Sooooo

The kiss.

That kiss.

He’ll pretend that it’s nothing.

He’ll pretend that it never happened.

And I don’t know if I can bear that right now.

I step out of my door anyways, pausing as I reach up a hand to twist the handle of his door. Should I? Maybe I should wait. Maybe I should let him come to me. Maybe -

Shadows clutch at me, pulling and twisting, as I’m dragged from Felix’s door through an evil darkness and shadows.

When the darkness dissipates and the shadows are gone, I reopen my eyes to find myself in a completely different hallway that I’ve never seen before.

With Revan standing right in front of me, one of his hands holding my wrists above my head and his other thrust into my hair, pulling on the delicate strands to the point of pain. He has me backed up against a wall and his body pressed against mine, imprisoning me with him.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” He sneers down at me, “Did you think I wouldn’t see what you did?”

He knows I know exactly what he’s talking about, but I have to egg him on, even in my current state the opportunity to annoy this asshole is too good to pass up. “What I did? I have no idea what you’re talking about. There are a lot of things I do: shower, eat chocolate cake, cry at cute puppies, wear incredibly fabulous outfits - “

He shoves me, slamming me hard against the wall, making my pounding head beat harder, as he yells, “You know what I’m talking about, bitch!”

I narrow my eyes at him and quietly warn, “I suggest you calm down, right now, because if you hurt me, you’ll regret it.”

He pulls my hair, pulling my head to the side so quickly that I think I hear a bit of a snap from my neck, as he says, “Will I? It seems I got you by your balls, princess.”

Let him have his fun.

He’ll regret it.

“What has you in such a mood?” I ask calmly, wishing he would let go of my wrists so I could cross my arms over my chest.

“I saw what you did, last night,” He says, stepping closer so I can feel him breathing as he says these words, “I saw you with your little mutt, I saw him touching what’s mine, and I saw you touching him right back.”

“I’m not yours,” I bite out the words as anger closes in around me. Little mutt, touching what’s mine; Cauldron, could he be anymore infuriating?

He looks at me, his eyes cold and dancing with a dark mischief, as he says, “You think you’re not mine, you think you’ll find a way out of this marriage. It’ll cause a war; do you want that?”

As the words leave his lips we slip into shadows and darkness until we’re in a completely different place, on top of the roof of a building somewhere, and I see them.

Thousands upon thousands of tents set up, Androma’s crow-winged soldiers fluttering around, training to fight, to attack, and there . . . in the middle of their lessons is an Illyrian and I know him. He’s a camp Lord, from one of the most ruthless camps there is, and he’s been suspiciously quiet since the announcement of me being the heir.

Now I know why.

“They’re training, and getting stronger each day,” Revan says, moving behind me. His mouth comes down to my ear as he tugs on my hair, so hard that it stings and I think he’s pulled out a few strands. “Are you mine now?”

I try to calculate how this could change things, try to run through all the possibilities, but all I can think about is the Ironroot. If we grow it, if we mass produce it, these soldiers will be nothing. Nothing.

We can take them.

I spin towards Revan and say, “Never,” as I bring my knee up between his legs and pull his hand out of my hair.

I winnow away, leaving him there to cry.

-----

As I look in the mirror, pulling on my hair to move my head, a tears rolls down my cheek silently.

I look down at the knife in my hand, shaking. Why would the knife be shaking? No, it’s just my hand. My hand is trembling.

He had so much power over me with the simple touch of a hand in my hair, pulling on the long strands.

Not anymore.

I won’t be powerless.

The knife comes up to my throat and starts sawing. Blue-black locks of hair fall to the floor, littering the ground in darkness, as I cut my hair with my dagger.

When I finish, I look up again. My hair is cut unevenly, choppily, reaching a little under my chin. The hand holding my dagger is no longer trembling though, and the eyes that I thought were dull are now shining fiercely.

Felix finds me later, staring at the sawed off hair on my floor, and asks if I’m okay. I didn’t expect much else. I didn’t expect a sweet kiss to my cheek, or a gentle thumb dusting away my tears, but it hurts all the same not to get those things.

I shrug and look at the Ironroot, the little plant seeming to struggle for life that sits in my hand. “I’m fine.”

Felix nods and comes to sit by me. He sighs, so close to a huff, and I think he’s going to mention it, what happened last night, but instead he says, “What are you going to do with that?” and he nods towards the shriveled stalk in my hands.

“I need to get it to my father,” I whisper, my throat dry from having nothing to drink since my episode with the alcohol last night.

“You sure?”

“They have an Illyrian training them,” I say. “Getting this weed to my father is more important than trying to hide from him so he won’t be disappointed in me.”

Felix doesn’t say anything. He rests a hand on my knee. It’s meant to be a comfort, but it only makes me think of things I can’t have.

I swallow the lump in my throat and connect my mind with my father’s, tapping against the wall he keeps up.

He lets me in through a secret door and I hear him saying, Thank the Cauldron, Stella, we’ve been so worried. Why haven’t you been contacting us?

Daddy, I whisper, something in my cracking, even inside my head, I’ve done some things, some things that I regret but wouldn’t change, and I don’t want you to be disappointed in me when you see those things.

Never, little star.

I know he’s curious, I know he wants to know what I’ve done that’s so bad, but I can’t let him see. If he wants to find out, he’ll have to drag it out of me because I’m not going to push the memory towards him.

They have an Illyrian training their fliers, I warn my father, sending an image of the male towards him, as well as the image of the thousands upon thousands of warriors.

I knew he was acting suspicious.

I have something, something that could help us, I explain to him, you’ll have to have Uncle Az send some of his shadows to get it.

Alright, he says reluctantly, knowing this is me trying to close the conversation. How is everything going, Little Star? Are they treating you well? Are you safe? Are you okay?

The last question is pointed. He can feel my turmoil, my grief and anguish. He can feel it in my mind as mine connects with his, and he can feel it in my soul as he searches for my well being. I could tell him, I could confess everything and let my father’s words comfort me.

Instead I say, Everything’s fine.

And then I pull myself away, closing the connection.

Felix is still next to me when I reopen my eyes and look around my room.

I wish he wasn’t.

“I would like some time alone,” I ask quietly, hoping my words don’t come out as harsh they sound.

Felix’s hand freezes on my knee and I can tell he doesn’t like the request, even if he knows why I’ve asked it. He stands and walks out of the room and I’m alone but . . . it only hurts more.

“I want to go home,” I whisper to no one in particular, no one at all. Fat tears fall from my eyes, sliding down my cheeks, until they drip onto my bed.

I don’t even know when it happened but I move myself to the balcony, overlooking the dry grasslands and the three tents of Androma’s monsters.

And I wonder . . .

-----

The tent is as dark as I remember it, evil creeps out from the closed flap. I turn and look at the castle.

I should go back. I should go back and stay there.

But . . . there’s something here.

There’s something I need to know.

There’s no one to pull me out.

I step into the tent.

Darkness closes in around me, curling around me, pulling me to pieces, as a new scene starts to play, something that shouldn’t be worse than the one I saw last time.

But it is. It’s so much worse.

It’s Felix.

He’s not in pain, he’s not sad, he’s not dead.

He’s happy.

Felix is sitting down at a perfectly crafted wooden table, his wings out in full-view. A female comes around behind him and presses a warm kiss to his forehead before he pulls her down and kisses her lips, drawing soft giggles out of her and warm smiles out of him.

Then there’s shrieking, happy little children shrieking as they run into the same room as Felix and his girl. They climb up onto his lap, pulling on his hair and tickling his sides until there’s wonderful warm laughter coming from him.

They have his dark curls.

And I can’t.

I can’t.

It’s too much. I stumble to the ground, my legs collapsing underneath me. Hot, fat tears fall down my cheeks as I realize that this nightmare is so much worse, yet so much better. Because at least Felix is happy, he’s alive, but he’s with someone else, happy with someone else, and I know - Cauldron, I know - that I’m alone.

I’m alone, endlessly, eternally, watching Felix live his life with someone else, trying to be happy for them, trying to supportive, while I’m slowly dying on the inside.

I’m still crying, still sobbing, as large hands wrap around my waist and pull me out of the tent. I sob on my hands and knees on the dirty ground, sobbing into the dirt that I’m smothering my face into.

Because I can’t look at who I know pulled me out of the tent, I can’t look into those blue eyes, or at those dark curls, without seeing my new nightmare, not with it so fresh in my mind.

“Stella,” His voice - mother above, his voice - is soft and concerned, “what were you thinking? You know what happened to you last time you went in that tent.”

His hand is on my back, stroking and petting and comforting, and I feel nausea rise up at the simple touch. Because he’s not mine, he’ll never be mine, but those damn touches, his damn hands, make me imagine something more.

“Leave me alone,” I whisper harshly, almost sneering, at him.

His hand freezes. “What?” His voice is tense.

“Leave me alone,” I say, more forcefully this time, my hands curling until my fingers are digging into the dirty ground.

“No” is his stubborn answer.

“Yes,” I sit up, my eyes moving to his abdomen instead of his face as I shove him away from me, “Yes! Leave me alone!”

He grabs my wrists and holds them tightly, yet gently, as he tries to get me to look at him. “No.”

And the tears return because I just want to be alone, I just want to be what I’ll always be for centuries upon centuries.

I just want his touch to stop making shivers wrack my entire body.

“Please,” I mumble, breaking down again and sagging against him until my head is lying on top of his thighs, “just go.”

“I don’t want you to be alone,” He whispers.

Oh, but won’t that change in a few years, maybe a few decades if I’m lucky. He’ll find a girl, one who makes his heart beat faster and his body burn with some wonderful fire, and he’ll make her his and she’ll make him hers and there’ll be no room for me. And I’ll be alone.

So I want him to go, need him to go, before it becomes any more painful than it already is.

“You’re hurting me,” I whisper brokenly into his thighs, not wanting to move my face away from the warmth they bring, not wanting to look up to see the torn devastation on his face.

His hands move away from me, but he still doesn’t leave.

“Not like that,” I say, “not physically.”

And he knows. He knows what I’m saying.

And yet he refuses to leave.

And I refuse to say it again because I’m an addict, begging and begging for more, pleading for something that’ll ruin me in the end.

His arms around me aren’t an apology, and my arms around him aren’t forgiveness. It’s just us. It’s our endless cycle of wondering if this is enough and when it won’t be anymore coming back to bite us. For now, it’s enough.

Part 22

It’s the next day when our month in Hybern is up.

Aoife flits about my room, helping me put on my leathers and hide all my knives. She braids my hair happily and hugs my shoulders, the brightest of smiles warming her sweet face.

I’ll miss her when I take her back to her human village.

Maybe I’ll visit.

Upon returning to my room the night before, I found the Ironroot weed gone; apparently, Az’s shadows had taken it away and back to the Night Court. Maybe we’ll have a chance at beating Androma’s soldiers without me giving up a piece of myself.

Aoife follows me as I saunter down the halls, barely sending a fleeting glance towards Felix’s door. He knows what today is, he’ll come out when it’s time to go.

I enter the great hall and the Fae come to a hush, silencing themselves in the presence of my darkness, their gazes raking down my body before sticking to my face. They all notice my puffy red eyes from the tears I spilt outside the tent last night, maybe they all think I’m sad about leaving.

I sit in the great hall, on a bench of wood that creaks under my weight, and gesture for Aoife to sit next to me. A meal is served, it’s dry and bland, just like the mood of the people.

Androma is nowhere to be seen.

Oh, but Revan is.

Revan sits across the hall, his eyes watching my every move, stroking down my every curve. Lust and fury are found in his eyes but I ignore it. He can contain it.

The doors crack against the wooden walls as Androma throws them open and strides to her throne where she slowly, leisurely, sits and her eyes find me. In the crowd of hundreds, her eyes find me.

She holds up her hand and a little shriveled weed sits in her palm.

The Ironroot.

It shrivels to nothing in her hand and she crushes the dust that’s left behind, sprinkling it onto the stone floor of the castle.

My hope is crushed along with the weed, but then did I really have any to begin with? Even if we won a war against Androma, I’d still be alone, still aching for something I’m not going to get.

So I watch impassively as she stares at me, her eyebrow raised in a challenge she thinks I’ll take. I continue to eat my bland porridge.

“You thought you’d win,” Androma starts, her voice carrying over the echoing silence of the room, “didn’t you?”

I don’t say anything for a while, my eyes lingering on a speck of dust on the floor as everybody else’s eyes linger on me. “I had no delusions about that,” I answer, somewhat truthfully.

She stands, the blood-red skirts of her dress shifting against her legs as she takes a single step down the platform that holds her throne. “I have the last of that root, there is no more,” She states, her eyes singing holes in my leathers, puncturing deep wounds into my soul. “I went back to the cave last night and burning any possible seedlings; it was quite easy without that guardian hanging around.”

And I flinch.

Because I killed her, the guardian. I killed the one thing protecting that sacred grove. The seedlings - I didn’t even think about the seedlings - are gone. There’s nothing. There’s no more.

There’s no hope.

And I find it all too hard to stand on my own two feet as that realization takes hold in me.

But then Sebastian’s eyes find mine and he nods once, telling me that it’s okay, telling me that there’s something else I can do or try.

There’s always something else for him.

There’s always hope.

So I hold my head up high and look right into Androma’s soulless eyes. “Congratulations,” I say, some of that sarcasm sinking back into my voice.

She snarls.

I snarl back.

The nobles are standing now, scared to be sitting in the middle of our confrontation.

“Don’t think you’ve won, daughter of Rhysand,” Androma’s voice is cold as stone, “don’t think there’s even a chance you will win.”

“There’s always a chance,” I say flatly, even if I don’t believe it anymore, even if I have to force the words out of my mouth.

“No,” She says, shaking her head and clucking her tongue, “no, there’s really not.”

And it’s that tone, those words, that make me snap.

“Well,” I start, “I’d rather go down fighting than go down peacefully.”

I head for the exit, pushing myself into Felix’s mind to tell him it’s time to go and gesturing for Aoife to follow me. “I’ll see ya when I see ya, might be at a wedding, might not be.”

I am nearly to the door when Androma says, “Wait.”

And that word makes me stop, makes me freeze, and she says, “Take Sebastian with you, as an ambassador for the court of Hybern.” I suddenly hear someone choking and I turn around to find Sebastian on the ground, clutching at his throat as his face burns red, “He’ll make sure that my will is done, won’t you, nephew?”

Sebastian nods, though the pressure on his throat doesn’t loosen so I send air into his lungs, air pumping down his throat, pushing away the hands that clutch it. It takes him a minute, a relief-filled minute of breathing fresh air, to stand and walk towards me, no baggage, nothing but the clothes on his back.

He nods.

Felix appears by my side, holding his stuff. And I grab them all, my three friends, and winnow us to the Night Court.

I winnow us to safety. I winnow us to a land of stars and mountains and jasmine-scented wind and beautiful winged warriors. I winnow us home.

But as I step up to the stone path that leads to the front porch of the townhouse, Felix leaves, vanishing to go who-knows where, and I’m left with the startling realization that nothing will ever be right again.

Not even home.

I walk up to the door, knocking softly, with Aoife and Sebastian standing awkwardly behind me. We wait, shifting from foot to foot, as steps are heard coming down on the stairs.

Then the door is swinging open and my father’s standing there with a wide, relieved smile on his handsome face. “Oh, little star,” He pulls me into the tightest hug he can, crushing the breath right out of me, and I sigh, hugging him back just as tightly.

“Daddy,” I mumble against him, feeling the weight of a thousand things lift from my shoulders. Right here, right now, I’m just a girl, hugging my father, missing the man who raised and loved me all my life.

I feel tears sliding down my cheeks and when I look up I see my dad has tears shining in his eyes too. And then my mom’s there, and my dad wraps his arm around her, bringing us all together.

“Where’s Aedon?” I ask, knowing that he would be here if he could be.

“He’s with Mor,” My dad replies, “in the Court of Nightmares.”

I back away from them, my hand flying to my mouth. “Why?”

“Tensions have been rising, darling,” My mother answers, looking up at my father for a second before continuing, “They’ve been calling for us to make your decision for you, to force you to marry Revan, to save us from war and to gain an alliance with Hybern.”

“So Aedon and Aunt Mor are trying to calm them down?” I ask, huffing at the thought. “The Court of Nightmares will always have something to say about everything we do. They’ll never find peace with any of our decisions, especially not if it involves Hybern. After the last war, they are not so hasty to start another.”

“They will fight though,” My father says confidently, “if we call upon them, as will the rest of Prythian.”

“But should they?” I ask tiredly, ignoring Aoife’s shocked gasp and Sebastian’s concerned questions.

My mother’s eyes are narrowed as she stares at me, trying to interpret my question because it sounds like I’m not throwing in the towel. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” I start, my eyes wondering to the potted flowers Aunt Elain grew herself, “that I’m tired, and if it saves a lot of people their lives then I’m tired enough to give in.”

My father steps forward, his hand reaching towards my shoulder but I step back. “Stella, why would you say that? What’s happened?”

“There’s no chance we’ll win,” I answer, “even if it was just Androma’s winged warriors, we’d lose a lot of lives, but it’s not just them. Her monsters are horrifying, they’ve brought me to my knees too many times. And Androma . . . there’s something about her that silences my recklessness, that terrifies my bloodlust.”

I’d harassed her. I’d sassed her. But I didn’t want to fight her. There’s something fake, something not quite true, about her that I find entirely too frightening. She’s not as vulnerable, or as naive, as she seems to be.

“That’s not enough for you to say these things though,” My father says, his violet eyes searching mine. “What’s happened to you, Stella? Where’s my daughter?”

“Is it too much to believe that I’m done fighting because nothing good comes out of it?” I ask quietly, my eyes lowering back to those damn flowerpots.

“Everything good comes out of it,” My mother says, something hard and flinty in her voice. “People like us are never done fighting, Estelle. This is our lot in life, your lot in life, and you’ve known that, been ready for it, since birth.”

My father follows what she’s saying and adds, “Why are you suddenly so passive now?”

“Because I have nothing to gain from saying no,” I answer, “and nothing to lose from saying yes.”

Felix raises a brow. "You're nervous?"

"I'm going after the Ironroot, Felix," I state in a quiet voice, hoping that nobody is eavesdropping, "Androma's diary said that there was a dangerous creature guarding it. I need to be prepared."

Felix nods though there's a tight twist to his mouth. "If you think you have to go after the herb then fine, but I don't think you should, Stell."

"If I get some, my family can start growing it," I say, explaining my plan, "then we can have something to use against her."

"Stella - "

"I know it's just a hopeful idea," I start, interrupting whatever he was planning on saying, "but I have to try."

Felix's hand falls on my shoulder and he turns me to look in his eyes as he says, "I know, Stella."

-----

I sigh as I slide into my leathers, reveling in the feeling of the warm, fur-lined leathers against my skin.

Aoife smiles as she finishes the braid crowning my head. "What are you hoping to get today?" She asks nicely.

I shrug, not wanting to tell her that I still have absolutely no idea what kind of flora and fauna Hybern has to offer me. I only know about two things. The Ironroot and the creature that's guarding it, the Weirlyt.

"Well," She says, "whatever you find, we will make it into a stunning outfit."

I try to offer her a smile. "I hope so."

-----

My heart is pounding loudly, so loudly I can barely hear the forest surrounding me. I can hear twigs snapping, the hunters aren't as quiet as they should be.

These nobles don't know how to hunt like she does.

The hunters don't know how to slow down their steps. They don't know how to walk across the forest floor so gently that not even the creatures that have made this habitat their home can feel the vibrations of their steps under their paws. The hunters don't know how to avoid breaking twigs and fumbling over rocks.

They don't know how to blend into their environment.

But me . . . Mistress the of Night. Princess of Darkness. Knight of the Stars. I know how to blend into my surroundings. I know how to bend the shadows and darkness around me to make me nearly invisible to everyone and everything.

My heart pounds as I pass the barrier of where we're supposed to be.

The hunters aren't supposed to go any farther than that barrier, the river that separates the forest plain from the forested mountains that rise above the flat plain that is the rest of Hybern.

I jump across the river and hurry along my way.

My eyes find the point at the top of the mountainous area, the point that seems to shimmer with snow. There's a cave up there. That cave is where Ironroot is grown. It's where I'll find the answer to all our problems.

Climbing the mountain isn't hard. Growing up in the Night Court, a land of stars and dreams and so many mountains, I don't even care that the mountain is steep and that the rocks are icy. I barely notice that my feet continue to slip on rocks as I climb higher and higher.

At this point, my only goal is to get to the top of the mountain, to that cave.

I barely notice that I've reached the top, then I hear it.

The flutter of something, like wings.

I look up and see it. The Weirlyt.

It's beautiful.

The creature's fur shines luminously a dark, night sky blue color, a few streaks of silver slice through the darkness of the creature's pelt; Cauldron, that reminds me of stars in the night sky. It's a feline, though it's as big as any wolf and silvery feathered wings spread out from either side of it. When the creature's head turns up from whatever it was doing, I can see the long, gleaming white fangs that protrude from its mouth.

It's a creature of starlight and darkness and night, and what the hell is it doing in Hybern? This is a creature of the Night Court. This creature belongs back home, in the mountains.

It turns its head; it's silvery blue, feline eyes survey the area before landing on me. Even cloaked in my darkness and shadows, this creature sees me. Our eyes are locked and I feel a sort of kinship with it.

This creature is beautiful. She - I know it's a she now - is fierce and powerful, so powerful. And, Cauldron, she doesn't belong here either. She knows it. She wants to be home, but there is no home for her anymore.

She is the last of her kind.

So she's here, protecting the last thing from a world that's long since passed her by. She protects the root like I protect my Court. She's given up her happiness - she's here in a place that destroys her very soul - to protect this one last thing.

And even fighting with all her might, she could not protect it entirely from Androma.

And I hate the queen even more for it.

I shake away the cloak of darkness from myself and step forward. The creature continues to stare at me. She doesn't stare at me like a predator would stare at her prey, not in a hungry way; she stares at me with interest, something sad glinting in her eyes.

I walk up to her, standing only a few inches away from her. My hand raises and meets her head in a placating gesture. She buries her head against my hand, and I feel it. Something pressing against my mind.

I open myself to it and see her story unfold. I know everything about this beautiful, ancient creature. And I know what she wants now.

Will you do it? Her pleading eyes seem to ask me, she purrs and it feels like a whisper against my skin.

I nod.

I stand, backing away from her. Her eyes follow my movements as I draw my bow and nock my arrow. A light breeze blows across the silent plain as I stare at her and she stares at me, neither of us able to break the eye contact. Something wet slides down my cheek but I ignore it.

When I loose the arrow, I'm thankful for the heavy pounding of my heart, focusing on it helps me drown out the painful shriek that comes from the creature as the arrow hits her; it's the last noise she'll ever make.

I crouch down in front of the creature's body and run my fingers through the silken fur at top of her head. "You have done your duty honorably," I find myself whispering, "rest now. Find peace wherever you go in the next life."

I only hope that one day, when my time has come to an end and I've done my duty, someone will say the same words to me.

I stand with a sigh and make my way into the cave, expecting to find a grove of Ironroot. Disappointment caves away at something inside me.

There's only one stalk left.

-----

"What do you want to do with it?" Aoife asks as she looks at the corpse of the Weirlyt.

I don't want to do anything with her. I want to put her on a pyre and burn her away, sending away the last of an ancient species in a proper way. But I can't. I spent too long climbing the mountain, I didn't have time to kill anything else during the Hunt.

I find myself saying, "We'll work on it together, Aoife."

Aoife raises a surprised eyebrow. "You're going to help."

I shrug. "My grandmother was a seamstress, my father learned a lot of useful tips from her," I explain, thinking of the beautiful dresses he makes for my mother for special occasions, "he taught me a few things."

Aoife looks impressed as she gets out a sketch book and starts sketching some ideas for the dress. She crumbles a few papers before finally showing me a design. "What about this?"

I look down, my eyebrows raise of their own accord before I nod. "This will work."

"Mr. Felix will love it," Aoife says with a smirk.

I can barely hold back the tiny smile that threatens to split my lips. "I hope so," I whisper so low that she doesn't even hear it.

-----

"How was the Hunt?" Felix asks as he lies next to me later that night.

I nod. "It was good."

"Did you find it?"

I reach into my bag and grab the one tiny stalk. I tried to dig it out of the ground, roots and all, and put it in a pot. It seems to be holding up so far. "I'm hoping one of Uncle Az's shadows can pick it up before Androma somehow notices it's here."

"Can't you use the mind-link with your father to tell him to have Az get his shadows to pick it up?" Felix asks.

I nod.

"Then why don't you just do that?"

"I don't want him to see inside my head," I admit quietly.

"Why?" He asks, though his tone is strained and I know he knows why.

"What I did with Revan," I begin, pursing my lips as I choose my words carefully, "it's so close to what he did with Amarantha. I didn't have sex with Revan, but I touched him and let him touch me in ways that disgusted me for information, for something to help me protect my Court."

Felix doesn't say anything as I let out a shuddering breath and continue, "It's too close, I feel like he'll be disappointed in me, but he'll also be disappointed in himself, for not being able to protect me from that. And I can't bear that, I made my choice and I don't want him to suffer for it."

He pulls me closer to him, wrapping his arms around me in a way that never failed to soothe me before. Now that I know that I'm in love with him though . . . it just makes me ache for something I can't have.

"I hope you are able to tell him one day," Felix says as he runs his fingers through my hair, "but you can't avoid him until that day."

"I know," I mumble as I rest my head against his chest, angling my ear so it's right above his heart, listening to his heart pounding relentlessly. Why is his heart beating so wildly?

"You know your father is so proud of you, right?" Felix asks and I angle my head away from his chest so I can look him in the eyes. "I never even met my father, but I wish he was like yours."

I don't have to ask to know what Felix is thinking. He's always wondered the same question. Why didn't my father want me? Was I not good enough? And, Cauldron, there had been so many times when he nearly broke down.

I once accidentally peeped inside his head - I still have no idea how or why, considering I was hours away at an Illyrian camp - while he was thinking these things. He was locked inside the bathroom of his head, trying to muffle the sounds of his sobbing from his sleeping mother. For a second, just a second, he looked so broken that when he looked at the sink and I saw a razor, I thought the worst.

But I pushed against his mind, sending thoughts of comfort and love. I watched as he wiped away the tears and left the room.

"Your father didn't deserve to know you," I say as I reach up, clasping his face between my hands, "You deserve so much more than a father who walked out on you. You deserve everything."

He starts to argue - he's always thought he wasn't worth much - but I shut him up as I lean my forehead against his and whisper, "You are enough."

Pt. 20

Aoife and I make my outfit for the bonfire. It's scandalous. It's dangerous. It's beautiful. It's something my father would be proud of me for making.

I hate it.

I remember the Weirlyt's eyes as she stared at me, begging met to do the one thing she could never do to herself; a part of the curse that bound her to the Ironroot was that she could only be killed by someone seeking the root. She could never die by her own hands - er, paws.

It feels dishonorable, disrespectful, to wear the pelt of a creature that only ever served, that only ever protected, that did whatever it took to protect the one thing that still mattered to her.

And yet, I do.

Aoife helps me slip into the dress that I picked to wear with the accessories we made out of the Weirlyt's corpse.

It's a sleek blue thing, the same blue as the Weirlyt's fur, and it's hem reaches the ground. It has two identical slits on either side, revealing my elegent legs. It's strapless, that doesn't matter though. Nobody will be looking at my shoulders tonight.

They'll be looking at the black corset - leather from the Weirlyt's hide - that wraps around my waist and tightens the top of my dress so much that my breasts are pushed up. They'll be looking at the silver claws that encircle my ankle as a bracelet, I'll go barefoot tonight to draw attention to it. They'll be looking at the mask made of glowing white feathers that hides the upper part of my face, bringing out the soft blue and the harsh grey in my eyes and the slight tan of my skin.

They'll be looking at the crown placed atop my head. The crown made out of gleaming white fangs, they stand out so perfectly against my night dark hair. Two long whitefangs, that have no right to be atop my head, reach up from the start of the crown, reaching towards each other, while the rest of the fangs encircle my head.

I look wild.

I look like a goddess.

I look like a nightmare.

I don't wait for an escort, I follow Aoife's directions to the place where they normally have the bonfire and hide among the trees, waiting for the party to begin.

It's dark, a starless night, when they finally set the mountain of wood and all things flammable aflame. It's dark when the musicions start playing risque music. It's dark when food and drink is brought out; sweet but not quite right faerie wine and food that looks like what they had for dinner in the castle the other night.

But the people don't care. This is the best food they've had in months. Their farms aren't as fertile as they'd like people to believe, no matter how much they work and care and hope. Nothing here ever grows right.

I watch as the people walk around and dance, some wearing pelts of woodland creatures, some wearing nothing at all, as per the rules. They chat and dance, some sneak off into the woods and noises are heard from their general directions that make people flush even more than the musicions hypnotic music.

I lean against a tree, staring at the flames of the bonfire that's a few feet away from me. I don't care much for the spectacle, for the celebration, until I see him across the flames.

Felix. In a brand new pair of leathers that are so dark I wonder if he got the leather from the rest of the Weirlyt, but I know he'd never take a hand out. He hunted something for himself. I feel pride course through me; I taught him how to hunt, after all. He also wears a mask, black like the leathers, and hiding most of his face, but I recognize him all the same. I could never not know who he is.

His head lifts from whatever he had been staring at before to meet my gaze, something dark and heated flashing in those eyes; Cauldron, those eyes. I take a step forward, wanting to be closer, wanting the flames to be nothing, wanting there to be no boundaries.

But then he turns away.

And it is the most exquisite form of pain that crashes into my chest and scrapes against my heart when I realize that while I may feel that heat, that needing, that craving, that wanting, he does not.

Or maybe he does.

Because he's in front of me now, staring down at me, staring right into my soul.

It's that hunger, that darkness, that returns to his eyes that makes me lean forward, just a little bit, just enough.

I know what this is. Of course I do. We have masks on. We're cloaked in the darkness of the night. We're hidden faces in a crowd of hundreds of other hidden faces. We're nothing, nobodies. We're inconsiquential.

And it would be so easy for nobody to recognize us - to speak about us behind our backs, to gossip and tell little half-truths (or no truths at all) - beccause we're wearing masks and the night is our shield.

And so many things could happen tonight.

He leans down, his breath on my cheeks, on my lips, and my eyes land on his lips, those lips. I push myself up onto my toes; I bring my lips as close to his as I can manage without actually touching them.

I want him to make that move.

I need him to make that move.

But maybe he wants the same, because all we do is stare at the other's lips with thinly veiled lust and want and need and as soon as I'm about to push upwards he's pushing me back.

Shoving me against the tree that I had been leaning against, the bark of the tree carving itself into the soft, uncovered skin of my back as he covers my lean body with his strong one. And he covers my lips with his. It's the first kiss since that night, our first kiss, our only kiss before this, and nothing has ever so thoroughly brought me to life as this kiss.

His hands curl themselves into my hair, tugging the dark strands tightly in one hand while the other moves up to cradle the back of my head gently, and my hands grip his forearms, holding tight, securing his position against me.

His tongue moves against mine, battling for dominance, and we both know there is no winning in that. We are each other's equal, at least in my eyes we are. He crushes himself against me, pushing me harder against the tree and I find that I don't care that the bark is scratching my skin. Marks will prove that this happened, marks will prove that this is real.

Marks will prove that this night, even for the tiniest bit of time, he wants me, even if he doesn't tomorrow.

Because I know him, I know that this is a fleeting moment.

It will be gone when he remembers himself, remembers his restraint, and I'll be left wanting and aching for something more that I'll probably never recieve.

He chases those thoughts away as he grinds his hips againt mine, making a deep moan rise past my lips; he catches the noise with his mouth.

His knee shoves its way between my legs, his thigh rubbing against the part of me that's been set on fire by this kiss and is aching for more, more, more. Mother above, I want more than his fucking thigh.

I want him. I want his skin against mine. I want his eyes gazing at my bare body as mine gaze at his. I want his hands tracing my body, writing wonderful stories against my skin. I want his lips on things below my neck, which is the current occupant of his mouth's attention, making dark marks bloom on my skin.

I want everything.

And as soon as I start wanting, start visualizing that everything, I have nothing.

He steps away, his hands and mouth extracting from me quickly like I have the plague and he is a measley human; terrified to catch the incurable disease.

His eyes, bright from lust, are now dim, cold, dreading.

And then he walks away.

Leaving me burning, and I want so bad to hate him at that moment, for leaving me like this, for not wanting me the way that I want him, for not loving me, but I can't.

And it crashes in one me at that moment.

That fact that my future is going to be just this: me, wanting and needing and crashing and burning, for him for an eternity.

So I stride over to the table with foods and the drinks. I grab a cup of faerie wine and down it, enjoying the burning in my throat that replaces the burning between my legs as the decidely potent drink slides down my throat.

I down another cup.

And another.

And another.

I down as many cups as it takes to forget that moment, even though I know I'll remember every detail in the morning, and I down more.

I stagger and see the ground coming towards, fast and way too close to stop, until an arm swings itself around my waist and I'm suddenly not in front of the bonfire anymore but on top of a building, staring down at the celebration that I was at just a minute ago.

I look around and in my blurred eyes I see Sebastian staring down at me with concern in his eyes, those eyes that are so unlike Felix's.

"Stella," Sebastian sounds, his voice sounding far away and watery, "how much did you drink?"

I shrug, at least I think I shrug. "I do - donut - don't know," I mumble.

"Cauldron, Stella," Sebastainn says as he sits down next to me, "what made you do this to yourself."

"Him," I whisper, "always him."

"Look," Sebastian says, "if I were marrying Revan, I'd try and drink myself to death too, but - "

"Not hi - Not Re - Re - him," I stutter out, his name something that seems too hard to say.

"Then who?" Sebastian asks, but then his eyes take in my appearance. Lips still swollen from a kiss that a was anything to soft, bruises forming on my neck, my hair a complete mess and my crown of fangs lopsided. "Felix?"

I nod. I guess the alcohol didn't take away the memory as much as I hoped, it only made me forget it for a moment.

"Oh, Stella," Sebastian says, and I feel his arm wrapping around my shoulders, "Tell me about it."

"It was beautiful and wonderful and so utterly destructive," I try to say, but all that comes out is, "He kissed me, and then he left me," and it comes out stunted and scrambled and slurred.

Sebastian pulls me closer to him. "I'm sorry."

Why doesn't he love me? I think to myself.

At least, I thought I thought it to myself until Sebastian answered my question and I realize that I said it out loud. "He does love you, Stella, but something's holding him back, and it's not your place to try and remove whatever it is. You need to just let him deal with it."

On some level - in my rational, not drunken mind - that makes sense. But I am drunk right now, I'm drunk and hurt and tired. I'm so tired. Tired of beating around the bush. Tired of thinking that something, anything, might happen, hoping for something to happen, only to have it ripped away from me. I'm tired.

So I pout and I say, "He needs to deal with it now."

"That's not how that works, Stella."

And then I'm looking up at Sebastian into his eyes, so unlike Felix's, and I press up, pressing my lips against his. For a second, he freezes. For a second, he does nothing.

And then he's pushing me away, telling me to stop.

I do, and I burst into tears.

"I'm sorry," I mutter as he wraps his arms around my heaving back.

"Stella, it's alright." He says simply, rubbing a comforting hand down my back. "I'm not mad."

"I just wanted to know," I whisper, brokenly, sadly.

"Wanted to know what?" Sebastian asks.

"Wanted to know if any kiss could ever feel as good as his," I mutter, but he understands what I'm saying..

It's not a good reason. I've kissed other guys before, but not while I've knowingly been in love with Felix. What if he never wants me back? What if . . . What if I can never find anybody else for me because the one person I feel like I was made for doesn't want me and I'm doomed to be alone and miserable forever?

"It might never feel as good," Sebastian says sadly, "but one day, if things don't work out between you and Felix, you'll find someone whose kisses are either close enough that it doesn't matter or are so good that you forget that you've ever kissed him."

"How do you know that?" I ask, sniffling the last of my tears away.

Sebastian shrugs. "I don't," He admits, "but I hope. Hope is all some of us have left."

His answer is enough for me. Because even if the male I love never loves me back at least I have my family, my parents and my brothers and my aunts and uncles, unlike Sebastian. Because I have something waiting for me, a throne to claim and place that I belong, unlike Sebastian. Because I have everything I could ever want, besides that one thing, that one person, unlike Sebastian. Because I am free, unlike Sebastian.

And if he can have hope with all that he's lost, imprisoned in a castle that he was supposed to belong, alone and tortured by the people who are supposed to be his family, then I can have hope with all the very good things that I have in my life.

So I rest my head against his should and stare up into the brightness of the moon, thinking about how, somehow, a person I thought would be my enemy is now my greatest ally. And I fall asleep against his shoulder, thinking about how lucky I am to have him as a friend, maybe even a chosen brother.

Notes: Tagging: @acourtofrosesandbooks​​  @eliza-hamilton-helpless@illyrianinterrasen​@aelin-and-feyre​@highladyofthedark​@fandoms-things-stuff​@pleasantlysecretpeach​@bluephoenix222​@celaena2aelin​@triannana​@searchingforbellarke​@sarah-akhavan​@wolffrising​@lemon-check​@nerdofmanypages​@vilya1​. So, one of these parts is a little late but I was sick last Sunday and I’ve been really busy since then, also my WiFi has been pretty suckish lately. Anyways, I have like the next chapter two chapters entirely done and then there’s a space between those and the last three chapters that I don’t have done - Yes, I do have the last three chapters done - I just need to write a filler chapter or two and then I’ll just post the last few chapters as quickly as possible. I promise the ending isn’t super painful.

P.S. super sorry about the Stelix teaser in part 20 but it had to happen. Not really, I just wanted it to happen . . . for reasons.