Page 31 of Essence of the Throne

I wordlessly set the food next to her and grab her water pack, calling my essence to reach into the realm and allow me to use my aqua strand. Once her pack is filled, I drop next to the fire and lean on my side, resting high enough on my elbow that I can eat without choking.

We sit by the small fire in comfortable silence. I trace every detail of her face as the radiance of the flames flicker across her features. She’s beautiful in this light—fierce and angelic, with the kind of allure that’s more dangerous than inviting. I’ve never been one to indulge in such thoughts about women, but she makes it difficult not to. I was not lying when I’d explained why Icall her angel—I’m still not fully convinced she isn’ttheAngel. She’s unpredictable, volatile, and yet, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful…and my soul wants nothing more than to protect her, regardless that she’ll never need it. Well, physical protection, that is. Her heart? I’ll keep it safe until she’s ready to care for it on her own. And even then, I’ll be here, prepared to hold on to it when she cannot.

That realization is harrowing.

I’ve never felt this way before. I chuckle to myself, because of course I fall for the one woman who insists on fighting me at every turn.

“You’ve been quiet,” I say, breaking the silence.

Her eyes find mine momentarily as she shrugs, tearing a piece of dried meat with more aggression than necessary. “I have nothing to say.”

“Bullshit,” I retort, earning a glare. Something warm builds inside me at having her full attention. Seemingly negative attention—but I do not care. “You’re thinking a thousand things right now. I wish you’d share one of them.”

Her eyes narrow. “You really want to know what I’m thinking?”

“Yes.”

She leans forward on her hands, her voice low and rough. “I’m thinking that trusting you is a risk I can’t afford, but I’m doing it anyway.” I am…not sure what to say to that. It’s the most honest thing she’s ever said to me, and it feels like a step forward, even if it’s a small one.

Her laugh is hostile, something breaking in her gaze. “I’m thinking that I don’t know what I’m fucking doing anymore, Caspian. I mean,whatare we doing? How did I go from wanting to kill you and the king to traveling through this ridiculous forest because of some nonsense things my parents wrote twenty years ago?” Her admitting she wanted me dead doesn’t bother me as much as it should. But I throw those thoughts out, focused on the shine in her eyes. “For so long, I knew what I needed to do, and I spent every single day training for it. Everything was planned so meticulously. And nowfucking nothing,” she’s just shy of screaming at this point, “is the same, and I feel like I’m going insane, which is just fucking pathetic! How did someone like me, who clearly cannot handle a little fluctuation of plans, end up with the reputation I have? I’m nothing but a fool with a title.”

She looks up at me, and my hand clenches the closest thing to keep me from going to her. She doesn’t need to be coddled, but she needs to learn that what she’s feeling is okay.

I hadn’t realized just how much this would affect her—she’s suppressed everything but anger for so long that her body has adopted a permanent survival mode. Difficult is not the word to describe what it’s like watching her reach a breaking point.

It means something that she’s allowed herself to be so honest and vulnerable with me, however. I want to be her safe space, but I will not be her savior.

She falls to her back and presses the heels of her palms against both eyes. I let the silence stretch for a moment, allowing theweight of her words to settle between us. “You’re not pathetic,” I say after a pause, my tone firm but soft. “You’re human. You’re allowed to feel lost—to struggle with the unknown.”

She scoffs, dropping her arms and turning her face toward the fire, but I catch the way her jaw tightens, as if she’s trying to hold on to her anger. “Easy for a prince to say.” Fair. And true.

I keep my voice even, refusing to let her retreat into the self-loathing I feel her sinking into. That’s not who she is. “Ariella, you’ve built yourself up for years on rage and certainty. It’s no wonder everything feels wrong right now. But you’re no fool, and you’re not weak for feeling this way. Adjusting to change is not the same as failing.”

“Then why does it all feel the same?” Her response is instant, as if she’s clutching at my every word.

“Because it’s new.” My gaze follows hers as she studies the trees and gleaming sky above us. The view seems to have a calming effect on her.

“How do I get it to go away.” It’s not a question, not really. More of a resigned acceptance.

“Angel, look at me.” Not a heartbeat later, Ariella rolls to her stomach, resting on her hands as those inquisitive eyes find mine. Will my heart skip every time she looks at me for the rest of our lives? “Living doesn’t mean erasing the pain so that you never have to deal with it; it means finding a way to keep moving despite all the scars and unhealed parts of us.”

She regards me for a moment, something akin to appreciation falling over her features. “What if I don’t accept that?”

I shrug. “You can either live alongside the darkest parts of you, or you can let them destroy that fire inside until you’re nothing but a shell.” I lean forward, a challenge in my gaze. “But that doesn’t sound like the Ariella I know.”

“Youdon’tknow me,” she whispers, uncertainty lacing her tone, and I snort.

“Don’t I? I know how you tap your fingers against your thigh when you’re nervous or overwhelmed. The way you tilt your head just a little when you’re deep in thought, like you’re weighing every option once or twice before making a decision. How you hide your hair beneath the hood of your cloak when you don’t wish to be perceived, because it must be fucking exhausting to have every person in the realm know your identity. I know that you twirl a blade through your fingers when you’re trying to hold yourself back. You mindlessly touch the little scar on your wrist whenever Isaiah’s name is brought up.

“You’re always the first to notice the smallest details—things that any other person would have taken days to discover. I know that you never eat food out of order, only eating one thing at a time until you’re finished—and that’s how I also know you thrive on control. You have to know what’s going on at all times and where you stand in every situation. I’ve seen how you run your fingers through your hair when you’re frustrated, but you never pull. How you hold back a wince each time I step close to you, because the need to defend yourself from touch is so instinctual that you can’t help it.

“I knowwho you are, Ariella. But whether you’re ready to accept the truth that you’re a human—and not a tool whose only purpose is to kill—is something you will need to figure out on your own.”

Ariella’s eyes widen at my words, but she quickly covers it with a glare. “You pay too much attention,” she mutters, her voice a blend of annoyance and something softer.

I grin as I rise from the ground. “You’re hard to ignore.”

She huffs, but there’s no real bite to it. My stomach flutters when her lips twitch, a smile threatening to break through the heavy silence. “I suppose I should be flattered.”

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