He wants control. Because control is safe.
I want to be powerful, because the only way I think I’ll ever trust the idea of safety is if it stems directly from me. I want to find comfort in my own self, but beyond that? I would very dearly like Castor to be the one helpless and craving and lost without me. I want to watch him obsess andneed.
After so much affection starvation, a near violent kind of love—exactly like the one he’s just expressed—is what I want. Nothing soft. Nothing flimsy.
I want his nails to prick my throat as his teeth toy with the thought of making me bleed for him.
It’s in a moment like this where I really need Frelsi around to be either my voice of reason or my enabler of chaos. Unfortunately, she still hasn’t returned from Cael’s palace, which I am assuming means it’s full of shiny things inhibiting her ability to recall that I exist.
Shifting on the giant bear stuffed animal, I fight the sinking feeling of loneliness until it overwhelms me.
I don’t want to be alone right now.
And not just because I can’t exactly even get to the bathroom without asking for help.
I’ve just learned how it feels to perform magic. I was riding a confident high. I was limitless, capable, strong. And now I’m…here. Weak and caged. Again.
This really sucks.
And I expect it to suck for at least several hours.
Not, you know, roughly three minutes.
I haven’t even found it in myself to push out of my stuffed bear’s arms and resign to take a nap before the vibrations of Castor’s steps come plodding back along that thread connecting us. Still seated in the stuffing where he left me, I watch himthrow open his bedroom door, march to my cage, and twist the magic key in the lock. Stomping inside, he drops to his knees before my teddy bear throne—and smashes his forehead to the tile.
Regret. Hatred. Agony.
Emotions spill off him and play the cords of our connection like guitar strings.
Raw, a swear leaves his lips. “Stop that,” he begs.
I cross my arms. “Stop what?” I’m notdoinganything.
Every muscle in him constricts, and he whispers, “Hurting.”
Of course. That makes sense. These sensations I’m growing used to feeling are a two-way street.
Broken, he says, “Please forgive me. We made a deal. I could not fight it. I have had my glimpse of you, and I am in love. You have had your taste of me, and you are in pain. I will change. I will fight what I am. Please. I am so sorry that I’m…likethis.”
Three minutes, and I get an apology. Three minutes, and he’s breaking in front of me.
Wow.
Wow.
His remorse takes about as long to load as ramen takes to cook.
Perhaps unbelievably cruel, I stay in my teddy throne and focus on my priorities—completely and blissfully unafraid. “Will you teach me magic, Castor?”
A shaking breath enters him and trembles out.
“You’re a faerie, so you can’t lie. In order to apologize at all you have to feel real regret. Youhaveto mean it. Since you must, that must also mean you’ll teach me magic now. After all, everyone knows a real apology consists of the intention to do better in the future.” I cross my legs. “I’ve already had one lesson today, but I’ll gladly take another.”
“My love,please.” His voice shakes, and darker spots wet his dark blindfold when he lifts his face. “Do not force me to be the one to make myself obsolete.”
“Obsolete?” I plow on, heartless. “Don’t be insane, Castor.”
His lips part.
