Silence ghosted the space around them as Cornelius continued to gaze at the greens and yellows that zoomed past. The foliage of new colours splashed across the windows to their carriage, quickly replacing the barren branches of Noxsidus. A sharp line drawn between the two lands of light and shadows, their hostility apparent even within the very core of their soil.
Rowan tried to mimic her moody spouse, her gaze fixed on the passing hares that still grazed across the fields. So free, so unrestrained. Just three months ago, she had been out there, running with them. But here she was now, forced to suffocate, cramped into a carriage for two with a fuming, muted man.
From the corners of her eyes, she found Cornelius with gaze darker than she had ever seen. This time she knew well that it was not because of the lack of life magick pulsing through his veins.
Ever since he had read the letter from the old weasel—and flung it into the fireplace— she had been expecting him to blow off, the dead trees around Noxsidus to go on a rampage. Yet, he did nothing. He went still, his expression a little too placid to be normal.
It was only after she had changed into her Fulgel’s disguise once again and they prepared to depart that his features suddenly darkened by shades.
Formless shadows casted their claws over them as he instructed Walter to keep Marie on a lockdown in the Keep. Rowan had protested to him then, thinking it improper to not bring her handmaiden with her. But Cornelius merely glared coldly at her and swept her off her feet—princess style, of course, begrudgingly.
Neither had he spoken a word nor glanced at her since.
Was it not just a wedding invitation? What could possibly anger him so? She had thought she knew him, knew the broken soul inside. But once again, he proved her wrong.
The silence unnerved her, made her fidget uncomfortably in her seat. The silk of her lavender dress suddenly felt prickly against her skin. Just as it was hard to think straight under the strain of her silver wig.
“Do you…” Rowan straightened at the suddenness of his voice. “..still care for the son of Maganti?”
With his gaze still trained on the passing blur of green, she was not sure he had spoken to her at first. “The…son of Maganti, Your Grace?” Rowan repeated, testing the waters. A whole day of silence broken by the name of their mutual enemy, even a toddler would be able to figure out what had been on the Duke’s mind.
Cornelius whirled to face her with a sigh. His hands dangled between his legs as he leaned across the little space between them, cornering her against the flat wall that caged them. Though she forced herself to maintain her composure, it was hard not to shy away from his piercing gaze.
“Do not take me for a fool, little one,” his voice deepened as he laced his fingers under his chin, regarding her. “I’ve seen more than you think I do. Be truthful with me.”
For split seconds, Rowan was propelled back to her younger days in the Lockhart Castle, finding nothing but bitterness in the memories she found there. Just as he said, he of all Medeis would know. Through it all, he had been watching her behind the swallow’s eyes. What point was there in him asking now?
“No,” she shook her head in the end, back straightened to meet Cornelius’s eyes. Her own gaze unwavering, fuelled by pride. “Not at all.” Unless digging her claws through his chest counted as ‘caring’.
“Does it not bother you that he is to wed your sister?” Cornelius pressed, his steady voice not betraying his emotions.
Rowan was not as composed in comparison. “What I thought about it is of no importance.” Her voice sounded snappier than she intended it to be, surprising herself more than it did Cornelius. “It matters not to me to whom he sold himself to. It had always been power that he wanted. I only wished my sister was wiser.”
True, she hated both the King and the Maganti’s bastard but she would never wish such a fate upon anyone, especially not Anastasia. The man was the equal of the old weasel if not worse. Anastasia was no more than a feast of hare served on golden plate to the weasel.
“Does it bother you that Anastasia would wed a Maganti?” she asked when the Duke said nothing in return.
“Pray tell, why would it bother me whatever happens to the daughter of a betrayer?” Cornelius’s reply was immediate. His smile grew cold as he leaned back into his seat with yet another long sigh. Though his frame had freed her, his gaze still trapped her within their probing darkness. “The descendants of betrayers…they do go well together.”
Rowan was rendered lost for words. She could hear the malice in his voice as clearly as she could the thundering hooves of the black stallions pulling their wooden carriage. Her heart pounded in sync with their rhythm, louder and stronger, until only the sound of the two rang in her ears.
Cornelius turned away from her then, sinking deeper into the web he had woven around them. His words echoed around her, wrapping themselves to her limbs like tendrils from beyond the veil. Silence weighed down on her chest as she watched his eyes darkened by shades. Almost black.
Was he mad because she brought up the enemy of his clan? Or was it because she had so casually brought up her sister’s name? But he was the one who had started it.
Somehow, Rowan managed to still her tongue and held it there until the stallions throttled to a stop. Even before she peered out of the carriage, she knew they had reached Lucidus’s border. There was no mistaking of the amount of light that pierced her skin and forced the red underneath to reveal itself—a feat that the scarlet moon in Noxsidus could never achieve.
Already, she missed the darkness that surrounded the Keep’s walls.
The thought forced her to an immediate halt. Missed? How far had she allowed her guards to lower so much so she had let such preposterous emotion emerge?
“Rowan?”
It was not until Cornelius called for her that she realized he had long disembarked, a hand outstretched for her. How long had he been standing like that?
Rowan placed her hand in his. Even though their skin barely touched with the layer of laced glove between them, sparks still buzzed between their palms. It startled her and nearly caused her to lose her footings. It was all she could do to not yank her hand away from his when Cornelius, with his impeccable grace, steadied her and guided her down the carriage.
“Thank you,” she murmured, slowly withdrawing her hand and folded them neatly before her as soon as her feet touched ground.
How deep the Magus’s magick ran was a mystery. Just the brief contact of their skin had caused the edginess to rise in her blood again. She had to suppress the urge to rub her hands hard enough to draw blood just to see if she could scrub the numbing feeling away.
These past few days, she could not help but wonder if Cornelius was indeed the Magus of life and death only. She was beginning to think he wielded the magick of lightning too.
If he felt anything remotely similar to her, he did not show it on his expressionless face. All she could read was the darkness in his eyes that she was no longer sure was from annoyance or tiredness. Or both.
Under the bright sunlight, the contours of his face deepened, the shadows sharper than ever. Never had she had a clearer view of his features as she did now.
Each chiselled surface that once appeared a peerless white to her, now seemed aglow with flush of silver. His hair which she thought was ink black, were tinged with dark lilac strands mirroring the delicate fan of mahogany lashes that framed his narrowed eyes. His expression stern in the unfamiliar amount of light beaming down at them.
He was beautiful and imposing, more so now, as he stood with his shoulders drawn back, clad from head to toe in dark leather and minimum satin. He looked more of a warrior prepared for war who had shed his armour only because he found the enemy unworthy, instead of a royalty invited to a wedding.
Had his shoulders always been this broad? Had his palms always been this big? Rowan silently lifted her own palm to his, careful not to touch or alert him to her action. Her hand was barely half the size of his.
“Sister!”
Rowan retrieved her hand in an instant and clutched them behind her back. She whirled around in sync with Cornelius’s turn of head.
Anastasia’s voice reached them long before she crossed the drawbridge. Her golden heels clicked away on the old boards of oak, unafraid that she might skitter and fall into the moat. The ladies in waiting and servants trying to catch up with the princess in their large skirts seemed to think otherwise as they trudged behind her.
The group nearly rolled into the dark waters in a straight line when the first of them glanced upon Cornelius’s face. She skidded to a stop, the look of a terrified deer in the face of wolf splayed across her face. Even from afar, Rowan could read their lips as clearly as they had spoken directly to her.
It’s the Beast! What is the Beast doing here?
So focused on the noises, Rowan had not notice the approaching princess until she threw her arms around her. Had the princess not been light, the two would most definitely fall into the moat, wrapped in another’s embrace. Anastasia held onto her so tightly, she feared her soul would be squeezed out of her shell.
“I missed you so much.” Her grasp on Rowan tightened as she buried herself into Rowan’s hair, seemingly unaffected by the man beside her or the gasps of fainting spells that rose from her followers. “Welcome home, sister!”
A small smile found its way to Rowan’s lips as she returned her hug.
She could never loathe the princess no matter how hard she tried. Anastasia was almost her twin, a sister she never had despite their very different appearance. If she had been born a Fulgel, Rowan might had grown up the way Anastasia did, beloved princess of Lucidus.
She would run with her feet bared in the dress her mother forced her in, her hair a tousled mess behind her. She would laugh unrestricted and love without doubts.
But she isn’t a Fulgel.
Rowan casted her gaze towards Cornelius. He had his eyes fixed on the princess, his face an unreadable mask. If it was Anastasia, could she had given him the love she could not afford him? Fill the void in him that was also in her? Would he had accepted Anastasia?
A sudden pang of light-headedness assaulted her. She had to force herself to stop the train of thought before it make her sick.
“Are you cold?” Anastasia peeled away from Rowan and laid her forehead to hers. Her gesture natural as if she was used to doing so.
Rowan could not help but stiffened as their skin touched. It would be unnatural to push away from the princess since none who remained in the castle knew she was a Nyphillie. Not even Anastasia who was born only decades later. But she did not want to hurt her.
Mistaking the tension in her muscles as a shudder of chill, Anastasia only pulled closer. “Come, we have to get you all warmed up. What do you say about a bowl of pumpkin soup? I smelled it on the way here. Definitely worthy of making stomachs growl.”
“If there’s parsley in it, I might consider,” Rowan smiled despite the protest of her stomach at the thought of Fulgels’ food. Truth was, she could not care less about the condiments. It was merely a reflective response to the sheepish grin spreading on Anastasia’s face. Her smile had always been contagious.
At times, it made Rowan wonder if she was indeed the King’s daughter, if it was all but a too-long nightmare. But a look at the princess’s entourage told her it was only a wishful thought on her part.
The servants, including the knights that guarded the gates parted neatly to the sides as they passed. Each had their head lowered, gaze fixed to the ground of golden dirt.
At first, Rowan had thought it was merely a gesture of honour towards the princess of light but she soon realized it was not entirely so. It was the man behind her that caused the shudders in the blade wielding hands of the knights.
Rowan glanced over her shoulders.
Cornelius was not far behind them. Though his steps were muted, the air brewing around him announced his presence with a glass shattering quake. Ever since he stepped onto Lucidus’s ground, his mood had taken a turn for the worse.
Gone was the loving gaze in his eyes and the teases that were always ready upon his lips. He was the epitome of a walking storm as he made it a point to bore through her with his stare. Thunder crackled in the depth of his eyes, loud enough to ring in her ears and make the hair on her hands stand on their ends.
She tried to look away, to focus on the words tumbling out of Anastasia’s lips. But none registered on her mind, slipping from her grasp like sand in an hourglass. Only the sound of his breath, ragged and subdued, echoed in her ears. She could feel it, an invisible hand wrapped around her bare neck.
Over the months, she had come to recognize it as the Duke’s prelude to releasing the beast within. The previous had been when she straight out taunted him into it. Thought she was sure she had done nothing of the sort for the whole month, she might had been wrong. There was no absolute to Cornelius’s moods after all.
They moved in hushed silence, the princess’s entourage following quietly behind, their heads still bowed. But once they crossed into the kingdom’s walls, the tension eased.
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