A Guide to Charming Royals

Chapter Nineteen: LEILA

My lips part, then close, repeating the action like a horrible symphony. I want to say something, I desperately do, but there are no words good enough to explain this situation. Instead, I squeak, "Doesn't the world look so pretty during the darkest part of the night?"

Salar doesn't bother casting a glance around. His eyes are set on me. "You can barely see anything in the dark, Lay-la." He smiles at the end, enunciating the syllables of my name, as though he knows what impact it would have on me.

"I was sleep-driving. I don't know how I ended up here." I start to put up my window, when his hand shoots out to stop me. He winces, just as I stop inches from the top. Goodness, who told him to do that?

"Well, if you came all the way here, we might as well hang out like I promised you."

"At nine P.M.?" He shrugs, so I add, "I thought you weren't feeling well. And we just met a couple of hours ago, I'm not interested in meeting again."

He laughs, head thrown back, eyes traveling toward the dark sky. "That's why you were following me, right?"

"I–I wasn't-"

"Come on," he says, motioning toward the empty landscape. "That's my house."

I squint, trying to make out a building in the vast land covered by flakes of snow. There is absolutely nothing. "Looks good."

"I was kidding. That's just empty land." He turns. "That's my cabin."

This time, I make out a gravel path leading toward a distant building, so tiny it feels like I can simply grab it. "Why do you have a cabin on the outskirts of Calgary?"

He shrugs. "Belongs to my dad."

"He doesn't live here, though, right?"

"Visits. When he wants to." Before I can ask another question, he tilts his head. "How good are you at ax throwing?"

"Very good," I answer, even though I have no idea what ax throwing is. What, do I just throw axs? Why would he even assume I know such a thing?

Salar nods, a half-smile gracing his lips. "Why don't you drive up the driveway and we'll see?"

I should turn back and run from here, but instead, my head nods on its own will, and my mouth betrays me. "Give me a sec." Pulling out my phone, I send some texts, firing them as fast as the speed of my heart.

HELP SALAR SAW ME

I FOLLOWED HIM

AND NOW HE WANTS TO HANG OUT

IF YOU DON'T HEAR BACK FROM ME IN A COUPLE OF HOURS, I'M DEAD

SEND HELP

#

Turns out, ax throwing is exactly what I thought it would be. Throwing an ax at a board similar to the one you'd use for playing darts. This is too much of an exercise for my arms and not enough enjoyment for me. Like how am I supposed to lift this heavy equipment, hold it over my head and throw it without any risk of hurting myself? There is nothing shielding me from being hit.

"So, why exactly is it that we're doing this?" I ask, wheezing, after a couple of attempts at throwing my ax and failing to get it further than two feet away from me.

He casts a glance toward me, before turning back to his ax and throwing it at the target. When we'd been doing archery earlier, he'd been horrible at it like me. Now seeing him throw his ax and hit the target makes me question his earlier behaviour.

"Had a rough day today," he mumbles. His ax drops to the ground with a thud, in front of the back door to the cabin.

Uh, because he met Ariah? "Why?"

He shakes his head. "Never mind. You're clearly not enjoying this, so we can stop."

A cool breeze hisses through the air, brushing against my face. I let go of my ax. "Good, because I'm suffering from serious muscle fatigue, especially after archery. By the way, how come you're good at ax throwing but not archery? Like aiming wise, how can you aim well for this but not earlier?"

Salar smiles, and shrugs, but doesn't provide an explanation. What an idiot. But a cute idiot. "Want tea?" he asks, rubbing his hands together. "I'm freezing and need to warm up." When I don't answer, he winks. "Careful though, I do bite."

"And you think I'll enter your cabin after you say something like that? If you even try stepping toward me, I'll cut you up with this ax."

He chuckles. "Violent," and then I could swear, softly he adds, "I like it. Though you're no good at throwing an ax."

"I hate you."

"Do you, now?" he muses, before he grabs our axs and opens the back door. "This is your only chance to see my humble abode."

The cabin's derelict structure makes it appear abandoned and old, surrounded by bare trees with branches glistening from the snow. Rays of wan light from the moon and the streetlamps fall over the structure, outlining the saggy roof which appears destined to an inevitable collapse. Windows are lodged with planks, hiding whatever it is that happened between the walls.

This–following him along–is what is going to get me killed eventually. And still, my feet move, as though he has tied an invisible string around my limb and is pulling me along. I walk into the cabin after him, watching as he leans the axs against the wall in what appears to be a mudroom. He kicks off his shoes, then turns to me.

"Why do you look like you just walked inside a fridge?"

"I'm cold, and your house or cabin or whatever isn't exactly warm, either."

He grabs a green knitted scarf from the hook where he hangs his jacket, and wraps it around my neck. He tugs at the ends, taking a mere step toward me, smiling. "There, that should keep you warm. Want my jacket too?"

My heart will literally leap out of my chest any moment now. I can't. 

I push past him, clutching the scarf as I look around and into the hallway. "Do I get a tour?"

The cabin opens into a living space, barely seen in the dark. I can form the silhouettes of a couch and a table, with an empty white bag sitting atop. Further, darkness stretched toward two closed doors across each other.

"No," he answers, leading me into the kitchen. "This place is messy. Maybe next time."

He rummages through the cabinets, pulls out a blue teapot, filling it with water, before he turns to me. "What are you interested in drinking? I have green tea and Moroccan mint tea and, uh, yes that's it."

"And here you started off like you had a variety of options."

"Learn to appreciate what is being offered."

I'm about to answer, when I hear a door pull open, followed by footsteps.

"Salar?" a voice calls. Salar glances up, eyes widening in the slightest, before he curses.

"Who is that?"

"My dad," he answers, turning off the stove. "I didn't know he was coming here today."

"I thought your dad was in a different country."

The playful expression is gone, replaced by something bordering on solemn. "I tried my best."

I would like to say I am skilled in reading social cues, but whatever hint Salar is giving off at the moment is very muddled. So, I take a step back, unsure. "Try your best at what?"

"This is all your fault."

I see his arm move. I see him grasp the tea kettle. But it is too late to stop him, before he smacks it against my head. The pain stings through me, waking the part of me that has always been wary of people, always paranoid of death being so near.

I stumble, grabbing the counter, but he slaps it against my head again. Something seems to split at the back of my head, a warm, wet trickle running down my scalp.

At once, I collapse to the floor.