Looking back, that oversimplified way of thinking had done nothing but leave me pockmarked with regret. Regret that I didn’t question things about Nox sooner—though there is an understanding now that, even if I had, it probably wouldn’t have changed where I ended up. Regret over not appreciating my time more with Alexi. With Bella. For thinking that they would always be a constant in my life. Those choices still felt malleable, despite being fixed points in my past. Like I could somehow go back and scream at myself to find another way—to make a different choice. But Selene’s words rush back into me, reminding me that the outcome might have always been the same regardless of the path taken to get there.
Unfortunately, that doesn’t make it any easier to accept.
I look into my green eyes and try to rally myself for this conversation with Nox. I feel as if I’m sifting through sand, searching for something to convince him that I’m worth fighting for—thatweare worth fighting for. That I forgive him.I forgive him. But the sand keeps caving back in on me, covering up my attempts. Though it was second nature to lock everything up before, to try to move through my existence as numbly as possible, Noxhadshown me what it was like to have someone to rely on. He begged me to give him some of my burdens, and I had.
Now, as I chew on my lower lip and my reflection blurs from the tears filling my eyes, I hope that he still wants to fill that role. Because I don’t know if I can go back to who I was. That version of myself, though only months old, feels like someone I shed. I may not have emerged from this as a beautiful butterfly, but I am no longer a caterpillar hiding in the shadows, hoping to survive long enough to taste freedom. Even if I know now that freedom isn’t always sweet.
Selene said I should focus on finding out who I am and everything that might entail. I would like to know more aboutmy magic, and like it can hear my thoughts, wintery cold seeps into my chest, flaring out into my ribs and making me shiver. It is immediately followed by welcoming warmth, the feel of it allowing me to take a deeper breath. These two halves within me are so at odds; how in the world am I supposed to navigate the divide?
And where thehelldid I even get magic to begin with?
If the type of magic I have is mage, if by all intents I amconsideredmage, then it stands to reason that one of my parents was as well. Or they at least had enough mage blood within them to carry magic down their family line. Was that how it worked? Magic descended through blood? King Dolian had said that my mother had just shown up in Vitour. Could she have traveled from this kingdom? If so, why?
With one last glance at my reflection, I stride through Bahira’s room and out into the hall. My steps are heavy, each one feeling more like they are taking me away from a future I hadn’t known I wanted and closer to one I don’t know how to survive in. Then again, maybe I had to give myselfsomecredit—surviving despite my circumstances was my entire existence.
Nox’s sitting room is empty as I step inside, the dark blue curtains blowing in the breeze that comes through the open balcony doors. It smells of forest and him, and I inhale both deeply into my lungs.
The door to his bedroom is closed, noises of water running in a sink and something clattering on the counter filtering through it. I silently walk to one of the windows and look out at the densely packed tree line. I smile at the thought of him growing up here, playing and running in the woods. Maybe chasing Bahira or his best friend, Cassius. Or maybe his childhood wasn’t as carefree as I am imagining. As the heir to the throne, perhaps he had too many responsibilities to simply play. Sorrow thrums against my heart at the thought that, in a different life,we might have learned these bits of information about each other like any normal, courting couple.
The door to the bedroom opens, and though the sitting room is large, the space between us seems to shrink as we stare at each other.
“Food is over on the table,” he says, gesturing to his right.
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.” Not with the way nausea from my nerves roils within me.
He nods, his damp hair glistening in the sunlight trickling through the treetops and windows. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you. It’s less jarring to see you in all black,” I tease as my hand gestures to his body and the color he’s dressed in head to—almost—toe. Only his feet remain bare. I realize then that I didn’t put any shoes on either.
“I told you I was boring,” he responds with a half-hearted shrug.
Daunting silence settles over us, and I grip my fingers together to fight off the feeling that screams at me to run. That this is too hard—too much work. ThatIam too much work.
“Do you want to talk about what happened last night?”
“Which part?” I ask, taking a step towards him.
“All of it if you want.”
All of it. It’s the answer I wanted to hear, yet I wonder if the truths I am about to give him are whathewants to hear. I had asked him to be completely honest with me and vowed to do the same. The first thing I needed to be honest about is that I amtired. I am tired of denying myself the only thing I have ever chosen. I amexhaustedfrom straddling the line of self-imposed guilt and all-consuming love.
He mistakes my lingering silence for a refusal to talk and begins to turn away. “We don’t have—”
“Nox,” I breathe, noting how his body stills at the use of his name.His real name.“I forgive you.” His eyes widen, andhis lips part, shock a palpable thing between us. I’m not sure he’s breathing, like the act of doing so might erase the words I’ve spoken. So I say them again, my voice hard with resolve. “I forgive you.”
He runs a hand over his face, holding it on top of his mouth. Finally, he takes a step towards me, reaching as if to tuck my hair behind my ear or cup my face only to drop his hand back at his side. “Rhea, you don’thaveto forgive me. At least not yet.”
Disappointment strikes me hard when he doesn’t respond like I thought he might. “I understand how forgiveness works.”
“That’s not—Fuck! That isn’t what I mean. My fear,” he says slowly, calculating each word, “is that you will feel like youhaveto forgive me. Because of who we are to each other and how I helped you. I’mterrifiedyou will offer me forgiveness before I’ve earned it, before youmeanit, out of some sense of obligation to make me happy.” His chest rises and falls quickly, a determined look morphing his features as he drops his voice lower. “Let me be clear. Ihaveearned your anger. I will bear the weight of your silence, even. But don’t think for one godsdamn minute that I want your false happiness, Rhea. That I want you to give me something I haven’t earned.”
“But youhaveearned it,” I argue as my voice shakes. “And Idomean it.”
He doesn’t say anything, instead allowing his gaze to fall from mine. The way he acted yesterday and what he’s doing now, he is purposefully building a wall between us.
“Why are you pushing me away?”
Nox’s shoulders drop, his expression a composition of remorse and uncertainty as he shakes his head. “I just want you to be happy. You have more than earned that.” My responding scoff has his eyes snapping to mine. His jaw hardens, and he runs a hand through his hair again, holding the strands there. “Rhea, I will not become a second cage for you. I don’t wanttosuffocateyou. You are free now to exploreallyour options. Just because I brought you here… It doesn’t mean that you’re beholden to me. I won’t be the reason you hurt, not again.”
