Bride of War (18+)

16

The style Slade has is beautiful. But as I stare up at the design I've made I grin.

The seamstress chuckles nervously. "Isn't this a bit...scarce? Surely your husband wouldn't approve?"

I stare at the two-piece. A black halter top and a long white skirt. I've always wanted to wear something like this.

Now I can. And I will.

"I'm sure he'll love it," I say. "Two gold pieces alright?"

The seamstress nods hesitantly. Her eyes cast over to a temple.

"There's a wedding today," She says with a small smile. "They must be doing their devotion ceremony."

"Oh? With what god?"

"That temple hosts Yoiun. God of Water. What a good choice. Where did you do your devotion ceremony?"

I grin. "Slade. God of War."

Her smile drops, her skin whitening. "I...I see. Let me ring you up—"

"Are you alright?" I ask.

The seamstress nods, forcing a smile on her face. "It's just...we don't talk about him here. Perhaps you're new to town."

I nod. "I am."

The seamstress sighs almost in relief as if my ignorance were better than the alternative.

"Well, let me save you some trouble dear. We don't talk about Slade. You don't want to bring him up."

I lean in. "Why?"

She looks around. "It's a long story. And again...we don't talk about him. But...they say he's 20 feet tall, with fangs and wings. If he learns your name...you're as good as dead. He lives for bloodshed."

The seamstress shivers. "Never being him up."

I smile, grabbing the bag. "I see...that's interesting."

"I can't imagine there's a country that doesn't fear that god. Where did you say you're from?"

"Proviline." I walk out, thanking her. I glance down at my bracelet. Roses are engraved around the band. I glance ahead in the direction of the temple I already think of as home.

Then I keep moving.

• • •

I walk into the temple, glancing around. "Slade?"

It's usually quiet. Po slips past me with the bags, as I frown.

I wander in further hearing voices. "You can't possibly mean that,"

That's Dion. What is he doing back here?

"Of course I do. The time is coming. It's fast approaching and I still can't control it." Slade frowns. His eyes lift up to the crack in the door.

"Ah...Monika. What have I told you about this door?" He opens it, shuffling out.

Dion looks away.

"Dion's in there," I protest. "What's in this room?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. Did you have a good time?"

I nod, shifting in place. "What aren't you telling me, Slade?"

He puts his hands on my back. "It's nothing. Dion is having a crisis is all. Come now. Po, bring Monika something to eat."

He kissed my cheek hurriedly. "I'll be right along to dinner, and you can show me what you got today. And then, I'll teach you some fighting skills."

I nod frantically. "That all sounds great but I—"

"Po!" He shouts.

She appears in front of us, with a bow. "Sorry master. I was having trouble getting here."

He frowns looking at his hands. "Damn it. It's not your fault Po. Monika," he looks up at me sternly. "I know you're curious. Just...eat dinner okay?"

• • •

Slade makes no noise when he walks. Still, I sense him, as I stare up at the moon in the courtyard.

"You missed dinner," I say softly.

"I know. I'm sorry."

I turn around with a sigh. "You can still train me though can't you?"

He smiles. He's in his usual outfit, a fur around his shoulders. His necklace of fangs around his neck.

He wears no shirt and loose pants. "Alright, show me what you know."

I do my best fighting stance. He pats my head, correcting my form. His hand straightens my back, raises my hands, and balls them into a fist.

His touch is gentle and my body is pliable, he poses me with ease.

His fingers trail down my arms, lingering on the golden bands around my upper arms. "These look nice," he murmurs.

I smile.  "I got them instead of a tattoo like you have."

He looks down at himself. "Those are not tattoos. Now, keep this position."

He hesitates a bit before sighing. "I'm going to poke you. Dodge it."

I frown. "You're not gonna punch me?"

He narrows his eyes. "Punch you?! No."

I scoff. "Why not?"

He pokes me, and I try to dodge, but he still gets me square in my eye.

"Ow."

"That's why."

"I don't think you're taking me seriously as your opponent," I grumble pursing my lips.

He chuckles, crossing his arms. "You would be correct,"