The Princess and the Warlock

Chapitre Trente et Un

Desperation.

It was what fueled Kaius. It was so potent that he could taste it, the acrid layer coated his taste buds and chilled his veins, turning his skin into a layer of ice. He'd never been cold, not really, not when he could use magic to warm his insides, but when he saw the blood run down Amora's chin, he felt cold.

When he saw the blood spill from her side the night of the dimkain attack, he'd felt cold.

When he she was screaming in the middle of the night, her nightmares holding her captive, he'd felt cold.

Love, he realized, made one feel cold.

No, not love. Fear.

It was foreign to him, because for so long he had nothing to fear, no one to fear for. Perhaps Freesia, but she was on her own most of the time, in the oceans and rivers, lost to him. For so long it had just been him, on his own, alone in Gossington. When the others came and he offered boarding to them, it wasn't fear that gripped him when thinking about their safety. Fear didn't freeze him when he thought of those others being injured.

When thinking about Amora, and seeing her blood spilled once more, he felt as if he were paralyzed.

Maybe he was cursed. Cursed to watch those whom he loved suffer. First his parents, now Amora. Cursed to never be able to love someone, to love them and keep them. Cursed for them to be a whisper against his skin, only to be ripped away as the breeze grew to a crescendo.

She didn't deserve it, deserve him. Not in the slightest.

***

Tea was done quickly. Kaius stepped into my bedroom with a tray in his hand, teapot and two tea cups and saucers on its surface. He was careful not to jar the contents as he set the tray down on the table beside my bed, shuffling it into a safe position. "It might be hot," he said, and I saw that when he withdrew his hands from the tray, they were shaking. He blew out a breath, low and slow. "I want to say something, and I don't want you to get mad."

Immediately, my guard was up. "All right."

Kaius sat down on the edge of my bed, his back touching the sides of my legs. "I—I would never force you to do something you didn't want to do," he said, looking at me with haunted eyes. "Never. I'd rather cut my own body into slivers than force you into a decision you didn't want to make."

"I know."

"And I wouldn't ask this of you if it weren't important," he went on, reaching to press his hand against where he must've thought the curve of my knee was. His touch, though, was slightly higher, grazing the middle of my thigh. He had to have noticed, had to have known, but he didn't pull away. "I wouldn't ask you to leave if I didn't have any other option."

I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, tried to swallow the thoughts that had surfaced in my head. "We all have options," I told him. "Ours just aren't very good, one way or the other."

"I love you," he said, and this time, the effect of those words had the time to properly wash over my skin, sink into my heart. And my heart, taking this as fuel, started to pump harder, started to make my blood warmer. "And I love you enough to make sure you're safe."

Safe. Safe. Right here, in this bed, with his hands on me, I felt safe. I felt no fear, nothing but this burning that made my thoughts somewhat disjointed. Because his I love you, I love yous drove me mad. Never before had I been told that, not that I could remember. That I was loved. That someone loved me. That my presence was wanted and desired and that I was loved. And here was a boy, telling my ears what they burned to hear, as well as other words that tried to take away the momentary joy.