Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
But I know better than that.
I am Prince Tristan Bloodweed, and I’ve been raised to withstand any hardship with my head held high. So I nod back at the servants, then villagers, but I’m relieved once we leave civilization behind and ride into a long valley cutting through snow-capped peaks.
It’s beautiful out here, the scenery like an old picture that’s faded in the moonlight. The colors around us seem muted, and nature holds its breath, as if waiting for one of us to break down.
If we ventured out today on a pleasure ride, the same landscape would have echoed with laughter, but now only the trees rattle in the faint breeze, distant and as cold as the ice covering their limbs. It’s as if the world around us holds on to everything we have lost, not with bitterness but an ever-deepening ache that I know will stay with me until the day I die.
Maybe once we find the unicorn and break the bond, I’ll freeze in place as well and never thaw?
At least then Nate will be free to seek out springtime.
I promised him that I will help him cut the thread between our shadows, and I will not rest until I do so if that is his wish. It’s the sole thing I can now do for him to believe I am a man who keeps his word.
We’ve been travelling for several hours now, with a few breaks to eat something and stretch our legs, but when we enter a clearing in the forest, we can finally see Melancholy Peak.
A long, long time ago, a fine castle used to occupy its summit, but all that’s left of it now is ruins. I’ve never read anything on the history of this place, but I do know it’s been abandoned hundreds of years ago.
Perhaps sorrow was the source of its destruction, because as Stone speeds up toward the climb, the broken towers rise toward the moon like hands begging for absolution. Moonlight spills over the stone, so pale it makes the ramparts appear sickly rather than romantic, and no matter how precisely it spills into each crack, it couldn’t piece the ruin back together.
It must have been exquisite in its prime. Now, it’s just a monument to the melancholy in my heart.
I’m so turned inward that I barely notice when Nate utters my name. And no matter how much I hate the pressure inside, I can’t ignore him.
“What is it?”
Nate clears his throat, his hair scattered in the gap between his shawl and the hat he’s wearing. I made sure he had the warmest furs for this outing. “Are you angry with me?”
“Hm? No, why?” But there’s no point in playing dumb. I know what he’s referring to. This silence isn’t like us, and it reminds me of that terrible trip from Gloombane’s tower. “I figured all was said last night. But I’m happy to talk if that is preferable to you.” Though ‘happy’ is a stretch here.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he whispers back, hanging his head as Stone finally slows upon the incline. “You are so kind, and generous, and I just want you to know that my heart remains with you.” He exhales and rubs his face. “Do you think we can continue getting to know each other? Or would you rather I left?”
Why not just stab me and be done with it while he’s at it. Of course I want to be around him all the time, but how would I keep my sanity then? I have to bite the inside of my cheek hard to keep my composure. He cannot see how easily I fall apart when it comes to him. It would surely only be yet more off-putting when what he needs is a rock.
“I don’t know what the best course of action would be. We should decide when we reach that crossroad.” It’s not even the way I usually express myself, just a strange echo of the way my oratory teacher trained me to speak. Something I fall back on when I need to be composed and polite.
He’s quiet, but I see his hands tightening in the gloves. “Can you only be mine if I’m your Dark Companion? Is that the only thing you’ll accept?”
“Well, if all goes well, soon that choice will be taken away, will it not?”
He goes quiet and shrugs, but I suspect he simply doesn’t trust himself to speak.
We’re both in pain, I have to acknowledge that, even though I feel as if he’d ripped my heart open with his bare hands last night.
We remain as quiet as the ghosts of the ruined castle for the rest of the way. Nobody has removed the snow from the path, which forces my mount to trudge through it, panting, but eventually we pass through the crumbling remains of a gate and enter the courtyard, which at other times of the year is overtaken by wildflowers and jackalopes. Now it’s as dead as my heart feels.