I want it all, and I never want it to end.
“Bravest—” he starts, pulling away to place his shaking hands upon my cheeks.
Oh, no. Please, no.
I open my eyes to the force of his own, hoping they can say what my words can’t. Please, Aras, they beg. Please don’t say another word that could end this magical space between us because I want to remember it just like this. I don’t want the silly comments or forced jokes to erase those special words. I just want you. Every single last piece.
But then his mouth begins to twitch, and my pulse stills, preparing for the blow that always comes next. And though I ache to reach out and clamp his glorious mouth shut, he speaks. “This is my serious face.”
Oh, Ashen. He’s shattered it. Completely and utterly ruined. And it couldn’t be more perfect.
Before I can think, my hands are upon his cheeks and my lips rise to touch his in the softest of kisses. The kind that’s nothing but a feather, but it’s felt to the toes all the same. It’s even better than I imagined—the feel of his lips against mine. And it’s not until the second time that my lips capture his with my own that he truly realizes what I’ve done, and with more passion than I ever dreamed, he kisses me back.
Once. Twice. Three times. I lose count.
The stars above fade out of view, and we’re nothing but smiling kisses and joyous hearts. My hands wind through his dark, messy hair, pulling him closer as if the very air between us is still too much. Aras does one better, toppling me over with his weight and locking me between his arms. His chest hovers above my own, and he reaches out, gently tracing the lines of my smile. Without hesitation, I reach up to trace his as well. His eyes dance with an unabashed longing that he cannot deny, and I know without a doubt that mine move to the same rhythm.
“Bravest Penelope,” he croons, catching my fingers at his lips. “I think you like my serious face.”
The purest of laughter bubbles from our hearts, forcing him to drop to his side, and we lay face to face with our tingling hands clasped between our chests. It’s in this moment, as I stare into his smiling eyes and relish the taste of his more-than-kissable lips, that everything else fades into oblivion. Nothing exists except for this perfectly enduring boy and the open heart he now offers to me.
Not my ghostly mother. My murderous father. My papa who happens to be a cat.
Nothing. Nothing but him. My Aras. My handsome prince.
“Do you know that you’re my first kiss?” I ask, not even caring to be the least bit embarrassed. Not now. Not after this.
His eyes widen with surprise, and his hand reaches out to cup my cheek. His thumb slides softly along my face and down to my jaw before back up again, and his lips perch in what looks to be a covered smile.
“And do you think that funny, Aras Renn of Orien?” I ask, playfully catching his hand with my own and daring him with my stare.
“Oh, no,” he says, tugging me closer until our noses touch. “I was just thinking that I better be your last.”
I barely have time to catch the tinge of red cross his cheeks before his lips are on mine, and the only thing I can think is how nice it would be if his words could come true. And it’s only when he finally breaks away, kissing my nose not once, but twice, that I find the words to speak again.
“I care for you, Aras,” I say, placing a soft kiss against his flushed cheek.
“And I care for you,” he says, pulling my fingers to his lips, letting his warm words dance against my skin. “I always will.”
And though his eyes sing of happiness and his mouth turns up in a quiet grin, there’s just something about the way his last words disappear and race into the night, as if they’re hiding something deep and they can’t get away fast enough. But before I can even question the tightness forming in my chest, he rolls to his back, reaching out to call me with his arm. Without a thought, my body obeys, and with a quick scoot, I find a warm spot to rest just under his chin. His arm wraps around me in a protective cocoon, and all that I can hear is the beat of his heart and the low tenor of his voice.
“Can I tell you a story about a girl named Bravest Penelope?”
“That depends on how it ends,” I tease, wrapping my arm across his chest and giving him a playful squeeze.
“Oh, I think you’ll be quite fond of this one,” he whispers. “Quite fond, indeed.”
And then, as my lids begin to droop and soft tendrils of sleep threaten to reach out and call my name, he tells me the sweet story of a girl who didn’t just follow her destiny, but who made her own.
Fifty-Three
Daylight comes quicker than expected, and I couldn’t be more disappointed. My fingers drum along the small, wooden table before me, and my eyes stare out to the pond, dreaming of how things might be different. Beside me, Aras absently nibbles on what’s left of the rabbit, only glancing in my direction when he thinks my sights are set elsewhere. Every now and then, he reaches out to tug on the braid that he so graciously redid this morning, and my skin tingles with even his slightest touch.
We haven’t spoken much since we awoke with the sun’s early rays casting a warm glow on our skin as we lay curled on our blanket in the grass. As a special gift from above, my eyes opened before his, and for once, I was able to take my time, drinking him in and memorizing every last inch of his handsome face. The smoothness of his brow when he’s relaxed. The way his lips slightly part when he sleeps. The small freckle on his forehead that’s only visible when the tips of his hair have fallen to the side. I wanted to know it all.
If I was being truly honest, part of me was terrified that when he awoke, he wouldn’t remember a thing from last night. That he’d go back to that same old Aras with as many stinging words as ones that soothe. But when his eyes opened up, squinting in the new light, he smiled softly before planting a warm kiss on my forehead and tugging me to his chest.
Then he asked if it was normal behavior for me to stalk people in their sleep.
Now as we sit together in the quiet, my boot the only noise as it bounces up and down, creating a subtle shake against the floors, it feels as though those precious moments are ages away. And if I let myself think too hard, it makes me feel as though they never even happened.
“You don’t have to be so nervous, you know,” Aras says, placing a warm hand on my knee and drawing my attention to his playful smile. “I already know that Knox is going to dislike you based on the outfit you’re wearing alone, so there’s no point in worrying about how that first meeting is going to go.”
“Is that so?” I smile, covering his hand with my own. “Not too keen on adventurous, pants-wearing women, I take it?”
“Not at all, but it’s a good thing we don’t need you looking like a princess to get into the city. Actually, we want the opposite. You don’t even need to look like a woman.” He smirks, arching his brows as he looks me over. “Perhaps Knox will think your fancy sparing suit quite the disguise and give you bonus points for your obvious creativity.”
“Hmm,” I muse, flat out ignoring his insinuation that I look like a man. “Should I also tell him Papa had this outfit specially designed for me, or do you think that would be pushing my luck?”
Aras rises, tugging my hand and pulling me into a giant squeeze. Resting his chin on my head, he rubs soothing circles along my back, calming me with his very touch. “Any mention of your papa would be a horrible idea at best, so I would just let the pants do the talking.”
“Do they scream that loud then?” I laugh against his chest.
“Oh, they do, but I’d listen to them yell any day,” he says, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on my cheek. “After all, I never knew I’d like a woman in pants until I met you.”
He leaves me then, turning to gather up the rest of the things and prepare our packs. I make an ugly face at his back, but on the inside, I beam with his open words. I’m still not used to him—this Aras who says nice things and kisses my cheek. I could get used to him though. I think I could
spend all of my days tucked away in this little hideaway of ours and never grow tired of his presence. But as my chest squeezes with each breath and mounting nerves cause my hands to shake, I can’t fight the awful feeling that maybe I won’t get used to him.
Not because I don’t want to, but because it isn’t written in my stars.
“Aras,” I call, realizing that if I don’t say this now, I may never have the chance. “I’m sorry about your parents. I know that we like to joke and pretend that the only thing dangerous about my father is his fashion taste, but you’ve experienced the cruelty of his rule by losing the very two people who you loved most. I want you to know that no matter what happens when we arrive in Orien, I won’t forget them. I won’t forget what they did for me, and I will do everything in my power to make it right.”
At first, my words are met with silence. Aras is nothing but a frozen force as he stands before our packs. But then his stance relaxes, and his chin tilts over his shoulder with the sincerest of smiles. “I’m sorry about them, too, Bravest, but your father’s choices aren’t your burden to bear. My parents always thought you were worth it. And you know what? I’ve always found you to be pretty special myself.”
Then he turns, sending me a wink laden with that perfect spark of his, and I’m left staring at the back of the one boy who I don’t deserve, but who I want all the same.
ↄ
I swear that if I make it through these next few hours, I’ll never set foot in the woods again.
With each step that I take, haunted unease settles in my gut, making what little breakfast Aras forced me to eat threaten to reappear as it did not so long ago in a forest much darker than this. Aras’ grip holds tightly to my own, pulling me forward just in case my boots start to give up or go astray. Though my magic has been sealed, bottled up and slowly taking shape after my disastrous wall of flames emptied me to the core, for the first time, my fear is enough to cause a difference. It’s enough to feel the building heat.
“Don’t let your fear control you, Bravest,” he says, looking over his shoulder and squeezing my hand. “If there is anything Knox likes, its fear, and he’s going to be especially intrigued if he finds out it summons your fire. Besides, before we left the woods, your Theron prince advised that you try not to push your magic more than necessary, as to avoid any more setbacks in the future. I, of course, advised him not to push his luck.”
Ian’s advice doesn’t surprise me, as I know better than to push myself again, but it’s interesting that he chose to speak with Aras about it and not me. Perhaps Ian thought I couldn’t take any more bad news, or maybe he was just trying to prove that he could take better care of me than Aras thought.
Realizing Aras expects a response, I nod, not knowing if he could actually feel the slight heating of my palm, or if he could simply see the growing panic written on my face. Either way, I have to gain some control of my emotions. If Aras can read my magic so plainly, then there is no way I can hide it from my crazed father. “He’ll see my magic, eventually,” I mumble, as if my words alone could ease the seriousness of my impending failure.
“He will, but on your terms, not his.”
Coming to a sudden stop, he turns to stand before me like some ancient warrior ready to shield me from my death. The stitched, red O on his perfect, white tunic dances before my eyes, teasing me with what’s to come. I reach up to his collar, tracing the soft tips with my fingers before he grabs my hands, pulling them between us.
“Do you know why I drugged you with your papa’s tonic so long ago?” he asks, planting terribly distracting kisses along my knuckles, as if he knows our time is coming to an end and he can’t get enough.
His sudden change of topic startles me, and I stall, mulling over my words while I drink in his presence. When we first met, I assumed he was just being a boar’s backside. I never once considered that he could have had another motive. Another reason, besides outright aggravation, to put me to sleep.
“I thought you didn’t care for me much when we first met,” I answer, knowing good and well that the logic doesn’t make sense. Now that I know Aras’ past, I know we weren’t really strangers on that fateful day.
He had known me since the day I was born.
Aras blows out a quick breath, calling my nonsense with a knowing smile. “I think we both know I cared for you too much,” he says, pulling me closer until his forehead rests gently against mine. “I put you to sleep because I wanted to take you away. I wanted to run to a place where nothing exists. Nothing except for you and me.”
“Aras—” I start, gasping for words at the surprise his words bring. Not because I’m offended, but because a very small part of me wishes he would have done just that. Before, it was always just my papa and me. That was my life, and I was perfectly content to live it. But now, my world has tilted—changed its course. For while my heart has always belonged to Papa, now another has come along and taken hold, and I long for him to have his way.
“I wanted to save you from this life. From this purpose,” he says, resting his chin on my head. “I wanted you to be happy, even though a large part of me knew you’d never be happy without your papa coming home safe. And another part of me knew you’d be irritated beyond belief to wake up with a stranger in the middle of nowhere. But then, as I picked up your sleeping body and held you in my arms, I remembered that it’s not just about us. It’s about everyone. Everyone who deserves a life, but isn’t getting it at the sake of Knox’s will. So I dropped you off at Ashen’s gates and counted down the seconds until I could see you again.”
“Aras,” I whisper against his chest. “You are right in that everyone deserves a chance, and although it scares me to pieces, I’m willing to give them everything I have to make it right, but most of all, that includes you. I’ve counted down every second of the times we’ve spent apart, and I’ll continue to count down every one until we can be together again. Just you, me, and these forsaken trees. That’s what I want, Aras, and if I have to put you asleep and run away to do it, I will.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.” He smiles, cupping my cheeks in his hands and rewarding me with the sweetest of kisses that only makes me long for more.
So I steal another. And another after that.
Fifty-Four
It’s not until we finally near the edge of the woods, and a large dirt road comes into view, that Aras steps away from my touch, leaving me to conquer my fears alone. Although I knew the separation was coming, it does nothing to diminish the cold that now surrounds my heart. As we grew closer to the city walls, Aras explained the importance of keeping our bond from Knox, or else he might use it against us to further his needs. Knox is certainly aware of Aras’ feelings for me, but he has no idea of how I feel in return. So, in an effort to keep our secret safe, it’s better if no one else knows of our bond as well. The logic had sounded perfectly reasonable then, but I can’t help the disappointment that washes through me as we emerge from the woods and he isn’t right by my side.
The road, thank the stars, is empty, except for a single, covered cart hitched onto two massive horses that stand idly in the dust. A lone man sits on a bench, dressed in the blaringly white colors of Orien, making the graying, heat-scorched wood of the cart seem even duller in the afternoon sun. Aras approaches the road, letting out a low whistle, and the horses jerk forward, pulling the contraption along with them. It’s not until the cart is right upon us that I realize I know the man behind the reins.
“And we meet again, Princess,” Bates says, with something akin to a smile.
The cart he sits upon turns out to be a very old and poorly maintained carriage, though I’ve never actually seen a real one myself. Papa always said that in the past when people used to travel from city to city, they used carriages to carry their supplies, and when my curiosity was piqued, he built a small one in our back garden. Of course, we had no horse to pull it, but that’s what poor Crisp was for, wasn’t it?
“Aras told me that ke
eping a low profile was of upmost importance, but am I to trust that this contraption will get me through the gates without it falling apart?” I ask, returning his smile with a nervous one of my own.
“Oh, it will more than serve its purpose, I can assure you, Princess. Now I just need your assurance to keep quiet while I take us through the back gates. After all, we can’t very well announce your presence when none of your people believe you exist.”
He nods to Aras, who moves to open what’s left of the door. The rusted hinges squeak with protest and he motions for me to climb in, not once meeting my eye. Already the cold detachment of his actions leaves me reeling for breath. I hurry forward, ducking my head and climbing in before Bates can see the hurt on my face.
Inside, the carriage is just as plain and decaying as its shell. There’s another door hanging loosely to the wooden frame on the opposite side, and simple wooden benches line the front and back walls. The only bit of light allowed to stream in pours softly through each door’s window, which are, of course, missing their glass. I sit down on the bench that leaves me facing the front, while Aras squeezes in across the way. The space is so small that our knees bump against each other as Bates hails the horses forward, and I close my eyes, cherishing the contact, even if it’s brief. When I open them again, Aras sends me a regretful smile before moving down the small bench and leaning back to prop his boots beside me.
He seems to be the picture of ease, this boy, but on the inside, I think his stomach twists and turns as much as my own.
“Remember what we talked about in the woods,” he says. “That’s all you need to keep your focus on now.”
I nod my head in answer, looking away to catch what little of the city’s sights I can before I’m buried thick in the castle’s walls. As we walked, Aras explained that we’d be taking the narrow back streets to where my new prison awaits, hoping to avoid any unnecessary attention before Knox has acknowledged my existence. If I have learned anything over the past few weeks about the man whom I am to call father, it is that he prefers control in all things, and that most certainly includes me. Right now, all that matters is getting through this first meeting and keeping my magic under control. The rest, whatever that entails, will just have to get easier with time.
Look to the Stars (The Orien Trilogy Book 1) Page 39