Maven's eyes fly open in alarm.
It is the early hours of the morning and dusk had just broken.
He takes several deep breaths.
He hated sleeping, the action of closing his eyes and being dragged into unconscious darkness was akin to when his life was extinguished.
It did nothing but fill him with dread and anxiety.
Even when he fell into a deep slumber, he wasn't free.
He was plagued by images of the life he once had. Of blurry Lords and Ladies, of the glass Palace in which he lived once upon a time, of his own family - a burning flame within a titled crown.
It makes him nothing but frustrated, and at times confused.
Maven gives up on trying to decipher those images and rises from his woven mat, neatly laid out in his own dwelling.
His new place was nothing but a tent, draped over with enormous, dark, sun-repellant pieces of cloth.
It was massive, but one of the most scarce and simplistic tents in the campsite.
He goes about his usual routine.
A strict workout of high intensity that would be sure to cause a normal human to throw up.
But Maven relished in the punishment. The discipline. Causing miniature tears in his muscle fibres, every morning, it felt right.
After that, he would take an ice cold shower. The numbing feeling was calming and he would let the ice cold droplets run down the contours of his physique after he shut the water off.
Droplets would trail from the top of his head mapping their routes down his body. Cooling off his strained muscles.
He was surprised there was a fresh water system in this place but these people lived simple and comfortable lives.
They had everything they could ask for.
Maven throws on a long blue garment, and steps out into the scorching morning sun.
He shields his eyes from the sudden glare of light.
After Maven woke from death, he spent some time in confinement - weeks on end completely alone.
He spent this time getting used to his body again, reconnecting the severed bond of his soul to his physical being.
Thinking, breathing, feeling.
Trying to remember. Cursing himself for dying.
Once he hit a wall, he knew it was time for answers.
The royal blue cotton hanging from Maven flapped as a gust of desert wind hit him.
His sapphire eyes scanned the horizon, his visual acuity working overtime.
The campsite was located in a valley, where the ground was harder and appeared a cracked beige. Sturdy enough to build structures on.
Surrounding it were sand dunes of different heights appearing as rivers of gold around them.
Maven began walking from the very back of the campsite, where he was situated.
He began to pass several other tents and the further he walked to the epicentre, the more people he began to pass.
They weaved in and out by him. Most of their faces were covered.
Some curious inhabitants would peek through the flap of their tent or makeshift windows eyeing him warily.
YOU ARE READING
𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄
Romance[Completed - Book 3 of the Blood Court Series] ❝ You manipulated me. Did you think I would be happy? To see you sit on my throne. The throne you stole from me, while you let me die. Me...
