There is no sweeter innocence
~)(~
I didn't even get a day before a soldier was waiting at my door to escort me to the meeting. I wasn't ready for it, wasn't anywhere near ready for the pain I'd have to endure to satisfy the Lord's desire to hear why the rogue princess burned half the forest.
And I should've expected it, honestly, because of course he'd want my explanation. It was my fault then that I wasn't prepared for it. That's what they thought, even if it wasn't true.
So I walked into that office with my head high and held my breath when I noticed the other men in the room—all wanting to know why I did it, how I did it, and if I could do it again. Because I was a weapon they wanted to use over and over again.
I only found an inch of comfort at the sight of Jurian standing in the corner—he stared at everyone in the room with a terrifying glare. But when his eyes met mine, his face relaxed, and that sad, knowing look appeared. I couldn't stand it and looked away before I got sick.
It looked like they began without me, so I kept my presence small and tried to sneak into a far corner. A hand grabbed me and made me stop walking, and I looked up to see Azriel staring down at me.
I pulled out of his hold and said, "Don't give me that look."
"I did nothing," he hissed, leaning down so I could hear him. "Don't worry, I warned them not to bother you."
I raised a brow. "Then why am I here?"
"For appearances."
"Ah, yes, because the world is over if the princess isn't still alive and well," I hissed, rolling my eyes. At this point, I was too tired to pretend to care about any of this. It was all useless anyway. As if alarm bells went off, I noticed when he eyed my hands, no doubt getting that sickened feeling they gave me. I quickly hid the bandages behind my back and glared at him.
Azriel gave me a warning look and said, "If the generals see you alive and well, it shows that we are still powerful—that there is reason to continue fighting. Just because we won this battle doesn't mean we won the war."
"You think I don't know that? I'm just waiting for the one reckless enough to inquire about my ability to fight." I tried taking a step away from the shadowsinger, but no matter where I stood, he'd be too close to me.
"Just so I can come to your rescue again. It's becoming quite the routine," he said, a sarcastic smile adorning his face.
I rolled my eyes again and crossed my arms, focusing on what was being said at the very important meeting. Eyes were focused on the map across the table in the center of the room, where the High Lord watched someone draw a dotted line.
"Scouts confirmed their retreat to the fields in the north-east. We should be clear to head south and meet with our allies there."
"And in the west?" the High Lord asked.
"Clear. Most of the coastline is under our control now, though the Loyalists are pushing us further from the east."
The High Lord nodded and said, "I'll be returning to the Night Court tomorrow to meet with the Illyrian warlords."
Jurian spoke up from his spot further away. "I'll take my men further north and we'll cross to the Dawn Court."
I looked over at Azriel and leaned in. "So we're abandoning this place then?"
"Many will stay just because they're tired of traveling," he explained. "Once we get better security of the area, work will begin to collect resources."
"And what about you? Will you be staying here?" I already knew his answer, but part of me asked simply because it made my stomach flutter. I needed that feeling to remind myself that I was alive, and this numbness wasn't powerful enough to control me.
He studied my face a moment before he said, "still haven't decided that yet."
A voice rose from the crowd that I hadn't noticed before. I was so used to the usual meetings that it didn't even register until now that Rhysand was in the room. His presence was as deep as his father's, this pit of darkness sucking in all around to listen intently to his words—his every breath.
There was a power that wasn't anywhere found in his father. A force of thunder bellowing deep within the mountains, drowning out every echo of the power the High Lord wielded. It was terrifying to feel now... how much more would it be when he came to power?
I remembered that vision I had. It felt like years ago now—but it was only months—if that. I could barely keep track of time anymore to know the specifics. But that vision—that memory—it made my breath catch. His eyes were glowing with magic that night, nothing like now. There was a weight to his presence there that was missing now.
How far in the future was that vision? How much time needed to pass before it happened? I could feel eyes on me, probably because I was holding my breath. At some point, the High Lord will die, and his son will inherit the most frightening power in our world.
How was I to tell them? Could I explain how those halls held a familiarity I realized only now? Do I tell them the truth? Do I tell them how those halls are identical to the ones of the manor in the Spring Court?
No. I needed to find out more first, to figure out why those events happened. Jumping to conclusions could lead to catastrophic outcomes.
Azriel called my name, making me look up. "What?"
"You did that thing again," he said.
I blinked and breathed a laugh to clear up any tension in me. "Sorry, just lost in thought again."
All I wanted was for the meeting to end. At this point, they were just babbling about nothing to take up more time. I hated it with a passion. And, of course, my job was only to stand there and look alive and pretty, so no one got cold feet.
Not once was I asked a question or allowed to voice my opinions. I could fall asleep and no one would notice—I wouldn't, but it was tempting.
When it was finally over, I shuffled through the door and slipped into an empty hallway. I didn't know where it would lead, but all I wanted was a moment alone, so I didn't care. I stopped walking when I could no longer hear the obnoxious males and the sound of heartbeats had faded enough to be overlooked.
I dropped my head and covered my eyes. The rough feeling of bandages made me jolt back. I stared at the gauze wrappings, wondering for a moment what my hands would look like.
The reminder they brought was horrifying. The feeling of what caused it—the burning, boiling feeling beneath my skin. That shock of nerves firing with uncontrolled and overflowing power.
The thing that caused it all to begin with. The feeling of her warm blood, of her lifeless stare. How fast it all ended. How quick such an act could be at ending a life. The weighed, freezing feeling of her hand limp in mine. The blue paint under her skin. So sudden and cold, with no remorse or care for the time I so desperately needed.
It made me sick, but I swallowed it down, not willing to give in to the grief. I slumped against the wall, slid to the ground, and looked up at the ceiling, the cool stone against the back of my head. All I wanted was to spend a moment alone and not think about that. All I wished for was the chance to drown it out, to forget it for a moment and pretend that the world was normal.
But I couldn't. Because if I forgot what happened, then I forgot her. And I couldn't do that. So it was a give and take.
But it still hurt, still felt like there was no end in sight. I had to keep moving and keep fighting while still being blind to everything.
I could hear a rhythmic beating in the distance. It always irked me how easily I could hear heartbeats. But then I was reminded of the times I'd listen for my father to know when I needed to leave and avoid him. Old habits die hard.
I could tell it was him before he came into view. Azriel's boots had a distinct sound to them. This heavy clang of well-worn leather and heels that walked among the dead.
I looked up as he stopped just in front of me. "What?" I asked, a bite to my voice.
He raised a brow, and the shadows danced around his shoulders as if trying to get my attention. "Everything alright?" he asked.
I blinked back, surprised at his question, because why would he ever ask that? Why would he want me to tell him how much I hate these bandaged hands, how much I wish I could have died so Nalia could live?
I looked away and rubbed my cheek, smearing away any remaining tears. "I'm fine."
There was a beat of silence that told me he didn't believe me for one second. Of course not, it was impossible to lie to him. But when he extended his hand for me to take, I couldn't help but look at him confused.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked as he led me down the hallway.
The hall we were now walking through looked vaguely familiar. But every hall in this place looked the same. It wasn't until we stopped at a door that I realized where we were. At the door to my room—my new room.
As Azriel opened the door he said, "I'm going to help you."
I huffed a laugh. "With what?"
He had me sit down on the edge of the bed while he pulled out the desk chair and brought the bag of bandages Rhysand had left in the room from earlier.
As soon as the dots connected, I reached out to stop him. "You don't—you don't have to do that."
He glanced at my bound hand on his forearm and then looked back up at my face. "I want to help you, though."
"But—"
"Rowena, it's okay."
It was so rare for him to use my name that it sounded foreign when coming from him. I didn't know how to respond—what to say or do. The way he spoke my name was unlike anything I would've imagined. And it was like, for the first time in days of walking through quicksand, someone pulled me out.
I let him take my bandaged hands in his, let him cut away the gauze, and slowly unravel it to reveal the healing skin. Still a pinkish color, glossy and smooth, now covered in bumps and grooves. I didn't want to look at them, didn't want to be reminded of the stain now following me.
"Does it still hurt?" Azriel asked, eying them curiously and being so delicate with them.
I barely noticed the sting until he brought it up. While the pain was mostly gone, the tight feeling of what I could only describe as dry skin was uncomfortable. I tried slowly flexing my fingers, feeling the stretch of skin and pull of sensitive nerves. It wasn't unbearable, but not something I could ignore.
"Better," I said simply, watching how the light flickered off the bright pink skin.
Azriel moved my hand carefully, only touching where the least amount of damage was. He did the most unexpected of things and slowly slid his palm against mine, twisted our hands so that palms touched and fingers were aligned. It was quite easy to see that my hands were tiny in comparison—but I wasn't surprised.
"Can you feel this?" he asked in a soft voice. Slowly, his palm twisted against mine, fingers moving out of alignment.
It was hard to keep from holding my breath. I barely managed to say, "Yes."
His expression didn't change an inch, but he gave a slight nod. "Good, I didn't—nerve damage can take longer to heal."
The sudden and intense urge to curl away made me bring my hands into the cage of my lap. I glanced back up at him to find him staring at me, a knowing look in his eyes. Like staring at one's own reflection, unsure if their fear was of you, or for you.
I wasn't afraid of him. I hadn't been in a long time. After I spent so long trapped at his side, I became numb to the intimidating stance and icy glare. I became immune to the threats and content with the quiet.
I was afraid for him. I was afraid of myself. If my hands could cause so much pain once, they could do it again. If these scars would stain my skin for the rest of my life, who's to say they can't stain another hand?
I didn't want him to see me—didn't want him to look at my hands and be reminded of his own. Of the depressing notion that he wasn't alone in his suffering. That someone else now knew the pain of their hands melting, from the inside out.
That someone knew him now in a way once thought to be impossible. Now, all at once, there was another person alive who didn't hit the barrier of not knowing what it was like. He couldn't use that shield, couldn't hide behind that shame. And neither could I.
I wanted so many things. From death to rebirth to just the subtle warmth of a hearth. I wanted freedom and friendship and love. Every single one was taken from me, held like bait to make me into a fool.
That made me cautious, made me overthink. It made me untrusting and terrified. I was a baby bird fallen out of its nest, in a new environment surrounded by only predators, barely able to keep my head up. Screaming for my mother and begging for food.
But my mother was dead, so disfigured that... all I remembered was how strange it was not to recognize her bloodied and dented face. My father hung himself from a tree, and I remember thinking how funny it looked when a neck was bent out of shape. Then—now—it was Nalia, covered in her blood from a gaping neck wound, and I couldn't shake the confusion at how fast she turned blue, how fast she turned into a corpse.
That list would just keep getting bigger and bigger, with names hardly remembered and names that haunt my nightmares. But... I guess Rhys was right—that was just the unfairness of life. And I had to remember them, otherwise it wasn't worth it.
The door opened with a bang to announce Jurian's entrance. By that point, Azriel had bandaged my hands and started reorganizing the bag. I didn't—I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't realize he did that.
Rhysand sauntered into the room behind Jurian and was shoved to the side so Myriam could get through the small doorway. She smacked both of them against the back of the head like children and scolded, "Always let the lady in first, lamest excuses of gentlemen I've ever come across."
"And I thought you were supposed to be the bachelors?" Azriel commented.
"In my defense," Jurian started, grabbing the dark bottle of liquor from the half-fae. "You were walking so slow that we thought you weren't coming."
"Don't drag me into this mess," Rhys hissed.
Myriam snatched the bottle back. "Well, maybe you shouldn't make assumptions."
The mortal smirked wickedly at her. "Now, where's the fun in that?"
"Oh Mother, get a room," I groaned, dropping my head into my hands. My... very well-bandaged hands. So well that I could actually bend my joints and twist my wrists.
Myriam sat down with a bounce on the bed and popped the cork of the bottle. "Doesn't matter now. It's time we celebrate our victory and grieve our losses with as much alcohol as possible."
I raised a brow at her. "Jurian's rubbing off on you."
"You say that like it's not a compliment," the mortal commented, a smug expression on his face.
I felt the corners of my lips rise into a smile. Finally, a smile that didn't feel forced, that didn't feel wrong. I needed it, needed the feeling of normality to kick-start the path of healing.
Jurian and Myriam started bickering again, dragging Azriel in as a referee. Watching the half-fae smack them both upside the head was so hilarious that I giggled. I met gazes with Rhys, and he smiled back at me. Yes, it was all starting to feel a bit normal again.
-Authors Note (Please read)-
so i'm 99.99% sure next chapter is the last of act 1! its also gonna be the most difficult chapter for me to write *cries in a corner*
this feels like a very dense chapter, so i hope it wasn't too boring or hard to read. i had to force myself to wrap it up otherwise it would be a 5000 word chapter and i didn't want that
so, i do have some IMPORTANT info that i'll go into more detail about next chapter, but i'll be taking a break between act 1 and act 2, just so i can prep and get some chapters done so i can get ahead of you guys. i want to have a good idea of the arc before i start posting act 2. my goal is to start posting again in the begining of February—hopefully sooner though. there's no set date of when i get back, so just... go with the flow XD
anyway, i'm so excited, you'll finally get what you've all been waiting for 👀
please let me know your thoughts and all that jazz, you guys are the coolest ever! i hope you enjoyed and i'll see you next chapter!!!! have a great rest of your day/week!!