Separate Crowns of One Heart

Thırty-Ėıght

Ashamed and at a loss for what to do, I hole myself up in the suite. I search through the tether that is our bond for any hope that Kenyon might forgive me but all I find is seething anger and hurt, dragging me further into my sadness. The way he looked at me before leaving me in the foyer flashes in my mind, the distaste clear in his eyes as if I made him sick to his stomach.

Lowering myself into a chair at the table, I stare out of the window where the sun sinks over the horizon as the day comes to a close, ready to welcome the moon back. Only when I go to fold my hands in my lap do I notice how much they're shaking. I squeeze them into fists but the shaking doesn't stop.

The King was right about you.

Right about what? What did he say? Did he know about Micah? He couldn't have.

Stupid Micah. He just had to be the one Dawggonian caught, didn't he? And while I am beyond furious at him and the easy thing to do is blame him... I can't. At least not completely.

If only I had— No. I can't do this to myself. It's already bad enough that Kenyon has been turned away from me; I do not need to become my own enemy. I have enough of those as it is.

Sighing, I undress from the day's fanciness and wash the salted tear trails dried on my face. I climb into my bed but it's not as comfortable as it usually is. It's too soft, too lumpy, too cold, too hot, too... much.

Squeezing my eyes shut, l call to the moon to will me to sleep despite the looming presence of Micah being under the same roof as me and Kenyon . . . And Kenyon with his anger that burns through the markings on my wrist. Mercifully, sleep takes me.

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It's not hard to rise the next morning since I hardly slept but it is a feat to escape the sheets that tangled around my body from my tossing and turning the entire moon. Dragging my hand over my face, I make my way into the bathroom, not looking forward to what the day holds.

I can already imagine the terrible punishment the King and Kenyon have come up with for me. I'll accept whatever it is as long as they leave my parents out of it. They had nothing to do with my infractions against the crown.

A scratching from inside my chest makes me pause in washing my face, my fingers curling around the edge of the porcelain sink as I try to keep from falling. I think it's the pain behind Kenyon's anger for a second before the sensation comes again and I know. This isn't Kenyon; this is something else entirely.

Refusing to wait around while Kenyon and his father decide my faith, I don my armor and call for a carriage while my privileges as princess still stand. Turning my sword over and over in my hand, I can hardly sit still as the carriage bounces along, taking me to the training facility. I don't even wait for the coachman to open the door for me, anxious to get this restless energy out.

All eyes turn to me when the facility doors swing shut behind me. They all lower into bows, saying a harmonious "Your Highness." Only Deji looks me in the eyes and bounds over. "Cyrah."

I wish his smile could cheer me up or fix whatever it is I'm feeling. I hold my sword out, the tip pointed at his chest. "Duel me."

Not asking any questions, he unsheaths his sword, the light bouncing off his blade. He touches his weapon to mine and we launch into a duel.

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𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬 𝛐𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝛐 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝛐𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬— 𝐰𝐚𝐬 — 𝐭𝛐 𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐕𝐞 𝐭𝛐 𝐟𝛐𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝛐 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝛐𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐰𝐠𝐠𝛐𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝛐𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐲𝐫𝐚𝐡. 𝚳𝐲 𝐂𝐲𝐫𝐚𝐡.