The Reaper's Curse

Tears of the Blood Moon

The reaper has been gone for three days. 

Malle has taken over her job of delivering sinners for Lilith to reap. And Rowan has locked himself in his chambers, drinking himself to death⎯⎯⎯⎯or, whatever it is after death. 

Lilith knocks on his door the third morning in a row, a silver tray balancing a bowl of chicken porridge held against her hip. "Rowan, it's me. Can you open the door?" 

Something smashes into smithereens onto the ground on the other side of the door. It was probably his bottle of wine. 

"Rowan, please."

An annoyed grunt is his only reply. 

Lilith trembles, her fingers gripping the edges of the tray. 

"What happened to you?"

What happened to the fearless young man who fought at the frontlines of every war Erimere has waged in the past four years? What happened to the young man who would always show up at the docks of the capital city bloody and bruised after a battle yet still wearing that lopsided grin of his? 

"Rowan," she tries again. This time, he does not even bother to make a sound. 

Her jaw tightens. She's angry now. 

She lets the tray fall from her hands. It clatters to the ground loudly, the sharp sound reverberating in the hallway, and the ceramic bowl smashes against the floor, cracking into pieces. Scalding porridge burns her feet but she does not move. 

"Did you kill yourself by drinking?" Her voice is strained. She kicks the door with her foot. "What was so painful that you would rather die than live?" She kicks it again⎯⎯⎯⎯harder this time. 

Celia had told her the news. Marquess Rowan Havillian's body was found in his manor two weeks ago. They said it was suicide. 

"Sairah said that after you died and came here, you didn't drink for two days. You were healing. So why did you start again?"

Still no answer.

Seething, Lilith slams her fist into the door. "Rowan!" she screams. 

The door swings open, and her foot nearly connects with Rowan's shin. 

Lilith freezes. Her gaze shoots upwards. 

The man in front of her is nearly unrecognisable. With his uncombed hair, oily and flattened against his scalp, and his squinting, bloodshot eyes, he looks to be years older than he actually is. There are hints of stubble on his chin, and his swollen lips are pulled back in a snarl. 

This is what three days of liquor and nothing else can do to a man.

"For fuck's sake, Lilith," he slurs. "I just died. Give me a goddamn break." 

Lilith grabs him by the ear and yanks his face down so that it's level with hers. She ignores the curses that dribble from his lips. "Sober yourself."

"No."

Lilith tightens her grip on his earlobe. "You don't get to say 'no' to me. I'm speaking to you as your princess." She pushes him back into his room and drags him to the bathing chamber. The water splashes cold against her skin as she turns on the tap to the sink. "Wash your face and shave off your stubble. Now."

Rowan grumbles incoherently, but he obeys. 

"I'll come back with porridge. Don't you dare lock the door again." 

☾✧

The two of them sit in uncomfortable silence in the small dining room in Rowan's chambers, the only noise the clinking of silverware.