Aureate Fates

19

    TRUST ME, I WIN

                                    —MARISOL—

Marisol dropped Erik's hand as soon as she heard the sound of their footsteps in the candle-lit hallway. She eyed the way that certain shadows moved and swayed, but even then, she refused to grab Erik's hand again. All that was required of her was to walk to the room, where guards would be waiting to receive them both.

The pair walked in silence, Erik scanning the hallway with vigilant attention and Marisol attempting to keep her eyes open. She had become worn with the weight of sleep, and all she could think about was the extravagant bed that was waiting to greet her fatigued body.

Erik's eyes abruptly cut behind him. Marisol didn't hear anything that would warrant such a reaction, and when she followed his gaze behind them, there was only the empty hallways. Dead air and a perennial wind.

He stopped in his tracks and gave Marisol a warning glance. Marisol crossed her arms. "I think you've finally fallen to your paranoia."

Erik narrowed his stone-like gaze on her, annoyed. "I heard a growl, and I am never wrong, wife. That's the first thing you should know about me."

The last time they had heard growls, they were at the Shoot and Run. Marisol and Erik had each massacred a beast with the stamina that only blood-churners seemed to conjure—though they had never discussed that, nor much of anything yet.

Everything was different now. Neither of them had their magic to defend themselves, and if Erik truly was right, then running might have been their best solution.

But Erik wasn't the type to run, he was the type to kneel to his pride and let it devour him. Idiot. But then, Marisol realized that she, too, was not in favor of giving her back to an opponent.

"I didn't hear any growl," Marisol whispered.

Erik's gray eyes flashed, and his jaw tightened. "That's because you're untrained, and much too trusting for your own good." He was still looking out at the hallway, a harsh line on his mouth.

"I don't trust you," Marisol retorted, feeling like the words were made of a faulty substance.

Erik chuckled to himself. "Fine, that's fine—"

A bark echoed throughout the hallway, followed by a growl. Marisol met Erik's alert expression. It was then that she heard soft pads making their way closer and closer—

Out of the shadows, a medium-sized animal appeared, its tongue out, tail wagging. The animal's coat was abundant and of a golden shade. It bounded up to Erik and began to lick his hand. Erik yanked his hand back, but knelt down, observing the animal.

"It's a dog," Marisol gushed, and rushed forward to embrace it. "A real dog."

Erik and Marisol were now on the floor of the palace, eye-level with the animal. It's coat was liquid gold, even to touch. The dog suddenly leaped out to give Erik one large lick on the cheek. The future King of Verskyia reeled back and landed on his back, rubbing furiously at his cheek, disgusted.

An animated laugh escaped Marisol, and before she knew it, she was doubled over in a fit of giggles. Erik burned daggers into Marisol as he gazed upon her, the dog positioned on his lap, against his will.

"You're afraid of dogs?" Marisol asked, once she recovered.

Erik shooed the dog off his lap, making it leap to Marisol instead. "No," he said, stiffly. He just sat there, patting dog hair off his pants. "They're just—smelly, and without discipline."