Page 109 of The Reaping Rose

I am the blade on which others bleed.

And yet I fumble as I reach for my sword. As I question everything.

My feet stumble back a step, and air catches in my lungs. The panther flies toward me. And then, Atlas is between us. He drives his sword through the beast’s center, and it groans with a cry that has birds fluttering from the branches. Birds I wasn’t aware were there until they’re gone.

Atlas steadies his stance, shoving the panther forward. Its body slumps to the ground, and he tugs the sword out, leaving a puddle of crimson in the dirt.

Blood.

So much blood.

So much⁠—

I shake my head. Death and pain and blood don’t scare me. Not anymore. I’ve seen the worst of it and survived.

Or did I?

My fingers shake at my sides as Atlas glances over his shoulder. No smile. No flirty remark. The violet flecks in his eyes spark as he scans me over, pausing when he sees my fingers quivering against the handle of my blade.

“We’ll stop here for the night,” he says, tossing his bag off and pulling out the tarp for our tent.

“I can keep going.”

“I know” is all he says, continuing to set up camp.

I’ve yet to move, frozen and speechless over my clear mistake. I’m a warrior. I’ve fought hordes in battle. I don’t get shaken, and I don’t stop. But lately, all I do is freeze. I overthink and overanalyze every decision.

Atlas doesn’t call me out for standing here. Not even as I storm into the forest to catch my breath. In view of him but needing a moment by myself.

My eyes squeeze shut, and I listen to Atlas’s every movement as he prepares a fire, letting the snap of flames replace the uneasy silence of the forest. I focus on the sound. On anything but this pit brewing inside me.

This fiery-hot ball in my chest started so small, and now, it spreads through everything. Anger. Frustration. At my parents for not telling me the full truth. At the kingdom I fight to save, when it’s destroyed everyone I love. At myself for being so trusting.

I coil into that emotion and wish it would burn so hot it would die out because I’m on the verge of combusting. It’s all I feel lately. It’s eating me alive.

Rage. Doubt.

It’s becoming all I am, and I don’t know how to stop it.

Chapter 37

Atlas

Greer didn’t speak to me once while we sat beside the fire last night. But her silence wasn’t the same as it is when she gets irritated with herself for me having caught her staring at me. Her silence wasn’t even the fiery anger I’m used to burning in her every remark as she tries to push me away.

It was something different.

Her usual confidence slipped when she froze during the panther attack, and I was smart enough not to ask her why she’s so damn hard on herself when it’s clear she’s barely hanging on by a thread.

So I sat beside her and didn’t say a word, letting her bad mood roll at me in waves. It was my fault anyway for pushing when I probably shouldn’t have. There’s just something so damn intriguing about that female, even when she’s shutting me out. I can’t help it.

I’m never nervous, but when Greer looks at me, I can’t think straight and end up saying whatever’s on the tip of my tongue.

Greer shoves her remaining items into her pack at the first hint of sunlight. Her gaze slices my way. Eyes sharp as glass. The softest silver of a blade. Her glance is so quick I almost miss it, piercing straight through me.

When she looks away, I swear she takes all her secrets with her, and I let it go.

If Rior were here, he’d tell me to get over myself. To get over her. Gods, I get enough attention from the females in the court that I don’t need to bother with her. So what is it about Greer’s sharp edges that makes me wish she’d put me out of my misery already?