One year and four months ago...

"I thought you said he was mad," I snapped, jealousy bubbling up as I saw Rixon at my horse's stall. His back was to me, petting Jarrow. My eyes bulged. Jarrow was letting him. That little weasel! He wasn't getting an apple from me tonight.

Rixon stiffened but said nothing, didn't turn. I would have been offended, except that I expected it. And it was hard to be angry in this moment when I watched the way he caressed Jarrow's face. Jarrow snorted, earning a whisper. I inched closer, desperate to hear the words, but they were too soft.

He fished an apple from of his pocket. Jarrow snatched it up.

"You've found his weakness, I see." I couldn't help myself. Rixon glanced at me, eyes darting over my clothes. My stomach dropped, mouth dry as I realized what he was seeing. I usually wore trousers and a loose tunic when I worked in the stables. Today, everything was dirty because I'd forgotten to wash it after last night. The clothes smelled like the stables, too, and not in a fresh-hay sort of way. Truthfully, I shouldn't have minded.

Rixon turned his gaze back to Jarrow, giving him a final pat before stepping away. "He's a fine stallion."

I gaped at him, mouth hanging open. I snapped it shut, swallowed. "How did you manage to...?"

Rixon shook his head, the gesture subtle, but a dismissal all the same. It was all he offered me. Then he turned on his heel and left. I watched him until he disappeared from the stable.

Finally alone, I rounded on Jarrow.

"How could you, you little traitor?" I hissed. Jarrow merely flicked his ears and snorted. "Fine. But you hardly deserve this," I added, fishing my own apple from my pocket. He sniffed it reluctantly, as if expecting me to snatch it away in my anger. I laughed. "You know I would never deny you, even if you're consorting with the enemy." He snorted again then grabbed the apple from my hand.

Rixon had won him over. Part of me wondered if it was because I'd told him Jarrow was mine. The other part wondered if he'd already won him before our previous encounter, and simply knew that Jarrow wasn't keen on strangers. Perhaps he'd learned it the hard way before winning his trust.

I gritted my teeth, hating that I had to ask these questions. Hating that I couldn't just pry the answers from him. Hating that I even cared enough to want to know.

***

The longer I sat in the bath, the deeper my mortification burrowed into my bones. I wasn't certain what, exactly, had happened, except that I had seen the look in Rixon's eyes, I had felt the sparks in my body. Gods! How would I face him again?!

Taking a deep breath, I slipped beneath the surface, held my breath for as long as I could, then came up sputtering. There was nothing for it. I could delay no longer. Any time now, the other witches and wielders would arrive to meet with us. If it weren't for that, I'd simply skip the evening entirely.

A strained laugh fell from my chest. I was lost, so utterly lost, so deep in over my head. Years of training had prepared me to face demons, but no one had prepared me to face my wielder. Something else scared me even more, because a part of me was growing thrilled at the thought of having him to myself. I wanted to know him. I wanted to understand why he was the way he was. I wanted to crack his granite exterior. I wanted to see what was underneath.

And if you do? said a little voice in the back of my mind. What then? It didn't mean I had to get close to him. I knew what loss felt like. I wasn't ever going to feel it again.

I used my magic to dry my hair, standing in front of the small mirror on the wall. I'd kept my brown locks at a manageable length, the middle of my back. Though I knew females who preferred to grow theirs down to their hips. With magic, it was much easier to maintain my hair.

I wasn't beautiful like Cecelia, per se. But I was pretty—I liked to think so, anyway. I had large brown eyes and long lashes, neatly shaped eyebrows, high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a pointed chin. I brushed a lock of hair down the side of my face, framing it, putting the rest in a tight bun at the base of my neck. I dressed in the travel clothes much like those I'd warn earlier. Tight pants, tall boots, a white billowy tunic, which I rolled to my elbows, and a wide corset-belt that covered most of my stomach, pinching it tightly.

I had generous hips, the only thing about me others voiced their envy of. Even Cecelia had admired me for that. A small smile pulled at the corner of my mouth. I'd never forget the look on her face when I finished my trials. Never.

Taking a deep breath, I strode for the door. When I reached the bottom floor, I stopped to speak with the head woman in the kitchen, requesting that she dump the bath and refill it with clean water. I wanted Rixon to enjoy the same indulgence I had, even if it meant I'd have to sit outside our room after dinner.

Our room. What nerve! I wanted to be angry.

"It's not a problem, Lady Witch," the head woman said, eying me. "I'll have the lads pop up straight away."

"No rush," I told her, smiling. "We're going to have dinner first. Take your time."

I moved through the bottom floor into the large dining and bar area. It was filled with tables, only half occupied. My eyes found Rixon. I almost cringed to see him alone, knowing I'd have to face him. His gaze was fixed on me, taking me in. Feigning confidence I didn't feel, I strode over and took the a chair across from him, frowning down at the empty table. "You already finished eating?"

"Haven't had our food delivered." As if on cue, he motioned towards one of the serving females waiting near the doorway. She immediately disappeared.

"You...you've been waiting all this time? For me?"

He eyed me but said nothing.

The serving female appeared, tray in hand. She placed food and drinks before us, taking her time. I glanced up and caught lingering gaze as it moved over Rixon. Gritting my teeth, I glared at her. When she stepped away, hesitantly, she was still staring at Rixon.

"That will be all. Thank you," I said, my words clipped.

Her gaze snapped to me, finally noticing my existence. "Of course, Lady Witch." She scurried away.

I watched her retreat until she disappeared back into the kitchen. Everyone knew wielders and witches didn't marry. Both took pleasure partners, turning sometimes to each other, but most often to others. It was a hard life, never settling anywhere for any length of time. So of course the serving female would know this, and of course she'd look at Rixon like he was a delicacy delivered straight to her doorstep.

I bristled. A pleased grunt had my eyes snapping to Rixon. "What?" I asked.

"You don't like her."

"I don't know what you're talking about." At that, he lifted an eyebrow. I tutted, crossing my arms. "Fine. I didn't like the way she looked at you."

"And how was that?" His penetrating gaze tunneled into me, like he could drag the answer free. "Like you're a piece of meat," I said.

"Am I not?"

I opened my mouth, momentarily baffled. "You are so much more than that. Why would you...? How could you think that?"

His gaze flicked between my eyes, that same look of puzzlement flashing over his features. It cleared a moment later.

I swallowed, glancing down. The food in front of us was growing cold, and yet, I couldn't eat. I had to know. I needed to.

"Why?" I finally asked. He blinked. "Why did you ignore me all those times I tried to talk to you? And yet now...well, you're not exactly chatty, but you don't ignore me. Was it...did you dislike me so much you couldn't bear to speak to me?"

I couldn't breathe, afraid to hear his answer. His features shifted. "I didn't speak to any of the witches in the Citadel, Lady Witch. Not unless I was commanded to. Do not take it personally."

"And yet, I do," I said, caring little about the hurt in my voice. "I tried so many times to talk to you. I actually..." I exhaled, shaking my head. "Aside from a few rare encounters, you spoke less than a handful of sentences to me."

His jaw flexed, like he was chewing on his next words. "And...did you see me talking to other witches?"

"I...no," I said, shaking my head, confirming his earlier statement. "Why?" I asked again. He didn't respond. His fingers tapped on the table. I knew the motion. Recognized it for what it was. "Oh no. You don't get to chose silence this time. I want to know why. You owe me that much."

"Fine." His fingers came to a stop, eyes latching onto mine. "I can't stand witches."

My eyes bulged, my jaw dropped. At first, I thought he was making a joke. The longer he stared, the more I realized he was serious. Was it true then? What they'd said about him? That he'd purposefully allowed Ena's to die. That he hated witches so much, he was willing to let it happen? And...what did that mean for us?

I snatched up the goblet in front of me. The brew was spicy, alcoholic. It burned as it went down, making my eyes water. Stronger than I was used to. And good, too. I blinked, clearing my gaze, trying to collect my thoughts.

"Should I be worried?" My voice was low, threatening. "For my life?"

He jerked as if I'd slapped him. Anger flashed in his gaze. "That you would—"

"That I would what, Lord Wielder? You can't stand witches. I've heard the rumors. Let us not pretend; we both know what it's like living in the Citadel. The only difference is, unlike other witchlings, I chose not to believe them."

Unlike the others, I hadn't been afraid to approach him. Time after time, I'd tried and failed to speak to him. But still, I'd tried to be nice on those evenings I found him hiding in the library. Because I pitied him. I felt bad about the way other witchlings in my cohort shunned him.

"I would never hurt you, Lady Witch," he growled. And I felt the truth of his words. I hadn't doubted it, even moments ago. But I wanted to hear the declaration. "I would never allow any harm to come to you. I would die before allowing it."

I wanted to ask why. If that was true, why had Ena died? But the look on his face discouraged it. I didn't know him well enough. Didn't want to push this fragile thing between us.

I took a deep breath. "So...what? Now that we're bonded, you've suddenly set aside your prejudices? For what—for me?"

"You ask too many questions."

"You answer too few," I snapped back, glaring.

He sighed. "I always knew, Lady Witch, that eventually I'd have to speak to whatever witch carried my leash." I flinched, opening my mouth, but he continued. "I trained hard, even knowing I'd finish at the top of the wielder trials—again. It was the only way to ensure I'd be selected. Except, I was certain it would be Cecelia who finished top of the witchling trials."

A strangled laugh bubbled up in my chest. "Cecelia?!" Her name came out as a croak.

"You can imagine my surprise, when it was you."

Because I'd hidden the depths of my magic. I opened and closed my mouth, uncertain. "She wouldn't have you," I said. "None of them would. Not a single witching wanted you." He bowed his head. There wasn't a shred of hurt in his gaze. As if...as if...My eyes widened. "You knew," I hissed. "You knew they wouldn't want you no matter how hard you trained. No matter how well you did in trials. You...you..."

"I assumed you'd finish where everyone predicted you would."

"In the middle," I whispered as everything became all too clear. My jaw tensed. "You took advantage of me."

"I did no such thing."

"You knew I was the only one who might pick you. That I...I..."

...felt an uncontrollable attraction towards you, was what I couldn't bring myself to say. He knew that I blushed and babbled and could barely form sentences around him. He'd seen right through me.

As if reading these thoughts, he nodded. "I also assumed you would use your head and not your emotions. You would see a wielder who—no matter how shunned—finished on top. That I would be a bargain for your mid-level finish. A steal." He barked a laugh—such a rare thing, that sound. "What I didn't expect, was that you would best everyone, surpass them. You set the highest record seen among witches. Suddenly I was no longer a steal for you, but a settlement. Still, I knew you would pick me. Unlike your fellow witchlings, you'd use your head. The top witch always picks the top wielder. And now, you had even more reason to do so."

I could only gape at him. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard the door open and slam, I heard the hush of voices die down. I saw Rixon's gaze snap away from mine. I saw the flash of irritation cross his features. I knew why. Our guests had arrived. And still, I could only gape at him. Gape as an onslaught of emotions assaulted me. Confusion, disbelief, and...something else, something warm.

He'd planned it. He'd wanted me the entire time. Even when he believed I wouldn't perform remarkably. He'd schemed and he'd planned. It had all been so that I would chose him. Even if it was done because he knew he held power over me. What was I supposed to make of that?

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Happy Sunday, Friends!

I'm making so much progress on this story, it's crazy. Funny how when you get inspired, it just flows right out of you. How exciting for me :) I can't believe I'm averaging one chapter per day right now. Somehow I'm pulling out 2000-3000 words in two hours, which is crazy. Especially compared to when I write my Dragonwall stuff, which can take 6 hours just for one chapter draft. 

Next chapter will post Wednesday evening.  See you then!

-Mel