Book Two: The Larkspur's Longing ~ A tale of deep obsession and devotion

Chapter Eight: The Game

Windridge tower was filled with a tomb like quiet as Callidus clutched Cressida tight, as if her warmth could drive away the cold emptiness inside him. Their bodies intertwined on the bed as he dug his chin into the hollow of her throat. His tears had long dried, leaving behind an icy resolve that settled deep within his being, echoing in the steady slow rhythm of his heartbeat against her back.

"Callidus?"

On and off for more than an hour, Cressida had attempted to break through the oppressive silence. However, Callidus remained quiet, his gaze fixed on his shelf of memory crystals.

The realization that the vision he had devoted himself to for over a decade was built upon a lie was too devastating to acknowledge. The countless hours he had spent immersing himself in that cherished vision, the hopes and dreams it had driven, now seemed like a cruel illusion.

The agony of this truth was so overwhelming that he could not allow himself to dwell on it, for doing so would expose the fragile foundation of his entire existence.

(How many more of those visions were lies...?)

His grip on Cressida tightened, his fingers digging into her shoulders.

Despite her motivations behind it, Cressida had accepted his proposal.

She had allowed him to slip the ring onto her finger, unknowingly transforming it from a symbol of his undying love into her own unyielding shackle, binding them together irrevocably.

"Callidus..." Cressida pleaded. "Please... say something,"

His mind churned with thoughts and suspicions.

He longed to confront Cressida, to demand answers and make her face the consequences of her cruel mockery. The betrayal cut deep, the pain he felt was raw and all-consuming.

But amid the agony, a perverse admiration lingered - a reluctant acknowledgment of Cressida's effective revenge. Briefly, he wondered if he had misjudged her. Given the cold efficiency of her manipulation of him, perhaps she would be capable of understanding his own deceitful inclinations after all.

"Callidus," Cressida leaned against him, tilting her head back to meet his tortured gaze, her eyes searching for a glimmer of connection. "Please, I can't bear this silence."

"Shh," he hushed in a long, drawn-out hiss, his hand sliding from her shoulder to wrap gently around her throat as he pulled her neck close to press a light kiss against the skin.

He felt Cressida's pulse flutter beneath his fingertips, the feeling of her breath catching and then raggedly crawling back into the confines of her lungs.

Finally, Callidus spoke in a low, lingering whisper.

"We will be married as planned."

As Callidus uttered those words, Cressida tensed in his arms.

She tried to pull away, but Callidus's thumb caressed her throat in a delicate warning. He leaned in close, his voice a low murmur in her ear. "I meant every word of my proposal, and I will take your acceptance as a genuine commitment, regardless of your intentions."

Callidus paused, his breath tickling her neck as he glanced at the shelf of memory crystals. The shimmering reflections threw odd shadows against the walls, and Callidus's eyes narrowed as his gaze urgently flicked from crystal to crystal.

He felt a sudden strange rush of resentment.

"Shall we play a game, Your Highness?" he asked, as he abruptly straightened himself up on the bed, hauling Cressida with him so that she was cradled in his lap like a child's toy.