Page 20 of Awakened Destiny (The Dark Ascendant #3)

Brigid

The door to my room feels like a shield against the hostility I sense beyond it, and I lean back against it. My stomach growls, but the thought of stepping out makes my chest tighten. The dining hall will be packed right now, with eyes and whispers following me. It ’ s worse than ever. The way they look at me now, it ’ s fear mixed with hatred for what they think I ’ m capable of.

They ’ re not wrong to look at me like that.

I ’ d look at myself the same way if I were them.

I glance at the clock on my nightstand. Lunch rush should be winding down soon. If I wait another hour, maybe I can slip in unnoticed, grab something quick, and disappear before anyone notices. The idea of sitting alone at a table, surrounded by people who see me as a monster, makes my throat dry. Better to stay here.

I turn away from the door and sit on the edge of my bed, my hands resting on my knees. My reflection in the mirror across the room catches my eye. Same face, same eyes, same hair. But it ’ s not just me anymore, is it? The Morrigan left her mark, and now I carry it everywhere, like a stain I can ’ t scrub off.

I think about King Cillian. His lifeless body crumpled on the ground. My hands did that. Not mine, exactly, but close enough. Close enough to make me sick every time I remember. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push the image away, but it ’ s etched into my mind, sharp and unrelenting.

I ’ m getting sick of staying in my room so much, but it ’ s safer in here. Out there, the world feels too big, too loud, too full of people who see me as a threat. In here, at least, I can breathe. I can pretend, for a little while, that I ’ m still just Brigid. Not a vessel, not a killer. Just me.

My stomach growls again, louder this time. I sigh and lean back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Maybe I ’ ll skip lunch altogether. It ’ s not like I deserve to eat after what I ’ ve done. The thought lingers, like a tiny pity party for one, but I don ’ t chase it away. It feels like penance, small and useless as it is.

I close my eyes and let the quiet settle over me, waiting for the minutes to pass. Waiting for the world outside to forget about me, even if just for a little while.

A knock jolts me out of my thoughts. I ’ m not expecting anyone until later tonight, when Lochan said he ’ d be coming by again, so I stay quiet, hoping whoever it is will go away. The knock comes again, firmer this time, and I know it ’ s Callen before he even speaks. He doesn ’ t wait for an answer; the next thing I know, my room is filled with a shimmering gold glow and Callen appears.

Just shows up, no warning, no permission needed. It should piss me off, but it doesn ’ t. Instead, something warm spreads through me, loosening the tightness in my chest. His dark hair ’ s a mess, falling over his forehead like he ’ s been running his hands through it, and those arctic blue eyes lock onto mine like he can see right through me.

“ You planning to hibernate in here forever?”

I don ’ t answer. I can ’ t. My throat feels too tight. He ’ s so close now, and I can smell his wintery scent, light and clean, and it makes my stomach flip. He ’ s taller than me by a mile, and I have to tilt my head back just to look at him. His cheekbones that could cut glass, and his lips, so full and soft-looking, twist into a smirk that makes my face heat up and my heart skip a beat. No man has the right to be that damn beautiful.

“ Brigid.” His voice is softer now. “ You ’ re not eating. You ’ re not sleeping. What are you doing?”

I shrug, looking away. “ Thinking.”

“ About what?”

“ What do you think?” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to, and I wince. I don ’ t want to take this out on him, but I can ’ t help it. The guilt is like a stone in my gut, heavy and unrelenting.

He steps closer, and I can feel the heat coming off him. “ You ’ re blaming yourself again.”

“ Shouldn ’ t I?” I snap, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “ It was me , Callen. My hands. My body. I killed him.”

“ No.” His voice cuts through the room, sharp and final. “ It wasn ’ t you. It was the Morrigan. She used you, Brigid. You didn ’ t have a choice.”

“ I should ’ ve fought harder.” The words taste like ash in my mouth. “ I should ’ ve stopped her.”

“ How?” He steps even closer, so close I can feel his breath on my skin. “ She ’ s a goddess, Brigid. You ’ re human. You didn ’ t stand a chance.”

I want to argue, to tell him he ’ s wrong, but I can ’ t. The truth is, I don ’ t know if I could ’ ve stopped her even if I ’ d tried. That ’ s what scares me the most—how easily she took over, how little control I had.

Callen ’ s hand brushes my arm, and I flinch. He doesn ’ t pull away, though. Instead, he lets his hand rest there, warm and steady. “ You ’ re not her,” he says, his voice low. “ You ’ re not the Morrigan. You ’ re Brigid. And I ’ m not going to let you forget that.”

I want to believe him. I really do. But every time I close my eyes, I see King Cillian ’ s face, lifeless and pale. I see the blood on my hands, and I can ’ t shake the feeling that some part of me wanted it. That some part of me enjoyed it.

“ Callen…” My voice cracks.

“ I ’ m here,” he says, simple and sure. “ And I ’ m not going anywhere.”

I swallow hard, trying to push down the lump in my throat. He ’ s so close now, and I can feel the tension between us, like a live wire sparking in the air. I don ’ t know what to say, so I don ’ t say anything. I just stand there, letting his presence anchor me, even as the storm inside me rages on.

Callen leans back against the edge of my desk, his arms crossed. “ I went to the palace today,” he says, his tone casual, but there ’ s something in the way his jaw tightens that tells me it wasn ’ t just a routine visit. “ Saw my mother.”

I raise an eyebrow. “ How ’ d that go?”

He shrugs, but it ’ s stiff, like he ’ s forcing it. “ Same as always. Queen Maywen has never been the warm and fuzzy type.” Even when she wasn ’ t a few cards short of a full deck, I think to myself. But I don ’ t say it out loud.

“ And are you ready… “

“ Ready to be the new king?” He paces the room. “ I have to be, don ’ t I?”

He stops in front of the window, his silhouette framed by the dull light of the overcast day. His shoulders are tense, his hands clenched at his sides. For a moment, he looks less like the confident, infuriating prince I ’ ve come to know and more like someone carrying the weight of the world.

“ You don ’ t have to do it alone,” I say quietly, my voice almost inaudible.

He turns to face me, his expression unreadable. “ I ’ m not alone. I have you.”

The words hang in the air between us, heavy with meaning. I want to believe him, to trust that I can be enough, but the doubt creeps in like a shadow. “ What if I ’ m not enough?”

He crosses the room in two strides, his hands cupping my face before I can pull away. “ You ’ re more than enough, Brigid. You always have been.”