Page 49 of The Pactbound Angel (The Soul Mirror Duet #1)

My teary eyes shut as I collapsed to my knees and into Raewyn’s enveloping arms. I leaned into her comfort. Though much smaller, she held me up without wavering as I clutched at her and wept.

“Ready?”

I smiled tiredly down at Raewyn and gave a single firm nod. “Ready. ”

We clinked our vials together, like wine glasses, and simultaneously threw them to the stone floor.

They shattered in a spray of tiny shards, the golden mist floating upwards. I watched as the mist curled around my legs then dissipated.

I waited.

And waited some more.

Nothing.

There was no change. I didn’t feel any different.

I didn’t know what to expect, but nothing wasn’t it.

My disappointment almost swallowed me.

Raewyn gasped, and my head snapped up. She had taken off her mask and was touching her face, where her scars were. Or, rather, had been. They were gone, leaving unblemished, peachy skin behind.

“Ah! I am back!” Raewyn crowed. “Let’s see them keep the high priestesshood from me now!”

I turned away so Raewyn wouldn’t see the unhappiness on my face.

The Great Hall, which had reverted back to a clean, warm room immediately after the hag’s death.

Another illusion, we surmised. The king and queen, or what we thought were the king and queen, had disappeared along with the dust and the crooked tables.

I was glad that wasn’t another issue we’d have to deal with.

The clanging of heavy armored footsteps running just outside the hall caught my attention.

A group of soldiers, led by a tall fey with a regal bearing, entered the large room.

His golden hair was pulled back from the sides of his face and reached past his shoulders.

He held a thinner blade in his right hand tightly, with no shield in the other.

His shaven square jaw was set firmly, as though preparing himself for what he would find.

He was tall and broad-shouldered but wore no armor.

Bright gray eyes searched the area before landing on us.

He looked like a younger version of the king from the painting.

He must be the prince .

The prince approached us slowly, carefully, his sword tip lowered so as to not appear hostile. Instead, he looked curious. “She is dead, then?” he asked me.

I inclined my head in respect to his station. “She is, Your Highness.”

A look of surprise crossed his features. “Have we met?”

“No, but a noble can recognize royalty easily enough.” I tried to manage a smile, but my mouth barely twitched.

He stared at me, as though transfixed, until one of his footmen cleared his throat. “Prince Jaylin? Orders?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. These individuals have done what not even my army could. They will be treated with all due respect and decorum,” he said in a commanding tone.

He faced me again as he stepped forward. “Your name, lady?”

“Lady Nathalia Swordhand, Your Highness. And this is my sis-”

He spoke softly, as though he were hypnotized, “Nathalia. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

My cheeks burned.

I rushed to a local bathhouse after slipping away from Prince Jaylin’s heaping praise and the royal guard’s scrutiny, desperate to get the day off of me with soap and scalding hot water.

As soon as my room’s door closed, I searched my pouch for parchment and a lead pencil.

I plopped down at the desk, pencil tip ready and hovering over the blank sheet.

But nothing came to me.

I began to jot down whatever came to mind. I tried to craft a simple poem to ease into the process, but it was so awful I burned the parchment to remove the evidence of its existence.

No songs and no stories were born, not even ideas for future ones .

I hissed in frustration and threw the pencil across the room, then dropped my head into my hands. The vial was broken. My curse is done. So, is this what writer’s block feels like? Writing used to be effortless, but I hadn’t tried since I was nine.

Fuck it.

Grabbing a wineskin and the two ceramic goblets from my pouch, I left and locked my room before crossing the hall to Ramiren’s door. “Ramiren? Are you there?” I knocked, then paused, pressing my fingertips to the wood of the door. “I’m sorry if I am intruding. I just-”

The doorknob clicked, and Ramiren quietly and slowly opened the door.

"I'm here, and you don't need to worry about that.

You're welcome here, and if there should ever be any reason I'd need privacy and not welcome a visit, you'd have ample warning.

" His ever-present smile faded, as his brows knit in concern. "Are you alright?"

He opened the door wider to let me in. As he closed it again, I replied, "I'm as alright as I can be. I don’t feel any different though. I thought I would. Something, anyway. But, there’s nothing. Seems now that I have my creativity back, I get to experience the privilege of writer’s block.”

Ramiren let out a breath. “That makes sense, actually.”

My head snapped to him. “It does?”

“It does. Georgina’s tools and the ability to use them, Raewyn’s beauty, my whistling.

All things that can be proven, shown, and do not rely on other factors, like inspiration.

Creativity is not something that just happens.

It comes and goes, like a visitor. And, right now, your creativity is simply away. ”

Creativity as a visitor. I like that.

“You may be right, but I already have friends I haven’t seen in years.

I don’t need another.” I would try again later, preferably with a pencil and paper at hand in case inspiration decided to knock on my door.

With a wan smile, I decided to change the subject.

“Are you alright? I didn’t just come here to whine. I was concerned, too. "

He stepped closer. "Things have been more dangerous than I am used to, but I think I'm handling that well. It helps that others do much of the actual violence, while I support and strike where and when I can."

I winced, recalling with startling clarity who did most of the violence in the previous fight.

"I'm not sure I even wish to speak of earlier. More just... I managed to find a small skin of Evrakan white in my pouch. Enough for two glasses. I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather share it with.

” I lifted the small wineskin in one hand and two ceramic goblets in the other.

"I won't turn down the wine. I'd prefer we remove expectations entirely and simply enjoy each other's company." He motioned to a desk off to the side that I could use.

After putting the two goblets on it, I unstoppered the wineskin and poured. I turned, handing a goblet to him and raising mine in a toast, "To friends first and enemies last, a beautiful future and glorious past."

He laughed and tapped my goblet with his own. "I'll toast to all that, and be more than a little impressed with the rhyme."

I grinned broadly at him. "Thanks. It just came to me."

Then, my grin faded from my face.

"I made it up. Just now." My eyes widened and stung as they flooded with tears. "My creativity. It's truly back!" I exclaimed then sloshed the wine as I swooped in to kiss him full on the mouth.

He made a noise in his throat in surprise, which broke the kiss almost as soon as I’d started it.

My fingertips covered my lips in embarrassment. "Sorry.”

He took a deep breath, in and out, and drank deep from his wine before replying, “It is… quite alright, Nathalia.” He smiled ruefully. “If a woman like you wants to celebrate by kissing me, I’ll not deny her.”

My smile returned. I felt warm. Not from arousal, but from contentment .

This is where I needed to be tonight. Not huddled over paper, but with him.

The day had been filled with the highest highs and the lowest lows. Though I’d bathed, the grit of my disappointment and violent actions remained. Something else was needed now.

My eyes went to his mouth.

Well, maybe a little from arousal.

I sipped from the goblet and put it down. “I realize I’ve never asked. Do you want a lesson?"

He put his goblet down as well. "It isn't appropriate for me to ask, even though I enjoy the time we spend together. I can offer, suggest even, but asking, except in extreme circumstances, doesn't feel quite right."

I looked him dead in the eye. "I wish to amend the pact, please."

With a schooled expression, he gave a nod, and the hovering scroll appeared again, though this time I noticed the lack of a bird’s cry or the smell of sulfur. "Of course. Please detail your requested amendment." The flames in the room flared violet, briefly.

"I, Nathalia, give permission, free and clear, for you, Ramiren, to ask for, request, or insinuate through body language that he would like to initiate a lesson, should he so wish."

"I concur. It is done.” His eyes flashed campfire light.

I felt no different, but I figured that was to be expected.

“Now that drama is behind us, I want you to be comfortable with what you just amended, so I will use it immediately.

I think we would both benefit from the practice, and I'll talk about one of the new elements for our next full lesson after. "

I reached over, hooking my hand around his neck and bringing his head down in another kiss as he snapped his fingers.

He continued to hold me, rubbing my back in lazy brushes.

When his breathing resumed to its normal rhythm, he whispered, "It's said that practice makes perfect, and that was quite close.

You should be proud of yourself, and I'm glad that I anticipated this for what I hoped to introduce next.

" He gently kissed my hair and inhaled. "There is another kind of sexual activity that does not involve vaginal penetration, but it requires a little more preparation.

It can be painful, instead of enjoyable, if not done properly. "

“What’s that?”

“Anal penetration.”

Oh.

"And you said we could try this the next time we had a lesson?" I asked, intrigued.