Page 31 of Between Sun and Moon

I sniffed at the sign and turned to Aurelius. “That seems like a rather silly rule.”

“I concur. It is one of many things I plan to change when I become king,” he said with a great deal of confidence. “Anyway, I suppose we best get you on your way. I know the dressmaker doesn’t like to be left waiting.”

I didn’t disagree.

Following that day, it became routine for Aurelius to show up at my door in the mornings with a smile on his face and that damned dimple showing. Then, we would head off to the library. While he wrote, I read, continuing my search for anyinformation that might help me in my quest to break the deal between Arkyn and Von. It gave me something to do, other than fret about how long it was taking for Arkyn to return. Afterward, Aurelius would escort me to the dressmaker’s workshop, and each time she opened the door to let me in, the scowl on her face only seemed to deepen.

Aurelius had arranged for an entire wardrobe to be made for me—which made me uneasy for a few reasons. The first of my qualms was the dressmaker’s increasingly sour mood—she was definitely going to stick me with a pin one of these days. The second was because I was not in need of a wardrobe while existing under the king’s roof—it was not like I had plans to stay.

In truth, daytimeherewas slightly tolerable. But during the night, the river of time slowed to a trickle. As the rest of the castle slept, I tossed and turned, thinking only of Von.

Sometimes, I’d catch a tall, shadow form walking at the foot of my bed, and I’d nearly beg for it to take me with it before it dissolved. To take me to it’s master. Whether it was my mind, or the late hours, or something tethered to Von, I did not know.

No matter how much I promised myself that this separation between us was temporary, that we would be reunited again, it never dulled that visceral, raw ache of how much my soul yearned for his.

Von

The Goddess of Storms threw a tantrum this morning.

Her howling, powerful winds battered the northwest side of my castle. Even though they were exceptionally strong, my castle was much, much stronger, because of what it was made from—flawless obsidian, the rare kind that did not possess any imperfections. It was one of the toughest natural materials in the Three Realms. The idea to use it came to me shortly after I was gifted the Blade of Moram—a testament to just how old this castle was . . . how old I was.

Why the goddess felt the need to take her anger out on my castle and the rest of the Spirit Realm this morning—when she should be directing it at her serial-cheating partner, the God of Lust—I did not know. And why the Creator thought it would bea good idea to pair someone as volatile as the Goddess of Storms with the God of Lust—an immortal physically built to feel and inspire desire—I also did not know.

And yet, here we were.

Here I was. Stuck.

I was stuck listening to the wind smash into my castle while Sage was out there. I was stuck lying on this cement slab, unable to protect her. There was so much she didn’t remember about her past, about what I did to her—what Itookfrom her.

The wind roared outside. This gust was the strongest one yet, by the sounds of it.

A low whistle emitted from the doorway.

“That’s one pissed off goddess,” mused my brother—the only soul in this realm who would be enjoying the winds—or rather, the fierce emotions that brewed behind them.

Bootheels struck the floor, counting down the seconds until the bottle and the glass hit the cement slab beside my head.

Clink. Clink.

Sure enough, there it was.

Although my brother was not known for being a creature of habit, this—him strolling in with a cup and a bottle of bourbon—was becoming a daily ritual.

“Nyko was at Hard Spirits last night, his arm wrapped around a foxy little redhead—who had been begging me for a job an hour before he showed up,” Folkoln started as he poured himself one-third of a glass, something I didn’t need to see to know. “I told him not to go home with her.”

I waited, knowing full well that wasn’t about to be the end of it. When Folkoln started a sentence that involved the God of Lust and Hard Spirits, Folkoln’s tavern, trouble was guaranteed.

Folkoln chuckled. “I told him to go home with the twins instead. Low and behold, the idiot listened.”

Of course, he did—Nyko was a brainless twit. And now, the Spirit Realm was paying for his infidelity.

Should I ever get out of this situation, I’d punt his sorry ass to the Living Realm, and if Sonya, the Goddess of Storms, wished to be with him, she could go live there instead—let the mortals deal with her blasted tantrums.

“I’m amazed how fast word traveled back to Sonya.”

I didn’t need my vision to see the dirty grin Folkoln wore—I could hear it in his words. Which told me he probably had something to do with Sonya finding out as well.

“Anyway, in other news, Sage is still as clueless as ever about her past. Little Bird says Kaleb plans to see her tomorrow, so she’ll give me another update after he returns. And as expected, Aurelius is still playing the role of the Golden Prince.” Folkoln chuckled. “I do wonder what his old followers in the Immortal Realm would think of that whole spectacle—their esteemed king playing prince, under the thumb of a mortal king. My, my, how far he has fallen.”

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