The Sorrow of Shadows (Crimson & Shadows #1)

Chapter 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

AURELIUS

W e spend most of the afternoon touching, reminiscing, and falling in and out of sleep in my hidden oasis. I could spend all day wrapped up in Breyla’s arms, but I know we’re here for more than that.

It’s approaching dinnertime when we finally make it back to the estate. I had to carry Breyla on my back since her feet were raw and blistered from walking out here barefoot. I wrapped her feet in thick wool socks to cushion them and lessen the discomfort while her body worked to heal the blisters and cuts. We ate a quiet dinner of lamb stew with my parents, and now sit around the parlor table playing cards.

Either my mother or Breyla has won every damn hand. It’s honestly too much of a coincidence, and it’s starting to piss me off. It’s statistically improbable that they would win every. Single. Hand. I’m starting to wonder if Breyla gets her card-playing skills from my mother.

When Breyla lays down a pair of kings and three aces, winning yet again, I call bullshit .

“There is absolutely no way you won again. You are obviously cheating, and I’m pretty sure you got that skill from my mother.” I dart glares at them both.

“Nonsense, dear. I play by the rules, just as everyone else does. I can’t help it if you and your father aren’t as good as us ladies.” My mom shrugs in an all-too-innocent gesture.

Breyla just laughs at my expense and agrees with mother, “What’s wrong, Aurelius? Are you jealous you can’t win against a couple of females? Can your fragile male ego not handle losing?”

“My male ego is anything but fragile, Princess,” I snap back. “But you forget one thing.”

“And what is that?” she challenges.

“I can tell when you’re lying, and you both reek of deception right now.”

At this, my father lets out a full belly laugh, throwing his head back.

“Thank the gods for you, son. I’ve been waiting for someone to call your mother out on her cheating for years now!”

“Mallum!” Mother cries in outrage. “I do not cheat!”

“Stop lying, Mother. You’re fooling no one. You obviously passed that trait on to Breyla,” I say, side eyeing the guilty princess.

“If you want to be accurate, I learned my card-playing skills from Father,” Breyla declares as if she’s proud of the fact that her father taught her how to cheat at cards.

“And let me guess, Raynor learned to play from you?” I accuse my mother.

She shrugs as if to say yes but doesn’t want to admit it out loud.

I collect the cards from them all and throw them aside. “Enough of this. We’re playing a game you two can’t cheat at.”

They both huff and fold their arms across their chests. It’s cute to see Breyla sitting there, looking like the younger version of mother. Her auburn hair is just a shade off from my mother’s fire-red, same freckles, and annoyed look in their eyes. Mom’s are hazel, but flecked with the same emerald green that fills Breyla’s irises.

Raynor looked like the male version of Mom, taking on very few features from our father but all his personality. He was stoic for the most part but absolutely fierce if provoked, loyal beyond belief, and selfless. I was always the black sheep of the family, quite literally. My dark curls, tanned complexion, and odd crimson-flecked irises always stood out against the fair quality of their features. It was always obvious I was adopted—my parents never tried to hide it—but they loved me all the same.

They had always done their best to make me feel the same, but in so many ways I just never quite fit. My Gifts had developed early and quickly. There were so few instances of my Hemonia Gift that I had no one to help me learn to control it. My ability to read intention and sense lies was slightly more common, so my parents were able to find a tutor for me to hone that ability. It was lonely being the only one like me.

Breyla is a perfect balance of both her parents. While physically she resembles her father more—except for her complexion—her personality was equal parts her father and mother. Her quick wit and sharp tongue came from her mother, but her fierce devotion, loyalty, and interest in all things dangerous came from her father.

I can remember no less than a dozen times I thought I might die from stunts or adventures I was dragged on by Raynor. He passed on his desire for adventure and experiences to his daughter.

“So, what game are we playing?” Breyla asks, shaking me out of my mental assessment of her.

“Remis and Goblets,” I say, confident that she can’t cheat at this one.

“The drinking game?” Breyla asks .

“That’s the one.”

“I’ll grab the goblets and the ale!” My father dashes from the room, excited to play a game he can finally win.

“I don’t know what you expect to gain from this,” Breyla starts while picking at her nails as if unbothered by my challenge. “I excel at all drinking games.”

“Well, so do I. Game on, Princess.” I lean over the table and meet her eyes with a stare of my own.

Father returns with the goblets and pitchers of ale, pouring us each a hefty glass. I pull a Remi from my coin purse and bounce it toward the cup in the middle of the table. It lands directly in the middle, the coin ringing against the metal of the cup.

I smirk up at Breyla, her face less than impressed.

Father goes next, landing his coin directly on top of mine. An excited yelp escapes him as he demands, “Drink up, ladies!”

They both take a drink, then line up for their shots. Both land the Remis in the goblet, much to our dismay, and we drink. Shit, this might be harder than I thought.

The play goes back and forth, with each of us making the most of our shots and barely missing any. At the end, though, we come out victorious, and the girls have to finish the pitcher of ale.

My mother looks at the pitcher with disgust, clearly not wanting to take another drink.

“Don’t worry, Grandma. I’ll take this one,” Breyla offers and tips the half-full pitcher to her lips. She gulps it down, little drops escaping the sides of her mouth and running down her chin. I find myself wanting to clean them off her and find out what the ale tastes like on her skin.

“Thank you, my dear,” my mother hiccups. “I can’t hold my ale like I used to.”

Breyla finishes the drink in record time and sets the pitcher on the table with a triumphant grin.

“What’s next?” she challenges .

“Nothing for me, dear. I’m retiring for the evening,” my mother says between hiccups.

“I’ll join you, darling,” my father says, joining her as she exits the parlor.

“What do you say, Aurelius? Up for another game?” Her words are slightly slurred, and I can tell the alcohol she just chugged is starting to hit her.

“I say, it is also time for bed, my drunk little demon.”

“I’m not drunk, you’re drunk!” she exclaims, then giggles.

“We’ve hit the giggling stage; it is time for bed.” I laugh, pulling her behind me down the hallway toward my room.

We pass her room and she looks at me, confused. “That’s my room, where are you taking me?”

“Did you forget our bargain, Princess? You promised to stay with me tonight.”

“Oh!” she yells, just a bit too loud for my liking. If there were servants nearby, they definitely heard that.

“Shhh. You don’t want anybody to hear us, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” she whisper-yells, barely any quieter than before. “Gotta be quiet, so they don’t know we’re fucking.”

“We’re not fucking tonight, Princess,” I whisper as we finally reach my room.

“Why not? I love it when you fuck me.” Her words have me instantly hard, and I groan. I throw up a silencing shield before I say my next words.

“I promised I wouldn’t fuck you tonight. It was your condition, if you remember. But gods, Princess, if you keep talking like that, I might just have to break that promise.”

She pushes me backwards until my legs hit the edge of the bed. “What if I want you to break me, instead?” She bites her lip in a seductive move that has precum leaking from my tip.

“Princess, I’m about two seconds from cleansing that alcohol from your blood and letting you go to bed sober so you come to your senses. I don’t have any restraint when it comes to you.”

Just when I think she’ll see reason, she pushes me backwards onto the bed and straddles my hips, rocking against my erection.

“Really? ‘Cause I think you want to fuck me, just as much as I want you to. Sobriety won’t change that reality,” she whispers as she grinds her hips down on me.

“That’s it,” I snap, but not in the way she’s expecting. I let my Hemonia Gift course through her, stealing her inebriation and instantly sobering her.

She shakes her head, the fuzziness clearing and her senses returning.

“Sorry about that,” she grimaces.

“You don’t need to apologize. You just need to know, that’s the last time I’ll be holding myself back from taking you. Test my resolve again, and I’ll fuck you just to remind you what I’m capable of.”

“Understood,” she gulps, removing herself from my lap.

I stand with her, then pull her dress over her head as she lifts her arms. I walk to my dresser, looking for some sleep clothes that will fit her. I settle on an old tunic that hangs low, almost reaching her knees.

“Sorry, I don’t have any sleep pants for you, but gods, I love the sight of you in my clothing,” I say as she pulls the shirt over her head.

I lay down in bed, pulling her into me. I lay on my side with her in front of me, my arm wrapped around her stomach. She sighs against me, and I nuzzle into her hair, inhaling her scent.

It takes us no time to fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Breyla’s screams startle me several hours later. She’s thrashing from side to side, tears streaming down her face as she cries Julian’s name over and over in her sleep. Her body trembles violently as I try to shake her awake.

“Breyla, wake up!” I whisper-yell, before ensuring the sound shield I had placed earlier is still in place. The last thing I need is for a servant to hear her screams and find her in my room.

She doesn’t respond to my attempts to wake her, still crying Julian’s name on repeat. I can’t imagine what horrors haunt her, but I want to chase them all away, erase them from her soul.

I change tactics, now shaking her firmly, but not so much it will hurt her. “Breyla, please. Wake up!” I beg as her thrashing and tears continue.

Still nothing. I straddle her hips, laying my forehead against hers and cup her cheeks.

“You’re safe. Please, my love. Wake up,” I whisper, my voice relaying the desperation I feel internally.

Her breathing evens, tears eventually ceasing. The trembling stops, and her eyes open. I stare into her emerald greens, wishing to drown in them, if it only meant she never screamed like that again.

“Aurelius?” she croaks.

“Yes, Princess?”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. You want to talk about it?”

I’m still straddling her, my forehead resting against hers.

“I will if you lay back down,” she offers.

I oblige her and roll back to my side, wrapping her tightly into my chest.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see him. His lifeless eyes stare back into mine, his head laying on the velvet pillow of that damn box.”

I’m unsure if she’s done, so I stay quiet, giving her time to decide.

“I can still see every part of him in vivid detail. Sometimes, I swear it looks like his face moves, his lips twitching as they try to talk to me.”

“What do you think he’s trying to tell you?”

“The dead don’t speak, Aurelius.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“No. I’m not sure about anything, anymore.”

My chest tightens at her pain and uncertainty. I want to take it away, make it all okay. But that’s not my job; it’s hers. I can be her support, but only she can fight this battle.

“Is it always the same?”

“No,” she says, her voice coming out softly.

“Do you want to talk about that?”

“Not tonight.”

“What do you need?”

“Just hold me and chase away my nightmares.”

“Always,” I promise and mean it with my whole being.