Chapter 198
Chapter 198
Blue stormed up the stairs, the anger in his chest a welcome distraction from the traitorous thrumming beneath his skin. The blatant, collective effort to force him into Maren's proximity was insulting, yet beneath the fury, the small, buried part of his soul that had sparked back to life with Maren's touch was buzzing with a nervous, dangerous anticipation.
He reached their old room—now his room, apparently, and soon to be their room again. He slammed the door shut, ignoring the fact that he was supposed to leave it open for his unwanted roommate.
He threw his small backpack onto the bed and began pacing the luxurious carpet, running a hand through his hair.
"Roommate," he scoffed to the empty air. "A broken-up gay couple? A sudden shortage of rooms? They think I'm an idiot."
He knew exactly what this was. Maren had seen the spark; Maren had seen the realisation in his eyes. And Maren, selfish and possessive to the core, was using their family's blind loyalty to trap him.
He felt the prickle of heat on his skin, the subtle shift in air pressure that announced Maren's arrival outside the door. Blue quickly snatched a pillow from the bed, his mind racing. He had to set the boundaries immediately and brutally.
The door creaked open, and Maren stepped inside. He had retrieved a simple pair of black sweatpants and a thin grey t-shirt, looking far more like the heartbroken, exhausted Prince Maren than the ridiculous figure in the printed shirt.
He closed the door silently and stood for a moment, his eyes scanning the room, his gaze finally settling on Blue. His expression was a mixture of humility and painful longing.
Blue didn't wait for him to speak.
"The bed is mine," Blue stated, his voice flat, pointing to the sprawling king-sized bed. "You take the floor."
Maren nodded immediately, his eyes never leaving Blue's. "Understood."
"And you don't speak to me unless I speak to you first," Blue continued, clutching the pillow to his chest like a weapon. "You don't breathe heavily, you don't look at me, and you definitely don't try to use your manipulative Prince charm to 'fix' what you broke."
"I have no intention of charming you, Blue," Maren replied quietly, his voice raspy. "I only intend to survive the long, painful path to your forgiveness. And I'll sleep in the bathroom if that's what you command."
He walked over to the corner of the room, near the large glass windows overlooking the ocean, and slowly lowered himself to the floor, leaning his back against the cool glass.
Blue stared at him, momentarily stunned by the immediate compliance. The anger wavered, replaced by a deep, confusing curiosity. Maren was genuinely chastened.
"And another thing," Blue added, walking over and tossing the pillow at Maren. "Use this. I don't need you whimpering all night and disturbing my sleep. We may be sharing a prison cell, but I'm getting my eight hours."
Maren caught the pillow. He looked up at Blue, and for a fleeting moment, his eyes were eclipsed by a flash of genuine gratitude.
"Thank you, Blue," Maren murmured, resting his head on the pillow.
Blue turned away, ignoring Maren.
He changed into his pyjamas, his movements stiff and deliberate, conscious of Maren's quiet presence in the corner. He avoided looking directly at him, focusing instead on setting up his temporary sanctuary.
He climbed into the massive bed, pulling the duvet up to his chin. The bed was far too large, emphasising the crushing solitude. The air was charged, humming with the repressed energy of the mate-bond, subdued but not silenced.
Blue tried to sleep, closing his eyes, focusing on the rhythmic crash of the waves outside. But the memory of the electric spark on his wrist, the undeniable zap of connection, kept replaying in his mind.
He knew he was denying the truth. The bond was alive. It was a terrifying, wonderful, and deeply humiliating realisation. It meant that his heartbreak had been unnecessary, his suffering self-imposed, if only he hadn't believed the ritual. But it also meant that Maren, the selfish Prince, was now inextricably linked to him again.
He shifted restlessly. Maren was absolutely silent. Too silent.
Blue finally opened his eyes and glanced across the room. Maren was leaning against the glass, his eyes closed, his breathing slow and even. He looked utterly desolate, his face pale and drawn.
'He's exhausted. He was swimming all night and holding Nixxon when he was in labour,'
Blue watched him, feeling the sharp pang of the residual mate-bond stir—not pain, but concern. He quickly crushed the feeling.
"Stop it, body," he commanded silently. "He is dead to me."
About an hour later, Maren stirred. He pushed himself up, his eyes snapping open. He walked over to the adjacent bathroom, closing the door softly.
Blue heard the sound of water running, followed by the deep, shuddering sound of Maren vomiting. It was a harsh, agonising sound that lasted too long.
Blue sat bolt upright in bed, his heart hammering against his ribs. The residual bond, that undeniable piece of his soul, flared with intense worry, overriding his deliberate emotional numbness.
'He's sick. Bianca said he hasn't eaten properly in three months. The stress of the ritual and the baby's birth...'
Maren finally emerged from the bathroom, leaning heavily against the doorframe. He looked green beneath his tan, his strength momentarily gone. He moved back to his corner, stumbling slightly.
Blue wanted to move. He wanted to help him, to demand that he eat, to remind him that he needed to protect himself. But he held himself back, remembering the cost of compassion.
"You're not allowed to die in here," Blue whispered, his voice dangerously soft, breaking the silence. "It would ruin the carpet."
Maren looked up, his eyes wide and lost in the darkness. He knew the concern behind the sarcasm.
"I won't," Maren promised, his voice weak. He settled back down, closing his eyes.
Blue turned away, pulling the covers tighter. He stared at the ceiling, the anger and the excitement from before replaced by a gnawing, dreadful realisation: The long, quiet night would be a constant battle between his injured heart and his undeniable, surviving soul.