âYeah, the pair of us are pretty shit at keeping a woman, arenât we,â Ro said softly, with a start that sounded as cutting as usual and then the end of it more somber with her own personal memories. Ever since my baby went away, itâs been the blackest day⌠the song moved through Rowanâs head all too easily. Now that sheâs gone, I canât feel nothingâŚÂ Suddenly, Rowan felt very old. The kind of old that held a heaviness of body and a stagnancy of being. She wasnât old enough to feel this way, not like the other fey who had seen so many more winters in their years, but ancient, like something that knew how to feel once, but time swallowed all of the emotions up, all of the nuance, on the long parade from birth to forever.
âDo you ever feel old?â she asked him, taking the whiskey back for another swig. The pair of them, drinking their troubles deeper into oblivion, the only skill set they had. The only one readily available for people like them. At the very least, they had each other, and that small thread was something to cling to, however small. He might not understand the whole of her troubles, but he understood the price paid for what they were paid for. How they never really stopped paying for it and all the money in the world didnât rectify it. Ro knew why she did it; she lacked the whole of a choice. âWhy do you stay a Shadow?â she asked.
She knew why he became one. What she currently couldnât fathom was why he stayed. Or maybe heâd made a peace with this all that she still had such tension with. âNever fixed properly.â That was an interesting thought, enough so to echo it. She wracked her brain; theyâd assumed the decline of life span and magic and such was natural evolution, something the Seelie staved off by rarely interbreeding, but what if something had been broken long before either Adare or Lacha had claimed the throne? What if it was something in Celia and Titaniaâs rule, when things seemed to shift? Maybe there was a clue there.
âShit, I suppose it is.â Rowan dropped the train of thought; her head hurt. Her heart hurt. Her body hurt. She wasnât going to solve the Courtâs issues on the bed drowning herself in whiskey. There was part of her, the part of her that still belonged to Caora, that still wanted the memory of her lover to be proud of her, to see her using more than her strength, the way sheâd wanted when Ro was grooming for Consort. But that wasnât her life any more. She was an Archfey and she could give advice when asked, but beyond thatânot technically her problem.Â
He glanced down at her, not answering what he assumed was a rhetorical question. If Rowan wanted to keep a woman, she could...sheâd done it before. It wasnât exactly her fault that the relationship ended. Part of him was surprised by how deeply loyal his partner still was to their queen after how all of that played out, but they didnât really talk about it. It was as taboo a topic as his family. They both knew what had happened, it didnât need to be discussed further.Â
Do you ever feel old? Why do you stay a shadow? They were very different questions but had similar answers. Heâd grown up too fast, lost too much too young. He didnât know how to do anything else. âYeah...I feel old. But blowing shit up helps me recapture my youth,â he teased. It wasnât the real reason he stayed a shadow, but it was a perk. âWhat else am I gonna do? Iâve got a specific skill set and Iâm good at it. Not as good as you, maybe, but I donât see anyone else lining up to take our places. Even if I wanted to retire, which I donât, I wouldnât leave the court vulnerable. Iâve got your back, Ro. Always. Just like I know you have mine. Iâm gonna trade that in for...what?âÂ
He sighed, wondering if Rowan was considering retirement now that the magic seemed to have abandoned them. It wasnât that he couldnât do the job alone, but he didnât really want to. Heâd never really admit it to anyone, even the woman beside him, but he didnât want to lose the connection they had. It wasnât his job to fix the magic, he had no idea how to do it, but suddenly it felt as though he had to find a way to do just that if he wanted to keep his life the way he liked it.Â
âFuck. This is a goddamned mess, isnât it? Quit hogging the whiskey.â