Page 33 of The Withering Wood

“It was once the Temple of Itraqel.”

“The Celestial of Transitions? But this area is so…” Cerise cast her gaze around them, at the gray stone and dead trees, searching for the word. “Monotonous.”

“In the immediate vicinity, yes. But back when the temple was intact, from the higher floors you could look out over the forest, see where the woods faded into the plains. There’s also a hot spring not too far away that the clerics used as a conduit for prayers. They said that since the steam was the bridge between the boiling earth and cool sky, it also sent their prayers up to Itraqel.”

Cerise scoffed at the foolishness of clerics. They always put too much faith in their Gods. Look what it got them. A temple in ruins and no one to carry on their rituals.

The prince, oblivious to her thoughts, continued. “It was destroyed just after we lost the Battle for Evriel’s Plains. With most of the clerics dead and Azkanix’s forces marching closer, it didn’t make sense to rebuild it.” The prince looked around at the ruins, a sadness softening his features. “I came here once, as a boy. I can still see the old fountains glittering like crystal beneath a bright blue sky, the surrounding forests green with early summer. How when the clerics prayed, the divine light of Itraqel seemed to shimmer around them.”

A breeze misted snow over them, brushing it from the crumbling stone. Beyond the ruins, the black trees creaked beneath the steady wind.

“The beauty of the world is gone,” Cerise said, a bitter taste on her tongue. Even before Azkanix’s curse, there was little of it, and he stripped those few fragments of it away.

“Not entirely,” the prince answered, casting her a sideways glance and grinning.

Cerise sneered.

The prince’s brow furrowed and he twisted around to face her. “Why do you not think you’re beautiful?”

“Is that a serious question?” she spat, feeling as if a spiked fist had seized her heart. She pointed to her face, to the jagged scar that ran through it and up over her scalp. “You can see for yourself. And that’s only the start. My entire body is just as maimed. As ugly.”

“I don’t see you, or the scars, as ugly.”

She barked a disbelieving laugh. “Tell me then, prince, what you do see.”

“I see the strongest, fiercest woman I’ve ever met,” he answered without missing a beat. His intense gaze settled on hers, and though she wanted to look away, to hide from his words she refused to believe as truth, she couldn’t. They were rain after a long drought. Sun after a storm.

“I see someone who’s been through horrors yet hasn’t given up. Who still has compassion in her heart. Each scar is a testament to your resolve. Your willingness to put others above yourself. For who else would suffer so much, if not to protect others? You clearly didn’t fight for glory or fame. Or else I’d have known your name, your face. And I’d never forget either. Because all I see when I look at you, when I hear your voice, or even simply think of you, is beauty. Everything you think of within you as broken or ugly, I see as part of your story, part of what has made you the jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring person you are. And if we survive this, I’d gladly spend the rest of my days trying to convince you to see yourself the way I do.”

Cerise swallowed and looked away, pressing her lips in a firm line to oppress the rising tide within. Her whole life, kind words felt like lies. Yet now, from Oberon’s lips, she couldn’t detect insincerity. She didn’t want to, either. But it still hurt, for even if she wanted to believe him, she couldn’t.

Clearing her throat, she said, “You should talk to someone when you return to Tyrnoraen. There’s clearly something wrong with you.”

“I’m sure there are many things wrong with me, but this isn’t one of them.” He paused. “Cerise, look at me.”

“We should get going,” she said, pushing herself to her feet and turning her back to him.

“Cerise,” Oberon said, voice firm as he also stood.

She felt the heat from his body as he approached her and she tensed, refusing to give in. She was not some young girl to be wooed with pretty words.

“Please, look at me.”

The gentleness in his tone coaxed her head to the side, but she didn’t fully turn around. He stepped around her and put a finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to his. She clenched her jaw, challenging his dawn-pink stare. His kind gaze flicked to her mouth, then searched her face, a strong hand moving from her chin to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I mean every word.” His fingers trailed under her jaw, sending shivers through her body. He ran his thumb, ever so softly, over the scar that split her face, hand cupping the back of her head.

If she tilted her head and took his thumb in her mouth, would it still taste like honey?

The fog from their breaths mixed in the air between them, lips so close that if either took one small step forward, they’d touch. Frost glistened on his beard, and she wondered if it was soft or bristly. If his tongue would taste like mint.

“Do you want me to keep touching you?”

“Yes,” she breathed before she could think and he released a deep, yearning sound that melted Cerise.

His fingers in her hair tightened and she groaned as the pressure pulled her head back, igniting the fire she’d felt for him last night and this morning. An echoing grumble escaped the prince, his gaze flicking between her exposed neck and her mouth. His free hand wrapped around her lower back and pulled her body against his. He stepped them both backward so Cerise was stuck between the cold wall and Oberon’s warm, wanting body.

As he brought his soft and warm lips to her neck, his hand lowered to her upper thigh and hiked her injured leg up around his waist, pressing his arousal against her own. She moaned as he moved against her, holding her wounded leg so she wouldn’t have to. Cerise shoved one hand into his thick, luscious hair and another behind his thigh, bringing him closer while rolling her hips.