The figure turned slowly. Stepping down the dark stairwell, he drew a dagger in each hand. Up close, he looked hale – not starved and mad like before. His eyes were clear. She inhaled sharply. He wasn't smiling. There wasn't a hint of recognition.
Here he was, alive and whole and… not at all himself.
She ducked.
A dagger whistled over her head.
"Castien! It's me. Anais. We’re here to get you out. Castien?"
He raised his other dagger and stalked toward her. She dodged his stabs. He was quick. Quicker than the last time they'd sparred. Had it only been a few weeks?
He had always been distracted, before. Now, his eyes held an intensity and focus that she wished she could have instilled in him.
She had always been his distraction.
“Castien, talk to me. Say something.” She ducked and lunged to the side, narrowly avoiding a punch to the stomach. “You couldn't shut up before, and now you won't say a word? Why? Are you afraid of me?”
His silent circling was unnerving. She felt like his prey; it was a strange feeling.
The cut on her thigh stung. His eyes flicked to her leg, then narrowed.
He began striking harder and more often at her right side. Smart. She supposed she should be happy he was fighting well. If only it weren't her he was trying to eviscerate.
Panting, she ignored the pain and forced herself to dodge right, then push off to the left. Warm blood flowed down her leg. “Do you want to kill me, then? Why? Just tell me why, Castien!”
She didn't believe it. She wouldn't even if he stabbed her in the heart.
That lost look flashed across his expression. He wavered.
“Castien…” She caught her breath and lifted a hand, reaching for his dagger.
His eyes hardened. His empty hand shot out, grabbing her wrist as he shoved her backward. She found herself pinned to a wall, his blade hovering inches from her face.
"Castien," she whispered, soft and fond. He held a dagger to her head, but she only cared that he was alive, was here, was right in front of her.
The weapon wavered, the arm holding her tensed, and his cold stare gained a hint of confusion.
His lips parted.
“You’re not real.”
The rasp of his voice shivered down her spine. He sounded more like himself than in the throne room. Disbelief, despair, and rage weaved thin threads in the words dragged out of his lungs. The harshness gave her hope. Octavius was right.
"Castien, I’m right here. You’re touching me. I am here. I am real," she said softly. Her voice was the only weapon left to her. She would never use her claws against him.
He still hesitated.
Her hand lifted slowly, so slowly, like she was approaching a wild beast. His muscles went rigid, and a glimmer of warning narrowed his eyes. She didn’t stop. He didn’t stop her. The tips of her claws just barely brushed his lips, soft and careful. His breath was warm on her skin.
"Castien, I miss you. I love you. Please, Castien. Please, look at me. I am here. I am real."
A full body shudder traveled through his muscles, from his fluttering eyelids, to his quivering arms and tight shoulders, to his locked knees loosening. She could have brought him down then. Never show weakness, and he was so weak.
She held her breath. In a blink, his eyes turned cold. His arm moved. She ducked to the side just as his blade stabbed into the wall inches from her head. The arm pinning her relaxed.
"Anais. If you… No. You can't be here. Guards… a trap. Run!" he growled through clenched teeth.
She carefully slid from under him, backing out of the room. "Castien–"
