Page 48 of Of Shadows and Blood

Acceptance came as soon as Cedric pulled the cover from that portrait. My portrait.

Without a doubt, it was me. Icy blonde hair spilled over my shoulders and down past my chest, cut off by the borders of the painting. Tufts of red streaks on either side of my face framed my cheeks. Tyn, the cess from the warehouse, he was immediately uncomfortable at its sight. The cloak from the city hangs in the armoire. Sighing, I lift the red pieces to the light of the sun, examining the individual strands, when a singular knock comes from the front door.

Too many visitors recently. Deep inside, I want to ignore it.

My hand touches the doorknob with hesitation and the small zap lets me know it’s unlocked.

Cedric stands before me, hair dishevelled as always. But this evening he looks particularly undone. His formal coat and trousers are replaced by a looser cotton shirt and pants. Still, they fit perfectly to him and are by no means casual as silver laces through all of the seams, but this relaxed version of him settles me.

“Uh…” I start, still taking in the male before me.

“I want to apologize,” he begins, leaning against the doorframe. I stay just inside the threshold, not inviting him in. This is my safe space. “I want to apologize for not understanding. You have suffered a great deal and I want to understand more of it. To make an honest effort.”

I fold my arms, the dagger I keep on me at all times now, presses into my skin. He glances at my hand, a knowing quirk in his eyebrow but he doesn’t mention it. “Liv, I know you don’t know me, I know that. As much as that hurts – and believe me, it does – I want to know you.”

“You seem to already know everything about me,” I remark.

“Trust me, I want Elivienne back.”

“Well, Elivienne is gone.”

“You don’t truly believe that,” he says, tilting his head. “Otherwise, you would have left by now. I know you are capable of it.”

I think on his words and can’t help but smirk.

That bastard.

A smile grows on his face but, it isn’t a smile of mocking or pride, it appears genuine. A deep dimple on the left, a subtle one on the right. His smile lines stretch evenly on each side and right then and there, I see it. In this moment, I realize where I have seen him before.

It wasn’t in Sawyer and the many similarities shared. No, it was at the market. That day in my dream. The stranger who purchased Ma’s pottery.

Choking on this realization, I step back a bit, feeling my chest cave in for a moment.

“What is it?” He searches my face with concern.

I look up to him. “You once said something about going into my mind?” My legs sway a little.

His smile disappears and replaces itself with a hardened look. “I’m sorry about earlier. It was a boundary I will not cross again.”

I shake my head. “No, when I was asleep, did you try? The coma, I mean.” Though I would have to address what happened earlier another time.

“Every day,” he breathes. “Every. Day.”

An automatic movement brings me across the threshold so that we’re both standing in the late autumn air. Crickets chirp along the hill in front of the cottage, highlighting the serene beauty around us.

“Did you ever get through?” Memories flood past me, anything I can remember from the farm. My words are urgent because this is the biggest breakthrough we’ve had thus far.

“Only once,” he admits, running a hand through his hair.

The jump in my heart rattles me because recollection is flooding my body. He was there that day, at the market, before I fell.

“You remember?”

Solemnly I nod, unsure of what to make of this new information. He did get through, but only once, and he was so different then. In my dream state, he looked more normal, more human, sun-kissed with youth. There was no hint of dark culture or intent. A lack of male fierceness.

Cedric with soft edges. With no crown.

His face lights up and within a second, the light vanishes. Washed by a calm façade that he shrugs into place. He moves back a step, as if to refrain from touching me again.