Dreamwalker's Bride - Chapter 403

Chapter 403: Bickering
Trace was at his wit’s end. Denholm was as insufferable–perhaps even moreso–than he’d been so long ago. And yet, he was the only other person around, so there was a strange and growing kinship between them.

Like brothers who despised each other, but needed one another to survive.

“Stop,” The wight swayed gently as it spoke to them, pointing to the emperor. “Dream.”

“Yes, I’m controlling his dreams, like I’ve been doing day and night for ages,” Trace assured the being.

This whole situation was utterly absurd. He still couldn’t entirely convince himself that it wasn’t one horrible nightmare.

He remembered a time, after the magical tree in the cave had been destroyed, when he couldn’t control his dreams.

For almost a year, he had been completely at the mercy of his subconscious while he slept. No matter what outrageous thing happened while he slept, he’d just had to accept it as real and carry on.

Infuriating. Absolutely maddening.

It had driven him wild, to Anaisa’s great amusement. Whenever he’d woken in the night to complain about a particularly ridiculous occurrence, she’d leaned up on one elbow next to him in the bed, listened patiently with a light smirk on her beautiful lips, and then replied softly.

“Poor Trace, learning how it feels to be like the rest of us.”

He would punish her with a playful growl that resulted in… well, in Daniel. Thankfully, by the time their first son was born, his powers had begun to come back, presumably as the tree had healed itself and regrown.

Things had gone normally since then, until his niece ran away with that good-for-nothing apprentice to Martin.

Martin, who wasn’t dead, and had somehow made his way to this cursed cavern inhabited by wights and thousands of magical trees.

The day Trace had glimpsed him from afar, the rock-mover had been immediately caught and driven out.

The wights had not-so-subtly accused Trace of inviting the man, despite having had him imprisoned from the moment they took him from the cave where he’d found his niece.

He had no idea what had happened to her. Or his brother, his father, or the rest of his family.

His beloved wife.

Anaisa, he missed more dearly than even his children, though to Trace they were nearly inseparable in his mind. His family, for whom he was responsible.

He longed to be home to protect them, but he’d seen firsthand how very wrong things could go if he didn’t work on the task the wights had set out for him.

“That’s right, Trace, keep up the good work. I’ll take my nap while you’ve got all this handled,” Denholm mocked, bringing Trace’s mind back to the present.

“Why, you–”

Trace’s words were cut off as an invisible force plowed into his chest, knocking him completely off his feet.

The breath was driven from his lungs, though the enormous bed was soft enough not to hurt when he landed on it.

Denholm gasped and looked around in alarm, obviously wondering if a similar fate awaited him.

Trace tried to scramble away, but something gripped him so tightly he was having trouble breathing.

“What–” He gasped when he was able to draw in enough air to speak, but then, suddenly, what had been invisible was no longer so.

Pressed against his chest was a head of blazing auburn hair. Around his middle were arms pale and beautiful as fresh cream.

Slowly, afraid this really was a dream after all, he lifted one hand to turn the face of the woman hugging him until he could look into eyes so deep and beautiful that his heart struggled to remember its function.

“Anaisa?” He whispered, still not believing his eyes. Tears filled hers and she launched herself towards his face, capturing his lips with hers.

Though initially too startled to react, the familiar pressure of her body against his soon elicited an instinctual response, and he began kissing her back… very passionately.

“How are you here?” He broke away to ask, “Are you really here?”

“She’s really here, and this is nauseating,” Denholm made a gagging sound. “I do hope you two don’t intend to give us a show.”

Rage bubbled up, joining the tempest of emotion flooding through Trace. He used one arm to push himself into a sitting position, pulling Anaisa with him.

“Will you shut your punchable face?” His wife snapped before he did. “I haven’t seen my husband in months and your vile presence offends me most profanely.”

“Pardon me for interrupting your perfervid reunion,” Denholm rolled his eyes. “It’s not as if you’re distracting the man responsible for keeping the world’s doom at bay.”

Trace blanched and glanced over at the sleeping Emperor. Larger than any of the other wights a hundredfold or more, he still looked mostly like them, save for the obsidian crown studded with red jewels that rested atop his head.

Looking into his dreams, Trace furrowed his brow and adjusted some of the darker elements, making sure they remained within the general realm of what reality could endure, then he stood and helped Anaisa to do the same.

His wife was looking up at him with worry. “Is that true? Is the world doomed?”

Trace clenched his jaw and looked over towards the wight. The pale being had tilted its head, examining Anaisa with unreadable intent. Would it try to throw her out and expel her like it had Martin?

“May we have some time to ourselves?” He asked pointedly. “Maybe you could imprison Denholm somewhere for him to take his desired nap?”

The wight looked at him for a moment longer, then shifted its unnerving eyes to his wife. Trace stepped between the two, making it clear that if anyone tried to harm her or take her from him, there would be consequences.

Though the wights had the ability to suppress his power, they wouldn’t dare. Not when he was holding back the Emperor’s dreams.

The wight turned its head towards the edge of the vast mattress, looking at Trace’s chair.

“None leave.” It said to the empty space, confusing Trace further.

“I’ll stay, at least until I’ve talked to my wife and you return,” Trace assured it. Knowing what he did, he couldn’t leave without some kind of resolution anyway.

The wight spoke again to the empty air before turning away with Denholm.

“None. None leave.”