Morning Archery, Part 2
1244 Words
Ren’s POV
I don’t know why he’s acting so shocked by my behavior. If he’d ever paid attention before, he’d have known that I’m no proper lady. My parents may have both learned the expected etiquettes and courtesies of the throne over the past two decades, but not me. I spent more time with Aunt Corrin and Uncle Westley in the fighting pits and the shooting ranges than I did with my parents at soirees and functions, and that was by choice. I’d rather be a huntress like Corrin than a queen like mother, any day of the week.
Not to mention, being queen isn’t an option for me.
At least, not being queen of the kingdom I care about.
I look around, heaving a sigh, as I nock my arrow to my bow again. I really hate it here. I hate the reminder that, in a way, this is half mine—half me. I would give anything to be full wolf like my brother Will—to be fully Mom’s and Dad’s. To be fully Meridian’s.
To not be the result of a rape.
But we are what we are, I guess.
“Why didn’t Archer come with you this morning?” Nick asks as I aim the arrow. “Or Margery, or… anyone?”
I release the arrow—another bullseye. I’m finding the shooting rather boring at this point, and the conversation much less so. But I fully intend to keep up appearances. “Because I told them not to.”
His eyes linger on the bullseye. “Why?”
I hesitate before answering. I don’t owe him the truth—I don’t owe him anything—but for whatever reason, I still feel compelled to give it to him. I guess I’m just enjoying surprising him for a change. And as much as I hate to admit it, I like the attention I’m getting from him—the way I’m keeping him on his toes for the first time ever.
I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t keeping me on my toes, too.
“I don’t like it here, Nick. I never have. I didn’t ask to come here, and if someone told me I didn’t have to anymore, I wouldn’t. But I’m not scared here.”
He waits, breath held. His shock-blue eyes are rooted to mine, so bright that they almost hurt to look at. “Why aren’t you?” he asks softly. “After what happened to your mother?”
Why aren’t I? It’s a question I’ve often considered. As much as I’ve hated vampires all my life, I’ve never really feared any of them.
“I guess it’s because of how I’ve been treated since coming here,” I finally admit. “Besides you and your little girlfriend, everyone treats me like royalty—not like wolf royalty, but like vampire royalty.” Even saying it makes me feel sick. “If I could erase the part of me that’s connected to Ramsay Eaton, I would. But here, to them… it’s what keeps me safe.”
He’s quiet for a long time after I say that, but his gaze never leaves mine. His mind seems to be working a mile a minute.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says.
I blink, surprised. Is it possible that I’m about to get an apology I feel I’ve been owed for years? “For what?”
He considers this. “For… all of it, I guess. For who your father was. For the constant reminders of it whenever you come here. For the fact that the entire reason my mother and Vance want us to be together is because of the very man you wish you weren’t related to.”
Not exactly the apology I was hoping for.
“Right,” I say, nodding. “That’s what your sorry for.”
And I turn my back on him and walk away.
- - - - -
Over the next few days, it becomes increasingly harder to think of anyone or anything except Nick f*****g Emerson.
“You seem off,” Margery observes one evening after dinner as she, Archer, and I lounge in my room, watching an old movie. “You okay, Ren?”
I am off—particularly because I was seated directly across from Nick at dinner tonight, and he didn’t take his eyes off me once. But I’m not going to say that in front of Archer, even if I was bold enough to admit it to Margery. “I’m fine.”
Archer, who isn’t exactly one to pick up on subtleties, eyes me with interest. “Thinking about your birthday? It’s only a few weeks away now.”
Of course, he would assume that. I don’t think he can think of anything else at this point other than my turning eighteen.
To be fair, if it’s true that his wolf won’t shut up about me, I guess I sort of get it.
“No,” I say shortly. “Hey, Arch, could you… give us a minute? I need to talk to Marge about something… girly.”
I cringe as much as he does at my use of the word, but he nods. “Of course. Get some rest, beautiful. You, too, Marge.”
She sticks her tongue out at him as he takes his leave of us.
“Marge,” I say, heaving a sigh. “You’re not eighteen yet.”
Her gray eyes twinkle with amusement. “Not since last I checked.”
“Have you ever… started feeling the way everyone keeps saying we’re going to feel when we’re eighteen? About anyone?”
In a way, I know the answer. Margery has had her share of fun with the boys--much more so than me. But the question I'm asking... it's more than that.
She laughs. “You mean lust? Of course, I have. It’s only natural.”
Is that what I mean? It certainly isn’t love that I’ve recently started feeling toward Nick. Then again, I’ve always found him attractive, and I know this is more than that.
I could tell her the truth—I know I could. I love and trust her with all my heart, and I know she wouldn’t judge me, even knowing the monster I’ve started to develop something in the realm of feelings for.
But I don’t tell her the truth, because that would mean admitting out loud that there’s a part of me that’s attracted to vampires—a part of me that’s vampire.
I’m not ready to do that yet, and I’m not sure I ever will be.
- Writer
