Page 141 of Revenant

Well since he ruined my night, I’ll ruin his.

“Come out you fucking coward!” Fire dances on my palms without permission, the power raging within me like my vessel isn’t big enough to contain its wrath. The air stirs, pages from discarded books rip from their bindings, and suddenly, through the all-blinding outrage, I hear something clatter to the ground. Too far away to be in the same room as me, but close enough.

It sounds to my left and I immediately bolt. The paper that was flying in the air completely stops and floats to the floor; the fire that promised destruction fizzles out until the residual heat is the only reminder it was there at all.

Tucked behind a bookcase, the smallest sliver of a light breaks through a crack in the otherwise seamless wall. Not seeing a handle, I do the only other thing I can think of and push against it. To my surprise, it moves slightly before the gap widens. I don’t waste time and pull the wall back the rest of the way, exposing the room that Eryx has decided to keep so sacred.

He seems lax, leaning back against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest like he was expecting my arrival. As though he had a wager on how long it would take for me to find him in this fucked-up game of hide and seek. It doesn’t matter that I was searching for him; the sight of Eryx Deveraux still stops me in my tracks.

But that’s not the only thing.

My eyes move from him hesitantly, scouring over the countless sketches and drawings that litter the walls. And the face that’s spread on every single one?

Is mine.

“What the…” My words trail off, like my brain is short circuiting, and it can’t form a coherent thought. When my eyes finally meet his, the warm peak of his amber iris seems as though it never left me.

“Alicent—”

“Did you draw all of these?”

He tilts his head. “I thought that was obvious.”

“So you sit here in your little sad boy chamber and…draw pictures of me?” Something takes hold of me and I start ripping the sketches from the wall. “This looks like me. This looks like me.” There are so many he’s had to start plastering them over others. To my surprise, he does absolutely nothing to stop the art massacre. “Oh look, this looks like me.”

“Sad boy chamber,” he repeats to me in a whisper. “Pretty conceited to think these are all of you.”

“You can’t stand here and tell me these aren’t—”

“I can. Because I drew them.” He pushes off the wall, taking slow, deliberate strides toward me. And for some reason, I don’t move. “Tell me, why did you come here, little wraith?”

I clear my throat, grappling at straws to pull myself together. “It has come to my attention that this dress was a gift from you?”

The moment between my admission and his reply feels like a lifetime. “I always thought you looked breathtaking in green.”

43: Eryx

Of course I imagined what she would look like in the dress. It’s just never in my wildest dreams would I have conjured up such a perfect masterpiece. The silk floats over her body like the material was specifically created to be worn by her.

I could say the same about the color.

It’s taken every ounce of self-preservation not to touch her. I’m not sure when the line between my hatred and whatever it is I’m feeling now began to blur, but it has. And I have no bloody idea how to stop it.

I know she feels it too. No matter how much we both want to ignore it, push it down and let it simmer behind a locked door, we can’t. Part of me always wished we would get out of here before this happened. I don’t want to want her. I don’t wish to feel this overwhelming need to make sure she’s okay. If anybody else had done the things she has, they would be six-feet under without a promise of resurfacing. But not Alicent, my little wraith.

Picking up two of the sketches she discarded, I supposed I can understand why she thinks they’re all of her. They do look very similar. “Both of these look the same to you?” I face them toward her, watching as her eyes hesitantly move from mine to the portraits.

“Yes,” she says definitively, keeping her head held high. Always so sure of herself.

“Here I thought you were more observant than that.” Her brows pinch together, and this is the only time I wish I was Bastian, only so I can hear what she’s thinking.

She huffs. “The eyes on this one could be a bit bigger. But that could just be an error on the artist’s part.” Alicent thinks her commentary hurts me, but that’s so far from the truth. If anything, it’s amusing.

“That may have been an oversight, but no. The eyes are, in fact, not the difference between these two.” My body buzzes with adrenaline, and I can’t help but close the space between us.

Her breaths become shallower, and if I had to bet on it, I’m sure it’s due to our proximity. There’s never been a time she has willingly let me be this close, at least not one she’s privy to.

Alicent squares her shoulders, attempting to appear more confident than she feels. “Since you’re apparently the professional, tell me. What is the difference?”