Eighteen
The brightness of the sky told me that I'd slept through breakfast. Lunch, too. I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower, ready to wash off the failure from my wielding session. The water ran red as I washed away the blood mangled in my hair. The injury hurt, but wasn't deep enough for me to need a healer.
My scalp burned, but I spent longer in the shower than I’d like to admit, trying to work through the array of emotions stuck in my head. What was the point of having a power like mine if I couldn't even use it properly? Is that why Blythe never gave her constellastone to anyone—because they couldn't use it, anyway?
The pondering of my existential crisis continued outside of the shower, following me to my desk where I sat and picked up a quill. My fingers twirled a strand of my hair as I wrote down my thoughts on the parchment Sebastian had given me.
I wrote about my successful wielding last night, and then about how I fainted right after. I wrote about the way Sebastian was looking at me like he wanted to kiss me, and how I wished he would have.
When I finished spilling my feelings, I tucked the paper away in my desk along with the others, then crawled back into my bed. I didn't have the energy, physically or mentally, to do anything else today. I pulled the blanket over my head, but as soon as I got comfortable, a soft knock hit my door.
“Who is it?”
Their response was muffled by the blanket covering my ears. I reluctantly pulled myself out of my bed and shuffled my feet to open the door, revealing Sebastian.
His eyes had shadows under them and his dark hair laid messy atop his head. I was pretty sure that he had stayed awake the whole time I was unconscious, and by the looks of him now, he didn't sleep much when he got back to his room.
“Can I come in?”
I nodded and spun around, returning to my bed. “I'm surprised you even knocked when you have a key,” I grunted, pulling the blankets back over my head.
The door slammed and his footsteps echoed in my room. I was mortified about pretty much everything that occurred last evening and wanted to pretend it never happened. Maybe if I was quiet enough, he’d get the hint and just leave.
My false hope was crushed as he tore the blanket off of me. “We need to talk. Get up,” he demanded, seeming annoyed.
“I'm tired,” I whined.
“I don't care. Get up.”
I stuck my tongue out at him. Childish, I know, but I was not in the mood to be bossed around today. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared blankly at the ceiling.
“Maeve, I'm serious. This is important. Get up.”
I rolled my eyes down towards him. “Whatever it is, you can tell me while I lay in my bed.”
He huffed a laugh of frustration, and shook his head. “Fine, stay there. I'll wait.” He threw himself down in my armchair, rubbing his forehead with hisfingers.
Rolling to my side to look at him, I stated the obvious, “You seem stressed.”
“Good observation,” he grunted.
My nose scrunched at his tone. “What's up your ass?”
“You,” he shot back, and I started to feel bad for how I was acting. None of this was his fault—I shouldn't have taken it out on him, but he seemed to be lacking patience this morning, which irritated me.
I sat up. “I don't know why you're so annoyed with me right now.”
Sebastian glared up at me through his hands, then slid them down and away from his face. “I'm not annoyed, Maeve. I'm scared, and you're acting like it's a joke.”
“Why areyouscared? You're not the one who could be shipped off to Draemor any day now.”
He stood up and stormed towards me, bracing his hands on the edge of my mattress and leaning into my face. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't want anything bad to happen to you?”
I gulped. “I?—”
“Because I don't.” His jaw twitched as he stared into my soul.
Did he really just say that? This seemingly unbothered man actually cared about me? “I'm scared, too. Actually,scareddoesn't do justice to what I’m feeling,” I said with a pout.
