Aris
Posey’s cloaked in gray as she approaches the castle. I watch her through the window in my study, the way she’s swallowed by the faint moonlight. The last remnants of sunset have been washed from the sky, driven back by the stars, but it does nothing to light her path after a day spent doing whatever the hell she does at the temple archives. I haven’t asked in the few days she’s been here. I haven’t spoken to her at all since she arrived. She takes her meals in her room, just like me.
Seeing her again was startling. Seeing her here, lit by silver shadows? She looks like she is meant for this place, which is only making this worse.
The newspaper on my desk rustles as the house refills my glass of whiskey. I glance at the paper, at the headline on the front page, and stuff my fist in my pocket as I look away.
“Prince Aris of Veiled Valley engaged to Princess Morgan Ravenswood of Celestoria.”
I was not the one to announce it. Neither was my family. Which begs me to believe her idiot father was champing at the bit and spilled the beans before anything was confirmed. I had a single conversation with her at a ball I attended out of moral obligation to my aunts and uncles on that side of the family in Crescent Falls. Morgan had been there; we met, spoke briefly, and she’ll do, I suppose. I don’t feel strongly about it at all.
Maybe this is for the best. It’s a weight off my shoulders. Finding my mate one day? It’s damn near impossible, given what I am. It doesn’t matter. I slide the paper in the trash can and sit behind my desk with a sigh.
Morgan is supposed to arrive tonight for a week-long stay which was, in the beginning, before an engagement was announced, supposed to be a time to get to know each other and for her to decide if she really wants to live in this dusty old castle. Based on the bright pink gown she wore to the ball, I highly doubt she’ll like this place, but it doesn’t really matter now, does it? She wants an entire horde of children, and I’ll need a few heirs. She is tired of her social circles in Crescent Falls, and I’m never leaving Veiled Valley again if I can help it. She’s single. I’m single. It makes sense to just say fuck it and sign on the dotted line.
I tuck back the drink in one swallow and move downstairs, my powers lighting the sconces before the house can get to them, much to their annoyance. I do need the practice.
I turn a corner and nearly run Posey over. She gasps in surprise, tripping over her feet on the stairs, but I grab her shoulders, move her to the side, and walk past her.
I don’t look back, but my fingers flex and then curl into fists as her touch spirals through me and tangles into furious knots.
Her rejection aches. I’m not sure how to describe what the past several months have felt like, but I nearly told Roman no when he asked if Posey could stay here for the remainder of her training. Two months ago, if he’d asked the same question, I would have said that word without hesitation. No, she cannot stay here with me while she finishes her studies. No, I cannot and will not subject myself to her presence in my house, in my life.
I thought I was over it when he made that phone call and asked if Posey could stay here, that he’d feel better about her safety and care in my hands over the rectory. I agreed. I thought seeing Posey again would feel empty, a void of what was once there, and I could finally tell myself that there was nothing there to begin with.
How wrong I’ve been.
I walk straight outside into the gloom. The stars are bright overhead, but the ground is slick with ice. I make my way to the guard station. One of them turns to me, bowing slightly, and I nod, waving the formality off with a flick of my wrist. “Any word on Princess Morgan’s arrival?”
“No, sir,” the guard says with another bob of his head.
I should feel disappointed, shouldn’t I? Instead, relief sweeps through me. I turn on my heel and walk back into the castle, kicking ice from my boots before gliding up the main staircase and into my wing of the house.
I shut the door and shed my cloak, tossing it over an armchair. The house groans around me, trembling slightly, and just as I’m unbuttoning my shirt, believing there’s no way the princess–my future bride, by all means–is going to arrive tonight, my bedroom door snaps back open on a gust of fire-warmed wind and slams against the opposite wall.
“What?” I ask, looking up at the ceiling.
The door closes slightly and opens again with a crack. I hiss out a breath and stalk to the door, closing it tight and turning the deadbolt. The second I turn back around, the deadbolt slides free, and the door begins to open, but I slam my hand against it.
“What do you want?” I ask the house, trying to gauge which spirit is currently fucking with me. The woman carries that fire-warmed breeze. Cozy. Soft. Like sitting in front of a hearth on the chilliest day. She’s also the most demanding. The male spirit is more likely to chuck a book across the room directly at my head to get my attention than repeatedly open and shut my bedroom door. Most inhabitants never even seem to notice there are two distinct entities here.
The door trembles slightly beneath my hand. Sighing, I release it, and it opens again.
She lights a single sconce in the hallway, letting it flicker several times. I scrub my hand over my face before ruffling my gelled hair, my shirt half unbuttoned, and slide back into my boots before following her into the hallway. The clouds are rolling in again, blocking out what little moon and starlight there is. The castle is nearly pitch black until she lights the sconces one by one, and I allow it. Normally, my powers keep the lights on, or Grandpa Ryatt’s. Sometimes, my mom dabbles in her Shadowsynger gifts, but not so often anymore. And right now, it’s just me here.
I end up in the formal dining room on the first floor, where I haven’t dined in what feels like ages. The table is laid in a formal setting and piled with more food than one person could possibly eat.
“I’ll take dinner in my room.” I twist toward the door, which promptly slams shut and locks in my face.
That’s when I hear a fork scrape against a porcelain plate.
Slowly, I turn back to the table. Posey sits several seats away from where the second and only other plate has been laid out. Her hair is tightly braided down her back, every strand in place, and her eyes are downcast as she stabs a piece of chicken with her fork but doesn’t bring it to her mouth. She sets it down and begins to rise but winces when the spirit tucks her chair tightly against the table.
“You are not allowed to hold her against her will,” I say to the room, glancing up at the chandelier, which rustles. In answer, the thick, ancient deadbolts on the door slide into place. I close my eyes and curl my fingers into my palms, trying to quiet the shadows threatening to burst to the surface and destroy the dining room altogether if it means getting out.
It takes a tremendous amount of effort to will my legs to work. I cross the room, sit at the table, and stare at my empty plate, my appetite completely forgotten.
“It’s a man and a woman, isn’t it?”
I lift my gaze to Posey. She’s not looking at me, but that blush that haunts my dreams stains her cheeks, deepening every second that passes.
“The spirits that run the house? There’re two.” She tears a small bite of a dinner roll with her fingers but doesn’t eat it.
I want her to look at me. I want to just see her eyes, see if they’ve changed as much as she has in the past several months. “You’re correct.”
Her smile is tight and faint–barely a quiver.
“How’d you figure it out?” I ask as I scan the spread, deciding on a glass of wine instead of actual food. “Not many people realize it.”
“They’ve very distinct personalities. The female… she’s the guardian, isn’t she?” Posey finally meets my gaze. Her eyes are spectacular in this light–the deepest, most brilliant green I’ve ever witnessed.
I nod, my chest suddenly tight. “I believe she’s the one that keeps everything running.”
“And her mate is the trickster?”
“Her mate?” I hold her gaze.
She arches a brow, slightly confused. “You didn’t know? They’re definitely mates. I think… whoever they are, and whatever happened to them… it happened together. Here, in the house.”
“Isn’t that how hauntings work?” I sip my wine, letting the alcohol bloom through my veins to match my already disheveled appearance.
“They’re not haunting the castle. They’re… it’s hard to explain. They’re bound to it somehow.” Silence falls over the table, highlighting the distance between us, which spans only a few platters of food neither of us are touching but feels like an ocean.
I run the base of my hands down my thighs and begin to apologize for how I spoke to her earlier even though… I know I meant every word, meant the hurt in my voice, but she didn’t deserve that. It was just sex. I’ve never wanted it to mean more until it came to her, and I’ve been trying to reckon with that for months. It wasn’t fair to her. I owe her–
“Congratulations,” she says under her breath.
“For what?” My voice is hollow and void as I bring the wine to my lips.
“Your engagement. I just read the news.”
I lower the glass, the wine suddenly foul and acidic. “Posey–”
She rises, and the deadbolts slide open. I notice a small copper band on her ring finger then, and the healed burn on her skin just beneath it. I rise, walking rapidly to catch her at the end of the table. She startles when I grab her by the wrist and pull her to a rough stop.
“What is that?”
She tries to twist out of my grasp, but I hold firm, sliding the ring back with my thumb until the deep, twisting scar is fully visible.
“Aris, stop!”
“What have you done to yourself?”
The doors fly open, and five figures waltz out of the shadows. I don’t break Posey’s gaze until a lifted female voice says, “Well, this place is absolutesly… monstrous.”
I drop Posey’s hand and turn to the group. The woman at the center arches a brow as she looks around, chuckling. Her companion, a young man I’ve never met, follows suit, smirking and rolling his eyes at the gothic state of my ancestral home like they don’t even see me standing here.
A trio of maids brings up the rear, carrying several heavy suitcases and trunks.
Far more than my fiance needs for a week.
Princess Morgan’s dark brown hair is perfectly curled and tied back. She steps into the room, the dim light casting her in shadows that make her look severe. She’s tall and thin, her body shrouded in a bright pink pantsuit and matching wool coat that dusts her ankles. Her dark-eyed gaze falls on me, and she curtseys.
I lick my lips, taking a restorative breath, and say, “Princess Morgan. You’re quite late.”
“Let’s drop the formalities, shall we? I fear we’re past that already.” She giggles, glancing at the man. I wait for her to introduce him, but she turns her attention to Posey, her smile fading. “And who is this?”
Everything. “Posey Sapphire. She’s the sister of my friend and ally, the prince of Sapphire Ridge. She’s a priestess in training.” The words feel thick and wrong. I say them anyway. “She won’t be in our way.”
“Well, thank goodness for that. We have much to discuss, don’t we, my dear?” Another lifted laugh, and then she snaps her fingers at the maids. “Where can they bring my things?”
“I’ll show you to your room–”
Posey disappears in a flash of gray, skirting around the group without a glance back in my direction, and that ache in my chest blooms into real, bright pain when I take Morgan by the elbow to give her a tour of her… new home.