Page 16
Story: The King's Man 1
“Why do you keep frowning? Why are you sharing this meal with me? Why were you so upset before?”
Calix looks away. “I was upset before I met you tonight.” His jaw quivers. “My marriage has been arranged.”
I stare and shift awkwardly on my seat, suddenly finding the last morsel of puff immensely interesting. “Arranged?”
“But I can’t. I really can’t.”
“Is she not nice enough? Pretty enough?”
“She’s plenty nice and plenty pretty. That’s not it, Caelus.”
Calix searches my face, imploring. “Being with someone should be intimate, passionate. Should be felt deep inside.” He shakes his head. “I can’t be that with her.Do you understand? Ican’t.”
I breathe in sharply, something inside sinking. My gaze takes a slow stroll down Calix to where he disappears under the table. I gulp and slowly look up at him again.
I eye the shared food between us... Was this supposed to be payment for... help? I hesitate, then pick up the last morsel of pastry puff and pop it into my mouth, swallowing over a tight lump. “I understand.”
Calix lets out a shaky breath, briefly closing his eyes, and I find myself leaning over the table with a lingering downward glance as I whisper, “I can get that happy for you.”
There’s a pause. A momentary thickening of the air between us. And then Calix hurtles to his feet. He’s staring hard at me and then he’s dropping money on the table—
But before I can even ask what’s wrong, he turns and walks out.
Again.
Gone.
I stare after him, floored.
“Fickle!” I yell.
The innkeeper glances over, raising a brow.
I take another bite of pecan puff.
“And I want the rest boxed up,” I add.
Back at home, I sneak past a pair of aklos scrubbing the floor and an akla ironing Father’s robes like she’s waging war on every wrinkle. I tiptoe down the corridor, clutching my pastry box like a treasure.
My room welcomes me with its familiar herbal scent. I don’t bother lighting the lanterns. I just flop onto my bed, puff box cradled in my lap.
I tear it open.
He’s just one silly young man.
That’s all.
One masked, frustrating, annoyingly mysterious young man who doesn’t know how to say goodbye properly. Or how to stay. Or how to...
I sigh.
He’ll come and he’ll go. Probably he’s already gone. Vanished from my life like the last bite of this puff.
So forget him.
He doesn’t get to take up space in my mind like this. Lingering like the scent of magic after a spell.
Lingering thoughts should be reserved for people who matter.
Calix looks away. “I was upset before I met you tonight.” His jaw quivers. “My marriage has been arranged.”
I stare and shift awkwardly on my seat, suddenly finding the last morsel of puff immensely interesting. “Arranged?”
“But I can’t. I really can’t.”
“Is she not nice enough? Pretty enough?”
“She’s plenty nice and plenty pretty. That’s not it, Caelus.”
Calix searches my face, imploring. “Being with someone should be intimate, passionate. Should be felt deep inside.” He shakes his head. “I can’t be that with her.Do you understand? Ican’t.”
I breathe in sharply, something inside sinking. My gaze takes a slow stroll down Calix to where he disappears under the table. I gulp and slowly look up at him again.
I eye the shared food between us... Was this supposed to be payment for... help? I hesitate, then pick up the last morsel of pastry puff and pop it into my mouth, swallowing over a tight lump. “I understand.”
Calix lets out a shaky breath, briefly closing his eyes, and I find myself leaning over the table with a lingering downward glance as I whisper, “I can get that happy for you.”
There’s a pause. A momentary thickening of the air between us. And then Calix hurtles to his feet. He’s staring hard at me and then he’s dropping money on the table—
But before I can even ask what’s wrong, he turns and walks out.
Again.
Gone.
I stare after him, floored.
“Fickle!” I yell.
The innkeeper glances over, raising a brow.
I take another bite of pecan puff.
“And I want the rest boxed up,” I add.
Back at home, I sneak past a pair of aklos scrubbing the floor and an akla ironing Father’s robes like she’s waging war on every wrinkle. I tiptoe down the corridor, clutching my pastry box like a treasure.
My room welcomes me with its familiar herbal scent. I don’t bother lighting the lanterns. I just flop onto my bed, puff box cradled in my lap.
I tear it open.
He’s just one silly young man.
That’s all.
One masked, frustrating, annoyingly mysterious young man who doesn’t know how to say goodbye properly. Or how to stay. Or how to...
I sigh.
He’ll come and he’ll go. Probably he’s already gone. Vanished from my life like the last bite of this puff.
So forget him.
He doesn’t get to take up space in my mind like this. Lingering like the scent of magic after a spell.
Lingering thoughts should be reserved for people who matter.
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