Glancing over at the prince riding beside her, she wondered, if she could just allow herself the luxury of trusting, what else might her thorn-wrapped heart be capable of feeling? Was trust a matter of learning, like any other skill…or was it a choice, a willful surrender? She hadn’t stayed alive this long by giving out her trust, and she wasn’t about to start with this damn prince, no matter how some unspeakable force seemed to draw her to him. She belonged to the Woods—alone, untethered. Perhaps it didn’t promise happiness, she’d admit, but happiness was another thing altogether, and hardly necessary to survive.
Once they unsaddled the horses after the lesson, Caramyn joined Asterious as he brushed down Alofreise once more.
"Well, you didn't slap me and run away this time, so did I do something right?" The prince placed an elbow on the horse's back, propping his chin against his hand as he stared playfully at Caramyn on the other side of the stallion.
“What if I say no? Will you really honor our deal? That you’ll never speak to me again? Even if I walk out of this court with no intention to return?” Caramyn spoke without looking up from the section of the horse’s shoulder she was brushing.
“I would. If that’s what you want. If that’s what you need to believe that I’m sorry...for everything.” The playfulness in the prince’s voice was gone. Only warmth and promise.
Caramyn felt his eyes on her and fought the urge to look up. “But that would mean you’d be giving up your chances of getting through the Woods, wouldn’t it? You seemed so sure you can’t get through it without me.”
“It would mean that I realized I never should’ve asked that of you. It would mean that I expected you to trust me without ever giving you a reason to. It would mean that I was wrong. I can’t control you. I don’t want to. So, maybe you won’t be the one to lead me through the Woods. But that doesn’t mean I won’t keep trying to find a way. With or without you.”
He refuses to stop trying.Tyrios’ words from Misthelm echoed in her mind. He was letting her go. He was giving her a choice. A real choice. And she could take it and run, if she wanted. She could go, and forget her past, forget her duty to the Shadow Woods even, and find a city like Misthelm that perhaps wouldn’t treat her like a mistake…and then watch it burn at the hands of an evil queen.
And Asterious would stay here, hiding out in this forgotten castle that he’d dragged back from ruin, chasing an answer for his sister, and his curse, and this quickly crumbling kingdom.And one day he’d return to the Woods in desperation and be killed by the Shadows the moment he crossed their threshold. She knew it with terrible certainty. And some part of her would always know that she was a coward. Because staying here, with Asterious, meant returning to face a past she had spent her life hiding from. His burdens were not hers to carry, she reminded herself. And yet, no matter how hard she tried to outrun them, his unraveling truths only continued to draw hers into the light.
“Well, what if we extend the deal? Today might’ve just been a fluke. One more session tomorrow, and then I promise I’ll decide.” Caramyn said through tightened lips.
“I think you’re taking advantage of me.” The prince joked, a smile riddled with mischief across his face. “But alright. I think I can survive one more morning with you.” He took the horse from the crossties and led it back into a stall.
“Very well. Until tomorrow, Asterious.” Caramyn found her cheeks warm as his name left her lips, and she dared not to look back at the prince as she made her way out of the stables and back to the castle.
Riding had made her hungry. To silence her growling stomach, she grabbed a warm piece of pastry bread on her way through the kitchen castle and walked down a corridor she hadn’t explored before. She feared being alone in her room with her thoughts and didn’t feel like facing the turmoil of her confusion quite yet.
In this hallway, adjacent to the one that led to the great library, she found glass cases lining the wall, each displaying armor, shields, or royal garb of Lightborn nobility throughout the ages. She paused, studying them and their intricate craftsmanship, functional as they were beautiful. One in particular caught her eye, and she stood before it, imagining what kind of fierce female might’ve worn it. It was clearly designed for a woman’s form, mostly leather, except for the pauldrons on the shoulders layered with silver and gold, and a breathtaking metal breastplate that rested just over the leather corset at the waist. It was molded to look like wings, spread apart from the sternum and reaching across each breast, a shield for the heart.
Caramyn wondered how it would feel to wear such armor, or to fight in a battle that required it. Would killing on the battlefield stain her heart the way killing in the Woods had? Or would it make her noble and good and proud?
The sound of boots tapped through the hallway, and she looked to see Gariel approaching, swinging his sword as though he’d just been using it. She noted the sweat beaded above his brow and crooked nose, and the dampness of his dark, close-cropped hair. He was the tallest of Asterious’ posse, and it was obvious when he took up a spot next to Caramyn, who was already a whole head shorter than the prince.
“Combat training?” Caramyn asked.
“Aye,” he said. “We’ve been training every night. In case Sinevia were to send troops here. But deep down I fear it’d not be enough to stand against Shadow magic.” He nodded towards the armor. “Just ask the Lightborn how they fared against it.”
Caramyn touched a finger to the glass separated them from the armor, haunted by the thought of the Lightborn who might’ve worn it last. “Did this belong to Queen Elysia?”
“No, but it was her ancestor’s. The original Lightborn created from the rift in the Shadows—the great Shattering that killed thegods. Long ago, before these kingdoms existed, the Lightborn and Shadowbloods were perpetually at war with one another. Both incredibly powerful, but Lightborn had sheer numbers on their side and eventually won the war simply because the Shadowbloods were sterile and dying out. The outcast god who created them made them immortal unless killed, but in doing so it cost them the ability to reproduce, their Shadow power too strong of a burden to be passed on without killing any offspring.”
“And the ones not killed in the war were the ones banished to the Bleak Wilderness?”
“Yes, to keep their dark power at bay. And for a time there was peace. At least the illusion of it. They were no longer hunted again until...”
“Until Daemar,” Caramyn murmured.
“Exactly. And he didn’t need magic on his side to defeat them. He just needed to resurrect the old fears between the Shadowbloods and the Lightborn and watch them destroy each other. And at their weakest, he tricked a Shadowblood into creating the Veil…and killed him anyway.” Gariel crossed his arms, still focused on the case of armor in front of them.
The demise of the last Shadowbloods. She often wondered if her father had been among them. She pictured it now, the strongest Lightborn witches and mages driving the Shadowbloods deep into the Woods, scorching them with fire, splitting the earth beneath them, commanding thorny, twisted branches to subdue the Shadowbloods. All as King Daemar watched them slaughter each other, his perfect plan in motion.
“That’s the only thing I don’t understand. How Daemar managed to convince a Shadowblood to help him. Why would he create the Veil for him if his people had already lost the battle?”
“A Shadowblood hardly needed a reason to be wretched. It was simply the nature of their dark magic.” He must’ve noticed the way Caramyn shifted uncomfortably, despite her every effortto refrain from showing any emotion, because he seemed to scramble to add more. “Though I suppose it might’ve just been his last stand against the Lightborn. Either that or Daemar had some kind of leverage over him. Knowing Daemar, it was probably the latter.” Gariel was silent for a moment before speaking again. “The uncle who raised me was a fire mage. Daemar executed him and made me swear loyalty to him in exchange for sparing my aunt. And years later, I found out he didn’t keep his word. So, I was glad when Asterious broke free of him.”
Caramyn turned her head to look up at the soldier, whose eyes now looked heavy and tired. “He’s lucky to have you all.”
He smiled weakly in acknowledgement as if to say, "thank you," and then departed down the hallway.
Though the conversation had been pleasant, that damning word stayed with Caramyn.
