Page 44 of The Call of Crimson (The Crimson & Shadows #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

AURELIUS

C risp autumn air assaults my face as I watch the slow ascent of the sun.

In the weeks we’ve spent in Prudia, late summer has faded into autumn swifter than I remember. The green of the trees has surrendered to hues of red, orange, and gold. Mornings are brisk enough now that I favor a long-sleeved tunic and wool overcoat most days. Today is no exception.

I’ve been awake for hours, waiting for the sunrise, the bitter chill biting my cheeks.

Sleep has become an elusive mistress. Haunting dreams plague me night after night—vivid, almost familiar, yet I know I've never seen the places in my waking state.

Most nights, I find myself standing on the ocean shoreline, staring out at the sea. Salt from the water permeates the air, mixing with the scent of the wild forest behind me.

Sometimes, I find myself wandering through the dense trees, exploring the strange flora and fauna that run wild there. The area seems untouched, yet I can’t shake the feeling of eyes on me.

There’s a soft humming that makes my blood sing, tugging and pulling me toward… something.

Each time, I wake before I can find it.

Despite the lack of rest, my body is buzzing with unspent energy.

The moment the sun fully crests the horizon, I head out.

I have no patience today for libraries or dusty tomes. Not even with the memory of what happened between Breyla and me the last time we were there.

No, I didn’t need her pliant body beneath me, no matter how tempting it might be. I needed to move, to sweat. I needed to train.

I make it to the training grounds in record time, surprised to find I’m not the first to arrive.

Breyla stands in the center of a ring, chest heaving, sweat gleaming along her flushed skin. Stray curls cling to her face, damp from exertion, her freckles standing out starkly in contrast.

Her sun-kissed copper curls are woven into a tight braid around her head, and I admire the way the gold shines in the early morning light.

With the coming winter months, the gold will grow muted, and the red will deepen.

In the summer, her hair favors her mother’s coloring.

But in the winter, her hair comes directly from Raynor’s bloodline—a deep crimson flame.

Something reaches into my chest, squeezing gently around my heart. I’m not sure which color I wish to see more right now, both of them simultaneously opening and soothing wounds that Raynor and Gen’s deaths caused. I love it and hate it in equal measure.

My lips curve in a half smile as I fight the urge to laugh at her attire for the day.

A simple black dress, the skirt pulled between her legs and tied to form loose, makeshift pant legs.

I know with certainty that she was able to win back one pair of her leathers from Ayden in the last week.

She had also worn those leathers, much to the queen’s protest, every single day since then.

At some point, she had to send them for laundering, and it appeared that day had come.

Brown leather boots stomp the earth beneath her feet, and I silently wonder where she procured them. For the first couple of weeks in Prudia, she had simply walked the castle barefoot rather than slip her feet into the dainty, uncomfortable flat shoes that most females favored.

No, my female would be in boots or nothing at all. Not that I minded.

“Are you just going to ogle me all day, or do you plan to fight?” Breyla asks, breaking me out of my trance.

“Is ogling you all day an option?” I quip back, a flirtatious smirk taking over my mouth.

“No.”

She’s in a mood.

I pull a sword from the rack of training weapons and step into the ring. “Were you just training with someone?”

There had been no one else in sight when I arrived, but the space had not begun filling with other soldiers as they started their mourning routines.

“Darian,” she says curtly.

I give her an incredulous look. “Willingly?”

She shrugs. “He was the only available option.”

“I meant on his part. He despises you.”

“Astute observation skills. I couldn’t tell,” she deadpans, her emerald eyes rolling.

I narrow my gaze, daring her to do it again.

She catches herself, stiffening slightly, and wisely keeps her eyes locked on mine.

“I think he enjoys the opportunity to knock me on my ass,” she says, starting to pace.

I match her step for step, circling warily.

“Someone bested Rimor’s general?” I question, knowing I could probably best her if I wanted to, but not many others could say the same.

“Believe it or not, Aurelius, I’m not perfect,” she says, her lips quirking. “Elijah often bests me. Cillian, too, though I haven’t faced him in years. I’m skilled, but not invincible. Darian provides a real challenge for me on multiple levels. As he should.”

Her self-awareness is refreshing.

“Care to add me to that short list of defeats?” I ask, twirling the sword in my hand.

“Please, My Lord,” she says as she makes the first move, lunging for me.

I easily block and spin to the left, bringing my own sword around in an arc that she dodges.

“I have no doubt you are skilled, but you have spent far too long among courtiers and wielding your words rather than actual weapons.”

“Foolish little demon,” I chide, lunging another attack that she parries with ease.

Her brow quirks. “How so?”

We dance around each other, our swords clanging together in a series of attacks and blocks.

“You forget,” I say, voice low and mocking. “I was trained by the same males who trained you. I've watched you fight for years. I know every move you’ll make as well as you know mine.”

“How cute,” she coos, dodging my next swing. “Though some might say your obsessive tendencies are unsettling.”

We fall into a brutal, beautiful rhythm, swords clashing again and again, neither gaining the upper hand for more than a few heartbeats.

“Obsessive tendencies,” I snort. “Says the female who worships my cock like a zealot.”

I smirk as her steps falter for just a moment, having been caught off guard by my comment.

It gives me the opening I need to slip past her defenses. I disarm her, sending her sword clattering across the ring.

“Bite your tongue,” she hisses.

I wink. “I’d much rather you bite it for me.”

A low snarl curls her lip as she continues circling me. She’s unarmed and at a disadvantage, but that doesn’t stop her.

I swing my blade in a wide arc, intent on making her yield. I crave her submission in bed as much as I do in battle. But I want to earn it, fight for it.

Breyla doesn’t just dodge my attack; she dances from it, her back arching to avoid the blow. She crouches low, swiping her leg out and catching my own in its path.

I hit the ground, my back taking the brunt of the impact. She straddles me and pulls two daggers from gods know where, crossing them at my throat.

I hiss, realizing these weapons aren’t blunted. The metal bites my skin, tiny droplets of blood pooling beneath the blades.

“It doesn’t look like I’ll be adding to my list of defeats today, darling,” she purrs, smugness filling her tone and eyes.

A slow rolling clap echoes across the grounds.

“Well,” Ayden drawls, approaching. “That was beautiful to witness. Watching her draw blood is quite… arousing.”

A low growl escapes my curled lips and is answered by one from Ayden’s. Our eyes lock over Breyla’s shoulder, neither of us backing down.

Breyla lifts off me, turning toward Ayden. She opens her mouth to speak, but then hesitates.

Eyes sharp, she spins in a tight circle, scanning the courtyard. In one smooth motion, she hurls her dagger toward a tree at the ring’s edge. It thuds into the trunk, just inches from a smiling Ayden.

The illusion in front of me fades as the real Ayden to our side chuckles.

“Your intuition is strengthening,” he muses. “Pity. I was hungering for a good morning kiss.”

“You can try again tomorrow, Prince.” Breyla smirks. “I very much enjoy the look of disappointment when you lose.”

“Hmmm,” Ayden hums, undeterred. “Would you like to earn another pair of your leathers back?”

“Always.” Breyla grins, the excitement flashing across her features too quickly for her to mask.

“I have a bonus offer for you today, love.”

“What is that?” she asks, her curiosity piqued.

“You may make your usual guess,” Ayden says, strolling closer. “But also, we have a council meeting after this for the autumn equinox ball. If you behave at the meeting, play nice with my mother, and truly make it seem you’re smitten with me... I'll return your boots.”

She crosses her arms. “I already have boots.” She raises a foot to show off the brown leather.

“I see that,” he says, unimpressed. “However, Rowina would like them back since they are her only pair. She said, and I quote, ‘Tell your fiancée, if she wants me out of my clothes, she can remove them herself rather than stealing them.’”

So that’s where she got them . I suppress a laugh.

“Fine,” Breyla relents with a heavy sigh. “I’ll play nice. But I want the boots up front.”

“That’s not how this works, sweetheart.”

“It’s that, or I show up to the meeting barefoot,” she threatens sweetly. “Your choice, Prince.”

“Very well.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “Stop by my room before the meeting. What’s your guess today?”

“Was Charlie actually coming onto Aurelius that first night at dinner?” Breyla asks.

“Is that your final answer?” Ayden asks, keeping his tone even.

“Yes,” she confirms, her voice not convincing.

“Yes, my cousin Charlotte really is that bold. That was her touching and flirting with him that night. No pants for you today,” Ayden says with a wicked gleam in his eyes. He enjoys this game they play entirely too much.

I chuckle when Breyla mumbles under her breath something about Charlotte being a heifer.

Maybe someday I’ll mention that she resembles a salmon more than a cow. She was a distraction to pass the time in Prudia for me, but she lay in bed like a dying fish. Where Breyla was fire and passion, Charlie was cold detachment. I honestly don’t miss her at all.