wanted to make sure his alibi was air-tight as planned.
Sighing again, she asked, “Rowan, even if I did do it, why the hell would I tell you about it?”
His jaw worked for a moment, and she could tell whatever he was about to say was difficult for him. “I’ll get time off your sentence if you tell me what you’ve done with it.”
She tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t help it.
It burst out of her, full and uncontrollable, and she flopped over on the dirty mattress and howled for a good few minutes.
He glared at her, looking for all the world like he was experiencing a portion of the rage she was made of, but regardless of the threat in his eyes, she took her time composing herself.
“I’m serving ten consecutive life sentences, you idiot.”
One for each and every one of her “victims.”
“I’ll make it nine,” he offered generously.
“Even if I was a cat, that’d still leave me dying in a prison cell. Offer me something else.”
He just glared at her, unwilling to give her anything she could actually use or want. Just like she’d expected.
“That’s what I thought. So no, Rowan Whitehorn, I’m not accepting your little deal. You can think I robbed you all you want; hell, you can even know, in your famous gut, that I did it.” She tilted her head, a cruel smile filling her lips. “But it isn’t about what you believe, it’s about what you can prove. Isn’t that right?”
His eyes shuttered at the words, and just like that, they were sucked into the memory of all those years ago.
~Eight years ago~
~Rowan~
Rowan rolled over, edging away from the woman next to him carefully as to not wake her.
Her hair was spread out on his chest, her soft hand was on his stomach, and her leg was draped over his. By all accounts, she was all over him.
And it felt so fuckinggood.
He’d never met anyone like Aelin before. Anyone so full of life, so hilariously open.
It was like she was constantly on fire, flitting from one place to the next with endless energy and jabs about him being too old and slow.
“What are you going?” she murmured, nails digging in slightly to keep him where he was.
“To get some water. Go back to sleep.”
He leaned down and kissed her brow, and she sighed happily and rolled over. Like a total cliché, he watched her sleep for a moment, trying to get his feelings under control.
They’d been seeing each other for less than a year, but he couldn’t imagine his life without her. He was in love with her, and if the way she acted and smiled around him was any indication, she loved him, too.
He ran a thumb over her cheekbone, smiling when she tilted her face into his touch.
He was whipped, and he didn’t even care.
Rowan shook his head at himself, pulled on a pair of boxers, padded to the kitchen, and held a glass under the faucet.
Then frowned as it sputtered.
He figured he’d at least make himself useful, knowing damn well she would never agree to call the plumber when she could “figure out how to fix it herself on Youtube.”
So he knelt down in her kitchen and opened the cabinet door, trying to see what the problem with the pipe was.
Except he never got that far.
His eyes got stuck on the piece of paper sticking out under a false piece of wood covering the back panel.
Knowing it was wrong to pry but somehow unable to stop himself, he tugged the paper loose.
Then fell backwards to his ass, heart hammering and brain spinning as he read it over and over again.
The list of names wasn’t long, but all ten of the people on it were highly distinguished members of society.
And they were all dead.
He wouldn’t know that, since the death of the last person on the list wasn’t even public record yet, but he was the attorney working with the police to find the killer.
Why did she have this list?
And what did the numbers next to the names mean?
One way or another, he knew he had to find out. He also knew he couldn’t ask her. He was in too deep, too unbiased to know whether or not she was lying.
He didn’t trust himself with her, so he’d have to go the traditional route.
He took a picture of the paper quickly, tucking it back where he’d found it. He snuck back in the room to get dressed, leaving her a note he had to go to work.
He thought he was going to be sick as he left her apartment, a feeling suspiciously similar to dread coiling in his stomach.
There was only one way she could know that last name, only one explanation that made sense.
But he hadto know for sure. Had to know if he’d been an idiot this past year; an idiot who’d spent almost every night sleeping next to the killer he’d been searching for.
So he started investigating his girlfriend.
Six days later, he found the security deposit boxes and the murder weapons inside, still covered in dried blood that would be matched to the victims. All with Aelin’s prints on them.
Two days after that, the woman he’d thought was the love of his life was arrested on ten counts of murder.
Despite the tears she shed, despite the promises she made to him, despite the love she claimed to have for him, Rowan told the cops everything.
Even though he couldn’t imagine her killing anyone.
“It doesn’t matter what I believe, it matters what I can prove.”
That was the last thing he’d said to her, right as she was being dragged out of the court room and yelling at him to believe her.
The truth of the matter was that when it came down to it, he didn’t trust her enough. The facts were against her, everyone on the jury had been against her, and in the end, Rowan was too.
~Present~
~Aelin~
Rowan shook his head, almost like he needed to clear it from the memory they’d obviously both been immersed in, and she smiled.
She hoped what happened all those years ago still haunted him, hoped he went to sleep at night thinking about her and the betrayal he’d served to her on a silver platter.
The first year of her sentence, she was so lost in emotion–in the rage and confusion and deep, deep hurt–that she couldn’t bring herself to do anything.
He hadn’t even bothered to ask her first. That’s what had hurt the worst.
He’d seen that stupid, stupid list and had jumped to the first conclusion possible.
She knew it had looked bad, had looked like she was guilty, but she’d thought that if the worst happened, he’d at least ask her to explain before slapping the cuffs on her.
But he hadn’t. She’d gone to prison, and his career had exploded into stardom from the success of the case.
“See, Rowan, when you refused to accept any other explanation other than the easy one, you made a mistake. Because I didn’t kill those people.”
He rolled his eyes. “Aelin-”
“And I’m not only going to prove it,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “I’m going to ruin your precious little life while I do it. Just like you did mine.”
She stood, put a hand on the steel table, and leaned over him.
“If you want it to stop, all you have to do is drop these bullshit murder charges and issue a public apology for locking me up in the first place.”
He stood too, so close his loafers brushed the toe of her dusty, prison issued sneakers.
“That’s never going to happen,” he promised, voice uncompromising and angry.
Aelin smiled, having predicted his reaction down to the facial expression.
His pride, she’d decided, would be the first thing to go.
She reached around him to slide the pawn on the chess board forward, leaned in even further, and whispered, “Let the game begin, then.”
Hawk & Sparrow [Rowan Whitethorn x OC] - Chapter 4
WARNINGS; Fantasy violence, cursing, Mirima doesn’t have self-control and that leads to her burning out a Lot, Rowan avoiding his feelings, Mirima having no idea about her feelings, there’s a lot of feelings being avoided, power dynamics in the relationship.
Her fingertips felt electric. She felt as though the hurricane inside of her was aching to get out, as though she were drowning in her excitement and her fear. Today was the day. Rowan was bringing her a new plaything, a new training partner. It hadn’t happened since she had almost, quite by accident, drowned one of the demi-fae that had come to Mistward.
Apparently she wasn’t supposed to do things like that.
Mirima had gotten up earlier than usual. Her time had been spent at a small pond on the eastside of the fortress. The pond itself was hidden away behind tall trees and dense underbrush. She doubted anyone else knew about it. The only reason she had found it was because the water had called to her. It had sang a soft lullaby that only she could hear. Pulling her to it until she had claimed it as her one spot of solace.
She trained there when she could not stand to be around Rowan and the others, or when Rowan could not stand to be around her. It was the one place she felt at peace. The one place where she didn’t have to worry about losing control. Although, if she did, she would certainly be dead. The pond that was her safehaven could easily became her tomb. She just didn’t think about that sort of thing.
She sat on the banks, not minding the mud’s coldness seeping through her breeches. Her eyes were closed, her legs crossed, and her breathing focused for the first time in quite a long time. Mirima could feel the currents in the pond as though they were the breaths in her lungs. She felt as though she could hear each movement, feel the ripples whenever the wind blew. She was connected in a way that should’ve been impossible. Perhaps it was and she just didn’t realize it.
As she focused, water began to lift slowly from the pond. It formed a shield around her, droplets occasionally falling on her head. She didn’t notice them, didn’t notice anything but the way it felt as though she was protected.
The water began to float away from the protective shield, forming shapes in the sky. Mirima always loved to have fun with her power, Rowan often scolded her for it. He never wanted her to be wistful, never wanted to watch as she dreamed her life away. Maybe that was a part of being in the cadre. There was no time for dreaming, only time for destroying the parts of yourself that couldn’t be changed. Maybe there was a good reason why he didn’t want her following his path.
But Mirima could not believe that. She could only believe that she was destined for something more than this. More than sitting around and behaving like a lady, more than watering plants or acting as though she was something other than a weapon waiting to be crafted. She knew that she could be useful. She knew that she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life hiding in Varnsway. She wanted more. Wanted romance, adventure, love, lust, and being whoever she was meant to be. She wanted to be the person in her father’s stories. The hero who set off on adventure, not the damsel who was left behind.
If Rowan had it his way, she would be locked in a tower never to see the light of day. She didn’t understand why he acted as though she were nothing more than a spoiled brat. Why he treated her as though she needed protection and as though she was not smart enough to wield a blade. Maybe it was just because he was a pompous idiot. Or maybe he didn’t want to see her hurt. Although, the latter was far too ridiculous for Mirima to ever truly believe.
Rowan cared for no one but himself. She knew that firsthand.
“Mirima Floros!” His voice rattled the trees, sending ripples through her pond. He was angry at her and it wasn’t even eight in the morning. “Hellas, where are you?!"
Mirima’s concentration broke, the water falling. It soaked her to the bone but she stood and hurried from her hiding spot anyway. She hadn’t realized how late it was getting. She hadn’t realized that she was late for her training session. It was perhaps the fifth time it had happened in all the years she had been working with him. She knew that he would not take any excuses. All he would do was make her run laps until she vomited or give her that look that killed her. He’d be disappointed in her. That always seemed to hurt more than his anger ever could.
"More like where were you,” she kept her voice casual as she slipped out from her hiding spot. “I was waiting for hours, but you know how bored I get.”
Rowan gave her a look, his eyes half-closed in anger while his lips were thinner than she had ever seen them before. His fists were clenched, his tattoo standing out as he went pale with his anger. She wondered if she needed to be afraid of him. But Rowan wouldn’t actually do anything to her. He never had before at least.
She may have just humiliated him in front of someone quite important though.
A woman stood behind Rowan. She was Mirima’s height, with blonde hair that was a few shades darker than Mirima’s own, and eyes that were the shade of turquoise ringed with gold. Mirima didn’t need to be a genuis to figure out the secret that the woman was hiding. Her Ashryver eyes were a dead giveaway to her heritage. Even if she was not the lost princess, she could be someone very important to the lost kingdom of Terrasen.
“Is this my new partner?” Mirima questioned, quickly taking control before Rowan could start berating her for being late or for her appearance. She would hear it later, she knew it. But for now, she would be the perfect little soldier. Well, as perfect as she could be after already disobeying enough to earn more than just a tongue lashing.
“Lillian,” the woman said casually enough. She didn’t seem to care about Mirima’s appearance. If anything, she seemed to be uninterested in Mirima entirely. It was slightly insulting.
“Mirima Floros, at your service,” she gave her new partner a dramatic, sweeping bow. Droplets of water flung from her head, landing on Rowan and Lillian.
“Mirima,” Rowan’s voice was tight, his anger so close to the surface that she knew she should be at least a tiny bit concerned. “Might I have a word with you, in private?”
A warning bell sounded in her mind. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say or do if Rowan decided that he’d had enough. What if he told her that she was done? That she had to go back to Varnsway. She was certain that she wouldn’t. She’d run straight to Doranelle and beg Maeve for another trainer, for someone else to give her a chance that Rowan wouldn’t. But she didn’t know if she would be able to truly do it or not. His dismissal may just crush her and keep her from ever coming back.
She followed after him, having to jog to keep up with him. He stopped at an outcropping of trees. Lillian stood some feet away, still in eyesight but not in hearing distance. Mirima could only hope it would stay that way if he were to yell.
“What in hellas were you doing?” Rowan’s voice was deadly quiet. She hated it when he got that mad. It always made her feel as though she was going to to tear her hair out. She’d much rather him scream at her, to make her feel as though she was actually in trouble instead of just acting as though she had disappointed in.
“I was practicing,” she knew she sounded like a child. Mirima hated herself for it. “I just … I lost track of time. I know it was a rookie mistake, but I was doing it, Row. I was actually shielding myself like you want me to.”
Rowan’s brow twitched. The only sign that she had said something that he either did or didn’t like. She could never tell what those little brow twitches meant. Even if she’d been trying to learn for years. She had been trying to learn the secrets of Rowan Whitethorn as though they were the world’s greatest mystery. Perhaps he was a mystery that was just for her to solve. No one else could ever come close.
She knew that she infuriated him. That she got under his skin more than most people did. She knew that she was everything he had ever hated about people. But she knew that he loved her. Maybe not enough to admit it to himself, but he’d had to of grown fond of her in all the time they’d spent together. They were more than just a trainer and his trainee. They were friends.
At the very least she thought so.
“You know better than this, Mirima,” Rowan growled out, his teeth clenched and his eyes dark with anger. She knew that she had messed up, but she had figured it would be nothing to get so angry over. “What would have happened if you had burned out? What would you have done had you lost control with no one around to save you?”
This was their problem. They both knew how to make the other see red, how to keep the other from relaxing. Mirima had always been able to get under his skin but she had never thought that he would turn her tricks against her. She should’ve. He did it more often than not. They were like fire and ice when they were together. Nothing they could do or say would change this.
“I don’t need anyone to save me,” she snapped, her eyes nearly glowing with the rage she felt at the accusation. “I’ve never needed your help before and I certainly don’t need it now."
"Except to get into the Cadre,” Rowan replied smoothly. “Except to gain control of your power, or to keep yourself from dying when it becomes too much.”
She didn’t know why they were doing this. Why they had picked today of all days to air out any grievance they had. Rowan must have been under an extraordinary amount of pressure if this was what he chose to do with his morning. Mirima doubted they’d be fighting otherwise. Although, she was normally quite wrong about those sorts of things.
“If you have something you wish to tell me, you should say it,” Mirima’s fists clenched at her sides. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t begin to imagine all the things that Rowan Whitethorn had not yet said. What would she do if he decided that she was not worth his time? What would she do if he decided that taking her on had been a mistake? She knew that he already felt as though it were a punishment. He had just kept her on longer than anyone had expected.
“I just wish you would grow up,” Rowan stated, his anger receding enough for him to speak calmly. Perhaps that was why it felt as though Mirima had been slapped in the face. She wasn’t sure where this had come from. She didn’t know why she even cared about what he thought of her. It’s not like Rowan was important, besides being the only one standing in the way of her dream.
Mirima stared at him, unblinkingly. She had no words for what he had said. No way to prove that he was wrong and that she was more than what he saw standing before him. She had no witty comeback, no words that could say that she thought he was the worst person on the planet. All she had was the knowledge that she had controlled it. She had done what he assumed was impossible. All without ever blinking an eye.
But Rowan would not know this. She found it so difficult to do when he was watching her. She wanted to show off, to show how powerful she was. She didn’t know if she was trying to impress him or if he got under her skin to the point where she just no longer wanted to do anything he told her. But she had to stop. She had to be better. To prove herself to the man who would never let her become who she wanted to be. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that Rowan Whitethorn would sooner die than say she was good enough for the cadre. She just didn’t know why he thought this way.
She straightened her spine, looking him dead in the eye. Maybe once she would have been afraid of him. Maybe she would have told him off and kept him questioning what she would and wouldn’t do. But this time, she was determined to shock him in another way.
“Fine.” Mirima did not wait to be dismissed, instead turning on her heel and marching back over to Lillian. He could hope she’d become someone else. She might even fool him into thinking that she had. All of the impossible fighting had to stop. She would prove that she did not need him, that she was fully capable of taking care of herself. She would do what she had to do. If it meant getting as far from Rowan Whitethorn as possible, she would do it. There was no way she could continue to live like this. Within his shadow, never being the person that she was destined to be.
Within the year, she decided, she would be welcomed into the cadre. Rowan would be unable to keep her from it. She would prove herself to everyone. Gavriel, Lorcan, Fenrys, anyone who would listen to her. Anyone who would see her as something more than just a girl with too much water in her brain.
Mirima had no idea if any of this was possible. But it had to be. She had to be able to stop this from continuing. Rowan would end up having her waste the rest of her life in this horrible way. Fighting him, day and night, for the chance that he would let her do something. Anything.
It was time for her to stop listening to him and to do what she did best. Create a scene. One that would capture Queen Maeve’s attention and make her realize that she was the perfect person for the cadre. She’d do anything, be anyone she had to be. But right now, it just meant stifling herself to fit Rowan’s perception of her and how things were supposed to go.
“Lillian,” Mirima said cheerfully, all evidence of the fight wiped from her. She wouldn’t let anyone see that Rowan had gotten under her skin.
She could feel his eyes on her, could feel the heat of his glare. It was almost like a warm breath of fresh, summer air. Or like a kiss on the forehead from someone who had once promised to protect you. Mirima often felt this way when Rowan was angry with her. She knew it shouldn’t have felt like she had done something right, but it often did. It was just another thing that was going to have to change. After all, she couldn’t allow Rowan’s anger to be the thing that kept her from her goals.
“How much training have you had before?” She questioned, leading the woman to her favorite place to train. Well, favorite was perhaps the wrong word. It was filled with rocks, looking more like a shrine than anything. Something haunted those lands, made it more dangerous to be there. Rowan had only trained her there once. Her first ever day training to be a member of the cadre. She’d seen her greatest fears brought to life but still she had decided to stay, to fight.
She’d nearly drowned herself in the process.
It briefly occurred to her that Rowan had kept doing things that tested her mettle. His training was more than just physical. She had been turned into a weapon of war mentally a long time ago. Well, perhaps she was on her way to being one. Her temper needed more work, she needed to care less about what others thought of her and actually work towards her goals.
“Enough.” Lillian was not a talkative woman, that much was for certain. Mirima had always believed that a princess would do nothing but talk. She’d assume they would be bubbly and bright. If this truly was Aelin, she was not what Mirima had ever imagined. Perhaps that was a good thing though. After all, she had an entire lost kingdom to save.
“Good,” she replied with a slight smirk. “Rowan might be the most horrible thing in existence, but I won’t deny that his training is sufficient.” Kinder words could have been said, but Mirima was still angry with him. She would stay angry.
Lillian watched her carefully, as though she were an animal. She thought that was quite unfair. Lillian didn’t even know her. How could she begin to judge her for anything that she may or may not have done? She could only imagine that Rowan had spoken about her. That had to be the reason for the instant distrust. It had nothing to do with the fact that Mirima had been soaking wet upon first meeting.
The two women stopped, Mirima stepping away to give her some semblance of space, waiting for Rowan. She said nothing as he followed after them, nor did she look at him when he began to explain what he wanted from the other woman. Mirima was somewhat curious why he did not have a challenge for her. Hadn’t she needed more training? Hadn’t he been concerned about her in some capacity? Or was his new project going to take up too much of his time?
A coldness began to spread in her stomach. It felt as though she could not draw enough breath. She didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like she hadn’t expected something like this. She didn’t understand why she felt this way. After having decided that she no longer cared for him, how could she begin to feel as though he was abandoning her? Maybe he had a reason for saying she needed to grow up. She didn’t know, nor did she understand how to work out what the feeling growing in her chest was.
Rowan had never been someone she was interested in. She didn’t know anything about him other than the moments they spent together training. How could she begin to think that he owed her any of his time? It was stupid. She was being stupid.
But seeing him with Lillian set her teeth on edge.
“Rowan,” she blurted out his name before her thoughts could wander further. “Can we spare while we wait? I’m worried my swordsmanship isn’t up to par.”
Rowan gave her a look that would freeze Hellas. She knew that a smart woman would have backed down from this gaze. However, Mirima was a reckless woman. She was still smart, but her impulses often got the better of her.
“The only thing you’re going to do is sit there,” Rowan stated, looking away from her. “You need to learn patience and impulse control. You’ll sit there until I tell you otherwise.”
It stung to know that he didn’t trust her to do anything else. That he wanted her to just waste her life sitting in the background. Now, he was officially making her do it. She found that she could not focus on Lillian and her trials. Despite the fact that Rowan seemed to have eyes for nothing else.
She felt sick knowing that he had lied to her. He had said that her training would not be pushed to the wayside and yet, already it was. Mirima knew that it was potentially her own fault. But that still didn’t make it alright. Rowan knew her. He had known her longer than anyone at Mistward. Surely, he would have known that she hadn’t been able to sleep the night before. Surely, he would’ve known exactly what she did when things weighed heavily on her mind. But he didn’t.
As much as she liked to pretend otherwise, Rowan did not know her. They weren’t friends. She was nothing but an assignment to him. She had to fight to keep herself sitting there. Had to fight to hold back the rage-filled tears and the feelings that were twisting her from the inside, the ones that said it would be better to run Lillian through with her sword. She said nothing. She did nothing. She sat there just as Rowan wanted.
She watched as he allowed Lillian to leave. She watched him as he watched his new student. She watched him walk away without once looking back at her.
As night began to fall, Mirima realized what that feeling was. She was jealous. Jealous of a girl that she would never know about a boy that she would never have.
Queen of Serpents || Galan Ashryver x OC [Chapter Seven]
{WARNINGS: adult language, fantasy violence, woman owning her sexuality and her body, woman using her sexuality and body as a weapon, woman saying “fuck emotions i’m scared”, manipulation mentions, toxic main character but she learns, toxic parents, self-harm in the form of self-poisoning, self-hate, fucked up family}
The morning sunlight streamed through her windows, landing on the bed where she should have been. The beauty was lost on the princess. Arya had not slept at all the night before. She had found a place on the left side of her bed where she could sit, saying prayers to gods that she did not believe in as she searched for answers.
Nox and Luna had come to her, curling around her feet as though they were patient dogs. They had been the one saving grace of a horrid night.
She had done it. She had met a man who she could marry and who would see to it that she was the one sitting on the throne. But that wasn’t enough to make her happy. Galan’s face kept replaying in her mind. Whenever she closed her eyes, he was there. Hurt, wounded. The stupid prince who had no idea who she really was. He didn’t deserve her sympathy, he didn’t deserve her empathy. He didn’t know the monster he had allowed into his home. He did not know she was planning murders under his nose.
But none of that seemed to stop her from hating herself. He had been kind to her. He’d smiled when she walked into a room, had wanted nothing more than to make her comfortable. The first person to ever do so. Arya knew that she was being stupid. People like her did not marry for love. They married for power. They married in order to keep their crowns. Galan had not loved her. He hadn’t needed to. All he had to do was woo her and she would have given up her crown for his.
Her parents would have been livid at the disobedience. Their secret would come to life. It was nothing they would ever want. How would they ever come back from their disgrace being found out? Arya didn’t know nor did she care. She couldn’t think about it for too long. Otherwise, the tears would come and she would find herself even more unbearable than normal.
She took a breath, knowing that she needed to pick herself up off the floor. She couldn’t let anyone see how upset she was. It wasn’t like she had a reason to be. Everything was going exactly as planned. She’d done what she had set out to do. So why did she feel as though she’d done everything wrong? Why did it hurt so much to know that she would never again see the Prince of Wendlyn? She didn’t want to unlock that door in her mind. She didn’t need to know why she felt the way she did. It was pointless. She would be who her parents expected her to be. There was nothing she could do about it.
The door to her bed-chamber opened.
“Good morning, dear cousin,” Calanon’s voice was especially grating after a night of no sleep. “I heard all about your engagement. You work quite quickly, don’t you?”
She knew the meaning hidden behind his words. Knew what he thought she had done. It was easier to let him think as he wanted, even if it made her see red. She was a grown woman. If she wanted to use her body, she was going to. Even if that had not been the case in this particular situation.
“He was impressed by my beauty, thank you,” Arya stated as she rose from the floor. Nox and Luna hissed at her cousin before darting underneath the bed. They seemed to hate her cousin nearly as much as she did. “What are you doing here, cousin? It’s improper.”
“I’m your guardian, Arya,” Calanon pointed out as he sat down at the small table reserved for her daily teas. “It’s my duty to check on you whenever I feel necessary.”
“I should have stabbed you,” Arya stated as she stepped to her vanity. “It would have at least made you entertaining.”
“You wound me, cousin,” his eyes were dark as he stared at her through the mirror. She should have known better than to antagonize him. Calanon had already scarred her for life. He would not be afraid of taking her life. Besides, he would more than likely be applauded for taking care of an opponent. Her parents certainly wouldn’t call for his head.
Kalthanen may have been beautiful, but it was ruthless. As long as she killed for her throne, her people would respect her. Her parents would respect her. Simply marrying for it would have caused nothing but contempt. For reasons that Arya didn’t fully understand. She knew that her people wouldn’t care who was ruling them as long as they were taken care of. They were going to miss her before they ever had her sitting on the throne.
Even if she knew she wouldn’t always be what they needed.
“I’ve written your father,” Calanon continued, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on the table. He barely looked at her. He didn’t need to. He had her full attention. “When I receive word back, we’ll head home. For now, you’re to show off your betrothed. Make his family love you and all of that bullshit.”
“You make romance sound so exciting,” Arya stated dryly as she took a seat across from him. She did not bother to look at him. She did not wish to see the way his eyes would sparkle. Nor did she want to see the grin that was surely stretched upon his features. She knew that he would find this whole thing wildly amusing. He would love to watch her suffering.
“It’s not my fault that you ruined any chance at happiness."
"Do you mean Dorian?” Arya’s brow rose slightly as she stared at Calanon’s fingers. It would be so easy to reach forward and break them. To cut them off and leave him howling in pain. She could hurt him in a thousand different ways. But he was stronger than her. He had always been stronger than her and always would be.
“You could’ve ruled all of Adarlan. Everyone knows Dorian isn’t fit to be a king. You would’ve done well there,” it was the kindest thing he had ever said to her. “With you on the throne, we wouldn’t have had to worry about being invaded. Now, we have to hope you’re doing enough with this marriage.”
“Would you rather I marry Galan?” Arya looked at him, annoyance clear on her face.
“Definitely not,” Calanon snorted as he looked at his cousin. “The poor boy wouldn’t be able to control you. You’ve lost your chance at the throne, Arya. Why should you gain another?”
She bristled at his words, wishing she could launch herself across the table. She would murder him the moment they returned to Kalthanen. If she did so while they were still in Wendlyn, it would only cause trouble. Someone would demand an investigation. She would be found guilty, never once believing she would let anyone else go punished for her crime. Arya could take punishment. She had been dealing with it for much longer than anyone had realized.
“I trust you realize that my blades are sharp, cousin,” she said with dark eyes and a darker tone. “And my poisons have always been quite potent.”
His gaze locked on hers, his cheeks were redder than his hair. “You little witch,” he snarled as his right hand disappeared underneath the table.
Arya quickly became aware of the fact that she was unarmed. She knew better than to leave herself defenseless. Especially around her family.
“I knew it was you,” he pulled a dagger from the sheath on his belt. The blade was four inches, deadly sharp, but otherwise unadorned. Kalthanen steel didn’t need decoration when it was deadly. “No one ever believed that you could do it. Bleeding out on your bed should have kept you from retaliating.”
“I never miss an opportunity,” her heart hammered in her chest as she tried to keep a cool composure. He could kill her right there. He was stupid enough to not think about the consequences. She was the planner of the family, not him.
“You could have killed me, Arya!” He stood, his body shaking with rage but the blade deadly still in his grasp. “You had one of your whores do it, didn’t you?”
“Yet, you’re allowed to kill me without thought?” She didn’t bother to stand up. Didn’t bother to run from the dagger that was slowly approaching her. She knew that it would do nothing. Except make her death less honorable.
“You act as though anyone would miss you,” Calanon stalked closer to her. The blade seemed to gleam in the light. “You’re nothing but a whore, Arya. We all know it. We see how you parade about in those dresses, how you tease the men at court. But when it truly matters, it seems like you fail. Why is that, Arya?”
She didn’t answer him. The knife in his grip seemed to be a better option to his words.
“It’s because you’re nothing. You’re a failure to your family. To Kalthanen. You should’ve been taken care of long ago,” he struck then. She barely felt the steel against her cheek, barely felt the sting until warmth began to bloom from the cut.
Calanon looked pleased. His eyes bright and his smile almost feral. There had been several times when Arya thought he would kill her. There had been too many times when he had stood above her with a blade, just waiting to carve into her and turn her into a husk. She had fought back every step of the way. She had never backed down from him and his challenges, from the harsh words he spun.
No matter how badly she wished she could. It wasn’t proper for a Kalthanen princess to stand down.
“It must pain you to know that no matter what I do, I will still be better than you,” Arya’s voice was soft. She knew it was true at least. Kalthanen would never let Calanon sit upon her throne. She’d make damn sure of it. “You should be mindful, cousin. It wouldn’t do to kill me now. Not when you’ll be the only one to blame.”
Calanon’s eyes glinted with hate. How long had he been waiting to strangle her? To quiet her for the final time? She knew that he had been praying for her death for years. She’d heard his hushed prayers in morning temple every mid-week. She knew that he wanted the crown. That she was a stepping stone in his way. With her gone, all he had to do was get Aragorn out of the way. Aragorn would be the easy one.
“Do you really think your father will care?” His voice grated her. He was saying things that she knew to be true. Her father would be glad to be rid of her. “No one will care when the Whore of Kalthanen meets her end. We’ve just been waiting for you to do it yourself.”
“You would do well to step away from her,” a voice broke through the tense bubble that had surrounded the two cousins. Calanon’s dagger was still in his hand, dripping with Arya’s blood. He stood with it aimed at her throat. He would have slit her throat had she said something he disliked.
She almost wished he’d had the courage to do so.
Galan Ashryver stood before them. His expression was harder than she had ever seen it. She had not realized just how sharp his jawline were nor how thin his lips could go. His eyes burned with a cold fire that sent shivers down her spine. He looked more like a king than he ever had. She hated him for it.
“Your Highness,” her cousin’s voice turned smooth as silk. “I assure you, this is none of your concern. Just familial dramas, as I’m sure you know.”
“I said,” Galan didn’t look at her as he spoke, “step away from her."
Calanon gave a tight smile as he did as told. It wouldn’t do well to start an international incident. Besides, Galan almost looked as though he planned on gutting Calanon with his own dagger.
"Get out.” The words were spoken with more venom than Arya had ever heard. Not even Dorian had sounded so angered when he had demanded her removal from Adarlan.
Calanon gave his approximation of a bow before scurrying out of the room. Arya knew this wasn’t over. If anything, Galan’s interruption would just make Calanon more volitaile. He hated to be kept waiting. Especially when it came to giving Arya what he assumed she deserved. She would have to remember to send her pets to him later that night. Luna would do what she was best at.
Silence descended upon them. Galan stood away from her, his hands clenched into fists at his side. Anger seemed to be rolling off of him. Arya wondered if he had ever been this angry before. What right did he have to be angry? None of this was his business. She was not his concern. She never had been and she never would be. She was certain of this.
When the tension became unbearable, Arya broke.
“You didn’t need to come to my rescue,” her voice came out harsher than she had meant it to. “I’m not your concern, Galan. Nor am I some damsel that you must rush in to save.”
“Forgive me for not wishing to see you dead,” his voice was flat. Anger still burned in his eyes. She didn’t want to think of the way it made her stomach knot. She hated to see him like this if only because it made him more attractive.
“Calanon is an idiot but he wouldn’t risk angering my father,” she pointed out. “He knows how important my marriage to Lord Middleditch is.”
“Why exactly is it so important?” His anger seemed to have loosened his tongue at the very least.
“He won’t get in the way,” she didn’t know why she was admitting this. Why she felt as though he needed an actual explanation. “I’ll be able to get my throne without worrying about whatever my husband is doing. We don’t love each other. He’ll get his comfort, I’ll get my crown.”
“Is that all that matters to you?”
“Kalthanen is my birthright. I’m the only one who can give my people what they deserve,” Arya knew it was true. She was the only one who had given everything she possibly could for her people. “I’ll take it by whatever means necessary.”
“Look what that’s gotten you,” Galan’s voice grew softer as he slowly neared her. “I’ve seen the scars, Arya. I’ve seen what they’ve done to you. Who they’re forcing you to become."
Galan’s hand came up then, gently cupping her face. His thumb gently rubbed the skin underneath the cut. She could feel the blood leaving her skin. She couldn’t see it on his flesh but she knew it would be there. How did it feel? How did he feel knowing that he had her blood on his skin?
She tried not to shudder at the touch. She tried not to feel as though it were intimate or as though he were getting too close.
"Why would they wish you to marry some lordling?” Galan’s voice was hushed, so soft that she almost couldn’t hear him. She hadn’t realized how tall he was. How he seemed to tower over her. She hated that she liked it. She hated that he seemed to know it.
“It’s punishment.” Why was she telling him this? Why would she tell him anything?
Arya kept her secrets close to her. There had never been a time when she felt as though she needed to tell someone her secrets. There had never been a person that she felt like she could trust. So why was Galan Ashryver the first? What was it about him that made her feel as though she could tell him the truth? Who was he? What spell was he casting on her?
“Punishment?”
“I failed with Dorian Havilliard,” his thumb slowly traveled to her mouth. Could he feel the flutter of her heart? “I was supposed to make him fall in love with me. I was supposed to become Adarlan’s queen.”
“I see,” Galan’s eyes never left hers. She hated how blue they were. How that ring of gold made her want to wrap her arms around him and embrace him in ways he shouldn’t.
“They’ll have more control over me if they know I’ll still be vying for Kalthanen.” It was perhaps the first time she had admitted it to herself. She knew that her parents loved her in their own way. They just loved being in control even more.
“Then why do it? Why fight for a family that wants to see you buried?” His eyebrow cocked, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. She had to breathe to remind herself that this meant nothing. He meant nothing.
Galan Ashryver was just a distraction. Her throne meant more to her. Her throne had always meant more to her. She just needed to remember that.
“Kalthanen is my birthright, Galan. Just as Wendlyn is yours,” Arya found it hard to look away from him. His eyes were captivating. The way it felt as though he were staring into her soul made her want nothing more than to fall into his embrace and give into every single temptation.
“You could be so much more,” he slowly leaned in closer to her. He gave her enough time to back away if she wished.
His nose brushed against hers, sending chills down her spine. She could fall into him, give him everything that he wanted. Take everything that she deserved.
A pang in her chest reminded her that she could never be his queen. Arya was destined for something different. Galan would find someone better. Someone who could be the queen that he deserved, who could give him all the things that she could not.
“We should stop this,” her voice came out breathlessly. She hadn’t realized how nervous he made her. How he made her heart hammer in her chest, how he made her head spin and her nerves feel as though they were on fire. Galan Ashryver was going to be the death of her.
“Stop what?” She could feel his breath against her. Gods above it was taking all her willpower to not kiss him. To not drag him to her bed.
“Galan,” his name was like a prayer on her lips. “I’m engaged to Lord Middleditch.”
“And yet, you deserve so much more than him,” Galan’s lips briefly ghosted over hers. Her knees felt weak just from the slight brush. What would happen if he were to kiss her with any sort of passion? Would she fall apart? Would he pick up the pieces? Would he worship her as she daydreamed? Or would he leave her for Middleditch the next day?
“You should be a queen, Arya. My queen."
Galan Ashryver kissed her then. His left arm wrapped around her waist, crushing her body against his as he kissed her fiercely. All the emotions they’d been fighting for weeks had been built up to one desperate kiss.
Arya tangled her fingers in his hair as their tongues and teeth clashed together in a desperate attempt to chase away the emotions they felt for one another. She knew it was wrong that they felt anything for each other. She knew they could never be together. Not when her heart was still in Kalthanen. Not when she knew what she was.
She pulled away from him, panting softly. Her eyes burned with desire. Every part of her wanted more. She wanted his hands on her body, wanted to feel him in every sense of the word. But she knew better. She would always know better.
"Arya,” she liked how his breath came out in a rush. How her name sounded like a prayer. “Arya, don’t do this. Don’t marry him.”
“You should go,” she stepped away from him slowly. His finger was still smeared with her blood, a wounded expression crossed his features. “We shouldn’t be alone anymore, Galan.”
“Listen to reason, Arya, please.” Galan did not step closer to her, did not invade her space as other men had. Her heart twisted in her chest. “He won’t be able to protect you from your family. He can’t give you the things I can. If you want a crown, I will do whatever it takes to make you a queen. Either of Wendlyn or Kalthanen. Hellas, I would fight against Adarlan and win you that throne if you so desired.”
Pretty words. She had to tell herself that’s all they were. Galan didn’t love her. He just wanted her body. He wanted to fuck her into oblivion. That was all he would ever want with her. Arya could tell herself so as many times as she wished but she would never truly believe it.
“I’ve given him my word, Galan. I’ll marry Lord Middleditch and return home by the end of the season.” Arya’s hands clenched into fists at her side. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “Now, please, go before we both do something we’ll regret.”
Galan looked as though he wanted to fight her. He looked as though he had a million things to say, a million different reasons for her to choose him instead. But she couldn’t. She never would. Arya couldn’t be the queen he deserved. She could not be the one he needed.
“As you wish,” Galan bowed his head to her before he turned away. She thought she saw something sparkle on his cheek but dismissed it as a trick of the light. He left her alone.
Her heart shattered on the floor as tears mixed with the blood still falling down her face.
WARNINGS; Fantasy violence, cursing, Mirima doesn’t have self-control and that leads to her burning out a Lot, Rowan avoiding his feelings, Mirima having no idea about her feelings, there’s a lot of feelings being avoided, power dynamics in the relationship.
Her body ached, her mind ached. While she had not done anything as horrible as burnout, Fenrys had put her through her paces. She had never known how hard just keeping her control could be. She had never realized just how badly she suffered from control issues. Rowan had told her time and time again that she needed to control herself. But she hadn’t realized how hard it was actually going to be.
She trudged into the kitchens, slumping onto a stool that sat just before the fire. Normally, Emrys sat there but he was at the countertop, forming some type of dough that had what appeared to be raisins in it.
"Hard day?“ The older man questioned, his eyebrow quirked up slightly.
Mirima scowled slightly as she slipped a dagger from her belt and a whetstone from her pocket. "It didn’t seem to be until this morning,” she admitted as she dragged the blade along the stone.
"Rowan goes easy on you,“ Emrys teased her, causing her scowl to deepen. "I haven’t seen you this exhausted in twenty years.”
"I’m used to Rowan’s tactics,“ she sat down the dagger once she was certain the point was sharp enough. She took care of her blades ritualistically most of the time. Sharpening the blades calmed her, oiling them helped ease her mind. Normally it was saved for a pre-bed ritual, but the night before she had crawled into her bed and fallen into a hard and heavy sleep. She hadn’t dreamt. Instead, she had been blissfully at peace. For once in her life, she had not been aware of the dangers surrounding her. She had been aware of the pillow beneath her and the blanket on top of her.
It had been peace she didn’t know she craved.
"Of course,” Emrys’ eyes twinkled as he looked away from her. Mirima knew he meant well. But it was hard to know that he was well aware that she cursed Whitethorn’s name half the time and still assumed Rowan was kind to her.
The man had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want her there. He had told her time and time again that she was not ready for any of this. Mirima wanted to prove him wrong. She wanted nothing more than to be welcomed into the cadre. Although, at this point, she was unsure if it was because of her own dreams or if it was just to spite Rowan Whitethorn. Anyone with half a brain would know that spiting him was unwise. The man was more of a monster than anything. It was one of the reasons that Mirima admired him.
Even if she didn’t admit that fact to anyone.
"I am! He’s been putting me through Hellas and back since I got here,“ she nearly snarled as she began to peel the potatoes for breakfast. She wasn’t normally on breakfast duties, but she had figured it would be best to help out. At least while she was complaining to Emrys.
"Have I?” His voice caused her spine to straighten, her grip on the dagger tightening just slightly. “Considering you’re still here, I haven’t done a good enough job.”
Mirima looked up then, her eyes catching Rowan’s long white hair before anything else. Her throat felt dry, her stomach knotted up as she glanced once at the expression on his face. He looked as though he was either amused or furious. With Rowan, it was hard to tell the difference. Especially when it came to her and her training. She knew that he didn’t want her there. She knew that he thought she wasn’t good enough.
That or he really hated the cadre. She couldn’t actually tell.
"I thought you’d be gone for a week,“ Mirima stated, her tone casual despite the racing of her heart. At least her training had taught her how to keep her composure.
"I never said how long I’d be away,” he stated as he leaned casually against the wall. Rowan never looked casual. Something was off. Mirima did not know what it was or what it potentially could be, but she was determined to figure it out. If she didn’t it was likely to drive her mad.
"You’re normally away for a week,“ she shrugged her shoulders, turning her gaze back to the potato in her hand. She focused on how the skin felt gritty underneath her calloused fingers. She focused on the way the blade slid across the potato, the slight bit of force it took to begin the initial peeling process. How it felt to focus on something other than Rowan Whitethorn and the stare that always made her feel somewhat nervous. "I assumed that it would be the same.”
"We have something to discuss,“ Rowan said before she could ramble about his usual schedule. "In private.”
She knew his meaning. She wiped her dagger off on her breeches before she stood, sliding it back into its sheath in a graceful movement. “I’ll be back by dinner. Tell Luca to stop taking the good jobs,” she said cheerfully to Emrys. Neither man would be allowed to know how nervous she was.
Rowan had met with Maeve. He had told her he would be. He had also said he’d be away three days but had barely been gone two. Maybe she had been declared unworthy. Maybe Maeve had given up on her. Or maybe it had nothing to do with that whatsoever. This could be something completely different, she just had to trust him.
Easier said than done.
Mirima followed Rowan up the steps and towards his quarters. She had been a fair amount of times. He would patch her up in his rooms, often snapping at her for whichever stupid choice she had made. She had been allowed to watch as he tattooed Gavriel once. She had been silent the entire time, her eyes never left his hands.
His rooms were grander than anyone else’s. She wondered if it was because he was a Prince or if it was all to do with the fact that he was part of the cadre. With his dark, wooden furniture and his grand fireplace, it felt cold. Uninviting. Rowan clearly hated Mistward. He had never made it into his home, unlike Mirima.
She had turned the fortress into her own personal safe haven. She had spent so many years there that she would have gone mad if she had not. There was no reason for her to feel cold, alone. Not when the forests sang with the early morning sunlight. Not when she could smell the sea whenever a fresh breeze blew through the fort, always making her ache with need. The need to control it, to harness it. To be part of it. She knew there was a lake hidden somewhere nearby, she had been able to sense it from the moment she had stepped onto the grounds. Yet, she’d never had the time nor opportunity to go off and search for it.
Rowan was not fond of letting Mirima near large bodies of water. He seemed to believe it would be the quickest route to a burnout. Mirima thought he was too cynical. The water was part of her. As much as the air was part of him.
She stood in front of his desk while he took up space in front of the fireplace. The fire crackled, albeit not merrily, spreading slight warmth through the cold room.
"What did you want to discuss?“ Mirima’s voice came out softer than she had expected it to. She hated sounding small around him. Hated that he might see her as someone meek, vulnerable. She knew that she was a warrior. Someone who would one day stand beside him in battle. She couldn’t let him see her as anything else. It would risk the only future she could see for herself.
"I didn’t speak to Maeve about you,” he didn’t look at her as she spoke. Despite his words, she did not feel relieved. “I didn’t have the opportunity to.”
"What happened, Ro?“ Normally, he would have glared at the use of the familiarity. He would have told her how inappropriate it was. When he still didn’t look at her she realized just how horrible things must be. Rowan never missed a chance to show his disapproval.
"We’ll have a visitor during our training sessions,” the words seemed forced. She could practically taste the tension in the air.
Mirima worried her lower lip as she took a cautious step toward him. “What do you mean? Is Fenrys going to stick around for a bit?”
"No,“ his voice was clipped. At least that was normal. He wasn’t dying or sick. Mirima hated to think that he would never get to see her successes. She didn’t know why she wanted his approval, why she aimed to please him in some fashion. Maybe it was just because then she would know she had done it. She’d beaten the odds and become the member of the cadre she had always wanted to be.
"Tell me,” she rested her hand on his shoulder. He flinched away, causing her to drop her hand. It felt as though a shock had gone up her arm from the brief second her fingertips had brushed against his neck. But that was stupid. It was probably just her being far too familiar with her trainer.
"Maeve wanted me to train another girl.“
"For the cadre?” Mirima’s eyes grew hard as Rowan finally turned to face her. There was something in his eyes. Something that dulled the forest green to a grassy color. She wondered what that emotion was but found that she did not care. Anger coursed through her body. It burned too brightly and too quickly for her to care about whatever Rowan Whitethorn was feeling.
"Hellas, Mirima, no,“ Rowan snapped at her. The anger that had flared so brightly quickly calmed. "I wouldn’t train another damned soul for the position you want. You’d gut them than me. No, this is just a little demi-fae who never got control over their magic.”
"Who can’t control their magic?“ Mirima did not see the irony in her own question. She had always assumed her own control issues were rare. She had no idea where they stemmed from, just that no one else in her village had ever had trouble doing what they wanted with their magic. Neither had anyone else in Doranelle.
"Someone who’s afraid of it,” Rowan stated bluntly.
Mirima gave him a mock glare. She wasn’t sure if he was completely wrong about that. It brought forth a question that she had never had to ask herself before. Was she frightened of her magic? Did she know what to do with it? She thought she did. She thought that it was as much a part of herself as breathing. But could there be something deeper? Rowan had never brought up this idea before. It was enough to temper her tongue, to make her sit and think for a moment.
"I’m not afraid,“ she stated after thinking for a few moments. She didn’t know if she was telling him the truth or not. But it felt like it. She felt as though she would know if she truly was afraid of the power that lived within her.
"You’re not afraid of anything,” Rowan sounded as though this were not a compliment. “You’d sooner get yourself killed than listen to reason. That isn’t bravery, Mirima. That’s foolishness.”
His words stung her more than she cared to admit. Is that why he didn’t want her fighting alongside him? He thought her nothing more than the village fool? Perhaps it made sense. Mirima had lived her entire life in the same small village. She had been stifled there but that didn’t mean she had belonged elsewhere. Maybe she was just a foolish girl from Varnsway. Maybe that was all she would ever be.
"Tell me about my new friend,“ she moved then, sitting on top of his desk as though it were her own. Rowan seemed not to notice, too lost in his thoughts as he stared at the mantle above the fireplace. "Will I have to play nicely?”
"Maeve will kill you if you drown her,“ he said bluntly. "Besides, Terrasen would be left without a queen.”
That caught Mirima’s attention. Her spine straightened, her eyes turning into the blue of a crystal sea. “So it’s true then? Aelin did survive the massacre?”
"It stays between the two of us,“ Rowan warned as he finally looked away from the mantle. Upon seeing her on the desk, one of his brows twitched slightly.
"Why?” Even as she asked, she realized that it would be safer for the woman. “I mean, wouldn’t she be better off with a guard surrounding her at all times? I’ll volunteer for a shift.”
"Mirima,“ he snarled, causing a slight smile to cross her features. "She’d be in more danger if anyone knew. Adarlan is after her. If they manage to kill her, you know they’ll have some advantage over Wendlyn. It’ll break their spirits.”
"Which means we’re next.“ One didn’t have to be a military strategist to understand the risk the wrath of Adarlan. Mirima was not afraid of anything, Rowan had not been wrong about that, but the idea of bending the knee to the tyrant of Adarlan.
"You’ll help me train her. You know what it’s like to be uncontrollable. Help her get used to life here,” he looked older. His eyes darker than she had ever seen him, lines beside his eyes showing his half-century of life. She wanted to make things easier for him. She wanted to give him a moment’s reprieve. But she couldn’t. Mirima knew that they needed to keep some sort of wall between them.
Even if she gave him nicknames.
"Ro,“ she picked at her fingernails, "are you certain that’s a good idea? I could drown her. Or you. Or I could accidentally kill her during swordplay or something.”
"I trust you.“
He’d never said that to her before. Rowan had never made her feel as though she could do anything she wanted. Half the time, he was trying to get her to abandon her dreams. Half the time, it felt as though he wished he could snap her neck and be done with her. Having his trust was something that she had never dreamed of. She had always thought that he would turn his back on her the second he was done training her.
Maybe there was hope for them yet. Maybe Mirima would be able to prove herself to him through this whole damned thing. Or maybe it would just ruin whatever trust she had managed to build. Maybe she would never truly be able to live up to her expectations of herself. But that was okay. Rowan trusted her and that was all that mattered.
At least for now. Mirima knew she still had a very long way to go when it came to proving herself.
"So what’s our plan?” She looked him in the eyes, ignoring the way her stomach knotted when the forest green met hers. It had happened every single time her eyes met his. Thirty years, thirty long years of feeling something odd whenever he looked at her. It was no wonder she tried to force that away, to tell him jokes when she shouldn’t and to make light of things when she was terrified.
"I don’t know yet,“ Rowan admitted as he stepped over to her. His steps were light, never making a single sound. She wondered how often he had prowled around, silent and always listening. How many times had he caught her talking about him with Luca and Emrys? How often had he heard her curse his name?
Despite both of them having the heightened senses of a Fae, Rowan had always been more of a predator. For years, he had been walking that line by himself. He had been alone with only the bloodlust and the killing that Maeve had made him do. Mirima saw it as glory, despite not knowing the truth of any of it. It was Rowan’s business. She knew better than to ask him about any of it.
She would take the stories told by others over the haunted look in his eyes whenever he pinned her any day. She didn’t want to relive her own moments of glory. She supposed it would be the same for him.
"Rowan Whitethorn not knowing something?” Mirima teased, a gleam in her eyes as she looked up at him. Her head tilted back, blonde locks cascading down her back in a waterfall while a playful smirk found a home upon her lips. “Now that is something I never thought I’d see.”
"When will you learn how to talk to a superior?“ His brows furrowed slightly as he looked down at her. She had to ignore the overwhelming scent of pine and snow that clung to him.
She hated that stupid scent. Hated how she dreamed of it at night, how she felt both enraged and comforted by it. None of it made sense to her. Nothing about Rowan Whitethorn would ever make sense to her. He was horrible and kind, the worst and the best. He was everything to her and nothing all at once.
It was a miracle she had managed to keep his name out of her letters to her parents.
"When will you learn that I’m not inferior to you?” Mirima turned her head away from him, wanting to break free from his gaze and that disgusting scent.
"No one said you were,“ his fingers twitched. She wondered briefly if he wanted to run his fingers through his hair or strangle her. Either option seemed reasonable. "But you can’t hope to make it any further if you don’t listen to your commanding officer. They’re not all as friendly as me.”
"Or Fenrys,“ Mirima interrupted.
"I heard that he made you nearly flood our practice space,” he snorted. “That doesn’t seem as friendly.”
"So I’m not great at breathing exercises,“ she shrugged her shoulders. "I still managed to go without burning out.” She was surprised that Fenrys had not told Rowan of her disappearing act. She would have been made to run laps until she vomited, would have been reprimanded hundreds of times had she done the same to Rowan. He would never have let her just walk away. Perhaps Fenrys had taken pity on her, perhaps he had seen something that Rowan did not.
That or she had looked as though she were on the verge of burning out.
"Don’t joke about that,“ his voice hardened as he stared down at her. She looked back at him, hating the way he stared at her as though she was nothing more than a piece of glass. "Your burnouts are serious. If you die on my watch, I …”
Mirima didn’t want to know what he would do. She didn’t particularly care either.
"I am not going to die, Rowan. I know myself better than any of you seem to realize,“ she crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking more like a petulant child than she realized.
"You’re not invincible, Mirima. You never will be,” he told her, looking down at her with a gaze that she could not comprehend. Rowan Whitethorn gave her several incomprehensible looks. She often wondered if he hated her based on those looks, wondered if he even knew the fire that blazed in his forest.
She doubted it. Rowan was too busy with his own problems to worry about how he looked at her. That wasn’t something either of them thought about. It was always about training, always about Rowan teaching her everything she needed in order to be part of the cadre. Part of everything.
"I’m capable though,“ she breathed softly, her voice barely a whisper. "I’ll help you train her. Just … Just don’t let my training fall to the wayside. I expect to be in the cadre by the end of the year.”
Mirima shoved herself off of the desk, brushing against him as she did so. Rowan quickly backed away, his spine stiff and his gaze hardening to one she knew so well. She began to leave. Her gait smooth and steady unlike the pounding of her heart.
"You’ll never be ready,“ he called after her. "Lorcan would eat you alive just from your recklessness.”
"Then I guess you’ll have to enjoy the show,“ Mirima stated without ever looking back at him.
She kept up appearances as she headed back out of Mistward, a smile on her lips and a gleam in her eyes that normally meant trouble. If Rowan thought she was nothing compared to this would-be-queen she would just have to prove him wrong.
She slid a dagger out from the sheath on her thigh, twirling it between her fingers as she headed deep in the forest. If Rowan was giving up on her, she would train herself.
{WARNINGS: adult language, fantasy violence, woman owning her sexuality and her body, woman using her sexuality and body as a weapon, woman saying “fuck emotions i’m scared”, manipulation mentions, toxic main character but she learns, toxic parents, self-harm in the form of self-poisoning, self-hate, fucked up family}
Arya took Lord Middleditch’s hand, noting the lack of callouses and the way his cuticles looked almost as nice as her own. He was a man who not worked for anything. A man who had never held a sword in his hand. He’d be so easy to play with. It had been far too long since Arya had been able to play her favorite game. Playing with the heart of men had been a pastime since she had first realized that she was something more than beautiful.
She was sensual.
She would seduce the man, sleep with his wife or betrothed, and then she would watch as he struggled to pick up the pieces. She had a habit of creating insatiable lust. She had a habit of becoming someone that no one could ever have. She was an untouchable woman.
She just had to keep reminding herself that it was safer to play the game than to be played. Dorian Havilliard had been the only man who had ever come close to breaking her heart. A heart that she wasn’t sure she even had.
Thomas’ hand was stronger than she expected, his hold on her waist was tight enough to entice her. She fought the urge to smirk up at him. She wanted to make this last longer than it probably should. Seducing him within moments would only make the game end before she had her fun.
As the two danced, she could feel a gaze on her. It caused an unfamiliar heat to rise in her stomach and spread across her chest. She knew without looking that Galan was watching them. She wondered if he realized that he had no claim over her. Just because he had been nothing but a gentleman since they had met meant nothing. Princelings often thought the world belonged to them. Any beautiful woman was theirs. Any possible thing they could wish for was theirs for the taking.
Arya would never let that happen to her. She didn’t care if she had to stab him to make her point widely known. Although, stabbing him would bring attention that she did not want. It seemed as though the princess was bound to make a terrible decision when it came to Galan Ashryver. It didn’t matter what she wished.
“I must say,” Lord Middleditch’s voice drew her out of her thoughts. His voice was a seductive drawl, deep and dark like the ocean’s abyss. “I didn’t expect you to show tonight.”
“And why is that?” One of her brows rose just slightly as she watched the smirk grow on his face. He was handsome enough. The worst part was that he knew that he was. That was bound to cause trouble.
“Our prince is many things,” he started, thinking over his words for a moment before continuing. “An idiot just happens to be one of them.”
“Is that so?” Arya tried to mask the amusement in her tone. “I thought he was quite revered. He fights for his country and is quite dashing. Surely that garners some respect.”
“Only an idiot would fight on the frontlines. Galan thinks he can take on Adarlan by himself.”
“Careful,” Arya said before Thomas dipped her gently. “He happens to be my closest friend here.”
“Is that why you’ve been avoiding him all night?” So he was perceptive. That would have to be taken care of. Arya didn’t need anyone seeing through her nor her plans. If he managed to find out that she was just trying to find a husband and steal them away to Kalthanen, who knew what would happen.
He might decide he was the best man for the position. He might assume he’d be the best king for Kalthanen. She would never let that happen.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Arya gave him a demure smile. This man was sure to be someone who she watched for. He wasn’t playing the same games that she was. “All I’ve done was dance with a few men. I’m allowed to do as I please. Free will is man’s one true strength, wouldn’t you agree?”
The smirk on his lips chilled her to the core. He looked like a member of Kalthanen’s court. The snake-like eyes, the handsome features that masked a horrid heart. She wanted to be sick just looking at him. She took a breath through her nose, knowing that she was being oversensitive. He didn’t know anything about her. He would never know anything about her.
No one could see behind any of the masks she wore. No one ever would. Hell, Arya did not know who she was. How was anyone else supposed to figure it out?
“I would,” Thomas spoke, twirling her just before the song ended. “You seem to have a choice to make.” He stared over her head, watching someone nearing the two of them. “You can either spend the rest of your night with me or you could continue to give our prince hope.”
Arya did not glance behind her. She did not listen to the pull in her gut telling her that this was a bad idea. Her instincts normally protected her. She had made a habit of listening to them rather than anything else. She would get into trouble otherwise. But this was a decision that needed to be rationalized. She couldn’t just listen to a stupid little pull in her gut. She had to think about what was best for her. What was best for Kalthanen.
“Lead the way,” Arya didn’t know if she was going to regret her decision. She didn’t think she cared.
Thomas took her by the arm, leading her out of the ballroom. As they slipped through the door, she turned her head to see Galan. A look of hurt on his face.
Her stomach seemed to knot itself but she said nothing, did nothing, as Thomas walked her to the gardens.
“I find it easier to think out here,” he explained as they exited the castle through large, glass doors. The gardens were beautiful in the daylight but in the moonlight they were exquisite. She wondered how hard Galan had worked to make it that way. Had he even noticed it?
She didn’t know why she was thinking of him.
“Yes, it’s quite lovely,” she said as they passed whispering couples and one who seemed more inclined to fighting than intimacy.
Arya took it upon herself to note who was nearest them. In case anything happened, she wished to know who she might be able to rely on for protection.
It seemed as though the Fae had preferred the gardens to the crowded ballroom. Two Fae couples stood in the gardens, one just along the eastern wall. The woman was small, petite against the man’s large frame. Her hair was the deepest ebony and she looked up at the man with the light of a thousand stars in her eyes. The man did not appear to be swayed by her otherworldly beauty. His tanned skin seemed to glow golden in the moonlight, shadows playing around him. He looked as though he was ready to destroy everything and everyone. But his large hand held the woman’s smaller one and he appeared almost content. The other couple stood beside the hydrangea bushes just to the south of Arya and Lord Middleditch. The man’s face held a tattoo that she could not make out, his white hair flowing down his back and a dark glare on his face. The woman’s golden hair was braided in a crown on her head, an impish smile on her face as she said something that Arya couldn’t hear. The tattooed man’s face grew darker.
“Don’t let them frighten you,” Thomas told her with a slight sigh. “They think just because the Ashryver’s have Fae blood that they’re allowed here. It’s quite disgusting if you ask me.”
“I didn’t,” Arya stated as they sat down on a bench just outside of a maze that was filled with roses and jasmine. Arya briefly wondered how they managed to keep the jasmine alive in Wendlyn. She allowed herself to think of the land back home, where the jasmine grew wild and where she had spent hours in her youth laying on the ground and watching as the flowers bloomed around her. Arya truly loved Kalthanen, even if she knew it could be a horrible place full of equally horrifying people.
“No, I suppose you didn’t,” he said with an amused chuckle. No warmth was in his laugh nor in his eyes. “Now, Arya, tell me what you’re doing here.”
“Kalthanen needs new trading partners,” the lie slid off her tongue easily.
“Don’t lie to me, Princess,” the lordling said. “I know better than that. You and your dearest cousin are here for a reason. Now, I can be of service to you, or we can keep lying to each other about our intentions.”
“And what exactly are your intentions?” Arya looked at him, her eyes filled with boredom. She would not let any man get under her skin. She wouldn’t allow anyone to tell her who she was or what her plans were. No one had any right to try and control her. No one would ever be that important to her. She had known that from a very young age.
“What else would they be?” Thomas questioned, looking down at her with a raised brow. “I intend to sweep you off your feet and leave Wendlyn as far behind me as I possibly can.”
“You have faith in yourself,” she almost snorted before remembering herself. “I don’t intend to give anyone my heart, my Lord,” she said the title with more venom than anyone could have mustered.
“I didn’t say anything about stealing your heart,” he shrugged his shoulders once as he looked down at her. “Make no mistake, you’re beautiful. Any man would be lucky to have you. But we both know that you don’t want Galan. I assume that you didn’t manage to snag Dorian Havilliard. There are few princes left in this world.”
“There are several island nations left.” Arya pointed out.
“Yes, but what would they do for you?” Thomas questioned, taking her hand in his. She didn’t quite hate how soft they were. “They wouldn’t strength Kalthanen. If anything, it would just weaken your country. No, you need something better than islands. You need someone from Wendlyn or Adarlan. Since a prince won’t do, a Lord would be the next best thing.”
Arya didn’t correct him. How could she? He had read her mind.
“Besides, we can take over from your brother and your cousin in due time. For now, we would be playing the happy newlyweds.”
“What’s in it for you?” He was offering too much. There had to be something he wanted. No one was this eager to marry someone they did not know. Briefly, thoughts of Galan went through her mind. What would she do if he found out? What if he learned that she was marrying someone she didn’t know despite the way he looked at her? Despite how he made her stomach knot and her heart hammer.
It was for that reason that she was considering this whole, stupid mess. She didn’t want to think about Galan anymore. Didn’t want to think about the task at hand. He was offering her a chance to get away from here before she lost some integral part of herself.
“I’d get off this miserable rock,” he stated as he turned his face to look at the stars. The moonlight bathed his skin in silvery light, causing his golden skin to glow. “I’d be able to lay about in a palace by the sea, have a beautiful woman in my bed, and never hear my father’s voice again. The potential to become a king consort is also quite tempting.”
“Power and escape,” Arya’s voice was soft as she stared at the maze in front of them. The twists and turns of the hedges matched by her train of thought. This couldn’t be this easy. It made no sense for anything to be as painless as this whole thing. “Do not expect me to love you.”
“As long as you expect the same from me,” Thomas said, his gaze turning to her. His eyes were black in the moonlight. She could not tell what was iris and what was the pupil. Did it even matter? She wouldn’t be falling for his eyes. Wouldn’t be blinded by the fire that blazed within them.
“Allow me to think on this.” She didn’t need to think on anything. It was the best she could ever do. He would be the one she would be able to take back to Kalthanen. They would marry and she would kill him after they were crowned.
“Of course,” Thomas stood then, taking her hand as he did. The fluidity of his movements made her wonder if perhaps he had some Fae in his bloodline. He brushed a kiss to her knuckles before releasing her hand and disappearing into the night. She didn’t know if she was grateful to be alone or not.
She could hear the couple fighting from earlier. The man telling the woman off for hiding a weapon in the lining of her gown. Arya was almost impressed that she had managed it. The woman seemed to think it was nothing. Their voices drowned out the sound of footsteps coming from behind her.
“You disappeared,” his voice caused an unwelcome chill to go through her spine. Her hands gripped the bench, her white knuckles hidden by her voluminous skirts.
“I needed air,” lying came so naturally to the manipulator. The would-be-queen knew that she didn’t need to lie to him. But it was easier than admitting to what had just transpired. “The gardens are quite beautiful at night. I don’t know why you hadn’t thought to bring me before.”
“I saw Lord Middleditch with you,” he ignored her words. Arya bristled at that, but he continued before she could say anything. “You can’t trust a word that man says. He’s the closest thing to evil I know.”
“Careful, Galan,” she refused to look at him. “You almost sound jealous.”
A sharp intake of breath came from him. Arya wanted to look back and see his expression but she did not allow herself to. It was none of her concern what Galan Ashryver thought of who wanted to know her.
“I doubt I have anything to be jealous over,” he said as he moved to sit beside her. “You have better taste than him.”
“You don’t know me well enough to know that,” Arya spoke softly, still refusing to catch his eye. She didn’t want to see the grin on his face. Didn’t want to see what the moonlight did to him. If it made Thomas look beautiful, she was certain that Galan would look ethereal. Those Ashryver eyes would surely be brighter than stars, his smile would look as though the gods themselves had blessed it. It was too much for her to take. “I nearly married Dorian Havilliard. That should tell you everything about my taste.”
She felt him stiffen beside her, his arm tense where it brushed against hers. She knew that it was not due to the muscle that had been built up by years upon years of training.
“Then I know that you deserve better,” his voice was soft. Barely a whisper. Goosebumps rose along her skin at the very tone of his voice. She hated it. Hated how she reacted to him.
“You don’t know what I deserve, Galan. You barely know me,” she stood then, clenching her fists to avoid him seeing how her hands were shaking. She didn’t want him to ever see her as weak. She didn’t need that from him. “Don’t pretend to know me. It will only lead to you being dreadfully disappointed.”
“Nothing you could ever do would disappoint me, Arya,” he stood with her, taking her hand in his. She hated how it felt. His calloused hands were bigger than her own, rough and ready to fight at a moment’s notice. Without his crown and the way he carried himself, one would never realize that he was a prince. She wished he was more like a prince. Like some pompous ass who she would sooner put a blade through than bed.
“He asked me to marry him,” Arya nearly winced when Galan’s hold tightened. It did not hurt. It had just been unexpected. The look on his face, however, was not.
Galan’s easy smile had been replaced by a wounded look. Though his square jaw was set, his lips thinned, and the tendons in his neck were showing he did not appear to be angry. His eyes burned with a fire that told her the truth. He hated to think that anyone else would ask her for the time of day. But what right did he have? What right did any of them have to expect anything from her?
“Did you say yes?” She hated how his voice didn’t break, hated how he could sound so solid despite his eyes betraying him. It made everything far too easy and yet also made it the hardest thing she’d ever done.
“Yes,” another lie. All she had ever done was lie to him. Their entire relationship was built on the fact that he couldn’t trust her. That no one could trust her. “We’ll leave for Kalthanen soon enough.”
Galan dropped her hand, staring straight ahead at the maze of roses. “Stay, Arya. You … You should stay. At least until the season changes and it’s safer to sail.”
Arya stared at him for a moment, shaking her head slightly. “I should go. It’s growing late,” her voice was strong despite the fact that she wanted it to break. She wanted to be able to show that she felt something. But she couldn’t. She didn’t. She’d been trained for years to avoid anyone ever seeing her. From anyone being able to touch her in a way she didn’t like.
She slipped away from him, avoiding her chambers and Calanon. She walked down corridors that were filled with laughing couples and sconces blazed with warm, friendly light. She passed them as though she were a ghost amongst them. She didn’t want to be one of them. She had always wanted to be the one who rose above everyone. She wanted the power, the responsibility. She wanted to change the world. To protect Kalthanen from every bad thing that would ever happen to the island nation.
Even if it meant selling her soul.
Arya caught sight of Lord Middleditch as she passed by the ballroom. Her feet ached, her chest felt as though it was breaking, and she could barely keep standing. He, on the other hand, looked as fresh as a daisy. His smile was radiant, his laughter hollow as he drank from a golden goblet.
She walked back into the ballroom, her chin held high and her back as straight as she could make it. She didn’t care anymore. This whole mess with Galan needed to end. The looks they sent each other, the way she felt when he was around her. She couldn’t handle him. Couldn’t handle what she felt around him. That was why she needed to do the one thing she was sent for.
“Lord Middleditch,” the name fell from her lips as easily as a lie. They would, after all, be spending the rest of their lives lying to everyone. “Might I have a word with you?”
“Of course, Your Highness,” he gave her a small bow before he excused himself from his friends. Arya led him towards a small alcove that overlooked the high windows at the back of the room. Moonlight poured through them, giving the appearance of a sanctuary.
“I’ve thought over your proposal,” she knew it had been too fast. She knew she should have waited until the next day to speak with him. But Galan had left her flustered. She never wanted a man to leave her flustered again. She was supposed to be the one in control. She didn’t care if Calanon was angered by not knowing of the plan. She didn’t care what he did to her. Luna would take care of him if he became too much of a problem.
“And?” Thomas looked at her curiously. His dark eyes were not just a dark color. They were black. She wondered if it was a warning sign of sorts. But she was beyond thinking clearly.
“I accept,” she didn’t bother to smile at him. Didn’t bother to pretend to be happy about their betrothal. It was business not pleasure. They both knew it. They could pretend for the rest of the world, but she would not pretend with him. It would be stupid to let him think she would ever care for him.
As soon as he was no longer useful, he would cease to breathe.
He lifted his goblet then, a grin on his lips. His teeth were straight, blindingly white. A sinking feeling filled her gut as he stared down at her. Had this been a good idea? Would she grow to regret it? Arya didn’t allow herself to think of this. She wouldn’t question her own choices. Not when there had been nothing else for her to do.
WARNINGS; Fantasy violence, cursing, Mirima doesn’t have self-control and that leads to her burning out a Lot, Rowan avoiding his feelings, Mirima having no idea about her feelings, there’s a lot of feelings being avoided, power dynamics in the relationship.
A crooked smile stretched on his lips. She could see his sharp canine teeth, see the feral look in his eyes as he peered down at her. There was a bite of cold steel against the tender flesh of her neck. She could feel it digging into her pulse point. The coppery tang of blood in the air.
“I was right,” his voice was a whisper. “You weren’t good enough. You’ve never been good enough.”
“Rowan,” she hated the pleading tone in her voice. Hated the way her eyes burned with tears that she refused to shed.
His forest green eyes peered into hers, a look of malice and something else. She hated it, hated to know that Rowan was looking at her with anything other than his normal cool indifference. This wasn’t her Rowan. Not the man who had pushed her and pushed her but a monster that she didn’t know.
“Goodbye Mirima.”
There was a hot stinging sensation at her throat, his hands on her shoulders like when she was burning out. He shoved her and she fell. Over and over, falling down into the darkest abyss. One that she couldn’t see the bottom of.
It was then that she realized what else had been in Rowan’s eyes when she had pleaded with him. When he had killed her.
Joy.
Mirima shot up from her bed, gasping for breath as her left hand went to her throat. Nothing. No blood. She wasn’t falling off the edge of something. She was still alive. Still in Doranelle, waiting for her one and only opportunity.
The nightmares had been happening more often. She hadn’t spoken to Rowan about them. Hadn’t wanted to bother him with how useless they were. He would have been too concerned or acted like they were another reason to keep her out of the cadre. He wouldn’t have been kind or understanding. Hardass Whitethorn would have been annoyed. Yet, for some reason, the knowledge had calmed her. She didn’t feel as though she had to say anything about her problems.
His training was harsh enough that she often forgot whatever was bothering her besides what muscle hurt the worst.
How was she going to deal with any of it while he was away? She had never had to train with someone else. Never had to think about how someone’s training might differ from Rowan’s.
She had met Fenyrs in passing but that didn’t mean she knew him. She thought he was funny and much kinder than Rowan, which wasn’t saying much, but she doubted his training would be anything like what she was used to. There was a high chance that he wouldn’t know how … Prone she was to overdoing things. What if Rowan had left that key information out?
Mirima tried not to focus on her anxieties as she readied herself for the day. Her hands were shaking as she brushed out the white blonde of her hair. Her eyes focused on the scar on her left arm as she slid her tunic on, counting each breath as she stared at it. One of the ways Rowan had tried to teach her control. One of the ways that had only worked to calm her mind and not her magic.
She would end up dying by her magic. It would drown her, it would take her under and never release her from its grasp. She didn’t mind that. If she was going to die she wanted it to be from her lack of control rather than an enemies’ sword. If only so she knew she wasn’t a completely hopeless fighter.
She swallowed once, letting it take all of her worries into the pit of her stomach. Another technique of Rowan’s that had never actually done more than making her feel stupid. She sometimes wondered if all his techniques were just ways to make her look like a fool.
Mirima slipped a few knives into her belt before making her way out of her bedroom. Her head held high, a haughty smirk on her lips. Everyone in Mistward was used to seeing her as the cocky would-be-warrior. There had never been a reason to let anyone see her differently.
The morning sun had yet to rise over the hills. The clearing that was normally used for her training was flooded with the grey light of early dawn. Before the world changed and turned into something beautiful, something better. The grass was dewy and wet, the world looked as though it had been reborn that morning.
Mirima loved being out there before anyone else. She loved it when she could breathe in the fresh air and not worry about it being polluted by other people yet. Everything felt fresh, clear. She could clear her mind for once. Let go of everything that bothered her. She didn’t worry about not being part of the cadre when she was focused on how beautiful the morning looked, how she wanted nothing more than to just be present.
She took one of the knives from her belt, flipping it once in her hand. It was a perfect weight. She could balance it on the tip of her fingers. Rowan had given it to her years ago, on a birthday. One that he’d actually remembered.
The blade itself was made of steel and was almost as long as her forearm, just lacking an inch and a half. The hilt was the most stunning feature. Gold and onyx entwined to create small flowers with tiny rubies making up the center of each. Rowan had said nothing when he gave it to her but she liked to think that it had just reminded him of her in some way. Wishful thinking but Mirima didn’t care.
She had to be making some impression on Rowan.
She gripped the knife, her hold mimicking the one Rowan had been trying to drill into her head for years. He often grew frustrated with the way she would go back to what felt natural, showing her just how wrong she was with a sharp tap on her wrist. At that point, she was certain that she was fucking it up if only to see the annoyance in his eyes. She liked that look on him. When he regretted ever giving Mirima a chance when he debated throwing her in a lake because of her mouth.
It was better than when he was fully angry with her.
Her body moved in the fluid motions that Rowan had taught her. Her eyes closing, her knife another part of her arm, her breaths even, the world right for once in her life. Her thoughts were no longer cluttered, just going through Rowan’s instructions in her mind had been enough to calm her. She’d never tell him so. He would have been proud of himself or annoyed with her.
Up. Down. Guard your left. Right. Dodge. Roll. Again.
She heard his voice in her head almost as though he was standing right beside her. She relished the feeling, the sensation of knowing that she was doing something right. Something that she would do every single day of her life when she was in the cadre. She would have to thank him one day.
It just wouldn’t be any time soon.
A low whistle brought her back to reality. She did not know how long he had been watching but she knew he had seen enough. Mirima straightened her spine, a smug look painted on her face as she turned on her heel.
Fenrys was more handsome than Rowan had ever dreamed of being. His hair was pulled up, with two strands falling pleasantly into his face. His skin was dark and he was slight of build, but the muscles on his arms were well-defined and she could imagine them in the middle of a killing field. While Rowan’s face was covered with his tattoo, Fenrys’ was mostly clear, his eyes sparkled with mischief and he looked as though he was part of an inside joke with himself.
Mirima hated how much she wanted to impress him. Hated how fun he seemed to be with just that one look.
“I don’t see why I’m here,” he stated as he peeled himself off of the tree he had been leaning against. “Rowan’s got you training on your own already.”
A slight blush crossed Mirima’s cheeks at this. “Actually, he doesn’t know how early I start my day. I didn’t think he’d like knowing just how much I tend to … overexert myself.”
“Trust me, Rowan already knows everything that you do,” Fenrys stated as he stepped towards her. His eyes trailed from the top of her head to her feet. He was scrutinizing everything that had ever made Mirima. She tried not to think if he was impressed by what he saw or if he was certain that she was useless. A waste of his and Rowan’s time. She often feared that they would all see her as a fraud. As someone who would never be welcomed into their ranks. “Rowan’s told us all about you. How quick you are to anger, how you refuse to listen to him and go home. He said you’ve had more burnouts than anyone he’s ever met before.
"I know that he thinks you’re reckless and that you don’t have any sense of self-preservation,” Fenrys walked around her, his eyes never once leaving her, as he spoke. There was a tension in him that she didn’t expect. “I’m sure that he’s found every single weakness of yours and used it against you at this point. Am I correct?”
She bristled at the accusation, her spine straighter than what should have been possible. “He has. Multiple times, in very different ways.”
Something sparked in his eyes, something that she had seen once before. When she had looked in her mother’s eyes before she had left to deal with the raiders all those years before. It was a mixture of pride and determination. Mirima had never been sure what it meant. She still wasn’t.
“Good,” Fenrys stopped circling her. “That tells me you don’t scare easily. If you can handle quality time with Whitethorn, you’re bound to be something. Perhaps not a fit for the cadre, but something we need.”
Need. That one word brought forth a strong feeling of hope in her breast. She had never been told that she was needed before. Not for anything that mattered. Doranelle would need her. Maeve would need her. Hellas, even Rowan would need her if what Fenrys said was true. She was going to be exactly what they needed, who they would look up to. Mirima would be the hero that would be in all the stories. She’d show everyone just what a woman could do.
There had been warrior queens and lost princesses but there had never been someone that other girls could look up to. All her life, Mirima had heard tales of men gaining glory and victory. They saved damsels, fought wars in the name of what was true and just. Queen Maeve had always celebrated those men while ignoring the women who could do the exact same. She knew that she could be just as good as any of those men. She could rise up from the bottom and show just who a girl could be.
It was the only thing she’d ever wanted.
“However,” Fenrys brought her back down to the world with just one word. “We do need to work on your control. Burning out in the middle of a battle will do you no good. We can’t have our sister dying on her first outing.”
He grinned at her. Not the feral dangerous grin that she had come to associate with Rowan. It was kind, bright even. Something that made her feel as though she were at home. She wondered what Rowan would say if she told him that she preferred Fenrys’ smile. It was perhaps better to keep that conversation in her head.
“How do we do that?"
"Stand in the middle of the clearing,” Fenrys instructed her, heading back to his tree. He sat down at the base of it, still and unblinking as though he were just another part of the forest that surrounded them. “I don’t want you to do anything. Just stand there and listen. Take in every wingbeat of every insect, every beat of your heart. I want you to try and focus on your heartbeats while you’re doing this. Slow, steady. You should be able to make yourself still.”
Mirima looked at him for a moment. What in the hell did any of that mean? It sounded like nonsense. Focusing her heartbeats? Slowing them down? How was any of that supposed to help her with her control issues?
While she did question the whole thing, she knew better than to question her trainer. If he told Rowan, she was certain to have a punishment of some sort. Probably laps. Rowan knew how she hated them. She took a deep breath through her nose, disregarding her thoughts of Rowan Whitethorn and the laps he could potentially make her run.
Her eyes fluttered to a close. Every part of her body felt as though this was wrong. She shouldn’t have just been standing there. She could have been working on her swordplay. She could have been working on the footwork that she was supposed to be learning. Listening for the bees that were fat with the pollen from the summer flowers was not something she had wanted to do. Why should she care about any of this? She was a warrior, not a farmer.
“Don’t think negatively,” his voice seemed to float through the air to her. “I can feel it from here. Just relax your mind and do as I’ve told you.”
Mirima did not answer him, knowing it was not what he wanted. She focused on the sound of the wind in the trees. The way the leaves gently rustled together, the branches making a soft creaking noise that she normally wouldn’t have noticed. She could hear the sea. So far away, yet always calling to her. The waves crashing along the shoreline. Pebbles scratching against each other when the water moved them. Sand turning to mush, the cry of a seabird. Mirima craved being there, craved feeling the water on her bare feet. Not a day went by that she didn’t crave the ocean.
Her fingers twitched, her knife falling to the ground beside her. The water rushing in her ears and making it hard to hear the insects busying lazily by her head or the trees swaying gently in the breeze. Her heartbeat followed the motion of the waves. She could feel it slowing to match the lazy tide of the early morning. It was not an uncomfortable feeling but one that she welcomed.
She had often felt as though her home was the sea. The ocean breathed life into her. She had been blessed with the gift of water and yet, she still didn’t know how to control it. Perhaps it was because one could not control water. The sea did not like to be tamed. Just as Mirima hated for anyone to try and control her. It had been so hard to learn to listen to Rowan. To learn to do as she was told. She still hadn’t learned that lesson.
A voice spoke softly from somewhere. Her name, softly as though it was poetry. Rowan’s face flashed briefly in her mind before being drowned out by another crashing wave.
Her fingers twitched once more. Something cold crept through the leather of her boots, touching her toes.
None of it mattered though. All that mattered was the way the sea was calling to her. The currents dancing for her and her alone. She wanted to be in the middle of it all. She could control the ocean. She could feel it in her bones. She ached to use the power that was deep inside of her. It was as though she could not breathe unless she was in the water, as if her lungs craved water instead of oxygen.
“Mirima,” that voice again. Persistent this time. Repeating her name again and again. “Mirima."
"Rowan,” she breathed out as a hand grasped her arm. It was not tight enough to be Rowan. It was loose, as though they were afraid of touching her.
“Mirima, come out of it.” The voice didn’t match Rowan’s. Didn’t match the person she had put all of her trust in.
It was too much effort to open her eyes, to break her connection to the sea. But she did it.
Fenrys stood in front of her, his hands on her arms and his face more amused than concerned. Her feet were freezing, the breeze smelled differently. The sky had begun to lighten, pink marking the sky in the place of the grey that had filled the valley just a few minutes before. Had it only been minutes? She felt as though she had been there for days.
Slowly, she glanced down to see what was causing her feet to be so cold. Water had seeped up from the ground, a few inches covering the ground that surrounded her. Mirima had no clue how she had done it without thinking. She had no idea what she had done.
Maybe Fenrys was right about something. Maybe his techniques just worked better than Rowan’s.
“Well, you weren’t supposed to do that,” he said, one of his brows quirked upwards. “But I can’t say I’m surprised. Maybe next time Rowan makes you do something stupid, you’ll be able to channel it.”
Mirima rolled her eyes, her arms crossing in front of her chest. “Rowan’s training isn’t stupid.”
“You’re making shields of water, aren’t you?”
“Yes. But that’s integral to keeping control!” Mirima protested. Fenrys only shook his head.
“We don’t use our abilities as shields. Well, Lorcan does on occasion but Lorcan’s also the worst,” he stated as he led her away from the drenched grounds. “Rowan’s trying to prepare you for something but I doubt it’s the cadre. He has your interests in mind, don’t think otherwise.” She watched as he grabbed a low-hanging tree branch and hauled himself up. “But that doesn’t mean he’s going to actually help you get what you want. No one should strive to be one of us.”
“What is with the two of you?” Mirima demanded as she hoisted herself to sit on the branch beside him. “It’s like neither of you can deal with the idea that a woman can be just as good as you.”
“This has nothing to do with your gender. You’ve got more fight inside of you than most soldiers I know,” Fenrys stated as he looked at her. His expression was too full of pity for her to stand. “You could do so much better than all of this.”
“No, I can’t,” Mirima stared out at the clearing, watching as the water drained away slowly. “My gender has everything to do with this. When they see me, they see a woman who should be at home. Having children and mending socks. They don’t see a warrior. They don’t see me.”
He looked at her then, looked at her as though she was something other than a woman sitting beside him on a tree branch. It was an uncomfortable feeling. Mirima had never felt exposed before. Rowan certainly had never looked at her as though she were anything. Fenrys was making her quite anxious, scared that he would run back to the others and tell them all about the woman who assumed she was good enough to be welcomed into their ranks. She doubted any of them would find it within them to want her after her show.
“I should go,” she cleared her throat as she moved to drop down from the tree. Mirima landed on the balls of her feet, the squelching sound revealing that the ground had turned to mud. “Kitchen duties.”
Mirima did not wait to be released from her training. She turned on her heel and headed back to the fort. She spent the entire walk thinking over everything that Fenrys had seen, everything that he had heard. She was mortified. Speaking like that in front of Rowan was one thing. But Fenrys? That was another. She knew better than to speak her mind around her superiors. She knew better than to leave before her training was over. Yet she had done both. She’d never live this down. She’d just proven that she would never be the type of person they welcomed into their ranks. Fenrys had said they didn’t want her.
What was the point of continuing to fight? What was the point of trying to be someone she wasn’t? Would Rowan even notice if she was gone when he came back? She doubted it. He’d probably use her absence as an excuse to return home.
As the would-be-warrior walked away from him, Fenrys watched her closely. Even with the sting of humiliation, she never let her shoulders droop. Her hand remained on the hilt of her blade. Her head was held high, no one would ever be able to tell that she was spending her day questioning herself and her choices.
{WARNINGS: adult language, fantasy violence, woman owning her sexuality and her body, woman using her sexuality and body as a weapon, woman saying “fuck emotions i’m scared”, manipulation mentions, toxic main character but she learns, toxic parents, self-harm in the form of self-poisoning, self-hate, fucked up family}
The ball came too quickly for Arya’s preference. It seemed as though she had slept once and then was being woken by her maids to prepare. There had been no time to prepare a conducive plan. She was rather anxious that things were going to go horribly wrong before the night was ever over.
She did not know how she was supposed to handle the night. Dancing in front of whatever fae representative would make her look ridiculous. But the art of seduction had always relied on a dance for her. Dance and then ignoring her partner for the better part of the night.
“Settle down, miss,” Miliana huffed as she pinned a thick red curl to the back of her head. “I don’t want to restart your hair again.”
“The dress is ridiculous,” Arya seethed as she reluctantly quit moving about. She had never been so anxious. She found it hard to quit repositioning herself, to quit tapping her fingers against her thighs. This one night would determine the rest of her life. She felt rather sick to her stomach.
“It’s beautiful,” Genevive smiled kindly at her, her hands busily folding linens. She’d already helped Arya to dress and had done her makeup. “You look like a queen.”
“Yes, but not of Kalthanen.” Arya stared at her reflection in the mirror. She hardly recognized herself. Her lips were not painted in the normal shade of red, instead opting for a brown-toned nude lip paint. Her eyes had been lightly lined with kohl with a gold shimmer on her eyelids. Her imperfections powdered away, color brought to her cheeks by heavy pinching. Her gown was not of Kalthanen design, but one of Wendlyn’s. Heavy skirts, a tight bodice, sleeves of lace that felt trapping. Luna and Nox would not be coming because of this. She did not want her darlings to be against anything that was not her skin.
Arya did not feel like herself. Everything that had made her Arya had been stripped and polished away. But that night she was not supposed to look like herself. She was supposed to be anything other than the woman she had become.
Wendlyn’s lordlings would fall in love with her. The perfect princess they couldn’t have. Whoever hated Galan would do whatever they could to get her on their arm. Yet, those were the men that would need to be avoided. Unless their hatred made them biddable. Oftentimes, men were blinded by the hate in their hearts. They would do whatever was deemed necessary to combat whoever had made them feel that way.
Arya just didn’t think anyone could hate Galan. She had certainly tried. He was too … Likeable. His sharp edges did not exist. He was charming, full of warmth, he could make even the bleakest days bright. She wanted nothing more than to despise his bleak optimism. She hated herself for not hating him.
“Once this is all over, you’ll be the queen we all deserve,” Genevive assured her, a kind smile on her face. “I just know it.”
It seemed more people in her life were dripping with optimism that she herself did not possess. She wondered what it was like. How did it feel to see the bright side of life? To look at things and just know it was going to work out? It didn’t seem as though it was a good way to live one’s life.
Life was not butterflies and rainbows. Life was harsh, bleak. There was never anything that mattered. Just going from one goal to the next. Arya just needed to find what mattered to her. Something that wasn’t just Kalthanen and the throne. She knew that was not all that she could hope for.
After all, even she was not heartless enough to kill her own brother. She could perhaps convince Calanon to do it, but the guilt would eat her alive. The only thing that would keep her sane was knowing that Kalthanen would thrive under her hand. Even if she would never get the throne. She’d have bigger challenges than just her brother.
“We’ll see,” Arya spoke softly as Miliana finished her hair. Half of it had been pinned up, the rest curled and falling past her waist. The long, red locks would look like fire in the warm light of the ballroom. They’d be perfect to capture attention.
She dreaded feeling Galan’s fingers in her hair. Dreaded knowing how it would feel, dreaded dreaming of it. There was absolutely no reason for this stupid little princeling to be the reason she failed. He didn’t matter in the long run. He was just a distraction. Someone who would cost her a kingdom and perhaps her sanity. She wasn’t someone who he could love. She wasn’t worth it.
Arya had always known it.
She stood slowly, the skirts of the dress falling gracefully as she did. They seemed to envelop her in a mountain of silk and taffeta. She hated every second of it. It was too bulky, too big. There were far too many layers if she wanted to bed someone or run. It was no wonder Galan had been drawn to her scant outfits and the sight of her bare legs.
Her maids did not follow after her as she headed towards the door to her chambers. Despite her anxiety, her hands did not shake as she reached to open the door.
Just as her hand brushed gently against the knob, a soft knock sounded.
Arya took a soft breath through her nerves, painted a smile on her face, and opened the door. Galan stood there. His fist still raised from the gentle knock, an amused smile that made his blue eyes brighter was playing on his lips. She tried to ignore the way it made her stomach knot.
“You certainly don’t waste any time,” he teased as he moved to bow gracefully to her. It almost felt as if he were asking her to dance with him already. “You look beautiful, Arya.”
“Why thank you, Galan,” her smile reached her eyes for the briefest of seconds. At least until she realized she was not faking that smile. “I assumed Calanon would be waiting to escort me.”
“He was,” Galan’s cheeks turned a shade of pink that would have looked sickly on another person. The heat in his face highlighted his high cheekbones, the upturned corners of his lips. It made him look alive in a way she had never been. “I told him he could take the rest of the night off. I thought that we’d be more comfortable without your chaperone.”
One of Arya’s brows rose slightly.
“Not that I think we’ll be doing anything improper,” Galan quickly stammered out, his cheeks turning more red instead of that lovely pink flush. “I just meant I thought we’d be able to speak without worrying. I meant no offense.”
“None taken,” she told him, offering him her hand.
He took it gratefully, his smile coming back in full force. He seemed as though he was nervous for this whole ordeal. She didn’t understand it. Galan was, by all counts, handsome. His thick, brown hair hung just to his shoulders in waves that she wanted to run her fingers through. He looked strong. His shoulders were broad and his arms filled his tunics rather nicely. He was a prince from a fairytale.
That night he looked especially promising.
He wore a crisp white shirt with a cobalt blue jacket and black leather breeches. His boots went to his knee and were polished enough that the torchlight reflected off of them. For the second time, she saw him wearing a small crown. The gold matched his hair rather nicely, making it appear almost brighter. Arya hated herself for thinking of how beautiful he looked.
“Shall we?” He asked, nodding his head once to her.
“We shall,” Arya looked up at him. Despite being a tall woman, he seemed to tower over her. Far more than Dorian had. More than any man ever had.
She prayed that it was a common trait for Wendlyn men to be tall. Maybe then he wouldn’t stick out as much in her mind. Maybe then she could ignore him and the way her heart pounded when he smiled at her.
It was ridiculous that a boy was wrapping his way around her. There was no reason for it. He wasn’t any more charming than Dorian had been. Nor was he better than anyone she’d ever spent time with. He was no different than the boys she had already taken to her bed. Yet, something felt different. Something made her want to be beside him. That something needed to be squashed.
By the end of the night, she hoped it would be. Praying would do no good. The goddess had already betrayed her.
“So are Wendlyn balls any fun?” Arya found herself questioning him as they headed down corridors and down staircases. She never realized how far her chambers were to the ballroom. It gave her time to quell the roaring anxiety.
“Are Kalthanens?” Galan responded, one brow rising slightly.
“Perhaps you’ll find out one day.” The smile that graced her features was more sultry than she had meant it to be. It sent another flush through his cheeks. She wondered if it was so easy to make him blush for anyone else.
She didn’t need the answer.
“Perhaps,” he told her as the sound of violins began to reach them.
The light coming from the ballroom was bright and warm. Already she could hear laughter and the gentle music of a soft waltz. The scents in the air were of pine and cinnamon. She would have assumed they were winter scents but it was only early fall. Still, the air had begun to turn chilly. The scent was enough to remind her that things could still be wonderful despite the cold.
Arya knew this was silly. She didn’t care about scents or sweets. She cared about her throne. Her kingdom. Without her at the helm, Kalthanen would surely fail. She didn’t trust anyone else with her home. With her crown. Galan was just someone who was in the way. She could not worry herself over any silly boy. Could not worry herself over what might happen if she did break his heart.
He deserved it. She just was unsure why.
It must have been because he dared make her feel anything. No one was supposed to get inside of her head. No one was supposed to make her feel as though they were enough for her. She was supposed to be better than that. But with Galan … She felt as though she wasn’t. She felt as though she was another silly girl who would fall for any boy with pretty eyes.
“Presenting His Royal Highness Crown Prince Galan Ashryver of Wendlyn and Her Highness Princess Arya Nostariel of Kalthanen,” a man in the Ashryver livery called from the balcony.
All eyes fell on the two. This was normally where Arya shined the brightest. She adored having attention placed on her. Loved it when she knew who she was tricking into submission. Although, this was an entirely different battlefield. It was harder when she felt unlike herself.
Galan did not release his hold on her, a bright smile crossed his features and made him appear every bit the handsome prince.
“Friends,” his voice carried over the ballroom despite the fact that he had spoken at a normal tone. It was clear he commanded respect in a way that she had never known. She just had to figure out how he did it. “Thank you again for coming to the celebration. I know this has been a hard year for all of us. Adarlan continues to attack our borders, we have only Doranelle as an ally. But we have made friends with Kalthanen.”
He looked to her, raising her hand while he spoke. His eyes shone in a way that made her heart hammer and her palms sweaty. She knew for a fact that this was untrue. Galan was likely hoping for a friendship. Or something else entirely. She had no clue of his intentions.
“We will be able to hold off Adarlan and keep our borders closed to those who would do us harm. I promise to keep your sons safe. Now, enough discussion of politics and war. Please, enjoy the festivities.” Galan lowered their hands then. Before he began to lead her down the steps and into the ballroom proper.
The lights seemed to glitter as they bounced off of ladies’ jewels and men’s shining cufflinks and other subtle hints of their wealth. Only a few in the back seemed untouched by the lights. But they gave off something of their own. A power that she had never felt before that was paired with almost ethereal beauty. She did not have to be told who they were.
“Would you care to dance?” Galan asked her, his breath gently caressing her ear. She almost shivered.
“I would be delighted,” she spoke honestly as she looked up at him. Arya had never been one for balls, often finding the dancing tedious and repetitive. But it was quite challenging not to want to be enveloped in his strong arms. She felt quite stupid for thinking so.
Galan’s smile radiated far more than any jewel in the room. He looked nearly as ethereal as a Fae when he smiled. It was wide enough to show the dimple on his left side. That stupid dimple made him more handsome than any man she’d ever laid eyes on. How dare he be beautiful.
He led her to the dance floor. His left hand found her waist while his right took hers. He brought her close enough to remain proper but she could still feel the heat of him. She could smell the scent that clung to his skin. The breeze of the sea, the winds that had swept salt into his hair, and the musk that she found clung to many men. She hated how much she loved it.
As the music began to fill the room, Galan swept her into a dance. He was the perfect partner. Calm, gentle, a smile always on his face, yet strong. He would not let her fail. She found that it was too easy to let go of her determination to lead. She would let him have this moment.
“You’re a beautiful dancer,” he broke the spell that had been cast over her.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” Arya told him with a gentle smile. “You fight alongside your men, you know flowers, and you dance. Is there anything you cannot do?”
“I promise you my faults outweigh my accomplishments,” he chuckled softly.
His laugh was beautiful. Soft like a Kalthanen lullaby. She found herself wishing she could sing him one while running her fingers through his stupidly perfect hair.
“Mhm,” Arya mused as they twirled around the room. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Then I pray you never see the weaker parts of me,” Galan seemed to be watching her carefully. As if he truly cared what she thought of him. That or he had seen past her own disguise.
“I assure you, I’ve seen much worse.” She had been much worse. She wanted to be a good person, wanted to make things better for her people. But she couldn’t do anything without a crown. Getting the crown would mean being able to change the world. For now, being someone who everyone else would hate was her only course of action.
“Perhaps you’ll see those parts of me later,” his hand tightened just slightly around hers. She could feel how clammy it was. “If things go well.”
“Do you see things going well?” Arya rose a brow as she peered up at him.
“I’m not a fortune teller,” despite his words his cheeks were flushed. She was rather amused by it. “But I can certainly hope for it.”
Arya laughed softly as he spun her out, the music thankfully overwhelming the awkwardness of the conversation. She had no idea how to tell him it could never be. He hadn’t spoken of intentions to court her prior to this. It seemed as though he did have a flaw. Not knowing when to bring up a certain topic. Falling for the wrong girl.
She didn’t want to hurt him. She knew that as she looked into his warm blue eyes. However, she wouldn’t give up the crown of Kalthanen for a silly boy. Even if he was a Crown Prince. How was she to help her people if she ruled an ocean away? How was she to keep her parents’ respect if she went against them?
“Thank you for the dance, Galan,” she spoke softly as she parted from him.
“You’re very welcome, Arya,” despite the smile on his lips he sounded almost hurt. She ached to dance with him the whole night but she knew better. It would cause a rumor of some sort. One that she would not be able to easily dissuade.
She gave him a low curtsey before slipping away from him. She managed to disappear into the crowd, her gown allowing her to blend in with the other Wendlyn nobles. She hated how easy it was. To be forgotten, ignored, unseen. She wondered if she would live her life in the shadows. If her family would keep her from becoming the woman she was meant to. All of it seemed arbitrary.
Arya found herself at the edge of the crowd, breathing as deeply as she could with the damned corset. She had never understood the appeal of them.
Calanon was on the dance floor, a beautiful woman wrapped in his arms. He at least looked as though he were having fun. If anyone was to have a good time, it was Calanon. He didn’t have to worry about his parents’ wrath. Nor did he have to worry about upholding a legacy. All he had to worry about was which plan to kill his cousins would work.
She looked away from him after a moment, knowing that jealousy would do more harm than good. Besides being jealous of Calanon was like being jealous of a gutter. He was nothing to her, nothing that she could not one day soon be rid of. She just had to play her cards right, despite knowing just how difficult that was.
“Excuse me,” a voice from behind her brought her out of her thoughts and contemplations. She turned her head, peering over her shoulder with a raised brow and a demure smile.
“Can I help you?” Arya questioned.
The man’s face was nothing special. He had a broad nose that looked as though it had been broken before, thin lips, and watery blue eyes that she did not wish to look at. His golden hair fell to his shoulders and looked nearly greasy. He was no where near what she wanted.
“I was wondering if you would like to dance with me?” He sounded hopeful. Arya almost felt bad for him. She knew better than to spend her time leading on men who would not be welcome prospects.
Yet, she found that she could not deny a man who was smiling at her as though she was his last chance. Despite the bitterness within her soul, she could show basic human decency. Kindness was not completely unknown to her.
“I would love to,” the smile she offered him was kind. One that she had not yet used on Galan.
The man appeared relieved, as though no other woman would have done so. Or perhaps he just did not yet have the nerve to ask the woman he was truly interested in. She didn’t know nor did she really care to. He looped his arm through hers and led her back to the dance floor.
He was a fine dancer. Yet it was not nearly as remarkable as when Galan had held her in his arms. She didn’t feel anything as they danced. Nor did they spend time speaking. He seemed more concerned about where he was placing his feet.
She could feel someone’s gaze on her as the dance continued. She assumed that it was Galan.
She wanted it to be Galan.
That alone was cause for trouble. She should have wanted Galan to ignore her. To want nothing to do with her beyond some slight flirtation. Galan was to be someone else’s. Someone who actually deserved him.
Not a woman who was fighting tooth and nail to protect her own crown.
The dance ended soon enough, the man bowing gracefully to her. She curtised in response.
“You dance beautifully,” the cool indifference of the voice made her turn. It was not Galan who had been watching her after all.
Instead, it was a man who was nearing six feet tall. His cheekbones were sharper than Galan’s, his eyes dark and filled with a cold fire that matched her own. His nose was thin, his lips the same. Yet, his skin was golden as though he spent most of his time outdoors. He carried himself as though he were a prince, despite only being a lord. She could tell by the fabric of the black brocade he wore. It was not nearly as nice as Calanon’s.
“Thank you, sir,” Arya trailed off, expecting him to give her a name.
“Lord Thomas Middleditch,” he gave a stiff bow before standing. “Might I have this dance?”
Galan was watching now. His Ashryver eyes darkening as he began to approach the couple. The way he was moving swiftly towards the pair was the only reason for her answer.
summary: set in the future after acofas & koa | Prythian and Erilea have been opened to each other ever since a portal connecting the two worlds was found. Queen Aelin Galathynius has signed a secret peace treaty with the High Lady and High Lord of the Night Court, thus fortifying their friendship, and the union of their families. But when the other High Lords of Prythian discover the Night Court’s secret friends, they are intent on seeing them as foes, and Eris Vanserra is ready to take the opportunity to further destroy what little is left of Prythian’s unity.
In a world remade by peace, you can hear the faraway drums of war that can - and shall - destroy it once again.
***
tw:verbal, emotional and physical abuse; sexual themes; violence & gore
rating:explicit
masterlist | ask box | gen 2 page | tog + acotar gen 2 family tree
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<—– PROLOGUE PART 3
CHAPTER ONE —–> (coming soon!)
***
~the worlds, books, and any recognizable characters belong to sarah j maas~
***
A century or so ago
Northern Fields, Autumn Court, Prythian
Her wedding day is uneventful, full of boorish people and, to make matters worse, it pours down the entire time.
Annika detests the rain as much she detests her new husband.
Emilian Ardor has the wry smile of a hunter with an easy prey’s blood soaking his clothes. He drinks the day away, flaunting his wealth, flirting with the musicians, and stuffing his mouth with enough sweets to feed an entire village.
Despite this, Annika supposes that she can find a few reprieves in the middle of this rather lamentable situation. For one, when she declared she did not wish for her family to come, Emilian’s reply was a simple shrug, so she was spared having to look at her father’s face and trying to hide the desire to spill his blood on the white petals covering the ground. And though she has spent the last hour being dragged around by her husband’s arm to greet his… friends, he has not spoken more than four words to her since their vows, nor has he attempted to touch her more than it is considered necessary. Besides, the ceremony begins and ends before she can bask in her revolt, and her husband’s wine has been satisfactory enough to keep her company since then.
They dine alone in his ostentatious table, candlelight between them. Annika has traded her gown for a simple tunic and dark trousers to match. She had no intention of impressing his friends before with that appalling excuse of a dress, and she certainly has no intention of impressing Emilian now with the clothes she feels most comfortable in.
AN:To warn you in advance, I’m going to take next week off so that I can focus on the next chapter (which will be a lot of work to write) and When in Wendlyn. So the next update will be posted June 25th.
And you know how I feel about cliff-hangers …
______
It went against every instinct Aelin had to let Sam pick her up for their date.
Handing over power to men she didn’t quite trust wasn’t exactly one of her favourite things to do, but he’d claimed he had an evening of surprises for her, and hell, Aelin wanted to see what Sam would do if he felt he was in control.
When he showed up at her door with a bouquet of roses and a crooked tie, though, she realized that maybe she was letting her vigilante mentality get the best of her. There was nothing threatening about the way Sam was jittering with boyish nerves, nor the way he grinned at her when she pulled open the door. His arm shot out, pushing the roses into her hands as he stumbled through his, “Hello.”
Aelin couldn’t help but smile—though she did hold in a laugh. “Hey.” She took the roses and gave them a sniff. Not her favourite flower, but lovely nonetheless. “These are beautiful, Sam. Thank you.”
His smile was one of relief. “You’re welcome—and you look great.” He waved a hand at her dress like he was helpless in its presence. “That’s, um … you look amazing.”
At that Aelin allowed herself to chuckle. “Thank you.” She had to admit she looked damn good, though it wasn’t her best dress. That she was saving for … for someone else. Even though the only plan she had in regards to her mate was to figure out a way to shut Fenrys up permanently.
There were exactly eleven days left until the interfering idiot would tell Rowan her identity. And she’d laid awake every night, imagining possible avenues and outcomes to the beat of the ticking clock. Should she just bite the bullet? Come clean now and accept the consequences? Or would it be better for Fenrys to break the news—a third party that wasn’t as emotionally invested?
Deep down, Aelin knew that Rowan wouldn’t appreciate hearing it from anyone but her, and yet … she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she called Fenrys’s bluff. It was a stupid hope, but maybe, he wouldn’t spill her secret at all.
Not likely, though.
Aelin lifted up the flowers. “Come inside while I find these a vase.” She stepped aside and held the door open wide. He followed her into the foyer, and she asked, “How was work?” She’d been in the labs with Elide today.
“It was really productive,” he said, all mischief. “Not even one piece of mail got misdelivered.”
“Wow, dinner and a performance review?” Aelin threw a wink over her shoulder. “How did I get so lucky?”
“No—I—that’s not what—”
“Relax,” she laughed but softened her tone. “I’m just messing with you.” Gods, he was so nervous that she sort of wanted to raid her mom’s old medicine cabinet for a solution. But she led him into the house, not toward her parents’ ensuite, but through the first floor. Aelin didn’t know exactly where the vases would be, and she kept as little staff as possible, so they’d have to look around a bit. She aimed for the kitchens.
Sam’s inhale was sharp and instant.
The foyer was predictable in the way that all mansion entrances were. Two spiral staircases, a crystal chandelier with more shine than a disco ball. But the rest of the house was … different.
Amithy, Aelin’s house steward, had tried to have the mansion “readied” for her when she’d heard that a Galathynius would be coming home. Aelin had put a stop to that as quickly as she could, and the result had one foot in the land of the living and the other in limbo. Half of the furniture was covered in dust sheets. The rooms were dark and ghostly. Aelin didn’t want her parents’ mansion to feel like a home, nor did she want visual reminders of them.
But she understood that that decision made it a dreary place for guests to visit.
Her echoing footsteps were more awkward than Sam’s stuttering. He merely walked behind her in silence, perhaps reassessing the type of person he believed her to be. She almost jumped when he murmured, “What about this?”
Aelin turned to find him pointing at a blue vase sitting on a plinth and laughed. “That’s five hundred years old.”
“Oh.” In the darkness, she couldn’t decide if Sam had blanched or blushed.
“It’s from the Eastern Continent,” Aelin explained, running an irreverent finger over the lip of the vessel. There was nobody who could stop her from doing such things now. “Worth about $400,000. It was my mother’s. When I was ten, I almost knocked it over while playing tag with Aedion. I swear my mom nearly lost her mind. She loved this vase. I was on a plane to Wendlyn the very next day…”
Aelin pulled back her hand, the porcelain suddenly stinging the pads of her fingers. She’d forgotten about that memory.
“Aelin?”
“Hmm?” She shook her head, ridding it of the dizzying thoughts. She must have been silent for a lot longer than she’d realized. This is why she’d wanted everything covered in dust cloths.
Sam tapped a finger against his wrist. “We’ve got to get moving if we want to make our dinner reservation.”
Aelin sighed and resumed the walk to the kitchens. “Right.”
______
“He lives,” Lorcan drawled as Rowan took a seat at the table his friend had procured. The wood was sticky beneath his hands, the booth stiff and worn. Skull’s Bay was the seediest bar in Orynth that police officers could visit without getting shivved. It was the kind of place that they could probably shut down if they looked close enough.
But it had the cheapest drinks.
“I was back at work today. You saw me.”
“Yes,” the police chief rolled his eyes, “but you stopped coming for drinks with us months ago.”
“I’ve been busy.” Rowan flagged down a waitress and ordered a beer. It was all he’d allow himself after getting drunk as hell on Sunday night. One night to marinate in his self-pity before getting his shit together and keeping a clear head. He was going to be ready for whatever Celaena threw his way next.
“You make up with Lyria?”
“No,” Rowan sighed. “That’s over.”
Lorcan shrugged as if to say, Whatever. “She was too sweet for you.”
Rowan couldn’t decide which one of them he was insulting with that statement.
“You got someone new?”
“It’s …” Even if he weren’t already lying to Lorcan, Rowan wouldn’t know how to begin to explain the relationship he had with his mate.
“You know what,” Lorcan decided as their drinks arrived, “don’t answer that. I don’t actually care.”
Rowan snorted. He’d never been more grateful for Lorcan’s loose definition of friendship. But his relief was cut short as Fenrys walked through the doors, his expression darker than the shadows on the empty dance floor.
Their friend slumped into a seat beside Rowan, hand going straight to his untouched beer. Nobody stopped Fenrys as he drank the whole thing in one go. Nor did they flinch when he slammed the glass back down onto the table.
“I know you’re both thinking it, so why don’t you just say it?” Fenrys grumbled. He already sounded drunk. Smelled like it too.
Rowan exchanged a tense glance with Lorcan. He asked carefully, as instructed, “Connall couldn’t make it?”
The other Moonbeam twin had been released from hospital last week with only a small scar remaining where excision had taken place. Even Yrene Westfall hadn’t been able to heal it away, and in the end, it was darkly fitting because the visible scar was as real as the mental.
According to Fenrys, Connall was barely talking. Barely even moving from where he’d taken up by the TV. He’d only left the apartment once to visit Elide, and even then, from what Lorcan had recounted, Connall hadn’t bothered to look her in the eye.
“He didn’t want to come.”
Rowan’s heart sank. “Has there been any change?”
“No.” Fenrys crossed his arms on the table and settled his chin upon them. “As the experts keep saying, it’s permanent.”
Lorcan smartly ordered another round of drinks.
“Did Yrene give you any advice on how we can help him …” Rowan struggled for the right word, “… adjust?”
Fenrys nodded bleakly. “She said we should treat it like any other traumatic injury—you know, good support system, talking it out, the usual shit.” He laughed to himself. Not a happy sound. “Yrene recommended a therapist, but Connall flat out refused to consider it.”
“It’ll take time,” Lorcan offered. “It’s only been a few weeks.”
“I know. That’s what Yrene said too. But I feel … helpless. There are all these things I want to do to help him—things that will work—and he just won’t let me.”
“You can’t help someone until they’re ready, Fen,” Rowan said quietly. He knew that better than anybody. “They have to decide they want to get better.”
“Yeah.” Fenrys’s eyes softened, perhaps remembering the very same years that Rowan was. “I’ve been thinking,” he started and then stopped, looking them both over with hesitant eyes. “I’ve been thinking of taking him back to Doranelle.”
Lorcan loosed a long whistle. “That’s extreme.”
“Believe me, I’m aware,” Fenrys said to the beer that had just been placed before him. “But we still have family there, and the change of scenery might do him good.”
“That’s a bit more than just a change of scenery,” Lorcan laughed—and rightly so.
Powerful as it was, the Fae realm stood apart from the rest of the world. While other kingdoms became democracies, and cities of stone became cities of glass, Doranelle remained unchanged, frozen in time. It was the seat of the Fae monarchy and a relic of the Old Ways. Not necessarily because the country wasn’t interested in advancement, but because old-as-hell immortals took a while to catch up.
But ancient practices aside, it was glorious too. Rowan was born there, as were Lorcan and Fenrys. Many of the younger Fae had emigrated over the last few hundred years, wanting a taste of the modern world, though it wasn’t unusual to move back.
Doranelle was wild and unchecked in a way that other countries could never replicate. It called to the more primitive parts of him—the Fae heart that yearned for the woods and mountains, to live amongst nature rather than see it from a window. He’d even chosen Terrasen as his home because of how untamed it was for a developed country.
Rowan had been tempted to move back several times over the centuries—and figured he would eventually. But when that day came, he was pretty sure that nobody from the outside world would ever hear from him again. Doranelle was the type of place where people could easily disappear and he wasn’t quite ready for that.
“I swear to the gods, Fen, if I have to ride a rutting horse to visit you guys, I’m not going to trouble myself,” Lorcan threatened.
Rude as it was, it brought a small smile to Fenrys’s face. “Is that a promise?” he chuckled. “I don’t think I’d stay forever. Just long enough to get Connall settled.”
“You’d be okay with that?” Rowan asked. “With the separation?”
Fenrys just shrugged. “It’s complicated.”
Having become all too familiar with those words himself recently, Rowan didn’t press.
Lorcan didn’t either, sending a grim smile around the table. “Well, I don’t know about you guys, but Elide is working late tonight, and I am going to take this opportunity to get extremely drunk.”
Rowan made his judgement known. “It’s Tuesday.”
“And I have tomorrow off,” the chief said with an unconcerned nod. He raised his glass. “Might as well make the most of it.”
______
Sam brought her to a restaurant that she’d never heard of before, located on the trendy streets of Brannon Hill. It was the kind of place you couldn’t be under or overdressed for, with diners wearing everything from glittering dresses like hers to men in plaid shirts. Aelin had to admit she was intrigued.
The waiter brought them to a table near the back window, offering a clear view up to the mountains, even as thick snow fell. There would be one last winter chill in the coming weeks, and then Spring would take hold to melt it all away.
Sam pushed in her chair and then sat down himself. He smiled at her over the tea lights and ignored his menu.
“You’ve been here before?” Aelin assumed.
“Many times. It was one of my favourites when I was still with the Guild. Arobynn never would have paid for me to go to university, but coming here made me feel like I was part of it—even if just for a little while.” He looked around the restaurant fondly. “It allowed me to meet a lot of interesting people.”
Was it really going to be so easy? Would Sam really just start talking about Arobynn while she perused the menu? Though if he was lying to her still, she wasn’t sure how useful the information would be.
But Aelin, noticing the emphasis of his last sentence, asked, “What kind of interesting people?”
“Just the usual university stereotypes.” Sam smiled mildly. “You should try the taco salad.”
“Good enough for me,” Aelin agreed, shutting her menu. Her parents wouldn’t believe she was about to eat something that was both taco and salad, but she wasn’t about to waste valuable time trying to understand strange foods. “What would you have studied if you’d had the choice?”
Sam shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. After my mother died, I’m not sure I would have taken an academic opportunity even if it had been offered to me. I was dedicated to the Guild.”
“But you came to Brannon Hill anyway?” Aelin asked.
“I think I came here to see if I could find people like me. People who wanted to fight for change.”
And once again, some instinct pulled taut in her chest. “Change that the Guild couldn’t give you?”
A nod. “Arobynn is … Let’s just say he doesn’t get involved. He isn’t emotionally invested in anything, which means he doesn’t care about injustice or suffering. All the shit that’s going on right now? With the Reformists and Maeve? None of that bothers him as long as he comes out richer.”
Aelin sorted through the words quietly. When the waiter returned, Sam gave their orders, and just as she was debating how far she could prod before it got suspicious, her date asked, “What about you? Did you study anything?”
Her insides immediately tensed with an indignant clench.
Aelin had a creative writing degree that she’d completed online at an international school. Her parents hadn’t wanted her in the public eye of a university, but Emrys, her caretaker had helped her enroll discreetly during her time in Wendlyn. Her parents shoved so much money at them that they didn’t notice any of it going toward tuition.
She’d loved studying. It had been one of the better parts of her time across the sea. But when it came to her education, the official answer was, “No.”
Aelin swore she heard a patronizing, pitying edge to his voice when he said, “I suppose you had other things on your mind.”
Like drugs. He was referring to her supposed drug addiction.
“Yes.” Aelin forced a tight smile. “Rehab keeps you busy.”
If her aggravation was noticeable, Sam didn’t acknowledge it. He pushed past the painful awkwardness with ease. “Have you thought any more about what you’d like to do with Gala?”
She raised an inquisitive brow. “Do with Gala?”
“When you take over, I mean.”
Aelin had no intention of taking over Gala. Not now and not ever. She’d deliberately run it into the ground if anyone dared to give her the reins.
“You’ll have a very powerful, multi-million dollar company at your fingertips,” Sam continued. “There’s a lot you could do with that.”
“Sounds like you have some ideas.”
“Maybe a few.” His expression fell into one of solemn focus. “Gala could influence the governing council a lot if it bothered to try.”
“You think lobbyists will be able to interrupt Councillor Maeve’s agenda?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw at the sound of Maeve’s name. “No … but I think you could.”
Aelin didn’t hide her skepticism.
“You could be a symbol if you wanted to.”
She looked down at the bare tablecloth, wishing she could stuff her face with food to delay her answer. Sam had said these things to her before, and it gave her the exact same feeling of unease now as it had the last time.
“I’m sorry,” he said with a brightening laugh, “I’m talking politics when we’re supposed to be on a date.” He waved away the conversation with a limp hand. “Let’s talk about something lighter. Tell me about your childhood.”
Light indeed.
______
“Wait,” Fenrys slurred, resting his drunken head on Rowan’s sober shoulder. “Why aren’t you working tomorrow?” He pointed a finger in Lorcan’s face and spun it in whimsical circles.
Lorcan, who did not get sillier when drunk, only more succinct, replied, “Protests.”
“No—Lor—nobody is protesting your”—a hiccup—“absence.” Fenrys shook his head. Confused with himself and the conversation. “Butwhy will you be absent?”
“Protesters. Tomorrow,” Lorcan snipped. “At the station.”
Rowan’s eyebrows popped up. It was the first he’d heard of this. “People are protesting the police?” he confirmed.
Lorcan nodded. “Connall.”
With a roll of his eyes, Rowan groaned, “I realize that you get monosyllabic when you drink, but could you please try to string together a coherent explanation?”
The chief rolled his eyes back at Rowan with exaggerated childishness. “People are mad that Connall got fired. So they’re going to yell at us.” Not too drunk for derision, he added, “If you hadn’t taken so many sick days, you would know all this.”
“I’m not sick,” Fenrys whined unhelpfully.
Rowan ignored his stupid friend. “But why do you specifically need to stay home?”
“Because,” Lorcan guffawed, leaning back into his seat and spreading his arms in a flailing gesture of frustration, “they blame me.”
At that, Rowan shoved Fenrys off his shoulder. This conversation was too serious for cuddling. “But Maeve made the call. You had nothing to do with it.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m the chief and they want me gone.”
“They’re demanding you step down?”
“Rowan. Why are you just repeating everything we say?” Lorcan scrubbed at his face, massaging it into a glare. “Yes, they want me to step down.”
“That’s insane.” Lorcan was the person fighting hardest against Maeve’s tyranny in the police force. It was ludicrous that people would blame him for Connall’s dismissal.
Sure, Rowan understood being frustrated with the system at large, perhaps wanting a clean slate, but removing Lorcan from his position wouldn’t accomplish that. In fact … if Lorcan did step down …
“You’re not going to, right?” he asked with a hint of panic now.
“Gods, no,” Lorcan snorted. “You know who Maeve would replace me with.”
Rowan did. All too well. If those protesters thought Lorcan was bad for Orynth, they had no idea what Cairn could do to their city.
Cairn had attached himself to Maeve after unfortunately surviving the Great War. Nobody knew exactly what he did for her and his responsibilities seemed to change over the decades, but Rowan was certain he at least managed her private security.
And that “security” included a lot of things Rowan would rather not imagine.
Thinking the same thing, Lorcan said, “I’m keeping this job until either I’m dead or he is.”
“Cheers to that,” Fenrys garbled through a sip of beer.
______
To Aelin’s delight, the taco salad made a lot of sense. It was weird and totally delicious. Which was good because the conversation with Sam was onlyweird.
She’d stumbled through an overview of her childhood, fielding excited questions about her “cool” parents.
Sam worshipped them for having built Gala. He believed it must have been positively inspiring to grow up under their influence. How he came to that conclusion while also believing she’d become a pre-teen drug addict under their watch, she wasn’t sure.
“We’ve talked so much about me,” she said when Sam finally took a breath. “What was your mom like?”
She wasn’t really sure if the question was polite, but Aelin figured he’d spent enough time poking his fingers into her dead-parent-wounds. Why couldn’t she do the same?
While she shovelled chocolate cake into her mouth, Sam smiled sadly. “She was gentle. But sassy too. I think that’s how she put up with my dad for so long—and then Arobynn after he left. She was so warm, but she never failed to put men like them in their place.”
Aelin cocked a brow. “Sounds like my kind of woman.”
“She was amazing,” he said, still smiling that melancholic smile. “We didn’t have a lot, but she was the best parent I could have asked for.”
Jealousy panged in her chest, but Aelin quashed it, knowing she’d finally found her segue back into useful conversation. “A tough act to follow, I’m guessing?” she prodded.
Sam caught her meaning, and his eyes fell darkly onto her cake. “A very tough act to follow.”
“What was he like?” Aelin said, taking the plunge. “When you were growing up?”
“I don’t think you want to know.”
There was a genuine shake to his voice, a truth to his eyes—and damn, if she wasn’t familiar with that feeling.
“It must be a relief,” Aelin said softly after a long silence, “that’s he’s not in your life anymore.” She took Sam’s hand, hoping physical touch would keep him talking. He interlaced their fingers.
“Arobynn is never really out of your life,” he admitted with a cynical sigh. “He’s always planning things. Pulling strings. Working on some bigger picture that nobody else can see but him.”
Like the Reformists’ master plan, perhaps?
“Should I be worried?” she asked, encouraging him on.
“About yourself?”
“About Gala,” she corrected—though she was honestly starting to wonder about herself too. “He’s my head of security. If you think he’s planning something nefarious for my company, I’d like to know so I can fire him now.”
A shake of the head. “No, I don’t think he’s got anything like that planned. Arobynn values that contract too much to mess it up. In the end, he’s always about the money.” Sam laughed to himself. “If he knew that his client was on a date with me right now, he’d probably get upset that I was putting an important business relationship at risk rather than just being happy for me.”
“Because if we broke up, I’d what? Fire him in retaliation?”
“Who knows.”
“Why would it matter to him? You guys don’t even talk anymore, right?” She wanted to see every flicker of Sam’s reaction.
But he just said, “Nope. I haven’t seen him in years.” He didn’t even blink.
And to stop herself from calling him out on the lie, Aelin had to take a very big bite of cake.
______
“What about that one?” Lorcan said with a clumsy jerk of his beer bottle. He was pointing at a group of females.
“No.”
“What about the waitress with all the colours?”
Rowan snorted. “You mean the rainbow hair?”
“Colourful,” his friend agreed happily.
“Still a no.”
Lorcan and Fenrys were officially drunk enough that they wouldn’t be able to crawl in a straight line if their lives depended on it. And for some reason, after declaring that he didn’t care about Rowna’s love life earlier, the police chief had taken up matchmaking.
“Why?” Lorcan whined. “Why don’t you like any of them?” He gestured to the whole room.
Fenrys snickered like he might say something, so Rowan punched him in the ribs.
“I’m not in the mood for a random hook-up,” he explained.
Lorcan looked personally offended by that. “But you’re so stressed. El says you’re too stressed. And she knows everything in the world.”
Rowan just pushed a glass of water into his friend’s hands. “Drink.”
“Always stressed,” Lorcan chided, but did accept the glass. “That’s why your hair is sad. And why you need the rainbow lady.”
Rowan frowned and lifted a hand to his head. “My hair isn’t sad—”
“Rooooooooooo,” Fenrys chimed in. “Ro. Ro. This is important.” He pointed at Lorcan. “He can’t—he can’t say it because he’s our boss and that would be HR, but I can tell you.” A loving hand fell over his heart. “You need to get laid.”
“Okay, Fen—”
“No, no. Ro. I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t not true.”
Lorcan nodded solemnly.
“We are your friends of yours, so you have to listen.”
Rowan just sighed.
“It’s—Rowan—it’s true love,” Fenrys whispered. “Go and get her.”
“Fen,” he warned. If he mentioned Celaena, Rowan was going to order them shots until their brains melted.
“Rainbow is still here!” Lorcan agreed, completely unaware of Fenrys’s real meaning. “I just saw her! Go!”
Fenrys shook his head angrily. “No. Not Rainbow. True love—”
“Alright. I get it, you guys. My love life needs some work.” And was absolutely not up for discussion. “Now can you both please drink some water so I can stuff you into taxis and pretend this night never happened?”
Lorcan cut him a scathing glare. “You’re mean when you’re drunk.”
“I’msober—”
“Moonbeam, you had a date with the princess.” It was more of a declaration than a question, and to Rowan’s surprise, it seemed to sober Fenrys up.
“It was just … drinks.” He said it like he was admitting to a crime.
“Wait, you actually went on a date with Aelin Galathynius?” Rowan laughed, piecing it together. “That weird confrontational pickup strategy worked for you?”
Fenrys shrugged. Sank down into his seat actually. “It wasn’t a good date.”
“Were you mean to her?” Lorcan growled, leaning across the table with surprising feist.
“No, she just doesn’t like me.”
That soothed the police chief, who settled back into his chair. “Good.”
“Good?” Fenrys repeated.
“I don’t know Aelin well, but Elide likes her a lot,” Lorcan explained. “Which means she’s too good for you.”
Rowan laughed, even though he was extremely confused by this whole conversation. Lorcan was being defensive—and for Aelin Galathynius of all people. Lorcan didn’t like anyone. And Elide wasn’t exactly handing out stamps of approval either.
Fenrys’s eyes slid to the side, giving Rowan a weird look. “I think she’s interested in someone else.”
Rowan patted him on the back. “Tough luck, man.”
Fenrys just frowned, and they fell into a strange silence.
“Okay, I think I’ve had enough of you two, and some of us actually have to work tomorrow,” Rowan said eventually, getting to his feet. To his relief, his friends took the hint and stood as well. He smiled fondly at each of them. “Let’s get you guys home.”
______
“This was really fun, Aelin,” Sam said from the driver’s seat. He had finally taken her home, and they were parked outside her front door. Which was good because she was really looking forward to sleeping off the awkwardness of this date.
“Yeah, it was great.” Could he hear how unenthusiastic she sounded?
He gave her a conspirator’s smile. “I’m sad that it has to be over.”
Okay. “Look, Sam. It was nice having dinner with you, but I’m not comfortable inviting you in—“
“Oh gods! No!” he gasped. “I wasn’t trying to—no, Aelin.” Sam’s cheeks had turned to flame. “I was just thinking if you’re not too tired, there’s one more place we could check out. But we don’t—it’s up to you.” His throat audibly bobbed at the end of his ramble.
“Oh.” Aelin turned in her seat, regarding him with curiosity and a healthy dose of suspicion. “What sort of place?”
He perked up. “Place might not have been the right word. It’s more like a party with those people I met in Brannon Hill—like I told you.”
“The university stereotypes?”
“Yeah. I think you’d like them.” Sam looked her up and down. “I think you’d have a lot in common if you’re interested.”
It was those words that finally flipped a switch on the very thing she’d been considering for a while. In the back of her mind, she’d wondered. Of course, she’d wondered. Sam himself had been leaving clues for her to pick up for weeks.
“Okay … sure.” Her voice was light but her blood was pounding. She wondered if she’d just agreed to be abducted.
Sam grinned wide and restarted the car. “Aelin, do you remember what I said about how you could be a symbol? I think these people can show you how.”
______
It was well into the night by the time Aelin saw anything close to a party on the horizon. They’d driven South through the city and onto the plains—about twenty minutes away from Orynth.
And she’d been spiralling into her magic the whole time.
“Don’t be nervous,” Sam encouraged, reading the tension in her shoulders. “We’ll just slip in, and if you feel like talking to anyone we can, but there’s no pressure.”
“Right.” He’d given her a hoodie to wear. A hoodie. “How well do you know these people again?”
“Some of them I know very well, and many of them are … new acquaintances, I guess you could say.”
“Okay.” Oh, gods. Why had she agreed to this?
She wanted to text Rowan, but there was no way she’d be able to do it without Sam noticing. Why hadn’t she called him to begin with? He could have shadowed the entire date in his hawk form, ready to jump in if anything happened to her.
Now she was probably about to be vanished into a basement, and her mate wouldn’t even know where to start looking for her. The thought made her flames so hot that she was sweating through her hoodie and her wool winter coat.
It didn’t matter that she was a sun goddess given form. It didn’t matter that she was confident she could dispatch Sam without a second thought. Something instinctive was rearing its head. Female intuition that a male was leading her into something bad. All the training in the world couldn’t still the trembling in her hands.
And yet, she couldn’t turn back now.
A cluster of industrial buildings came into view, and then the car was rolling to a stop on a snowy curb.
“Sorry, we’ll have to walk a bit.” Sam winced. “We’re late, so all the good parking spots are taken—”
“It’s fine.” Her eyes strained to map out her surroundings. Escape routes, avenues for attack.
A too-warm hand closed around her own—wrong, wrong, wrong—and she found Sam peering into her face with a glimmer in his eyes that threatened to slice the skin off her bones. “I think you’re really going to like this, Aelin.”
They shuffled out of the car, and then her hand was in Sam’s again as he towed her toward a large warehouse—the only building around with lights in the windows.
“It’s a pretty big event tonight,” he explained. The door got closer and closer. “Something everybody’s been working on for a long time. I’m really glad you’ll get to see it. Oh—remember, hood up.”
She did as instructed with a mute nod, forcing her breaths to be steady. Cheering filled her ears, and the creak of metal scratched at her nerves as Sam finally pulled open the door.
Aelin was stumbling into the crowd before she could make sense of what was happening. There were so many males, so many angry voices. Everyone was hooded like she was—even the man at the front of the room yelling into a microphone on a stage.
It wasn’t a party.
It was a rally.
Aelin pulled her hoodie closer, trying to hide in the shadows of Sam’s body. If anybody recognized her, she’d be fucked, magic or not.
Her date gripped her elbow, leading her away from the door—the only exit she could see—but kept them toward the back of the room.
He whispered into her ear, a snake slithering down her spine, “Just wait. They’re about to get to the best part.”
Effectively captive, Aelin turned her attention to the speaker.
“—it has gone on too long!” the man shouted, rage woven into every heinous word. “We have suffered under their thumb for decades, and I am here, standing in front of each of you today to say, enough!
Enough! the crowd repeated.
“No more unjust rule! No more corruption! No more executions in place of due process!The day of reckoning has arrived!” The man prowled across the stage, working the crowd up into a frenzy. “And how shall we punish those that have kept us down?”
Kill them! the audience screamed.
“Holy shit, Sam,” Aelin gasped.
He pulled her closer. “Just wait.”
“In thirty minutes, all of our planning comes to fruition. In thirty minutes, the people who have ruined our city—our beautiful country will finally get what’s coming to them.”
Aelin couldn’t breathe.
“Eleven targets! Eleven teams loaded with Gala tech! That is all it will take to wipe out the worst of the corrupt magic users in Orynth. Tonight, we take away their power. Tonight, we take our city back! Are you with me?”
The crowd of Reformists exploded, and Aelin was nearly knocked back by the force of it. People jostled her back and forth. The speaker howled through a sadistic smile, “They all die tonight!”
The gleeful scream that Sam loosed nearly made her throw up her chocolate cake. But even that was nothing compared to how she felt when they started chanting the names of the targets.
Aelin wasn’t in a particularly good mood that Friday morning when Sam ushered her into the elevator with the mail cart. Nor did it improve throughout the day when the best piece of gossip she heard was that Clarisse from marketing thought her boyfriend was cheating on her. And Aelin was positively fuming by the time she was finally allowed to leave. Working with mail had proved absolutely useless, and the worst part was that her suffering for the day had only just begun.
She’d been working amongst Gala’s employees long enough to know that the job wasn’t bringing her any closer to the Reformists. Even as people got used to her presence, started to disregard her and open up again, it was only ever to share tidbits about their personal lives. It seemed ridiculous now, looking back and thinking an employee might just announce themselves as a terrorist by the water cooler. To think she’d receive an envelope labelled Reformist Manifesto, DO NOT OPEN. Whoever had assisted the terrorists with their heist was too careful—or not here at all. And whoever her parents had trusted with knowledge of the mystery weapon wasn’t exactly waving a flag around either.
The only person Aelin had a specific interest in was Arobynn Hamel, her leader of security, but despite having been back in Orynth for three months now, the two of them hadn’t crossed paths. She was still holding out hope that he would make an appearance in Elide’s labs, perhaps to check in on his men or walk around arrogantly in a suit, but so far, nothing. She had a feeling that if she wanted to observe the Guild of Steel’s leader, she’d have to go to him.
But not tonight. She was busy tonight.
“You look really nice, Aelin,” Sam said quietly as she packed up her stuff.
She looked down at the sparkly red dress Lysandra had insisted upon, having just changed into it in the bathroom a moment ago. “Thanks,” she said to her colleague as she threw her bag over her shoulder. Hard metal jabbed into her side—stolen shield prototypes. Aelin had swiped a few more yesterday, satisfied that Elide still hadn’t noticed. The engineer would have raked her over the coals if she had.
“Big night?”
Aelin tried to sound pleased. “I have a date.”
That’s what Fenrys insisted they call it, but really it was a business meeting. The kind where a list of demands was whispered into the romantic glow of tea lights. According to him, having this conversation in public would be safer. For him.
He was probably right.
“Oh.”
Aelin glanced up at Sam, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. His cheeks were stained a gentle shade of pink.
“I didn’t realize you were seeing anybody,” he said.
“I’m …” Being black-mailed. In love with the guy’s best friend. An emotional bomb about to go off—and yes, I’m taking everyone with me. “Keeping things casual.”
Sam’s face hardened. He didn’t like that answer. “Is it someone I’ve met?”
“I doubt it.” Aelin decided to ignore the possessive edge to his voice. “His name is Fenrys Moonbeam.”
“The cop?” Sam asked, surprise washing away whatever the heck he thought he was doing. “Connall Moonbeam’s brother?”
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s the one. How do you know them?”
“I don’t. But I read an article that Connall was “retired” from the force because he doesn’t have magic anymore.” Sam shook his head angrily. “It’s unbelievable how blatant they were about it. The second you lose your magic, you’re worthless to them, no matter how many years of loyalty you give. It’s such bullshit.”
“Hey, I’m the last person you have to convince that Councillor Maeve is an evil demon.” Aelin looked down at her phone. “I’m sorry, Sam, but I really need to go.”
“It’s not just Maeve,” he mumbled.
“I know,” she agreed, thoughts already on other things. Fenrys had warned her not to be late. “I’ll see you on Monday, okay?”
Aelin barely caught his somber whisper of, “Have fun.” And Sam likely didn’t hear her reply, “I won’t.”
______
Rowan took a step back from his whiteboard, not sure whether to be proud or disturbed by its progress. What had once barely hosted a few photos of supermodels (courtesy of Fenrys) and a single front-page newspaper clipping was now sprawling with evidence and inference.
He’d nearly retired the evidence board while working with Celaena, had forgotten it in hopes that she would find the courage to share her identity by now. But after last week, after they’d kissed and left things as complicated as they’d found them, Rowan knew what he had to do.
She expected him to wait.
She should have known better.
He was tired. He was done being patient. At a dead end with the Reformists for now, Rowan had called in sick and spent the entirety of the last two days sorting through everything he’d learned. Celaena had let a great deal of information slip over the last few weeks, and he had hopes that if he put the pieces in the right places, he might finally get a lead. Because when he actually stepped back and stopped missing the forest for the trees, he knew a lot.
Rowan knew she had a day job because she’d admitted to thinking of him while she was at work. He knew she had water magic because she’d used it to save Fenrys’s life. He knew that she somehow had access to Gala’s technology, whether sourced through theft, the Reformists, or employment there—something to ask Elide about. Rowan even knew how she tasted, though that wasn’t as useful for narrowing things down.
Details upon details were there. He just needed to listen to them. And when he did, when he figured out what the evidence was trying to tell him then he’d …
Rowan didn’t know.
Maybe he’d confront her. Or maybe he’d feign ignorance until she trusted him enough to come clean. He supposed he’d decide once he knew who she was and after he had an idea of how complicated her identity would make things. No matter what, it wouldn’t change how he felt or what he wanted from her.
And he wouldn’t sleep or stop or rest until he found what he was looking for.
Another hour disappeared. His laptop was starting to blur, or maybe that headache was finally putting its foot down. Rowan scrolled and researched and puzzled until the moon was high. Photos and sticky notes joined the board, sketches and podcast quotes and newspaper clippings. He was a male possessed. Time ticked into oblivion. He almost didn’t bother answering when the pizza guy knocked on the door.
But even just pausing to consider it gave his stomach enough time to loudly rumble its protest, and so Rowan dragged himself to the front door, his muscles screaming as he finally moved from his perch.
“Lyria,” he squeaked, finding his ex-girlfriend instead of the pizza guy.
She was holding a cardboard box—not shaped like a pizza, and she frowned as she looked him over. “What the hell are you wearing?”
Rowan glanced down, confused by the question. “A t-shirt? Sweatpants?”
“Okay, let me rephrase.” Her voice teased, but her face was all concern. “When did you get dunked in a deep fryer?”
“Funny.” He cut her a sardonic smile. Though he probably should take a shower. “What are you doing here?”
Lyria shouldered past him, kicking off her shoes and walking into the apartment before he could object. “I found some of your stuff at my place. Thought you might want it back.”
“Oh. Um, thanks.”
She took the box into the living room, Rowan nervously following on her heels. The whiteboard was out in the open but not visible when you first walked in. There was no way he could move it without her noticing. Even his magic would make the board creak and whine. So his only chance was to make sure she didn’t look in that direction at all …
“It smells different.”
Rowan stood as far from the whiteboard as he could, keeping her focused on him. “Huh?”
Lyria looked around, wandering into the living space near the couch. “Your apartment. It smells different.” She stroked a hand over the throw blanket he’d wrapped around Celaena’s shoulders, idly trying to figure out the source of the change. “It smells like a campfire,” she decided.
Rowan gulped.
Embers. The smell was embers.
“Fenrys brought a scented candle over the other day.” It was the stupidest lie he’d ever told. “You know what he’s like.”
“Hmm.” Lyria put the box down on the coffee table and turned around. “I went by your work on my lunch break. To bring the stuff.” A nod at the box. “They told me you were ill. You don’t look ill. I mean, aside from the outfit—woah.”
And Rowan knew then that he’d been caught.
“Woah,” Lyria repeated as he ran to the whiteboard, trying to shield it with his body. But she got there first, holding up a hand and staring at it with eyes wide as saucers. “Oh my gods.”
“It’s for the Flame Girl case,” he tried to explain.
“Rowan …” She looked back at him with renewed concern, assessing the state of his clothes and probably his hair, which he kept running his fingers through. “This is … Does Lorcan know you’ve been doing this?”
“Lorcan,” he said carefully, “assigned me to this case.” At that, Rowan finally spun the whiteboard around, hiding it from Lyria’s prying gaze, and rushed away. Fleeing the scene of the crime.
She followed him into the kitchen and pointed back at the board. “You know that’s not what I mean.” Her stare landed on the pile of newspapers on the kitchen counter, his laptop glowing with blurry police photos of Celaena’s car. “This is so beyond anything you did with your other cases.”
Rowan shrugged, dismissing the thought. “I’ve never had to solve a case this complicated before.”
“Yes, but—” Lyria shook her head, words failing her. “Is this necessary?” She gestured to his clothes, his face, likely the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Is running yourself ragged necessary?”
“I’m fine,” Rowan said, failing to keep the flash of anger from his tone. “This is what detective work looks like, Lyria.”
“It is not. This is—Ro, this is unhinged—”
“It’s my job. I don’t know what you want me to say. This is the most important case of my career.” Of his life.
Her face hardened. “So this is what? Your way of getting a promotion? Seriously?”
“Just leave it alone,” he warned.
“No, not until you tell me what’s going on! Gods, you wrote the words Galaclone on that board like eight times, and you’re expecting me to believe that this is normal? You’re expecting me to see all of this”—she waved her hands at him—“and not worry about you?”
Rowan crossed his arms, forcing unwavering resolve to his face. “Look, I know that you don’t understand what you saw—”
“Then explain it to me! Are you in some kind of trouble? Please, just tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help—”
“I told you,” Rowan said, sharp and firm. Level and cruel. “I’m working on theories about her identity. This is part of the investigation.”
“This is obsession,” she said quietly.
Of course, it was. It was his mate. He was looking for the female that had strung him along for months, that had his heart in her hand and was squeezing it to the point of agony. Rowan needed to find her. If that made him unhinged in Lyria’s eyes, then he didn’t give a shit. It was nobody else’s business. This only concerned him and Celaena.
“Let it go.”
“I can’t.”
“Lyria.” Rowan couldn’t take one more word of this.
“I’m worried about you—”
“That’s not your job anymore!” he shouted. “We broke up, remember?”
Her expression fractured as those words echoed between them, battering at old wounds and new. When her eyes started to shimmer, he felt like an even bigger asshole than he’d thought possible.
“You’re such a dick, Rowan,” she whispered before hurrying back to the front door.
“Shit, Lyria, I’m sorry.” He followed after her, coming to stand at her side as she struggled with her shoelaces. “I didn’t mean to—look, I appreciate your concern, but I have everything under control.”
She didn’t answer, just stood and opened the door.
“Please look at me. I’m sorry that I yelled at you—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Finally, Lyria met his stare with eyes harbouring more hurt than could be accounted for by this fight. “We broke up, remember?”
He was sort of glad that she slammed the door in his face.
______
Aelin made sure that Hellas Lounge shuddered with every high-heeled step she took.
Nobody stopped her as she bypassed the hostess, knowing exactly where to go and that she had the authority to move as she pleased. She strutted past the tables, turning heads, forcing staff to jump out of her way. Tonight she was power, unyielding and unbreakable.
Elegant velvet curtains parted, allowing her entry into the more exclusive section of the restaurant. It was partly why she’d chosen this location. Because even though she’d been photographed walking into the establishment, nobody would dare raise a camera at her inside. The other reason she’d chosen it? Because Fenrys didn’t have the social status to get in by himself. And she wanted him to know it.
She ascended the staircase to the upper floor where private booths lined the wall, each fenced in with sheer drapery that obscured its occupants. She counted them all the way down to the end, to the one she had booked. Fenrys had already been escorted there as per her instructions—a staggered entrance made even more effective by the fact that the staff were being paid to keep his presence a secret. Aelin got to walk through the front door, but he’d been smuggled in through the back. Fenrys may have believed meeting in public was safer, but he had no idea how much influence she could exert over their world.
Aelin didn’t consider it a burden to remind him.
His shadowed body shifted as he felt her approach, and with a push of the curtains, Aelin slipped into the booth.
“Already drunk?” she smirked, noting the half-empty bottle on Fenrys’s side of the table. “How professional of you, Detective.”
Fenrys returned the threatening smile and spun the bottle around with a large hand. “It’s just the human stuff,” he informed her, pointing at the label. Too weak for Fae. “I wanted to make sure I was myself tonight.” He cocked his head. “Can you say the same thing?”
“I can set that fancy suit of yours on fire if you need proof of who I am,” Aelin offered. But she let her eyes fill with flames, rose the candle on their table to a towering height.
A chuckle. “I believe you.” Then he added, “So hostile.”
Aelin spread out her limbs, hooking an arm over the back of the seat. She wouldn’t be small for a male tonight. “I’m not exactly partial to people who threaten me.”
“Threaten?” He lifted a mocking hand to his heart. “I’m hurt that you took it that way. I see myself as more of a counsellor in this situation.”
Bullshit. “A counsellor that wants something from me.”
Fenrys waved off the comment and poured her a drink. “Will this get you drunk?” He gave the bottle a little shake. “Or are you Fae too? I’m not totally clear on how it works yet.”
It was worded plainly, delivered so casually that someone might have missed the question for what it was.
Fenrys’s first demand.
He grinned wide and wicked as her nostrils flared. With a smooth motion, his phone was retrieved from his jacket pocket and laid on the table like a gun. “Shall we ask Rowan what he thinks?”
“I’m demi-Fae,” she confessed with tight, controlled anger. “I have a human form and a Fae form.”
Genuine intrigue lit up his dark eyes. “That’s unusual.”
“We are not here to discuss your opinions of the facts.”
“Right,” he laughed. “Of course. Forgive me.” Fenrys took a long sip, studying her with a look that burned. “And your scent?”
“To spare you the science, which you surely wouldn’t understand, I have a … perfume of sorts. It makes me smell human.”
“And it makes your shifter smell like you too.”
Fuck. He knew everything.
Her silence had him tapping his phone’s screen and pulling up his contacts. A finger hovered over Rowan’s number.
“Yes,” she said through her teeth. “It can change anyone’s scent. If you were to put it on right now, you’d smell exactly like me.”
Fenrys gave her a triumphant grin. “Who did Rowan interview at the police station the other day?”
“I’m sure you know the answer.”
“The shifter then,” he mused. “Because if it was you, Rowan would sense the bond?”
Aelin nodded. “There is nothing I could change about my appearance that would stop him from knowing I’m his mate. Switching Aelin Galathynius out entirely was the only way to keep the secret.”
His brow creased. Perhaps from the way she’d spoken about herself in the third person. “And why does it need to stay secret?”
“Why does the cop tasked with hunting me down need to stay in the dark about my identity?” she condescended. “Surely, you’re not so stupid as to need an answer to that, Moonbeam.”
“Rowan isn’t going to arrest you.” He looked honestly surprised.
“Perhaps I’ll believe that when he’s no longer being paid to look for me.”
“And here I thought you two were getting closer,” Fenrys said, throwing back the remainder of his drink and pouring another.
Aelin arched a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You kissed him didn’t you?”
So they had caught up. “He kissed me—is petty gossip really what you’re trying to get out of this?”
A shrug. “I’m just finding it difficult to understand why you won’t tell him who you are when you’re also trying to climb into his bed. Seems like opposing goals to me.”
“You are ascribing far more manipulative intention to my actions than is actually there.” Aelin swirled her glass. She wouldn’t drink a sip of it. “Rowan is my mate, and he is also my enemy. Anyone would find that a tricky dynamic to navigate.”
“Yourenemy?” Fenrys repeated, mouth hanging open with disbelief. “He would die for you.”
Her chest squeezed. “Is that something he told you, or is that something you’re just pulling out of your ass?”
“Perhaps I’m embellishing an observation,” he admitted with a mild smile, “but he certainly isn’t your enemy.”
Not yet, Aelin thought to herself. Whether that would still be true after he learned her name, though …
“You’re rather well-spoken for a woman who has apparently been struggling with addiction since she was thirteen years old.”
“You act like people who drink can’t be well-read.”
Fenrys rolled his eyes, unimpressed by the deflection. “You act like that was my real question.”
Translation: Why were you in Wendlyn? Why does the world not know you’re demi-Fae? Why have you been hiding?
She suddenly had the urge to reach for the entire bottle of whatever the hell Fenrys was drinking. “You might be enjoying the counsellor title you’ve appointed yourself with,” she said sternly, “but I don’t have any interest in getting into my background with you. It doesn’t change the here and now.”
“Fine.” He pressed his lips into a tight line. “Shall we discuss why we’re really here then?”
Aelin’s neck stiffened with dread. But she wouldn’t let him know he was rattling her. She just reached into her purse and pulled out her chequebook. “How much do you want?”
Fenrys’s eyebrows lifted. “You think I want money?”
“Everybody wants money,” she informed him, clicking her pen. “It’s merely a matter of finding the number that will break you.”
Fenrys was gaping at her. “Aelin, that’s not what I’m here for.”
The name slid over her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Too much. He knew too much.
“I was thinking twenty million,” she continued, writing his name onto the cheque. She would leave the number blank until they settled on an answer. “I would offer you more, but having saved your life, I think I’m owed a discount.”
“You can’t buy my silence.”
“I can buy anything.”
He laughed openly at that. Then he snatched the pen from her fingers and ripped the cheque in half. “I do not want your money.”
Frustrated, Aelin slammed the cover of her chequebook closed. “Are you serious?”
“Areyou?” he laughed. “Do you think Rowan won’t kill me if he finds out I protected your identity for money? We’ve been friends for over a hundred years.”
But Aelin only heard the first part of his objection. The crux of it all. “Then exactly what are you protecting my identity for, Detective Moonbeam?”
Her mate’s best friend settled back into his seat like they’d finally reached the moment he’d been waiting for. He said with renewed calm, “I’m not.”
The bench, the floor, the restaurant—everything—fell away from beneath her, hurtling Aelin into a deadly calm. “You told him?”
Fenrys shook his head. “Not yet.”
“But you’re going to.”
“Yes.” He leaned in, matching the vengeance in her eyes with a dominance of his own. “Unless you do it first.”
Aelin felt the wood of the table start to burn away beneath her fingers.
“You have two weeks to tell Rowan who you are, or I will put an end to this sham myself.”
The ultimatum bounced around in her head, echoing off the walls and flooring her again and again.
Two weeks.
Her voice was nearly a growl. “I saved your life. Connall’s too.”
“And I am grateful for that.” Fenrys’s eyes were sincere. “But in doing so, you bought yourself time, not loyalty.”
“Fifty million,” she blurted, desperation reducing her negotiation tactics to nothing. Money always worked. Money always worked. “You’ll never have to work another day in your life. The interest alone will make you a billionaire before your 500th birthday—”
“No.”
“One hundred—“
“Aelin. No.” He gave her a pitying look. “You’ll thank me one day.”
She doubted that very much. “You know what Rowan thinks of me,” she spat. “You are going to ruin everything.”
“Is that what you’re worried about? That he isn’t going to like you anymore?” Fenrys chuckled and tipped his head back. Like he needed a break from looking at her. “Rowan has lots of negative opinions on public figures—and people in general,” he said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“The way he feels about me means everything.”
He just sighed. Then Fenrys tilted his gaze back down to her, uncompromising and final. “Two weeks, Miss Galathynius.”
It was the lid of a coffin slamming closed.
He made to leave. She stopped him with an invisible wall of flame.
“I could kill you,” Aelin whispered, wrapping that heat around him. Promise and intimidation.
“You could.”
There was no fear in his tone, nothing but patience in his gaze. Like he wasn’t waiting for her to do it, just to admit to herself that she wouldn’t.
Aelin had never killed anyone before. She wasn’t about to start now.
“Whatever you decide,” Fenrys said, standing as her magic faltered, “there’s no need to contact me again. I’m sure Rowan will pass on the news if you make the right decision.”
He lifted a hand to the curtain, and Aelin almost gave in to the urge to kick him out of the booth like a child, but she froze when she heard footsteps approaching. A familiar voice too.
She grabbed a fistful of Fenrys’s suit and pulled him back into his seat. Then she peeked through the curtains just in time to see Arobynn Hamel reaching the top of the stairs followed by—
Sam.
“What the hell?” she whispered.
She knew, of course, that Arobynn had acted as an adoptive parent to Sam after his mother had died. But Sam had told her they’d lost touch. He said they didn’t talk anymore.
So what the fuck were they doing sneaking through the shadows at Hellas Lounge together?
Fenrys stood again, trying to look. “Who is it?”
“Sit down. They’ll see you.”
He did as he was told, flipping from black-mailer to ally in the blink of an eye.
“Aelin,” he said, matching her volume this time, “what are we looking at?”
She strained her ears, even took the risk of shifting into her Fae form to overhear them. But only a fading murmur remained as the two men went to the opposite end of the floor.
“I … I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe nothing. But maybe …”
“Maybesomething?”
She nodded. “I can’t hear what they’re saying.”
Fenrys peaked through the curtains for a second before coming back into the darkness. “Which booth did they go to?”
“The last one.”
“Then let’s go.”
“What—“ But Aelin didn’t get a chance to finish the thought before Fenrys grabbed her hand and the world around them disappeared. Her body was pinched and squeezed through darkness, stretching through a place unlike anything she’d ever seen, and then they were back in an identical booth. Almost exactly the same except the glasses on the table were missing, and now she was nauseous.
Fenrys raised a finger to his lips, not that Aelin needed the helpful hint. They were now one booth away from their target.
“I thought we’d moved past the days where you tried to dictate my actions,” Sam was saying with quiet bitterness.
A warm laugh answered, as liquid as the alcohol being poured into a glass. “I’m always watching out for you, boy.”
“We have very different opinions on what that entails.”
“Of course,” Arobynn replied, “mine comes from experience, yours is the delusion of a lovesick fool.”
“I’m not lovesick.”
“Oh really? Is that why you’ve been spending so much time with Miss Galathynius?”
“I understand your fixation with her,” Arobynn sympathized. “She’s been stunning since she came of age, but she is not for you.”
Aelin’s nausea multiplied exponentially.
“I don’t value her for her beauty,” Sam argued, sounding equally repulsed. “She is intelligent and funny. And stronger than people give her credit for.”
“She is Rhoe and Evalin’s daughter.”
“That’s part of what makes her perfect.” A glass slammed down onto the table. “She understands. Not just what I’ve been through, but that the world needs change. She is fiery and down to earth—and fuck. Yes, she’s beautiful too. Who wouldn’t be interested in that?”
“You misunderstand me again, Sam. I am not faulting you for your interest, I am telling you that she’s off-limits.”
Sam said nothing, and Arobynn’s pleasantries ended.
“Sam,” he snapped like an adder. “Do you understand what I am saying to you? Stay away from Miss Galathynius, or you will answer to me. I’m sure you remember how the Guild handles defiance.”
It was a very long time before Sam mumbled, “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” The smile in Arobynn’s voice had returned. “I’ll see you soon.” There were no more words spoken between the two men.
______
Monday came too quickly on a normal week, but now that every day was a countdown, Aelin hated her weekly schedule even more.
She and Fenrys had parted on strange and silent terms, neither of them knowing what to make of the conversation they’d overheard. Despite their brief truce, they hadn’t discussed it. They’d just fled as quickly as they could without being noticed.
But Aelin had mulled it over all weekend.
She’d suspected Sam’s interest on more than one occasion, but for it to be serious enough that Arobynn was monitoring it, and for Arobynn to have an opinion on who she dated at all was … strange. No less strange, though, than the fact that Sam had lied about his relationship with his adoptive father.
And though she was worried about what that meant, she couldn’t help but see Sam in a new light. No longer her passionately human coworker in the mailroom, but as an in with Arobynn Hamel. It was just a matter of whether she wanted to use it or not.
But it seemed that Sam had made the decision for her. He ignored her all day, keeping conversation to short instructions, and eliminating eye contact entirely. She could feel him simmering every time they passed each other by, but still, he remained silent, all the way from the morning through to the moment she packed up her bag.
Aelin wasn’t going to even bother saying goodbye after the day they’d had until she heard her name just as she reached the office door.
Sam was standing at his desk, finally looking at her, desperation finally breaking through his cold features. “Aelin, wait.”
“Oh, now you’re speaking with me?” she said darkly. Maybe she was angrier with him than she’d thought. “You know you had all day to acknowledge my existence—“
“Don’t go out with Fenrys Moonbeam.”
That … was not what she expected him to say.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t go out with him,” Sam repeated, voice slipping into a plea. He walked around his desk, approaching her like she might spook and run.
She crossed her arms tightly. “Why not?”
“He’s not right for you.”
Tell me about it. But Aelin laughed. “Oh, and you’re the one in charge of these decisions, are you?” She shook her head. “Why is every male I know a prehistoric meathead—”
“Go out with me.”
“What?” She knew her eyes had widened to cartoon proportions, but she couldn’t help it. “What did you say?”
“Go on a date with me,” he said again, softer this time. “I know I don’t have money or power … but I see you. I see everything you are, and I’m never going to stop seeing it. I know you said you’re keeping things casual with Fenrys, but he’ll always be immortal—different from us. They always leave people like us behind in the end. You’ll never be more than a fleeting interest to him … and you deserve more than that, Aelin.”
Unease settled in the back of her throat. He had no idea how wrong he was about her. “And what is it you think I deserve, Sam?”
“You deserve someone who can grow old with you.” He took her hand, squeezing gently. “You deserve someone who wants you so much, he’ll stop at nothing to be with you.”
I have that, she thought. I have both of those things with Rowan.
“Just one date, Aelin,” Sam begged. “Give me a chance to show you what it could be like.”
There was no question of what she wanted. She wanted Rowan. Always and forever. No exceptions.
But this was a way to Arobynn Hamel—and she hadn’t even had to summon the man or pull strings with Aedion to get there. She’d never get a more natural or inconspicuous chance than this.
So though nothing about Sam appealed to her, not his speech or his promises or his offer, Aelin said, “Okay.”
CW: mentions of sexual assault, brief depictions of sexual assault, brief allusion to pedophilia, cursing, alcohol, mentions of physical abuse
——————————————
The front door was loud as she pushed it open, the creak of the hinges ringing in her ears as she stared ahead into the foyer. Into the house she’d just finally escaped. It was different now though, and she kept that in mind as she took a step inside. Its owner was dead.
Now it was just a house.
Even just the air was different as she entered. There was more light, there was more chaos, furniture moved and boxes piled on the floor, the house getting ready to be sold. Only the first floor was seemingly touched though, one glance up the stairs revealed no boxes or any signs of movement there.
It was just her and Rowan in the house, alone and yet not. Because she was still accompanied by the memories.
Neither of them said anything as the door closed behind them, though he slipped his hand into hers, squeezing it once. Silent support.
