Page 10
SILIA
“H appy birthday, young man!”
I startle awake to the sound of someone yelling, and I’m instantly on alert. I check my surroundings to find myself in a small living room, slumped in a chair. The room is dark, with a crackling fireplace and a young man crouching in front of it, poking at the logs with a long iron rod. Where the Hel am I?
A tall, aged man stands in the doorway to the room, and I shoot to my feet.
“I’m so sorry!” I approach the man, apologizing profusely for being in his house. “I don’t know how I got in here. I’ll leave immediately!”
The man stares right through me, and if he hears my apology, he shows no sign of it. Instead, he walks directly through me and strides to the younger-looking man stoking the fire.
Am I invisible?
“Hello?” I ask in their direction, a little louder.
No response.
“Hello!” I scream at the top of my lungs. Surely, they can hear me now.
Nothing.
I rush over to the men, who are now facing away from me, looking towards the fire. I try to tap the older man on the shoulder, but my hand goes straight through him. I pull my hand back and cradle it to my chest in shock.
“What the fuck?” I say out loud.
I back up a few feet and end up on the other side of the room, going straight through the couch that faces the fireplace. Oh, Gods, I’ve died and become a ghost, and now I’m haunting this poor family.
I watch the men as they carry on a conversation about the younger man’s birthday. The older man mentions something about dropping his birthday cake, and I let out a giggle. The older-looking man stays standing as the younger one continues stoking the fire. They both have remarkably bright silver hair. The older man is using a cane to balance himself. The cane is made of redwood with a glossy coat and has intricate vines carved into the shaft, intertwining with each other up to the handle. The handle is beautiful and made of white marble, sculpted perfectly to fit the man’s grip. The design looks vaguely familiar, and I try to wrack my brain as to where I’ve seen it before.
Before I can come up with an answer, the older man’s voice interrupts my train of thought.
“Your brothers are very curious to see which God has found you worthy of their blessing. The journey laid out for you by the Fates begins tonight, and I have no doubt you’ll come to impress everyone and leave your mark on this planet. Your mother and I are immensely proud of you.”
The older man—the father—clamps a hand down on his son’s shoulder, and I watch as the son tilts his head over to rest it on the back of his father’s hand, leaning into his touch. He doesn’t say anything in response, but I think the gesture was enough response for his father.
My interest piques when I realize it’s the son’s twenty-fifth birthday, and he will receive his gift tonight. I’m mere feet away from them when the son rises to his feet and turns to look behind him, right at me.
Gods, I know this man.
He’s not looking at me, but through me. My body stiffens, and my brand begins to pulse, filling my body with warmth. I wrap my arms around myself in a hug to keep the warmth for as long as I can. He furrows his brows, and I step closer to him, he does not turn back to the fire, but instead, continues to stare through me.
I almost didn’t recognize him because he has silver hair, and it’s cropped short on the sides while slightly longer on the top. He has no frown lines, no scars, and no grim disposition.
I reach up to touch his face, needing to reassure myself he’s actually standing right in front of me. I cannot believe I am getting a look at this man before any tragedy has touched his life. My hands only slice through the air as I try to grasp any physical contact with his beautiful face. His eyes are a deep shade of brown, specks of gold sparkling in the firelight. My stomach drops at the realization of what’s about to happen next.
This man is Lars, on the night of his twenty-fifth birthday.
I jump awake to find myself in Lars’s bed, alone. The sheets are cold without the heat of his body warming them, and I find myself missing his skin on mine. I roll over to my back and look up at the familiar constellation-covered ceiling. Something is different. Previously, when I studied the mural, nothing was moving. Now, every star is flickering with light, and I can see small galaxies pulsing and swirling. I rub my eyes to make sure I’m not imagining things, but when I open them, the entire ceiling is still full of life. Two constellations in particular are glowing brighter than the others—the ones belonging to the Goddess Hecate and the God Zothos. I try to recall any information about Zothos, but my mind draws a blank. A faint memory of a journal flashes in my mind, but disappears as quickly as it arrives.
Strange , I think to myself, I don’t keep a journal .
As a royal, I grew up learning all about the stars and their meaning, including the constellations and who they symbolize. There are about one hundred Gods and Goddesses that bless our realm, each one holding equal power.
As I stare longer at these two constellations, they seem to sparkle brighter, like they’re sending me a wink. I narrow my eyes at them and direct my focus to the Hecate constellation. The hairs on the back of my neck stand, and a shiver runs down my spine. Like calling to like, I guess.
I drag my hands down my face and sit up, getting out of bed. Once my feet meet the plush fabric of the rug, I go to the bathroom door and knock; I don’t want a repeat of what happened last time. When no one answers, I slowly creak the door open, but I find it empty. With a sigh of relief, I walk in and twist on the twin gas lamps that rest on either side of the mirror on the wall.
I look awful.
My hair is standing up in at least five different directions, and the bags under my eyes have become increasingly darker over the past few days. I turn on the sink and splash cold water on my face, trying to fix the tired look before I manage my hair. I turn the sink off and dry my face with the hand towel hanging next to the mirror. I guess I’ve looked worse, but I can’t remember a time I did, though.
“Bath, I need a bath.”
I groan in pleasure as I look over at Lars’s tub and notice he has a shower addition as well. I turn the knob to the shower, and water begins to fall from a showerhead attached to the ceiling. It creates a flow like a waterfall, and I find myself envious.
Why doesn’t my bath have a cool attachment? Lars must be a fancy man who enjoys fancy things. The shower has a ledge carved out from the wall and stretching from floor to ceiling, covered in white marble. Okay, he is a fancy man. This bathroom was not like this a year ago. I strip off my clothes, which consist of just Lars’s tunic and my undergarment, and I open the glass door. As I step into the shower, I see a black clump of fabric balled up in the corner of the shower bench. I furrow my brows and reach for it, since I don’t want to get his clothes wet. When I pick it up, it unfurls, and my jaw drops to the floor.
Dangling in my hands is my own ripped undergarment.
I cover my mouth to stop myself from dying of laughter. Oh, my Gods, Lars keeps my underwear in his shower? That explained the noises I’d heard from his bathroom yesterday.
I don’t want him to know I saw them, so I carefully ball them back up and place them in their corner. He must be taking a break from stuffing them in his pockets to hide them in his shower instead. Interesting.
I grab the body wash and am instantly engulfed by his signature sandalwood smell. My body begins to heat at its scent, and I smile to myself. If I can smell like Lars all the time now, I no longer need to hoard his shirt in my room like a touch-starved teenager.
I move to the shampoo, and the second half of his scent fills the bathroom, jasmine. I wash my body and hair, then wrap myself in the first towel I can find. It’s still slightly damp, so Lars must have showered before he left. How did I not hear him?
I open the bathroom door, and the sweet smells that had invaded my senses dissipate as I step into the cold bedroom. The fireplace is still crackling, inviting a new scent of wood and coal into the space. There must be magic fueling this fire, because I didn’t hear Lars add logs during the night.
The memory of a twenty-five-year-old Lars stoking a fire replays in my mind. Was this dream true? If it was a dream of my own imagination, I am not sure if I can trust it. I wonder if our bonding moment last night has allowed me to peek into his subconscious.
He’d also spoken into my mind last night, so I guess anything is possible. Lars told me we are Fated, but I’m not exactly sure what that even means. All I know is that it just feels… right .
As I stand in the middle of the room, a shiver runs down my spine, and I realize I don't have any clothes to change into. I let out a sigh and shuffle towards the bedroom door. I need to make this walk back to my room as quickly as possible.
Please don't let Rein be out there .
I slowly crack the door open and survey the hallway. It looks as empty as it'll ever be, and I don't spot Rein lurking about anywhere. I take this opportunity to dart out of Lars’s bedroom and stride to mine, quickly turn the knob, and snake through the door.
Mission accomplished.
After changing and eating breakfast, it’s around midday before I make it outside for training. Exiting the palace doors to the training grounds, I see only Rein standing outside. He’s practicing his sword-fighting with a dummy made from hay and a burlap sack with an angry expression drawn on its face.
I stand back by the doors so I don’t alarm him or interrupt his concentration. Summer ends this week, so the fall weather is finally rolling in. The air is cool but still damp, and the sky is free of clouds, allowing the sun to beat down on me and provide some warmth against the chill. Instead of the long-sleeve training top I usually wear, I’d opted for a skintight, sleeveless white shirt that tucks perfectly into my black leather trousers.
I continue to watch Rein as he perfectly executes the maneuvers he’s taught me over the past year. The way his muscles flex and his body flows with each step is mesmerizing, like his body is dancing to a song only he can hear. It’s quite obvious to anyone who watches Rein fight that he has been blessed by Qhaena.
As Rein begins to cool down, I start my walk over to him. I feel a tingling sensation on the back of my neck, and my skin prickles. I’m frozen in place for what feels like a lifetime before I gain control of my movements and turn around to open the palace door. My hands work much quicker than my mind as I swing the doors open to find Lars fast approaching.
“Glad to see I’m not the only one late today.” I send the snide remark his way as I hold the door open for him. He quickly passes in front of me, through the door, and out into the courtyard.
“I had a few things to take care of. I’m sure Rein will understand,” Lars nonchalantly comments and shoots me a wink.
I roll my eyes and let go of the door I’ve been holding open, then trail behind Lars to the ring.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10 (Reading here)
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39