The Portal

III 3.11 The Gwenaël

Chris had been in Shailaja for nearly two months now, and despite the closeness she had gained with the heir, her efforts with Rariff seemed nil. Something was occupying his head and she didn't know what it was. That she was his favorite in the eyes of the court, she had no doubts. There were few women with whom he interacted directly or engaged in conversation. On second thought, Christine would only count the young Daria. The other women at court received only a small dose of polite attention.

The kaal measured his gestures and did not allow any intimacy. So, she considered what had already achieved a victory. Aside from Daria, he only seemed to feel comfortable talking to her, playing cards, and even keeping silent.

Last night, Noa had come downstairs with a bundle of letters. He wore a black leather vest, black pants and blouse. The only thing that set him apart from the other nobles sitting around him was the huge silver ring in which a blue sapphire was securely embedded. He had chosen an armchair right next to Christine, who was currently playing with Blake and Serena.

- Don't worry about me. I will just sit here with you - the kaal had said, with a tired smile.

When he had read and replied to at least a dozen of his correspondence, he had called a servant and ordered him to bring a bottle of his favorite malt, offering it to everyone in the hall. Christine drank a glass with him and invited him to join them, but Noa replied that he had no head for games at the moment.

However, he had stayed by her side, in silence, for at least half an hour. Christine tried to imagine what was going on in his head, but she had no clue. After this long contemplation, he ran his hands over his face, marked by the dark circles under the eyes of someone who hadn't slept in days, and walked out of the hall.

Though Christine had always been encouraged to win him over for the greater good of the Island's mission, she had come to care about the heir. He was always so worried, and despite having his best friends with him in the Mavi Hall, he was visibly lonely. Chris could relate to that. She had been lonely for many years. With so many dark secrets in her life, one would have thought she would never open up to anyone. But she hadn't had a choice.

She had been taken in on the Island by Raoul four years ago. Her family history weighed like an iron ball in her stomach and Chris felt that, at any moment, it could shatter into a thousand pieces, destroying her. For the first few days, she had barely managed to leave her room. When she arrived, she felt everyone's eyes on her, judging her, studying her. She thought everyone knew who she was, who her family was, what they had done. But then Raoul had called her at his quarters and said that on the Island she would not be Christine Gwenaël, but just Christine. There was no need for last names or labels. "Everyone here has a past, Christine," he had said.

- There is one person, however, who knows who you are. I had to tell her. It wouldn't be fair if she didn't know.

Christine had immediately agreed with Raoul, it was only fair that Hannah Maël knew who she was. She climbed back to her room with her head down. Hannah had lived on the Island since she was little, everyone loved her, they were her friends, her family. And now she had arrived, an intruder.

She opened the bedroom door thinking she would let the curtains on the four-poster bed fall and lie under the covers, sleeping all day, like her mother would. But when she reached the bed, she heard a noise behind her and, turning quickly, noticed a girl sitting in the chair opposite her. She was looking at her as if waiting, posture erect, legs crossed on top.

Chris knew immediately who she was, even though it was the first time she had seen her. She must have been 13 years old, but she was small for her age. She wore a very white, light dress that contrasted with her golden skin. Her complexion had a glow of someone who loved being outdoors, and in places it was even reddened. She was thin and petite, the body clearly still that of a child. Her hair fell in big brown and honey waves to her waist, and she wore a bow adorned with fine gold leaves and dark emeralds that pushed the strands away from her face. The eyes were big caramel-colored spheres, alive and expressive. She was watching her with authority, but her left hand casually jabbed a mother-of-pearl dagger into a stuffed bun.