Page 40 of Crown of Thorns (The Initiation #3)

LOUIS

I didn’t go back to my dorm after the gathering.

Didn’t even try. Arthur, Regis, Dominique, and Gael were still tangled up in one of their chaotic debates—voices raised, laughter sharp, the usual Deveraux chaos.

Arthur had glanced at me like he might say something about the weekend plans—our birthday, the end of the year—but then Gael made some comment about his hair and the moment passed.

None of them asked why I hadn’t packed. Maybe they thought I’d catch up later.

Or maybe they knew better than to interrupt me when I’m like this. They didn’t notice me slip away.

And I didn’t care. I needed him.

So I came here instead.

My heart's still racing, my hands still smelling faintly of candle smoke and ash when I close the door behind me. The shed’s ashes haven’t settled in my head, not since I saw them glowing in the night. And when he didn’t show up this morning, when his room was empty and his phone silent...

I panicked.

I needed to see him. To know he was real. That he hadn’t vanished like the past they burned.

And then I see him.

“Noah?” I stumble closer to the bed, rubbing my tired face as if I might have been mistaken.

He’s here. My Noah. Sprawled like he never left.

One arm out, like he wanted me to take that space again.

And I will. Because the absence of him gutted me in ways I didn’t know I could be gutted.

Because I missed him with a kind of panic.

Because for the first time in my life, someone not answering a text made me feel like the floor was falling away.

I should be mad. I should be distant. But I’m not wired that way, not when it comes to Noah. I crawl into bed, needing him like breath.

My stomach swoops dangerously at the sight of his handsome face. Like this, asleep, lips slightly parted on a soft snore, features slack and relaxed, he looks at peace.

But the moment I crawl into his welcoming embrace, his arm tightens around me, cocooning me between his warm chest and firm grip. My face dips into the curve between his throat and collarbone, and I greedily inhale his scent as I snake my arm around his sternum and my thigh over his.

“Hmmm,” I purr, back in my favourite position. God, I missed him. I missed him so much that I don’t ever want to fall asleep. I fight it, clinging to every heartbeat, every breath that proves he’s here. But eventually, exhaustion wins.

Sleep folds over us like a warm tide, and the night passes in a haze of breath and skin and tangled limbs. At some point, we both surrender to it. Morning slips in quietly, the grey light softening everything, like the world forgot to be cruel for once.

When I finally stir, Noah’s still asleep against me.

That’s a first. Usually, he’s up way before I am.

The castle is quiet, and the weekend light slants in soft and golden.

It's late spring, almost summer. Nearly the end of the school year, and everything is changing, whether we’re ready for it or not.

Slipping out from under the sheets, I put on his favourite classical music and start the coffee machine.

Grabbing a few apples from the fruit basket, I slice them up, then add some blackberries.

I’m dying for some fresh croissants. I know Noah loves those, but one glance at my sleeping boyfriend and I know I can’t leave him alone. He might wake up, alone, and wonder…

My thoughts come to a screeching halt. Fuck. Did I just think that? My chest tightens. 'Boyfriend.' Damn. I’m not even the romantic type, but that word just hit like a sledgehammer. Only Noah could make a word like that sound like a declaration of war and love in one breath.

He is my boyfriend, right? Probably. I’ve never had one. The word still feels foreign in my mouth, makes my pulse skip. But since he’s still sleeping, and my thoughts are too loud, I send Gael a text:

Louis: What sort of things do you do with your boyfriend?

I drum with the phone on my knee while I wait for his reply.

Outside, the castle buzzes. Everyone's preparing to leave for the weekend—end-of-year break, and our birthday. Arthur and I always spend it with the family. Dominique mentioned it days ago. But I never packed. Never intended to. Not until I make this official.. This is ridiculous. Still, I order a batch of croissants from downstairs and request that they leave them outside Noah’s door.

My cousin's quick to reply, probably already in the gym.

Gael: You mean aside from the obvious?

I groan at that. He’s already typing, so there’s no time for a snarky reply.

Gael: Is this still the same stranger? He’s no longer ill?

Louis: Just answer the damn question

My face heats with annoyance. Of course, my noisy cousin is the first one who found out who it is.

Gael: Have you guys been on a date yet?

I look up, irritation forgotten. A date. That’s a good one.

Louis: No. Where should I take him?

Gael: Everywhere! To a football game, shopping, a restaurant.

Wait a minute. Excitement floods my veins, popping my energy levels.

Paris. Of course. With everything that’s happened over the past days, I want to figure out the last remaining pieces of the puzzle.

I want to know how he lived, what he loved.

I want to know everything. And then I want to make this… this… official.

Louis: Thank you. I love you, cousin.

Gael: WTF? What did I do?

Gael: You just made my day.

I send him a bunch of kisses. He replies to me with a vomiting emoji. Yeah, yeah, I don’t care. Not now. Not anymore.

Texting Amadou, I prepare everything, my grin turning into the most ridiculous grimace.

I pile the croissants onto my newest obsession: a golden tray with diamond-shaped etchings—I know, ridiculous, but I love shiny things—and place them by the bed. I’m right on time.

Noah stirs, then slowly opens his eyes. He’s always glorious, but there’s something about the way he stretches his long, shaped limbs, the way he looks into the world, unguarded, before he puts on his glasses and recomposes himself.

Don’t get me wrong. I love the glasses. They are sexy as fuck.

They frame his face in this perfectly crooked way that drives me insane.

But they also remind me of the version of Noah who’s always got a stick up his ass, the one wrapped in control and pretence, not the grumpy soft mess who kisses me in his sleep and mutters my name like a prayer.

“Good morning, baby.” Placing the coffee on his bedside table, I climb back into bed and straddle his thighs. “Are you feeling better?”

“Hey.” His voice comes out hoarse. He clears his throat and blinks a few times, then takes me in, his eyes dragging over my bare thighs and cocky grin, sitting too close for comfort and blushing like he just realized I’m real and on top of him. God, I love watching him squirm. “W-what time is it?”

“It’s Saturday, so time doesn’t exist.” Cocking my head, I take him in. His eyes search around, nodding when he hears my words. Understanding, not feeling. He’s once more haunted by whatever’s fucking with his mind.

His gaze drifts toward the window, toward the trees beyond it. The softness drains from his face, replaced by something colder. He swallows hard.

“The shed... It burned to the ground.”

The words hit like a slap. My pulse stutters. I hadn’t expected him to know, hadn’t prepared for this moment. Dread coils low in my gut, hot and sour. Does he know what it means? Does he know who did it?

“I…we need to talk.” He lets out a shuddering breath. “I think I’m in trouble. With them. With the Brotherhood.”

“Trouble?” I frown. “Why? What do you mean?”

“Last night…” He licks his lips. “The gathering.”

Awareness slithers over my skin, cold and sharp. “Was that you?”

“Yes.”

My brain jolts. The outsider. The strange mask. The moment the shed went up in flames. Fuck. That was him. And that threat… I heard it. I just didn’t realize Z was aiming it at Noah.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I frown, the sting of being left out mixing with something heavier. “I thought you were ill. I thought something had happened to you.”

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know what I was walking into. I thought I was alone.”

“Then how did you? You didn’t reply to my texts. Weren’t in your office. Where were you?”

“Everywhere and nowhere.” He shrugs, eyes darting away as if trying to dodge something raw.

My gut twists. I hate playing therapist, but fuck if I don’t want him to spit it out.

Frustration claws at the edges of my temper, and underneath it all, there's a flicker of worry burning low and hot. And I need to clamp my mouth shut, because I’m too fucking impatient to keep on pulling the words out of his throat.

I want to be let into his beautiful mind.

“I went through all the photos Granddad left me, then found a box with letters.”

“What kind of letters?”

“From Mom.”

Something clenches in my chest. I don’t know what to say, which is a first, suddenly afraid that my words will stop him from speaking. And now is not the time, because I want to know every single word he says. Every single unspoken truth. Every emotion, no matter how raw, confused, or sad.

His hand grazes my naked thigh, searching for comfort, and I shiver.

“I didn’t know she wrote to me.” His voice wavers, barely above a whisper, and there’s the faintest tremble in his hand where it rests against my thigh, a tell he probably doesn’t even realize he’s showing.

It’s subtle, but it spikes something hot in my chest. He’s unraveling for me, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

His eyes don’t meet mine, like if he does, the emotion might splinter out in all directions.

“I thought she’d simply moved on. Without me. ”

Oh, Noah.