Page 54 of All the Chaos of Constellations
Rock and stone splintered, tumbling down, crashing onto the floor. Glass shattered and wine poured from the broken bottles, staining the stone, pooling on the ground in a river of red. Asher shoved himself away from her. Blood spilled from his knuckles, the skin ripped and torn. The trail of red dripped down his fingers. He wiped his hand against the fabric of his pants like the wound was nothing. Like he felt nothing.
“Thisis why I cannot marry you.” Asher pointed to the crumbling stone where the broken wine bottles used to be stored. “This is why I will never allow myself to love you.”
“Why? Because you punched a hole in the wall?” Novalise spread her arms wide. Not a single stray rock had hit her. Not a drop of wine had spilled on her. Despite his temper, he’d kept her safe from his wrath. “You didn’t hurt me, Asher. Youcan’thurt me.”
At least, not with magic.
Emotionally…well, that was another matter entirely.
“Because I cannot always control myself, Novalise. I am full of anger.” He yanked his spectacles off his head and shoved his hand through his hair, pacing. “Do you have any idea how difficult this is for me? I never wanted this, yet now I’m being driven to insanity by the desire just to benearyou.”
He stalked back and forth, his boots clicking harshly against the cellar’s uneven floor. “Every night, I dream of you. Every morning, I wake up wanting you. From the moment I kissed you on Winter Solstice and every second after, I haveyearnedfor you. And when you look at me like that…” His hand cut through the air between them. “Like I am all you will ever desire in this life and the next, it kills me that I?—”
Asher stopped abruptly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He shook his head, then turned from her.
She reached for his hand, but he pulled away, heading toward the stairs on the opposite wall. The ones that would lead to the first floor of the house. To his study.
“Asher, wait.”
“Pick some wine, please.” He didn’t look at her again. He flicked his wrist and a handful of candles sputtered back to life. “I’ll meet you upstairs for dinner.”
He trudged up the stairs, and when the door closed soundly behind him, she examined the hole he’d left behind.
Novalise didn’t know what Asher had suffered that left him so distressed, so resentful. Whatever happened to make him loathe the thought of showing any kind of affection must have been dreadful indeed. He was at war with himself over his feelings for her, and though it may have been a singular spark of hope, there was enough there to coax the fire of his feelings to life. But first, she had to figure out why he was so tormented, why he couldn’t simply let himself love her. And there was likely only one person in Aeramere who could help her uncover what kept his heart from hers.
Novalise’s new best friend, Lady Cyra Firebane.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
Asher stalked down the hall, bypassing his study, and headed straight out onto the terrace. He took the steps leading into the garden two at a time as a sense of unease, of restlessness built along his shoulders. He had to put distance between them. Being trapped in the cellar with Novalise was too much. It was agonizing being in the same space as her. To make matters worse, he’d lost his temper in front of her.
Raking a hand through his mussed hair, he treaded through the gardens, weaving a footpath through the ornamental trees and flowering rosebushes.
He could have hurt her, and Trysta Starstorm would have been right. He would be exactly like his father.
The thought alone caused his insides to twist, a ball of acidic frustration rolling in the pit of his stomach. He blew out a low, shaking breath.
Gusts of wind blew through the flowers and trees, shaking blossoms and leaves from their limbs and scattering them in all directions. The sun dipped behind a wall of ominous clouds rolling in across the horizon, casting long shadows as far as the eye could see. Puffs of gray roiled with smoldering black, stealing away all the ribbons of blue. The birds had gone silent, and in the distance, there was the low, menacing rumble of thunder.
“Asher!”
At the sound of his name, Asher whipped around to see Cyra rushing toward him with bundles of paper bags in both arms. The wind snatched at her hair, unfurling it around her like an inferno of flaming red and pale gold.
“Where’s Lady Novalise?” she demanded, her brows narrowing.
He jerked his head toward the house. “In the cellar.”
“Youlefther down there?” Cyra shifted the bags in her arms, huffing out an annoyed breath. “Honestly, Asher, and you call yourself a gentleman.”
“I thought—shit.” He tugged on the collar of his shirt, the sting of embarrassment crawling up the back of his neck. “Apologies, Cy.”
Her scowl only deepened. “I’m not the one in need of your apology.”
She turned on her heel, marching toward the house, a cloud of indignation hanging over her as a light rain pelted from the sky. Asher darted in front of her to grab the door just as her leg swung back to kick it open. The point of her heel connected soundly with his shin.
He grunted, wincing as pain shot up and down his leg.
“Serves you right,” she mumbled in lieu of an apology, striding past him. “I ammortifiedthat you would leave her all alone, in the cellar of all places, while you—oh.”
