Page 46 of The Withering Wood

Without the threat of encountering Vraethik on their trek, with the runes carved into trees and bones rendered inert with the death of his power, the days and nights blurred into one another. When Cerise’s leg ached too much, when the spear could no longer keep her upright, Oberon gave her his strength. He’d wrap an arm around her back and she’d lean into him, soaking in his warmth while she could. At night, he’d massage her pain away, the power and heat in his hands fighting against the stiff ache in her knee. After, their hands would roam each other’s bodies, Oberon taking charge to ensure she felt only pleasure, never any additional strain.

They didn’t speak of what would happen when they returned to Cerise’s cabin. They both knew the truth of what to expect, so there wasn’t anything to say. She knew he’d return to Tyrnoraen; he’d need to tell his brother and advisors about what happened and continue forging his plan to reverse the curse. And she’d stay with Eirwen at the cabin, for there was no way in Hrisadael’s hell that she’d ever return to the capital.

With each step closer, with each day and night that passed, Cerise picked up the crumbled stones around her heart that Oberon had obliterated. She’d fortify her memories with him and protect her heart from breaking. There was no room in this cursed world to succumb to woe. Not if she wanted to enjoy the rest of her days with Eirwen, content and quiet in their cabin.

Which she did. And all other new wants were nothing more than fantasies, ideas to confine to dreams.

When they came to the crossroads, where an arm of the Merathel Mountain Range split the path between Tyrnoraen and her cabin, they simply stared at one another. Cerise stood on the path to her home, Oberon on the one to his city. She wouldn’t fill this time with foolish sentiments or useless pleading. She’d had countless goodbyes in her lifetime. This was just another one. Yet still, a hurtful heaviness weighed her to the spot.

Oberon’s expression mirrored her feelings, lips downturned, his eyes searching her own as if there was some sort of secret answer there. As if waiting for her to say a certain combination of magic words that would change their circumstance. As if he couldn’t bear to speak those that sat on his own tongue.

“I’ll come back,” he finally said, taking her hands in his.

“Don’t lie to me, prince.”

“I wouldn’t ever lie to you.” He tugged her closer, pulling her body flush with his, then lifted his hands to cup her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks. “I promise, Cerise. I’ll come back. There’re just a few things I need to take care of first.”

Her chest squeezed, at once wanting to believe him but also wanting to shove her fists against his chest. To tell him how arrogant he was for assuming she wanted him to come back, that there’d be a space for him in her home with Eirwen. But the thought of sleeping with nothing but a wall, or worse, only air at her back once more, for the rest of her life weighed on her heart.

In the absence of words, he kissed her, tongue sliding against her own. But the longer their lips touched, the harder it was to drown her dreams. She stepped back, breaking the kiss, before the tide overwhelmed her.

“You should get going. Find shelter before dark.”

Something broke in his gaze, hands dropping to his sides. “Cerise, please⁠—”

“Safe travels, prince,” she said as she turned away.

She’d prefer the memory of his face as her parting image, rather than his back walking away from her.

Eirwen ran into their frosted garden as soon as Cerise passed the creaking gate, cabin door slamming behind her. Her bare feet crunched over the thin layer of ice, white hair and loose clothes billowing in her wake. Despite the dark circles beneath her eyes, as if she had not slept since Cerise left, relief shuddered through Cerise. Even with Zyrdriel’s Boundary and her ice magic, whenever she was away from Eirwen, a nagging voice whispered anxieties at the back of her mind. That she’d return to find Eirwen massacred, clothes torn to shreds as she’d found her when they were still under the supposed protection of Vhypael’s Temple.

Yet her sister looked the same, albeit fatigued. Without hesitation, Eirwen’s narrow arms flung around Cerise, squeezing her into the fiercest hug possible. Cerise exhaled, worry leaving her shoulders with the realization that she was home. Safe. No more exploding bones, lichboar tusks, or necrotic magic to harm her. Despite the contentedness of being home, a vacancy still widened in her chest, as if she’d left a piece of herself behind.

“I’m so glad you’re back! I worried about you day and night.” Eirwen stepped away, her gaze sweeping over Cerise, assessing her for injuries. “Where’s Beloved?”

“Gone,” Cerise choked out.

Eirwen’s eyes flicked over her shoulders, peering into the woods. “And where’s the prince?”

“Also gone.”

Eirwen gasped, hands flying to her mouth.

“No, no. Not like that. He went back to Tyrnoraen.”

“Oh, I thought…well, I thought that—” Eirwen stammered, twisting her fingers together.

“What? What did you think?” Cerise spat, images of what had now been relegated to memories crashing through her mind. At the comfort of Oberon beside her. The support he offered, easing her pains and responsibilities, now all colliding onto her shoulders once more. The press of his mouth against hers. The reverence of her rage and scars, rather than fear and disgust. Gone now, forever. Stupid of her to think she’d be satisfied with only memories.

“He was so kind and handsome, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. I just thought…”

“That what? After a couple weeks, we’d fall in love and live happily ever after? Don’t be ridiculous, Eirwen. That shit only happens in fairytales.” She swept her arm around them, pointing at the dead trees, never-ending snow, and bruised purple sky. “And it’s plain to me we’re not in one. Regardless, he’s back in Tyrnoraen, Vraethik’s dead, and Azkanix can never return, so let’s just forget this ever happened and get back to our normal life.”

Eirwen’s face dropped, still wrenching her fingers in such awkward positions Cerise thought she might break them.

Cerise covered Eirwen’s twisting fingers with her hand, stilling her. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just been a very, very long couple weeks.”

“I understand.” Eirwen looped her fingers through Cerise’s. “There’s soup on the fire, if you need some.”