“It’s not stupid,” he interjected.
She glanced sideways to see the sincere expression on his face. “After so many years here of just…nothing. Being told by my olders and the Council to sit beside my brother and keep quiet. To listen behind closed doors as men discussed things they thought me not capable of comprehending. To have to be numb of feelings I should have allowed my core to sink beneath. That no matter how special our mother may have treated me, that I was still nothing more than the simple princess. I have craved so much more for so long. To feel something. Anything.” The squeeze of his hand around hers made her heart constrict. “Don’t coddle me, Draven,” she begged in a soft voice. “Don’t agree with me for the sake of agreement.”
“You should know well enough that coddling is not exactly my strong suit.”
“I mean… what I tell you. Don’t pity me. I have lived a grand life here. My core simply craves more. To feel my heart beat at a faster pace than this resting rate. To feel adrenaline in my bones. A restlessness in my muscles. Being out there on the field with you, with those soldiers… I’ve never felt such life as I did in those few days. To live life rustling through the trees, combating each other with swords and laughter. To be adventurous. It’s what I was meant to do. Not sit here on a throne in pretty dresses.”
Draven didn’t speak. He didn’t turn towards her, instead simply staring out at the ocean. She noticed a daze of sorts wash over his features, as though he were thinking of something far away. His fist clenched and unclenched at his side, and she noticed the vein in his neck suddenly straining just noticeably to the surface. The sight of it made her weary, and she started to reach for him.
“Draven?”
“I wish I knew the peace you speak of,” he said in a quiet voice, his hand moving away from hers. “You’ve no idea how lucky you have it here. To not have to worry of crime in your streets, the largest threat being when the sheep herders do not have enough of the luxury milks your Dreamers crave. You’ve no idea this adrenaline you crave, this so-called adventure you say you want. I live in that every day. If you wanted true darkness, all you had to do was stay in the forest a little longer. I can show you darkness.”
She swallowed hard, and her chest emptied as she thought about the things he did not know. As blue flames flashed before her eyes, and a ringing began in her ears.
“What— with the creatures that crowd your forest?” she managed. “The shadows?”
“No,” he said firmly. “Not the creatures.”
“Then what?” she argued, feeling the frustration rise as he seemed to mock her. “The ships? Having to defend the realm against strangers? Your Infi broth—”
A knife found the skin of her throat. Her heart dropped and he pulled her head back by her hair, exposing her throat.
“You want to know darkness, my Queen?” he growled over her. “Tell me how many infants you’ve stuck your own blade through,” he dared in a quiet voice. “Tell me how many wailing children’s bones you’ve watched be ripped from their insides and pulled into the dirt beneath your giver’s roots. Tell me how you would look upon the face of a child you’ve watched grow for ten years, only to have him marked with the cursed fate instead of the Venari, to be forced with the choice of killing it, or allowing it live and its life threaten this entire land.”
He released her with such force that she fell into the sand. The knife landed in the wet at her feet, and her body chilled at the glare he stared at her with as he stood.
“Do not wish for a darkness you know nothing of,” he breathed.
“Perhaps you should point this darkness towards your own giver instead of taking it out on—”
“Why would I point this on my giver?” Draven spat. “My giver has been the scapegoat of every race on this land. He has been accused of things over the last Age he never did.”
“Like what? Like seducing my own mother into slavery? Betraying her for his creatures?”
“Lies of your Chronicles,” he hissed.
“Then tell me the truth of it. Tell me what your Honest Scrolls say of it.”
Draven sighed heavily, and she could see the vein in his neck pulsating. “I should have known this would never work,” he uttered under his breath.
Aydra’s stomach dropped. “Excuse me?” she managed.
His hands were on his hips, and he turned back towards her, gaze darting over her heaving figure. “I have to go,” he breathed.
Her heart throbbed in her ears as she stared after his retreating figure.
“I told you you wouldn’t love me after,” she called.
He paused in his step, seemingly frozen to the ground on which he stood. His fist clenched and unclenched at his side once more. His head turned just slightly, and she met his eyes over his shoulder.
“You’re wrong.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
IN THE WEEKS between the meetings, Aydra tried not to let her broken heart show in her features. She poured herself into helping Lex prepare for the Belwark trials happening in the coming days, trying to keep her mind off her own stupidity of allowing Draven to leave her kingdom in anger. But at night, she found herself hardly able to sleep, curled up in his shirt and toying with the pipe he’d given her as she stared at the ceiling or the moons outside.
During the Dead Moons cycle, she crawled outside onto the roof of one of the towers each night, and she sat in silence, wishing she could hear the Noctuan cries and songs from the Forest in her ears. On one of these nights, Nyssa followed her and sat with her, her head lying on her sister’s shoulder as they stared at the bright stars above them.
