Page 20 of His Dark Delights
“Who was who?”
Rhydan snorted, punctuating the sound with a rollof his eyes. “The girl on the farm, Soren. The one who looked like you kicked her puppy when we found you and has kept you distracted since your return.”
“She saved my life. Nursed me back to health when she found me near dead in the forest after the last skirmish. She did me a kindness. Nothing more than that.” My empty hand smoothed up my ribs. A pang at the mention of her was a striking reminder of the wounds refusing to heal since our parting. Her visage once again flared in my mind. A goddess in a meadow, standing in the midday sun. A vision of ethereal beauty and wholesome strength. The serenity I felt in the center of my bones in her presence.
And with that memory came the image of her tears. The anguish in her melodic voice as she begged, demanded, wailed for me to leave, spread through my consciousness like a creeping contagion.
“Nothing more than kindness? The bruises under your eyes say otherwise. You’ve drifted as aimless and unmoored as a ghost since we returned.” Rhydan’s arched brow stressed his skepticism. “You can’t expect me to believe you’re unmoved by whatever you experienced on that farm. I know you too well to know you won’t forget that.”
A log splintered, popping in the fireplace. Sparks erupted into a constellation of smoldering embers that danced and died in the blink of an eye. The shadows curled longer, seductive tendrils of melancholy that taunted me.
“I haven’t forgotten,” I admitted, barely above a whisper. The words tasted like regret, and I swallowed an impressive gulp of mead to wash it down. The warmth of the alcohol spreading through my chest didnothing to abate the hollow chill in my veins.
“In all our years, I’ve never seen you like this before.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowed, as if intending to read the locked and guarded secrets in my head. “Oh, gods. You truly cared for the girl, didn’t you?”
The answer was locked so deep in my chest I didn’t know it. I sighed, almost choking on the admission sitting heavy in the back of my throat.
“What does it matter? I’m back here now, aren’t I?”
That was close enough to a confession for my oldest friend. He sat up straighter, inquisitive eyes sparkling at the scandalous revelation. “And this farm girl? Did she care for you? It didn’t seem that way from what I saw, but it’s never safe to assume—”
“You’re an ass either way,” I barked, harsher than intended.
Rhydan’s dark eyes softened, his teasing replaced by understanding. Likely recalling whatever woman he’d loved and never admitted to, not even to me.
“She was distraught when we arrived,” he said. “She wanted you to go away.”
“Indeed, she did.” The admittance carried the burden of untold sorrows. I hummed, dropping my head and closing my eyes. In that darkness I could summon the memory of her touch, her dulcet sighs, her laughter—gifts now lost to me.
I felt his gaze contemplating me. “Why? Any lady in Elleslan would covet the company of the king.”
“Because,” I sat up, snapping at him with bitterness in my tone, “she realized who I was when you fucking imbeciles arrived. She discovered I wasn’t just an injured man who needed help, but the fucking king commanding the war she despises the existence of!”
My friend’s brows shot up, though he maintained his composure with a nod. His momentary silence extended as he turned over the complexity of my situation. Settling in his chair again, he asked, “And what about now? Do you still care for her?” His knowing gaze flicked over my pathetic state, as if he already knew the answer.
The depths of my goblet reached up, swirling, rippling mead reflecting a dejected soul. “Caring for her is as easy as breathing and as painful as drowning.”
Rhydan groaned, the sound a contrast against my feelings. “Gods, you’ve gotten sappy. It’s worse than I thought.” He refilled our goblets, understanding the need for liquid oblivion.
My chamber grew taut with contemplative silence. We drank our fill of intoxicating honey and reminisced about our mistakes. So, so many mistakes and wrong turns that brought me back to a palace holding everything I could have wanted and yet lacking the one thing I yearned for most.
“Hearts are burdensome things to have,” Rhydan sighed. “They cling to forbidden desires even when we beg them not to. Hearts are not things of reason.”
“Sounds like you’re talking about yourself.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps, not.” He shrugged. “But I don’t think it’s too late for you. Not too late for you to reconcile with the girl who saved your life. Show her you can care for her despite the casualty of your duties.”
Lilly’s arguments against the war and her statements about life rose to the surface of my mind. “No, she won’t have me. My crown eclipses whatever we might have shared. It was fleeting, and I must forget her now.”
“How will you know if you don’t try? How will you know what could have been if you let her send you away?” Rhydan’s expression and his rarely used wisdom crept through the fog of my doubts. “Anything would be better than the mess you are now.”
With a forced chuckle, I nodded, grateful for his advice and companionship. As the night wore on, the mead dampened the noise of my despair. My friend and the fire were comforting energies that muted the encroaching rot of my regrets.
As the night carried on, we spoke of other things. Of battles fought and victories won, of childhood shenanigans and our first years wielding swords, deftly avoiding talk of women when we might have before. And beneath it all, the memory of Lilly lingered, a wraith that refused to be laid to rest.
And so, we drank, and drank, using alcohol as a salve for our weary spirits in the stormy hours of the night. All the while, in the brittle moments between words, I knew that my time with Lilly was far from over. Whatever we shared couldn’t end. Because I wouldn’t allow it.
Tossing and turning, dreams of mornings bathed in the buttery light of dawn, when I would awaken to her soft flesh against mine and her curves submitting to my touch, infiltrated my nights. I dreamt of her subtly humming as she tended to her garden. Of her bell-like laughter when she chased and danced with her animals near the stream. I remembered the crisp spring air and dew-kissed flowers in her meadow. I dreamtof watching her through the cottage windows as she worked, her divine figure haloed by the horizon.
