Casey Anderson isn't expecting much from her Mark - but when her soulmate turns out to be Prince August, the boy next in line for the throne, everything changes.
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In a world much like our own, Casey Anderson is trying to navigate her senior...
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I know I'm being dramatic. I know my entire life hasn't actually been leading to this moment.
But that's what it feels like.
I can't meet Casey at the airport. We're still keeping everything a secret, not to mention the security risks. She's going to meet me here, at the palace.
I've been waiting in the East sitting room for what feels like months. In reality, it's only been a few hours - not that that's any better.
I can't think about anything else. I feel like I can hardly breathe. Her plane landed an hour ago - she should be here soon.
It doesn't feel real.
I'm waiting, watching the hands of the clock tick forward slowly, feeling like every moment, every breath, is steeped in molasses.
My nerves are nearly as loud as my anticipation. I don't know what I'm going to say. I don't know anything.
The rattle of the doorknob turning sets my heart pounding.
The security agent who was assigned to Casey comes through the door first, quickly fading into the background - I originally didn't like the idea that someone else would be here when we met, that we wouldn't have any privacy, but any thoughts I might have had on the subject quickly fade when Casey steps into the room after her.
She's shorter than me, brown hair tumbling down past her shoulders, half-covering her face as she turns to look at me. Her soft blue sweater reminds me of summer, of lazy days and clear skies, and the way she's wrapping her arms around herself makes me want to hug her. I can tell she's nervous, and I feel a sudden rush of protectiveness, like I could somehow make sure she never felt anything bad again if I was just given the chance.
She looks up, her eyes meeting mine, and it's like something in my chest unravels. I know now, clearly and with complete certainty, that even if I had just run into her on the street, even if I hadn't seen her Mark, I would have known.
I would have known that she was my soulmate. That we were meant to be.
Her lips part. "Oh," she says, softly, wonderingly.
She's feeling the same thing that I am - she has to be. I'm frozen - I don't know what to do, what to say. The emotions rushing through me are too big to express and too big to make sense of.
Some instinct I can't quite name has me stepping forward, carefully and slowly reaching for her wrist. Her eyes are still on mine, deep gray like the winter ocean, and either she sees something in my face or she's feeling the same thing because she lifts her arm, offers her wrist to me.
I wrap one hand around her forearm, use the other to carefully slide her sweater up her wrist. It's as soft as it looked, and I take a moment to focus on the sensation, on the thin bones of her wrist under my fingers, the fine knit of the wool.
She sucks in a breath as I pull the sweater up inch by inch, slowly revealing her Mark.
And. Oh.
It's perfect.
It's - it's just like mine, identical in every way, logically I know that, but on her it's beautiful. The black lines curve around her forearm, the rose depicted in loving swirls, in ink that perfectly matches my own. I trace my thumb over the design, watch the way she shivers under the movement, eyes wide.
Time means nothing anymore, like the whole world has stopped inside this room. I think I've maybe stopped breathing, but honestly, it's like it doesn't matter anymore. Like I don't even need oxygen, as long as she's around.
I want to memorize the rhythm of her heartbeat, the exact colour of her eyes, the way her hair falls over her shoulder.
Slowly, I let her wrist go, moving to unbutton the cuff of my sleeve. Her hands stop me, and I move my gaze up to her face. She's focused on my wrist, fingers carefully unbuttoning and rolling up my sleeve, eyes intent on the swathe of inky Mark it exposes.
I watch the emotions play out across her face, as she mimics what I did only seconds before: tracing her fingers carefully across my Mark, wonder written in her eyes.
I understand it, now. All those feelings I had before, the hypothetical knowledge that she was my soulmate - I understand it. It's like I already know her - not everything about her, of course, not like that, but like I understand her.
Our souls recognize each other, and it's something deeper than facts, more concrete than feeling. It's as sure and certain as the sun rising.
She moves her fingers off of my Mark, sliding them down over the bones of my wrist, and - carefully, hesitantly, - tangling our fingers together.
She lifts her eyes to meet mine, mouth curving in the barest hint of a smile. "Hi," she breathes, and the weight of her hand in mine feels like waking up, feels like breathing for the first time.
"Hi," I say back, smiling helplessly, unable to tear my eyes from the way her mouth curls at the corner when she smiles, the way her whole body is leaning towards mine.
I don't know what I had imagined this moment would be like - I only know that this is a hundred, a thousand times better.
That there was an ache, an emptiness inside of me that's now gone quiet, like my body was missing her before we'd even met. Like we are two puzzle pieces, two sides of the same coin, two magnets pulling towards each other. Snapping into place.
And it feels amazing. It feels like the best thing ever.
It's strange. Logically, I know we barely know each other, but to my heart and my body and my soul?
It feels like coming home.
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