Stasia
I won't go.
"I can't go," I said to myself, beating my heels into the path that led to the barn. "I won't do this." I needed to be away—to be something other than the girl who was expected to point and wave some dainty little handkerchief and dry speckled tears—play the part of the doting damsel until he would return to carry me to our happy ending.
I didn't have to sit up all night to know that it was the right answer, but my nerves reminded me that Nikolai believed my acquiescence was the key to perfection—it was the expected move, the given.
I walked faster.
A rattle startled my chest and my hands started to shake so I clutched onto the hems of my dress as I kept walking. I couldn't tell if I wanted comfort or to sit alone—to choose a corner and find steadiness in solitude. I tried to sit and read—to distract myself.
My whole body went into overdrive when I was spilling everything to Griffin last night, and he had a hard time believing that my friendship with Nikolai would survive.
He puffed on his cigar once more, looking unpleased with the taste of it, "Obviously, there's something keeping him here."
I threw my hands in the air, "Is it hard to believe that we could just be friends?"
"In this world of matchmaking and legacies—yes," Griffin argued. I pressed my hands into my face, frustrated and he sarcastically droned, "Careful cousin, worrying and frustration brings wrinkles. And wrinkles scare pretty princes away."
I glared at him, "Griffin, I swear."
"Oh, don't swear," he grinned, the cigar dangling out of his mouth, not missing a beat, "Ladies don't ever swear—that certainly doesn't help the wrinkle problem either." The teasing smile on his face dropped a little as he grew serious, sitting up, "All jokes aside, his patience has to tell you that he won't take no for an answer."
Sighing, I slumped onto the couch next to him with, "I know."
"Are you going to say yes?" He dropped the bigger question.
For a moment, my mind blurred with something that felt like nothing. I had no words—no perfect phrase, no perfect wit. It wasn't the time or place for perfect things or perfect wits, I suppose. Maybe it wasn't the time or place to pick between fight or flight anymore. Griffin was right—Nikolai wasn't going to take no for an answer.
"I suppose I might," I whispered.
Griffin's shoulders slumped a little at my response, and his gaze casted down, tapping the cigar between his fingertips as he leaned his elbows onto his knees in thought, "But, do you want to? Say yes?"
We both knew the answer to that question, but it wouldn't matter if I said it.
"I don't have much of a choice, Griffin," My voice cracked, feeling a bulk of water swimming in my eyes.
He took my hand, "Don't say that."
"You know it's true," I stated. Wanting and knowing were words that were far out of reach from each other—I knew that. I tried to be ignorant to it, but now, I just had to live in that space—acknowledge the reality of it all.
Know when I am beat.
For a moment, he let me have the silence—bask in the tragedy of my choosing. But he didn't let me hold onto it because he suggested, "You've made it this far believing otherwise—why stop now?"
Griffin had a good heart when he wanted to use it and a stubborn mind—perhaps extending from his beginnings as a little musketeer, flashing daggers and causing unneeded mayhem. So it wasn't a surprise to hear him push me into the path I have chosen from the beginning. He could say and do those things and he held onto the advantage of doing so—deciding to better me with the help of his hands when the determined method was to step on my back.
His words circled my head so much, they nearly made me dizzy.
We are damned, all of us, each in a different way. But we are not entirely damned from choosing and chasing our happiness in life. Obstacles aren't permanent unless we make them permanent—our version of acceptance is our anchor. Whether that is settling or screaming to the world in defiance—we should never forget to choose what brings the good out of us—what brings the good to us.
So, in the name of choosing all things good, I chose to run to the barn the morning I was expected to wave Nikolai off.
A certain feeling arose when I saw the barn door, but it dropped away as I turned the corner to see no one. I expected to see Cillian dusting off another saddle, and perhaps, Finn finding himself doing something—but then again, the sun just started touching the trees and everyone was probably still shaking off sleep.
Liath's dark head appeared in the opening of his stall and he pricked his ears in my direction, breaking the silence with a nicker of greeting. I touched his muzzle, rubbing it for a moment and nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the back door of the barn shut.
Finn looked at me and I breathed, "Finn."
"What are you doing here?" He asked.
Realizing that I had no excuse, I shrugged, "Do I need a reason?"
"No."
I turned away before he could, going back to leaning against Liath's stall door, running my hand along his face. There was a comfortable silence that graced the air, taking a bit of weight off my shoulders, but it quickly returned when he pieced something together, "Isn't that Prince leaving today?"
"Can we talk about anything else but that?"
I was about to get it from everyone else on the planet—I didn't need it from him.
"Stasia," he took a moment, "You should know something."
A sigh slipped from my mouth and I pressed my forehead into the wood of the post, "What should I know?" I didn't want the words to be a slap, but I couldn't help but feel the restless feeling in my chest rip up through my throat.
Knowing was never fun—couldn't I just be ignorant?
"Well," he swallowed, looking as if he didn't have the words ready, but he continued, "I just think—I" He closed his eyes and closed his hands together in front of him, with, "I know what Nikolai is. I know what Nikolai will make of this place. I know what his father made of Morander—I know that you won't want it. I just—"
Plot twist.
I didn't mean to cut him off, but his words startled me, "Wait—Morander? How do you know about Morander?"
Where was this coming from?
"Morander was my home," His voice relaxed, and I could hear the flicker of an accent in his voice at that moment. There was a tightness in his face as he looked at me, but every stress smoothed when he saw my face fall into a frown, so he continued, "I won't give you my whole life story—but I want you to know what you are getting yourself into with him. We had to move because he ruined our home. I don't want to move again because he ruins this one. I can't just stand and watch when I know you can do something about this."
I blinked at him.
Nikolai? A force of destruction? Who would have known?
Chewing on his words for a second, I didn't know my eyebrows could knit together even more, "And you didn't tell me this sooner?"
I could have had a cop out a long time ago.
"I thought—" He started, "It wasn't my place. I didn't think you would care—I didn't know you, I didn't—"
Cutting him off, I raised my hands to assure him, "It's fine—I just wish—" My mouth stopped as my mind ran over his words again and I spoke the word, "We?" He froze instantly, and I looked up from the point of the ground I was thinking from, with, "You said 'we'."
"That doesn't matter."
He wasn't getting away with that.
"Who's 'we', Finn?" I questioned, knowing that I was nosey, but I certainly wasn't going to miss anything else from now on.
He didn't let up, "It doesn't matter, Stasia. What matters—"
"I know," I didn't care, "But there's time to talk about that whole marrying a potentially rotten Prince thing—but you said 'we'. Who is 'we'?" Part of me didn't entirely know why I was asking—it was the curiosity that got me. The potential of the part of Finn that I didn't know—maybe the reason why he had parts of the human in him he would show me every now and then. Then there was the typical excuse I liked best—the one where I didn't want to talk about my duties and the consequences of them.
Why does he hide from me?
"Stasia, it doesn't matter."
"It does to me."
He didn't talk again for a moment before he sighed and broke his gaze from mine, "It's my little sister. That's it." He sucked in a breath and I frowned at him as he kicked at the ground, "Satisfied?"
I guess a little part of me was—I didn't entirely know why. He didn't let me wonder why I was for too long.
"Archone promised us support, they gave us a handshake and a ceremony—a whole speech from the heart and everything. Nikolai stood next to his father and his brother through all of it," He was spitting the words, "That was the last we saw of them and their open arms. Soon enough, Archonian flags started replacing the Morander ones—there were more Archonian people moving into our towns and cities—setting up shop and putting out people out of business—out of their homes. I wasn't about to wait and see when it would be me and Haven. So, we left."
I wanted to tell him I was sorry, but I didn't know if those were the right words. The burden of frustration burned in his fists—in his voice. A deep furrow dug into his brow as his eyes seemed scatter everywhere but me. Did he even want a sorry? I couldn't tell him I understood, because I didn't—he had problems I could never dream of. That made it that much worse—me trying to be a hero because I had the ability to, and I didn't even know what to save. It made me want to reach back and scratch out the words I said to him before—the ignorance I had when I met him.
But I couldn't do that.
"Where is—" I paused, knowing that he might not want me to know, "Where is Haven?"
He didn't give me his eyes when he muttered, "She's in Boden—I am doing what I can to keep a roof over her head right now."
That's where he must disappear to.
Even though I knew they were probably wrong, I tried to use the dreaded words, "Finn, I am so sorr—"
He cut me off, "Don't give me that. I don't want it. I don't want sorry. I want you to understand."
"I do understand."
His eyes switched up to me and he didn't seem to believe it all too well, "Do you? Do you understand what your choice can mean? Not just for you. But for everyone else around here."
"I understand," I pressed my hands into my temples—wondering if he knew what happened to me on a daily basis.
Nikolai's charmed smile came to my mind—the time he sat on my bed and told me that he was willing to give us time, to give me time. I was stupid to think the best of him. I was so stupid to think that he was here for the right reasons—that he would stay for the right ones.
Did Nikolai want me for the right reasons or was he following the lofty script handed onto him?
It scared the hell out of me that I didn't see it.
How could I?
He did all the right things, said all the right things. He played this the way he played everyone else, I suppose.
To the point that he was going to put a ring on my finger and make this whole thing permanent.
"I just can't believe he would do this," I spoke out loud, not entirely looking for an answer, but putting the thought into existence. I almost went with him—jumped on that shiny ship of his without so much as a thought to how insane the idea seemed. I gave him every benefit of the doubt as he fed me more and more syllables that swooned and promised.
Finn just shook his head, "I wouldn't put anything past him or his family."
The thought hurt.
I let him get to me.
He didn't deserve my tears, but they still burned in my eyes.
"Stasia," Finn started, and I knew what was going to follow.
He wasn't the right choice.
I put my hand up, trying to suck back the burning feeling, "I know."
"I just can't stand by and watch anymore," He insisted, and I closed my eyes, trying to swallow the realization of how senseless I was.
Nikolai's, Maybe I do love you. Maybe I can love you.
"It's okay, Finn," I tried to give him something, but I paused, trying to make something of the silence around me and the weight of the words in my head.
Sometime while my eyes were closed, I felt his arms wrap around my shoulders. A kind of warmth came with his touch, the same kind that scared me when Nikolai wrapped his arms around me once. I folded my arms into my chest as his arms surrounded me, holding me together for a moment in the silence—letting me have that silence.
Whether I liked it or not, a little part of me broke in knowing that I wasn't enough for Nikolai.
There is always going to be something—something to tell me different.
"I believed him," I whispered into Finn's chest, speaking the words I knew.
He pulled away and his hands cupped my face to look at him and I saw it. The small softness in his brow, the miffed motion of his eyes. The same blink of a look he has given me many times before.
Pity.
"I am not good at this stuff," he uttered, not breaking his gaze from mine, and I felt a nervous flutter in my chest as his thumb brushed along my cheek bone, "I am not good at feelings—I hate them, actually. I avoid them more times than most." A sliver of a smile hinted at his lips, and I felt a tightness in my chest when he looked down at me again. "They're dangerous."
Oh.
He rolled his lips together and I felt my heart beating in my ears at that moment. I realized his face was getting closer and closer to mine and I couldn't imagine the air into my lungs, let alone commit to breathing. I didn't know if this was okay—if I wanted it.
What was this supposed to be?
"Finn," I whispered, but he kept leaning.
This can't happen.
I couldn't move—I couldn't stop it. I couldn't stop him. I didn't know why—I didn't know how—I didn't know that he was going to kiss me. A numbness washed over my body as he touched his lips to mine.
Don't people know that they can't just kiss it all better?
When he pulled away, I didn't blame him—I wasn't angry at him. His touch didn't hurt. It didn't surprise me in any way. I didn't move from his hands on my face—maybe because it just felt good. His touch felt good—it felt soft and sinless—and I just said, "Finn, I don't think this is right."
"Maybe it isn't," He shrugged, not seeming entirely elated. He didn't seem like he regretted it much either. The lukewarm look in his face didn't give me much, but he continued, "Maybe I am not better—maybe I will never be—but Stasia, you deserve better."
I nodded with, "I d—"
"Take your hands off her," A voice cut me off from behind and every nerve clung to my skin across my body.
Nikolai.
Finn's eyes cut into whatever he was seeing behind me, but he didn't move an inch.
"Did you hear what I said?"
Finn wasn't the least bit phased, and I found myself watching up at him, "I heard you."
"Then do it," Nikolai snapped.
Finn looked down at me saying, "What do you want me to do?"
I had no clue.
If I was reckless, I would say—Kiss me again, screw the world and what it forbids. But that wasn't real. That wasn't right either. I didn't know Finn—he didn't know me. It was clear I didn't know all of Nikolai. Maybe it wasn't knowing them—I didn't have to know them. I had no obligations to make heads or tails of them or this situation. All I knew was that my happily ever after was never going to be about finding something in or of them to fill my happiness—to fill who I was. Finn could kiss me a thousand times. Nikolai could say a thousand words. Father could try to shove me in box after box.
This was about finding happiness within me.
"Nothing," I stated and turned around.
If I ever were to see Nikolai with a bad hair day, it certainly was now. His shoulders heaved, fists threatening at his sides—and his noteworthy eyes sharpened on Finn, in their finest fashion. "Nikolai, you can cut the act," I started.
His eyes switched to me, losing their sharpness with, "Pardon?"
"Everything," I gestured, feeling sick just looking at him. I let him see the tears that brimmed in my eyes. Maybe I wasn't able to cut the emotions out of my chest anymore—maybe I wanted him to see that it hurt. "Everything you've said, everything you've done—everything right up until to now—especially now."
His eyes quickly snapped up to Finn with, "Does he have anything to do with this?"
"He has nothing to do with this," I responded.
Nikolai didn't seem to buy it because the ice in his eyes never left Finn, "I don't suppose this has anything to do with him kissing you either."
Sometimes you have to kiss a frog to learn a few things.
"Maybe it does," I didn't try to chase it away anymore. "A kiss doesn't make the ending, Nikolai—stop acting like it sets things in stone."
He sliced his hands in the air towards us, raising his voice, "How am I supposed to just ignore what I just saw, Stasia? How am I supposed to just accept that he just kissed you—just like that? You are asking me to just set my feelings aside—"
I didn't let him have another breath, "Your feelings?"
Oh, those must be acquainted with the supposed promises you made.
"Yes," He looked at me like I was crazy, "My feelings." His steps cut into the ground as he moved closer to us, "What does he have that I don't? What gives him the right to kiss you?"
I ignored the second question, finding my voice, "The truth."
"What truth?" His eyes flattened into baffled slits, "What are you even talking about?"
That second, I realized that I couldn't possibly know what the truth was anymore. Could I even trust Finn?
I even scared myself when I yelled, "You were using me to get to Irklian." He stopped at my words and his expression fell at that moment—everything in his body stilled. He read the tears in my eyes and in that moment, I couldn't help but feel the burn of all my hurt crawl from the pit of my stomach.
I suppose that was what truth felt like—what it looked like too.
"This entire time, Kol," I whispered, feeling so defeated. "When you told me—when you—" I stopped, seeing him take a hesitant step towards me. "What am I to you, Kol?"
How long would I have been something to him—if I even was?
His eyes dropped to the ground, and I sucked in a heavy breath as he spoke, "Stasia, it's not—"
"It's not what I think it is," I nodded, knowing the outline of the words all too well, "Of course. Please, tell me how it's not what I think it is. How your family did the same thing to Morander. How you are supposed to fill your brother's shoes—how I am the foothold that keeps you here—that I am the perfect rope to tie the perfect knot."
He couldn't say anything. He couldn't look at me either.
"How I am perfect for you—how we were going to be perfect one day. How perfect our lives were supposed to be—how you are Mr. Perfect," I held onto every word. Mr. Perfect certainly knows all things perfect.
A sigh brought his shoulders down and he lifted his eyes to meet mine, "Stasia, I can't tell you it's a lie." I suppose there's a 'but' coming. "But you have to understand—"
"That you were willing to lie to put a ring on my finger," I understood.
He shook his head, "No—no—that's not what I am getting at."
"I'll give you a couple of seconds to get your act together," I nodded. That stung him.
Something flipped in his eyes when he said, "I am not going to pretend what I did was okay. But, I am not going to pretend like I didn't fall for you. I'll be honest—I didn't plan for it. I was doing what my father told me to do. I don't know how to be a King."
And he wanted me to be his Queen?
"And all of those feelings," The words tasted awful in my mouth, "They just got in the way—huh? Am I right?"
Feelings—such tedious things.
He shouted this time and it startled me, "They did, Stasia! And forgive me if I get jealous when he," he flung his hand in the direction of Finn over my shoulder, "Actually, I don't even want forgiveness. Jealous is what I feel—God forbid I would have something to say about him kissing you. Am I not allowed to have feelings? Because I made a stupid mistake?" He asked, not letting me answer, "Do you think I would still be here if I stuck to the 'plan'? Did you ever think that I was going back home to tell my father that I was done with it all? That you didn't deserve it? That you are more than just Irklian to me?"
"The thought didn't seem to cross my mind," I tied my arms across my chest.
Fool me twice—shame on me.
"Stasia," he whimpered, "I am trying to right this wrong here."
Sounds familiar.
I nodded, "This is not about saying the right thing, Kol."
He recognized the words this time.
"You don't understand," He flung his arms out, "I am trying to do the right thing here, be the right thing—I really am."
I nodded, "Okay."
It's good to know that he is trying, at least.
"What? Nothing? You want me to just do—" He furrowed his eyebrows, "Nothing?"
Finn shifted his weight behind me, and I completely forgot that he was still standing there.
I looked at Nikolai long and hard—I wanted to keep it simple, but something in me was weak when I found his eyes. I knew that something in me moved for him because I let him hurt me. I opened a part of myself to him whether I wanted to admit it or not. He wasn't too hard to like.
Maybe I did love him—just once. For just one second, I let myself love him.
But it would be a long time before I would do that sort of thing again.
"Maybe someday," I paused, knowing that this was never going to be simple, "It will be something. But right now—I need to be Stasia and you need to be Kol."