Page 42 of Witch’s Heart

He avoided Mina for the rest of the day. It was all too easy. There was plenty to keep him busy, venturing out to meet with his merchant and shipping guilds. He spent time inspecting the progress on the new training program for overland trade. He met with his diplomats and ambassadors, including Weiss, about trade, about alliances, about procuring large quantities of Nebrine repellers.

By the time they settled at the dinner table, he acted as if none of his avoidance had been intentional.

Mina’s eyes might have lingered questioningly over him, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she told him about her day spent researching in the library and the restaurant she’d eaten lunch at with Anne and Elianna. When he informed her that he’d be working late and not to wait for him, her expression fell.

Fuck, he was such a piece of shit for behaving like this.

“Can’t we…can’t we talk about it?” she asked, voice hushed as they made their way out of the dining hall to the upper floors.

He blew out a breath. “I need some time to sort out my thoughts, Mina.”

“I hate this, Rixon. You know I hate fighting with you.”

He almost snorted, considering he’d begged her to work things out between them before she’d run off. He’d had to wait weeks. It should have made him feel guilty that he was doing something similar. But he wasn’t running off.

Instead, he took her hands in his, twisting their fingers together, and said, “I’m struggling with a lot of fucked up control issues right now. I need to sort this out for myself before you and I work through what happened yesterday. Give me a little time, yes?”

Her throat bobbed but she nodded. He brushed his fingers over her cheek. When he leaned in to kiss her, she tried to hold him against her, to keep the kiss from ending, but eventually he pulled away. “Get some rest. You’re still not recovered from your journey.”

“Right.” Her expression was unreadable when she stepped back. “Is that an order?”

He blew out a breath. “Lady Witch, it would ease my mind if I knew you were well rested.”

“Okay…” She nodded.

They parted ways and he went to his study.

True to his word, he didn’t return until the early hours of the morning. Mina appeared to be sleeping, but he wasn’t sure if she was faking it. Either way, he was glad to play along. His eyes burned from being open too long, from squinting at all the documents he’d poured over for hours. It was a relief when he pulled her warm body against his, felt her skin as he curled around her and dropped into a deep sleep.

When he woke, it was to find Mina had disappeared early. His chest squeezed painfully. He shouldn’t have felt any kind of frustration or hurt over the matter, even if he felt a little of both. Instead, he quickly readied himself for the day and threw himself back into his work. He continued this behavior for the next three days, crossing paths with Mina only at dinner and when he fell into bed late at night, dragging her into his arms.

Herrin slipped into his study on the fourth day, surprising him with his presence. He looked much like how Mina had described him. Unkempt, with a haunted look in his eyes, eyes that took in the stacks of parchment covering the desk. “I keep thinking you might come and find me, but now I see why you haven’t.”

Rixon put his head in his hands and groaned, feeling a pang of guilt. “I never wanted this.”

“I know. But you never struck me as the type to turn away from a duty once you’ve accepted it, either.” Herrin leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. “Come on, take a break and let’s go burn off some steam. Looks like we could both use some roughing up.”

He would have protested, but already knew Herrin wouldn’t allow it. So he led the former head wielder through the palace until they found themselves in the royal sparring room.

“Fists?” Herrin suggested, as if knowing exactly what he needed.

Lola and Julian looked eager as they settled themselves along the perimeter of the room. He was so used to them now, he sometimes forgot they were present.

“Fists,” he confirmed.

They got into position and began circling. He lunged first, attempting a jab at Herrin’s side before swinging a fist. The male easily blocked. They exchanged a series of rapid blows before backing off to reassess.

They both needed this, perhaps Herrin even more so. The former wielder’s grief was written in every movement, channeled into every swing. He did the male the courtesy of holding nothing back. He gathered his overwhelming emotions and let them power him. Every assault brought pain, left bruises, and helped calm the thing inside him.

Eventually, he was sweating and aching—Herrin mirrored his state.

“Fuck, why didn’t we do this sooner?” he managed, hands braced on his knees.

“Because we’re stubborn males,” Herrin growled, then motioned for them to begin again. He stepped forward and moved through another series of offensive strikes. “Want to tell me what’s troubling you?”

“What makes you think I’m troubled?” Rixon managed, then swung at Herrin’s side. The male dodged before returning the blow.

“You’re fighting like I’m a problem your fists can solve.”