Thirty-One
Titus
No, that looks like shit! A groan escapes me as I sweep my hair to the side. Do I look mangy with hair this long? It’s been long since my last pre-battle shave.
What the fuck am I doing? When did I start caring about how my hair looked?
Before I turn, I push my hair back to the other side; then I grab my sword—the sword Galen gifted me—and strap it onto my hip. I hate the feeling of its weight.
I likemysword. I trust my sword.
I don’t want a gift for killing. I want freedom.
I want hiswife.
“Holy fuck!” I seal my eyes shut, thankful Galen can’t read minds. I’d be killed slowly, flayed alive, and kept breathing so I could feel the birds picking me apart.
Where the fuck is Tristen?
He didn’t come home after he went to search the library. He either found a hot librarian, or he picked up a book and tried toread it, then he remembered how he struggled to read as a kid, so he went drinking.
Fresh air washes over my forehead as I approach the window, peering outside. Shit, it’s a nice view from the queen’s tower. Gardens and the village outskirts are visible. Galen’s tower has a view of the front gates and the barracks. He’s always got his eye on his men and their abilities.
I roll my shoulders and tip my head back. This is my favorite time, when the moon yields to the rising sun, and darkness and light coexist, each submissive so they can look upon each other.
Peace.
My days start like this now. Tristen and I wake up early. We eat breakfast with the other guards, report for duty, Selene and I train, but unlike the sun and moon sharing the sky, my time with Selene is a constant battle of denial.
Our survival depends on following the example set by the sun and moon.
They must keep a far distance, for if they collide, it would be the end of so many things.
Clunk!I jerk as the door swings open. My hands slip free from the window ledge. Tristen walks in with tired and messy hair. I scan his neck for signs of his hookup, but instead I find clean, unmarked skin and no blood staining his collar.
“Where have you been?” I grunt. Being part of the queen’s guard means he can’t spend all night fucking around.
Instead of Tristen’s usual swagger and goofy grin, he’s pale, and… is that what his serious face looks like?
“What happened?” I take a cautious step forward. My worn-out boots feel different, unused, like they need to be broken in. Each day feels like this.
Tristen kicks the door behind him and licks his lips. He closes the distance and hugs me. My breath is knocked out of my lungsin a whoosh. He presses his lips to my ear and whispers, “I found someone in the library.”
I exhale, pulling back slightly so I can look him in the eyes.
He hurries to add, “It’s not what you think. I wasn’t hooking up with a hot librarian.” He pulls me back in for a hug. I stiffen and float in his arms like a wooden log tossed into an ocean. I allow him to cling to me.
Reaching up, I hug him back, pressing the tips of my fingers into his muscles so I can feel every inch of my little brother. We hug before battle, so I know what this means.
He thinks we’re about to go to war. He fears a final goodbye, just as I do.
I smell his hair, catching the scent of soap. Little curls start to twist at the ends of his strands. I look at the color, shades of black, ink spilled onto a white page; some parts are drier and darker, while others are a shade less saturated.
I try to remember what the muscles on his back feel like.
He’s strong. He won’t be killed today.
I won’t allow it.
