When I return to her side, Ash steps close, my hands finding her waist with trembling uncertainty, just above her perfect ass. Her fingers curl behind my neck like a prayer, teasing the ends of my hair. It takes everything in me not to close my eyes and moan.
I follow her lead, unsure of what I’m doing. The current song is winding down, but is catchy and upbeat. Despite that, she begins to move. Every movement is slow, reverent, her eyes holding mine. Once I’m sure that’s all I’m expected to do, even if it doesn’t really fit the music, I relax into swaying in a slow circle with her.
“Damocles” by Sleep Token pulses through the dimly lit dance floor like a heartbeat, thick with tension andaching beauty. As the haunting melody begins, all soft piano notes trailing like whispered secrets, I give in enough to rest my cheek against her hair, inhaling the intoxicating scent of amber and nudging her just a little closer. She obliges as the lyrics wash over me.
As the song builds, so does the storm of emotion building inside me — the sword of love, edged in fear. The longing that I’ve lived with for so long now. The weight of everything that’s been buried between us. I internally brace. I’m so hesitant to believe, but… Gods. It’s been so long. Maybe, just maybe, she really is starting to remember. And, if she is, the lyrics have more than one reason to rip my heart out.
By the time the final chorus crashes, we’re both lost in the moment — bodies close, breath shared, a dance that’s less about the steps our bodies are taking and more about surrender. It’s not just background music and that was always Ash’s point. It’s her unspoken dialogue, her breaking point, her fears, our fall. When the last note fades away, the silence left behind is almost unbearable and I ache to fill it with all of the things I don’t dare say.
CHAPTER TWENTY
By the time we get home, I’m carrying a very pleasant, fuzzy buzz. Flint, the big sweetheart that he is, insisted we needed to walk Annemarie home first. Betsy intervened, insisting that she would get them both home safely. I think Flint’s a little scared of her to be honest, since he backed down without much of a fight.
It’s not late and I’m hesitant to let the evening end. It was so nice dancing with Flint. More than nice. Maybe I’m more buzzed than I thought if “nice” is as goodas I can do. Plus, being pressed up against him with one of my favorite songs playing was a fantastic way to put the ugliness with Brett out of my mind. I’m sure I’ll have to face that particular music eventually, but it has no place here. Not tonight.
As I make myself comfortable on the couch to get rid of my shoes, Flint comes back from the kitchen with two bottles of water, a glass of wine, and a beer.
“Aren’t you ready for bed yet?” he asks. “You spent all night dancing — with Anne, with me, with Betsy.”
True. Betsy is one hell of a dancer and all tonight proved is that I definitely want to be her when I grow up.
“It’s not too late. I don’t want the day to end, ya know? I had a great time.”
His smile just lights me up inside. Gah — what can a girl do?
“So did I.” He plops down next to me, our arms brushing. Going with the high I’m riding from the night and our ever growing closeness, I lean my head against his chest.
“Would you tell me about Goira?” I finally ask.
He’s quiet for a long while. I’m about to take the question back, to ask if I should put some music on and we can dance again, when he finally speaks.
“Do you remember how I told you that females, in Goira at least, are considered more powerful than their male counterparts? I meant it. No one is sure why, not even the scholars, but the popular theory is that because females have the gift of life, the magick flows fuller, deeper than that of the males. There’s also some that believe it is due to the difference in the perceived physical strength and others believe it became that way due to females’ unparalleled ability to be empathetic,” Flintshrugs. “I don’t think the reason why matters — the fact remains: women are stronger, in almost every way.”
“So it stands to reason that Goira and the realm it resides in would be a matriarchy then.”
He nods in agreement. “And we are. Women have ruled for as long as we can remember. Of course, like so many other societies, there are those who aren’t happy with leadership. No matter how good things are in Goira, and they are, there have been groups of individuals in the past who have tried to rise up because of the injustices they believe they’ve been subjected to. It’s often males who, for whatever reason, are unable to attract, bed or wed a female, who are most vocal in airing these grievances. They believe they areowed,” he practically spits the word, “the privilege of a mate or of the marriage bed. The same type of man who would take what he believes he is owed by force. Males that would look at Brett and see a brother.”
I swallow thickly. Apparently, incels are universal. What a sad truth.
“The last uprising was the worst, by far. A covert group with a number of males and connections were able to blend their magicks with the technology from here. Using this, they began creating… creatures… unlike any we had ever seen before. Small and large, these creatures were being utilized to strip emotions from the Fae, but especially the females. Some of their rhetoric fell into the Royal hands. They believed and preached that, if emotions could be limited, drained, from the females, the males would then be able to take their rightful place as the powerful, as the leaders.”
He pauses. I can see this is hurting him, but I need to know.
“The battleswere bloody, awful. The creatures they had spawned did not die as a regular beast would die. So many Fae were lost. You know, in many ways you have to turn off your emotions in battle, numb yourself to it, or risk going mad with the sights, the smells, the sounds. We quickly learned that, despite this self separation a warrior employs, your emotions aren’t really gone, of course. Just quieted, ignored. Do you know what happens to warriors when their emotions are stripped away entirely?”
I shake my head, my stomach in knots and my heart thudding dully in my chest.
“They stop fighting. Warriors, soldiers, generals — no matter the rank, no matter the… species, I guess… they’re fightingforsomething. Love, family, honor, pride… there’s an emotion, a reason.”
I can feel the horror on my face and I don’t know what to do with it. I can’t stop it now.
“Thousands were lost. They simply laid down their weapons, quieted their gifts, and stopped fighting. Wise women were working constantly to find a way, a spell, a rune, anything, that we could use to protect ourselves from their ability. Few males, depending on their magicks, were immune, but they were few and far between.”
Flint pauses, seeming lost in thought. I rub my hand along his back, doing what I can to soothe him. After a long, quiet moment, he continues “The Princess was the one who finally figured it out.” Another deep breath, as though he's weighing his words. “Anyway, she was able to save us. In the final battle, it was the princess that saved Goira and the rest of the realm.”
He looks up and meets my eyes. “She saved everyone. At great personal cost.” His voice is so gruff, so strained.
I allow him his silence as he struggles to collect himself. “You don’t really talk about this, do you?”
