Marry or Kill

25

M I N A

The gentle flickering of orange flames paints intricate patterns on the walls, casting shadows that dance to the cadence of their whispered conversations. The logs of wood, now charred and blackened, release a calming symphony of crackles that, for a moment, drowns out the cacophony in Elias's head.

Elias has been here for hours, allowing the warmth of the flames to tenderly tickle his face, his cheeks slightly flushed.

As he lounges into the plush couch, its pillows embracing his descent, his back releases a satisfying crack. He blinks repeatedly, attempting to dispel the disorientation that lingers from his prolonged gaze into the mesmerising depths of the fire.

I watch him, hidden in the shadows, my footsteps echoing hesitantly outside the door. The rhythm of Elias's movements against the cushions halts. His dark eyes meet mine, my expression etched with guilt—lips pressed into a straight line, eyebrows weighed down.

With a measured breath, Elias gazes down at the dark red rug beneath his polished shoes, granting me an unspoken invitation into the room. I'm in pyjamas, a loose bun framing my face.

As I slump next to him, the faint scent of my morning perfume barely lingers in the air.

"I'm sorry we released him," I murmur, my eyes fixed on the fire's hypnotic dance. A spark leaps out, landing near his foot, only to extinguish itself swiftly on the wooden floor.

Disappointment seems to wash over Elias.

Attempting to temper his words, he struggles to rein in his brewing fury. This is uncharted territory for him. "You released him without talking to me first."

I turn my head to meet his gaze, trying to justify myself. "He was going to provide more information if we released him—"

"He poisoned my mother!" Elias snaps, cutting through the rhythmic cracking of the fire.

Silence falls upon us.

"What you fail to comprehend is that The North isn't the hopeless abyss you've convinced yourself it is. For the past two years, my existence has been a relentless pursuit of survival, fending off threats to the point where I haven't dared to set foot beyond these walls, except to reluctantly ink that contract in The East. I've been contending with The West's relentless onslaught far longer than both you and Sol combined. None of you can fathom the weight of my burdens, not even my own father. So, pardon my irritation if I find your ignorance particularly grating."

I let the bitter silence swallow us whole.

Even the crackles from the fire get more aggressive and louder.

The fire burns brighter, pooling on his face and sharpening his full cheekbones.

Tightly linking my hands together, Elias decides to lay bare the roots of his frustration. "Because my father is an alcoholic, I've been essentially ruling The North since I was a boy, making all the decisions around here. My father resented it, and I felt the pain of that through my mother. I'm sick of seeing that... look... of people doubting me. It's insulting and discrediting my hard work that I had to do around here," he says, his voice quieter and colder. "Not my father, me."

"I won't do it again, I swear to you," I quietly say.

The once-welcoming warmth of the fire now seems to pinch his face, and a pang of guilt tightens his lips.

The weight on the couch lightens as I stand up, my scent dissipating. I appear flustered, rubbing my thighs, and my dark hair spills over my shoulders as I look at him intently, at his features beginning to soften.