Page 49 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

Damien keeps our heads straight as a knight; Cast keeps our hands clean as a rook. What do I sacrifice for them as King?

Nothing, they know I can’t handle the darkest parts of anything. They know how easily I can break into a million pieces. I was never meant for the darkness. I was only meant to love.

But this isn’t about them. This isn’t about the Chessmen or even my father. This is about her.

My princess, my obsession, my inevitable downfall.

I look over at Rosemary’s picture again. “What does a King sacrifice for his Queen? Everything, down to his fucking soul.”

15

WILLOW

“You are so lucky you were just on your death bed, or I would fucking kill you!” Jasmine shrieks, dragging me off of her front stoop, and right into her arms.

My voice cracks when I inhale her maple scent. God I missed her, so fucking much that it hurts. When I pull back, a small gasp leaves my lips as I look over her face. A deep pink slash mars the pale skin of her cheek, stretching from her temple down to the crest of her cheekbone.

My stomach twists. I wasn’t there when it happened—I don’t even knowwhathappened—but the sight of it still feels like a punch to the gut.

Jasmine looks different now. Her hair, once a blonde buzz cut, is cropped into a sharp pixie cut, the short strands feathering around her face. The soft lavender highlights catch in the light, giving her an almost ethereal glow, but it doesn’t soften the edge in her blue eyes. She’s still Jasmine, still my best friend, but there’s something hardened in her now, something I can’t ignore.

“Jasmine,” I whisper, my hand reaching up to cradle her cheek. “What the fuck-”

“Occupational hazard,” she nods, her eyes darting over her shoulder to a brooding Landon, and thin lipped Brooke. “Conner isn’t here right now.”

“Yeah, hasn’t been here for three weeks now,” Landon scoffs, taking a slow swig of whiskey straight out of the bottle.

“Landon shut the fuck up,” Brooke snaps, standing up and pulling me into a warm, soft hug. “Hey there buttercup.”

“Hey Brooke,” I sigh into her scarlet hair. “Is everything-”

“You just caught us while we’re licking our wounds,” Brooke whispers, a tight smile on her face. “Don’t worry about us, this is a cat household and we will land on our feet.”

“Amen to that babe,” Jasmine hums, sliding an arm around her waist and placing a tight kiss to her temple.

“So what’s the plan?” I smile, my eyes darting across the room.

“Well since we’ve just been through one of the most difficult months of our lives,” Brooke sighs, sliding her black American Express card out of her bra. “I am thinking of a full fledged makeover, nails, shopping, hair, the whole nine.”

“Count me in,” I sing, looking over at a weary Jasmine whose eyes are locked on Landon’s slumped form. “Jas?”

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.” She says, her voice so low I almost don’t hear her agreement.

Landon grumbles from his chair, eyes bloodshot, his voice slurring as he lifts the whiskey bottle again. "You can't go. The Raiders are still out there. We’re not safe, none of us are. You think some pretty nails are gonnafix that?"

Jasmine meets his eyes, unflinching, and replies in a steady voice, “I can’t hide for the rest of my life, Landon. It’s been two months and look I’m okay.”

“No,” he shakes his head, looking wild. "You can’t go, not without me. I’m not losing you. Not like this."

Her eyes flash, but it’s not with the heat I’m used to. Her eyes narrow into icicles. "You’re drunk," she says, the words firm. "And I’m not going to let you drag yourself into this because of me."

Landon reaches out, grabbing her arm in a grip that’s almost too tight. "I don’t care. I’m coming. I’m not letting you do this alone, Jas."

Brooke steps in before I can say anything, pulling Landon’s hand off of Jasmine’s arm. "Landon, stop." She looks at him like he’s a child, trying to calm him down without getting into a full-blown fight. "You’re not coming. We’ll call Conner, and he’ll meet us downtown. That’s the plan, okay?"

Landon glares at her, his face flushed with a mixture of anger and alcohol. "Conner?" he sneers. "That guy hasn’t even been here in?—"

But before he can continue, Jasmine pulls out her phone and dials, her fingers moving with practiced ease. She hits send, and we all fall silent as it rings. Once. Twice. A third time.

---