The Lonely Ones

Chapter Fifty-Five: Longer Than He Realized

When Artemis wakes, he lays in an unfamiliar room smelling of fresh pine and earth. A delicate aroma and morning light filtering through an open archway. His blurry vision slowly fades, revealing an expansive and elaborate room. The ceiling stands tall at a pointed peak, made entirely of exquisitely entwined greenery. Flowers bloom throughout the room and dangle around a large bed where the sheets beneath his hands are softer than silk.

A tender touch rests on his chest. An almost chilled warmth rests beside him. Artemis swallows hard. His head throbs. There's noise, and yet, it's eerily quiet. It's as if he can hear the world in bits and pieces. The bugs skittering in the walls. Flowers blossoming. Winter winds hissing over the mountains. And a power crawling through his veins, itching to break free while also burning to be kept within, almost fearful of what will transpire should Artemis be foolish enough to let go.

That some chilled touch moves from Artemis' chest to his cheek. A thumb brushes over his bottom lip. He struggles to raise his arm, limb trembling until he's able to grasp the hand against his cheek. Turning his head, Artemis finds himself peering into familiar icy eyes.

"Finally awake, my king?" Wren whispers, leaning in to brush his lips against Artemis'.

He heaves a trembling breath, feeling Wren's warmth and lips tenderly take his lips again and again. He reaches out to grasp Wren's neck, pressing his palm roughly against his skin to feel the pulse beneath.

"Is this a dream?" Artemis asks, pressing his forehead against Wren's. He hopes it's not a dream. He prays to whatever God or deity may listen that this is real. Wren's alive beside him and everything is okay.

"This isn't a dream," Wren states, a fae who cannot lie.

Artemis grips Wren so tight that his nails almost dig into his skin. Wren rests on his chest, letting Artemis drag him closer. He locks an arm around Wren's waist, kissing him so passionately his lips ache. His hands move to touch his arms, then his chest. Healed and whole. He cradles Wren's face, running their lips together.

"I thought you were gone," Artemis whispers, burying his head against Wren's chest.

"I'm not. Not anymore, thanks to you." Wren rests his hand beneath Artemis' chin, urging him to meet Wren's gaze. His eyes turn a bit solemn, a little serious. "You understand what has happened, don't you?"

Artemis recalls the moments before he passed out. The High King's ominous words followed by the sudden intrusion of power. A power lurking beneath his skin, slithering through his mind, whispering promises of a grand future both sweet and terrifying.

"The High King is dead," he says.

"Yes, and you killed him, which means?"

Artemis struggles to form words that feel so far out of reach even after the spectacle has occurred, even as he feels power at his fingertips.

"Am I going to... change?" he asks, hesitantly.

Wren frowns. "I don't know. If you do, I figured you would have shown signs by now. Does anything feel different?"

"Different," Artemis repeats. He holds up his hand and merely wiggles his fingers, which causes the roots of the room to creak and groan. "Yeah, there's a difference."

"In your trivial mortal feelings, I mean. Are you contemplating planning a brutal murder or wondering what the inside of someone's abdomen looks like?"

Artemis grimaces at the mere mention of it.

"And that answers that." Wren chuckles.

"But do you think I'll change later, like your..." Artemis stops himself.