How to Make a Sinner Sleep - Chapter 85: Chapter 85

Niklas sunk back into the seat with his full weight, cerulean gaze watching the stage closely. The audience remained silent; not even a mere breath heard.
The Crown Prince had taken to the stage as the male lead of the story—an ambitious young man who was determined to sacrifice everything for his goals. There were some thrilled to witness their charming and kind prince act in a more humane and emotional way, rather than the golden child of the kingdom.
Reed Chauvet, a man who one could only wish to be.
Opposingly, Niklas watched the wariness clouding Nicola's soft eyes; a caution that gradually faded as she immersed herself in the act, playing the lover as if she'd been one before.
The spotlight shone onto the centre of the stage where only they remained.
Reed leaned against a tree built of wood and paint, and Nicola's head rested on his lap. His fingers ran across the silky strands, mindlessly weaving a small braid with the utmost care. The man touched her carefully, as if frightened to hold her closer.
The scene depicted a beautiful couple in the peak of their romance. Nobody could look away from them; at the woman's gentle smile trapped in a tender conversation; at the man's softened gaze that fixated on his beloved in his arms.
The narrator spoke in a booming voice.
"Two souls, both similar and dissimilar, found a comfort in the familiarity of each other's presence. These lovers, written in the stars as a destined pair—because if not fated, fate would not exist."
Then, the scene spiralled into chaos.
Into a madness of blood, and violence beyond means. Crimson painted the stage, running in little streams of murky red. The lights flashed to highlight the chaos that took it's place on the stage.
Everything fell into darkness, and a spotlight shone in the centre. Reed stood, his limp arm held tightly around the carved handle of his sword, motionless. Numbly, he stared at the ground. Upon the clatter of a familiar set of steps, he lifted his gaze.
Nicola stumbled towards him, stricken. "...this is your determination? Is your ambition really worth betraying your life's faith? In disregarding everything that you are and could have been?"
"This ambition is my life. What I become is what I'm meant to become." stated the man coldly although his voice broke through the choke of words that couldn't be said. "Everything I've done is necessary to achieve my desires."
"This? This madness?"
"Yes."
Her face fell and her eyelashes fluttered closed, brushing against the sharp lines of her cheekbones. When she opened them, the emotion had escaped into the frames of her gaze. Her eyes spoke of a million thoughts, but her expression remained still.
"Then, darling," she smiled painfully. "Have you lied to be all this time?"
Reed's eyes widened, his expression almost collapsing as hesitation flickered wildly over his face for the briefest of moments. But he was a man with ambition, and it was an ambition that silenced all hesitation.
His voice dropped into a hoarse whisper and he turned his head away. "To you, love, I've never lied once."
"You haven't lied?" The air in the theatre chilled, a frost creeping over her thin words. "You've never lied?"
Her shoes stormed against the stage as her arm snapped out, drabbing the man by his collar. Fury burned in her glaring cherry eyes, like flowers set ablaze. Anger pulsed at his curled fingers.
"All the sacrifices you've made; all these lives destroyed. Don't tell me you haven't pretended to play the golden boy, claiming fame and adoration of the Kingdom while lying to us behind your back! Congratulations, you've become a hero. You're everything you've hoped to be—now, nobody can stop you."
She laughed, the softness of her voice frightening. "For all you've done, I hope you're proud, darling. And I hope, one day, when the consequences of your sins catch you and you burn, that I'll be there to witness it!"
"For I loved a man with your name once—but you? I don't know you."
Reed's gaze twisted and he leaned closer, hands closing over hers that still clutched to his shirt. He held them firmly, swallowing.
"I've never lied." he repeated again harshly, insistently. Blood squelched under his feet. "I never told you what I'd done, why I did it, but I never lied. Had you asked, I would've torn out my mind and given it to you to read."
Nicola's hand trembled violently and she tore it out of his grasp, the lingerings of warmth still on her skin. Similarly, the prince looked down, at the absence of warmth in his palms; it was a cold he'd grown used to.
This was the consequence of his living; the punishment for his choices.
Reed Chauvet knew it well. And he never expected something more, even when life had alluded at the possibility.
The play continued, a scene where the woman confronted the man for murdering a person deeply important to her, an estranged younger brother who had gone missing many years ago. He hadn't known; she only just realized.
At the corpse at her feet, she fell to her knees and sobbed.
Horror wrote itself over Reed's expression, terror and realization.
"...he's the one you've been looking for? The one you spoke about to me, in the gardens? A person you couldn't forget, even if the world insisted upon it."
Nicola studied his face, her character sorrowful and torn. Finally, she said, "I never hated you/ I couldn't hate you. As for his death, I'm certain you didn't know his identity. But regardless, he was a life—a life you killed regardless of identity."
"Therefore, even if you didn't know," Nicola's voice shook as she raised her head steadily, meeting his wavering stare. "I'll blame you. And I'll forgive you. I forgive you, so never reveal yourself before me again. Become nothing to me once more."
More than hatred and despise, the greatest punishment was to be forgotten.
"Is that your demand?"
"It is my wish. My last, from you."
"...if I could turn back time—"
"You would do everything again." finished Nicola softly, a flicker of abandoned affection in her caring gaze. "Because you are a person who does what he believes best suits him."
He fell silent; her truths were ones he could not deny. "If... if I had changed back then—"
"Change in yourself does not forget other's wounds. If you..." She swallowed, a shake briefly interrupting her speech. "If you turned back time and changed, it wouldn't matter. I couldn't forget the past that I'd known."
"So you'd blame me for what I didn't do?"
"I'll blame you for what you did, and what you will do. Because we are simply incompatible, your burning ambitions and my own. You, beloved, will never learn peace."
"I'm not wrong, understand that! I... what I'm doing, is not only for my sake."
Nicola stared at him deeply, fixated on the image of her lover, firmly into her character's role. "Then walk on your path and I'll walk on mine."
The man said nothing, closing his eyes as if locking her memory into his vision. Then, he turned and walked off the stage without a word. Neither party were willing to compromise, to sacrifice their pride and ideals for their lover.
Simply incompatible. And yet, drawn together as the moon was to the stars.
The play continued, ushering into more depth and despair, the wailing of loss and inability. The display of emotions—grief and anguish, happiness and relief—were so vividly expressed, drawing several to muffled sobs.
The star-crossed lovers never met again, though Nicola would be greeted daily with the wake of Reed's destruction.
In the end, Reed was betrayed by his closest ally, slumped against an empty field, the blooming flowers trampled by corpses and horse hooves. He died a quiet life for the loud life he lived, the pool of red soaking into the ground.
From the trees, a woman emerged, dressed in unblemished white. The bottom of her dress dragged against the ground, gathering dust and blood as it stained the fabric.
The red continued creeping higher as more liquid soaked into it.
She stopped at the still body, their last breath long breathed. There was a bouquet of flowers in her hands, fresh and blooming unlike everything around them.
The woman shed no tears as she lifted her head, basked in the brilliant light that one could only witness by raising their chin. She seemed at a loss for a moment, fascinated by the light as a glaze sheened over her beautiful cherry eyes.
She bent down elegantly, carefully grabbing the heavy, blood-stained sword that laid by the dead man's side.
The audience held their breath as she raised the blade to the light quietly, an endless gentleness filling her eyes. They were all scared, terrified that the tranquillity would be broken by a plunge of the blade through the soft fabrics of her dress.
Instead, she walked away.
She walked away and she didn't look back.
The curtains drew shut to signify the end of the play—an ending that was an ending, even if the audience weren't satisfied.
It took several minutes for everybody to collect their thoughts before a slow and increasing applause filled the expanse of the room. The curtain drew again, and the actors and actresses bowed.
After the gratitudes were given, and another round of applause echoed throughout the area, Nicola left to make her way to her friends.
"Nicola," A voice she knew all too well called behind her.
The woman stopped, and smiled politely. "Thank you for your performance, Reed."
The Crown Prince said nothing more, and she didn't wait around to listen either. He watched her disappearing back as a shadow crept around him, emerged from the audience.
Lux snickered at Reed's rejection. "Isn't she beautiful? A lady far too brilliant to be hidden in your shadows."
"She came from the slums," said Reed after a beat, still staring into the crowd. "I've always been aware of how beautiful she is. In more than just her appearance. I wouldn't have befriended her if I hadn't been aware."
"Friends, Your Highness? Not tools?"
"...regardless, she must've found the person she's looking for if I have become irredeemable."
Lux didn't understand, but Reed didn't care to explain as he left the theatre, faded into the expanse of people crowding to leave. It was always interesting, watching a man who naturally captured a crowd, fade into the background as if he were nothing.
He scoffed with a shake of his head, briefly gazing at the happy group of friends among the many people. He'd slipped out of the magical tool while their attentions had been distracted.
Typically, distraction wasn't easy around the oddly alert students, but their familiarity to Nicola had made them especially drawn to her realistic act. Though Lux curiously wondered how much of this place could be called acting?
Kaden noticed the absence of the man he had been unwillingly bound to shortly after—something he would likely scold Lux for at a later time for not releasing them earlier.
A smile tugged at the corner of Lux's mouth at that thought.
That little sinner was undoubtedly endearing.
'It really does remind me of...' Lux flattened his lips, tension lining his jaw. Then, he too left the theatre alone.
Meanwhile, among the flurry of students, Nicola smiled at her friends who crowded, full of praise. Holly had grabbed her hand, beaming. "Wonderful, Nicola! You always are! A show stopper, I was crying in the audience and I hardly understood why!"
"It was a good performance, Nicola." praised Kaden, bringing no mention of Reed. "Thank you for inviting me."
"It's my pleasure that you attended. All of you."
"I didn't realize you'd recruited royalty to play that role, Pres." said Niklas with a yawn, stretching his arms into the sky. "That wasn't your original plan, was it?"
"It wasn't." Briefly, their eyes met. "My chosen actress didn't show—I'll have to check on her shortly. Reed happened to make an appearance, and I was in no position to reject his offer."
"Ah, I see."
Nicola's smile was strained, and she quickly made to excuse herself. The evening had been long, as she'd been tirelessly practicing and setting up the play. Her hand curled tightly against the fabrics of her skirt.
Niklas offered to walk her back, despite being within the safe confines of the Academy's spiked walls. She agreed.
Holly had long ran off to discuss the play in depth with one of her classmates, an enthusiastic conversation taking place with a dramatic overuse of hand gestures.
Kaden turned to Noah. "Should we go back?"
At the same time, the dragon asked, "Do you want to go on a walk?"
Kaden liked going on walks to clear his mind, finding the senseless act of watching others at night to rejuvenate himself in inexplicable ways. Especially after being in a crowded hall, the open air allowed the man to sleep better.
The sinner had intended to agree, feeling a bit stuffy in the grand theatre, hot bodies colliding with each other as they left.
But then, he recalled something.
He glanced at the light jacket Noah had on, and then at the open doors that allowed gusts of chilly wind to smother them in cold. He recalled something in the way Noah became a handful when sleeping, wrapping around Kaden as if an attempt to absorb his warmth.
Their dorm window, almost indefinitely closed until summer returned. And then, from the information Kaden was beginning to learn from books, his personal studies about a certain species.
"No, let's go back."
Noah was a little surprised at the rejection. "I thought you liked walks."
"I do," nodded Kaden. "But it's colder than usual tonight."
"You don't mind it."
"I don't."
Noah's hand closed and opened, eyes widening slightly. A flutter ghosted across his chest, and he swallowed down a choked breath.
Kaden scanned the expression helplessly. The dragon, always the giver, never the receiver. In the beginning, there was a distance Kaden had drawn between them, a line of division even as they drew closer.
A part of him, even if he denied it, still would prefer the option of escaping and allowing Noah to live a glorious life without the burdens Kaden brought.
But Noah chose him. And for that, Kaden wanted to try a little harder.
To love and to be loved.
In the night, few could see the details of others movements unless they paid attention. A dragon opened his palm, inked hands ungloved with scales that shimmered faintly at the glimpses of moonlight that struggled to peek through the clouds.
"I do." muttered Noah quietly. "Then, let's go back to our room, Chauvet."
Kaden stared at that waiting palm. The beautiful scales marred into skin, pieces of the dragon that Noah liked to hide. The wisping ink that tainted his skin in permanence, spilling over the sheen of scales that gleamed like starlight against the backdrop of black.
Open, exposed, waiting. Kaden took a breath, the cold permeating his lungs and filling his body with a newfound courage.
Slowly, uncertainly, he flipped a finger underneath his glove. It froze there, hesitant, before he carefully pulled it off and tucked it safely in his pocket.
Noah's hand stiffened, but remained still in the air.
He lowered his dark gaze and then lifted it, searching for confirmation.
For a long time, the touch of another person had been cruel and rare. A beating he received by a whip's slender rope or the back paddle of a wooden spoon. A push that sent him colliding with the wall, a scuffle for survival, for meager scraps of food.
Touch was a violence that he feared.
But the moment he placed his hands over Noah's, the inked fingers securely curled around him, as if cradling the most beautiful jewel.
They were security; they were warmth. The fear and anxiety stuck in Kaden's chest chased away as Noah held his hand tightly and pulled him through the crowd.