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“The nations are collaborating together to resist my conquest as we speak,” he said. “This is spreading everyone’s resources thinly, leaving them vulnerable to concentrated attacks from my end. Now that I understand how they’re operating, they willnotsurvive our counterstrike, Mierna. It’s a promise.”
“And what would prevent such a thing?”
“If all the nations let down their barriers for a night,” he said. “No harm will come to anyone. Not even the governing members.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “So, youdowant something specific. Whatever it is, I’m sure it can be negotia–”
“It cannot,” he said emptily, “but once I have what I need, I will forever be gone from this realm without a bother to anyone.”
Aria shook her head. “I don’t understand, Travus. You’re asking for the impossible and promising something that can’t be guaranteed. This is coming from a place of desperation.”
“I’ll sign a blood pact that will guarantee that all violence will cease from Eldoria’s end should this agreement be honored.”
She blinked at him, wondering if he was being serious. He was quite literally surrendering Eldoria to chaos with that suggestion. What could be so important that he would put his nation in such a sacrificial position?
“If you let Arthur visit…then maybe I could discuss this with him and see what can be done.”
He didn’t seem pleased, but he nodded. “Fine. I’ll send word for him.”
“No,”she said as her hold tightened on his bicep. “Iwant to do it. He’ll listen to me, not you.”
“Alright,” he said softly before backing away into the water. “As you wish.”
With that, he climbed out the opposite side of the pool and covered himself in a robe before walking out, leaving Aria in a confused mess; somewhat frustrated, and somewhat worried.
Chapter 17
He didn’t bother calling for a concubine. Though Mierna seemed willing at that time to allow him to go farther, he felt that it wouldn’t be right. From his raging jealousy to the suggestion that he gave from emotional exhaustion, he knew something wasn’t right with him.
The rest of the day was spent locked away in his bedchambers, but not before instructing a guard to deliver a letter from Mierna to Arthur. As he looked at the calendar clock that tracked the days, he realized that an important and painful anniversary was upon him: the day he was cursed.
Unable to stand the sight of the calendar, he left his bedchambers in the very late hours of the night to find some solace in the library. He didn’t spend a lot of time there; hence it was free of any painful memories as opposed to the rest of the castle. When he quietly stepped through the double doors, he was surprised to find that Mierna was already there.
She sat across the room on the windowsill, bathed in the softly tinted moonlight that filtered through the stained glass. With a book in hand, she was completely unaware of the world. Her pale blue hair lay round her bare shoulders that peeked through the loose robes she had on, and her fingers carefully turned a page in the book she was reading. The moonlight clung to her quite literally, giving her a cool and serene halo that made him wonder if she was perhaps a fallen star.
He walked over to her with light footsteps, trying not to distract her. She still caught on to his presence.
“I assumed you’d be sleeping rather deeply,” she said moodily. “Was your concubine not thorough?”
The way she said it irked him as it was a jab at his hypocritical nature regarding their situation, but he allowed the guilt to pass. “Nothing of the sort.”
She hummed without lifting her gaze off her book. He sat across from her on the windowsill, crossing his arms as he looked at his feet.
“Why can’t you sleep?” he asked, and she shrugged. “Is there anything you need?”
“I’m alright,” she sighed. “Tonight’s just one of those nights.”
“Are you ill?”
She shook her head. “Not really, but I did ask Arthur to bring a healer when he comes. I hope that won’t bother you.”
“Not at all,” he said subduedly. “I’m sorry…for yesterday. I’m not sure what came over me.”
Mierna finally peeked over the edge of his book with a careful gaze. “For chasing me like a rabid dog? Or for not going through with what you started in the bath?”
He shot her a playful glare. At this point, he’d gotten used to the way she talked, understanding that she wasn’t being intentionally malicious. “Both, but tell me; why is your tongue so sour?”
“Whatever do you mean?” she huffed coyly and returned to her book. “My tongue is perfectly fine.”
