Page 113 of The Reaping Rose

Rior and Celeste loved each other. They believed they were fated. One look at Roane and she realized she only felt what she did for Rior because he shared blood with his brother. Sometimes, I think Rior has yet to accept that.

Of course, Rior won’t say that’s why he’s mad at me for Aurora’s bitterness. Even if she and I never loved each other or mistook each other for our mates.

“What could Aurora possibly think exists between us anymore?” I meet Rior in the center of the ring, refusing to let it go when I have nothing to apologize for. “We have been nothing more than friends for centuries. And even when we tried to be more, we crashed and burned spectacularly. We never worked as more than friends. It was a mistake on both our parts, and we learned that lesson long ago.”

“She knows that.” Rior shakes his head. “This isn’t about her wanting to be in your bed, Wilder. You have to remember she was raised by your mother. You’re not what she wants.”

“She wants the crown.”

“Aurora has always wanted the crown.” Rior sets his bow and arrows aside, grabbing his sword. “And you gave it to her for a century while you were locked in that prison. This kingdom was hers until you returned with your mate.”

“So I should apologize for finding Elorie?” I hitch an eyebrow, readying my stance. “For being alive?”

“I’m not saying Aurora wants you dead.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it if she did.”

Rior smirks, knowing I’m right.

It’s been centuries since Aurora and I were anything more than friends. And even when we tried for more, it wasn’t good for either of us. She was miserable, and I was young and reckless. I didn’t want the strings that came with the court or the relationships my mother forced on me. It made me cold and heartless. Aurora shouldn’t have put up with it, but like me, she didn’t have a choice.

When she gets lost in fantasies and political aspirations, she forgets how much she hated me when we tried to be more. We were terrible for each other. I was terrible for her.

I suppose that might be what angers her more than losing the crown.

I’m different with Elorie. There is nothing to force. I love her beyond fate or mating bonds. She’s my other half, and I will treat her as such from now until we cease to exist in the fates.

I sigh. “I apologized to Aurora centuries ago. There’s nothing else to be said. She knows that.”

“I guess you’re right.” Rior juts his chin to my sword. “Ready to test your skills? See if you’re fit for your crown?”

The second I look down at my blade, he makes his first move.

“Cheater.” I parry, metal clashing. I barely manage to stop him from slicing open my throat.

“The Wilder I remember wouldn’t have let his guard down so easily.”

This time, I move first and fast. No magic. Just swords, grit, and blood. Battling the way I always preferred it.

Rior came to Andare to train around the same time I did. We had fun upturning the realm with our magic, but where we always found common ground was in hand-to-hand combat. No fates involved, no upper hand. We were the weapons.

My lungs heave as we continue to spar, but I ignore it.

He pushes me back, my heels meeting the edge of the training ring as my blade comes up between us, stopping him from cutting open my chest. I shove back, catching him off balance as I go on the offense. It’s an even match, back and forth. Until my heart is thundering and sweat drips down the sides of my face.

Rior pulls back, sheathing his sword without either of us winning. “It’s getting worse?”

I ignore his question, moving to the side of the ring and grabbing a drink of water. When I returned to Vaelier, I reluctantly told Rior, Atlas, and Perame that I was suffering the Beating because they need to know what I’m up against. Part of me wishes I hadn’t because of how they watch me now like I might drop dead at any second.

“I’m still here,” I say, turning and finding Rior watching me.

“You shouldn’t be.” He looks me up and down.

He’s right. The Beating never takes this long to claim a Fae. From the moment the heart starts beating faster, it’s usually a matter of weeks. The only exception is with young Fae whose magic has yet to bloom. They survive years, while their bodies try to sustain them, searching for the magic needed to render them immortal.

But I am no child.

I close my eyes, and my heart hammers in my chest.