Loveless

Chapter 3

"You're not the one, Y/N."

When you'd first heard those words, your reaction had been uncontrolled.

Instinctive and driven by emotion, tears forced to their release, your heart hammering in despair of the raw reality you'd been presented with.

Yet time was ever the consistent healer, proving more reliable than most other forms of recovery, and while no substantial amount of it had passed, you found yourself coming up with an altogether different response as you ruminated over the statement several hours later.

You're not the one.

That's as may be, but...

You hadn't asked to be the one.

You hadn't wanted to be the one.

You hadn't extended a prayer to a deity nor the universe itself to grant you such status as 'the one', and now all the notion left you with, was anger.

You didn't know your consort from the next passing stranger on the street, nor did he know you.

It was awfully presumptive of him, you felt, to declare that you weren't the one, for the decision to do so implied that you were pining for such a thing all along, to be taken into his arms and embraced as a lover and wife. A consort.

While it was true that you'd hoped for a match of love with your consort rather than one of convenience, you had been well aware of the fact that you wouldn't know which you'd prefer until the time itself came along. Until you were presented with your consort, face to face, able to see into their eyes and tell their soul from that of good or bad disposition.

And now, it struck you that you had looked into his eyes, and seen only disdain. A soul of ice and unpleasant temperament.

Prepared as you might have been to give him a chance to win your heart or your favour, that display had well and truly confirmed the potential futility of that errand.

Why would you want to be his one?

Why would you even want to give him the time of day after how he'd spoken to you, written you off without so much as a breath in your direction?

In one thing, you felt you could agree with him.

You were his consort in name only, barely qualified of the title.

And you never wanted to know it.

You'd both get through this week as best you could, and return to the city to continue your old lives under the guise of a partnership that would never see fulfilment the way the Magna Imperium wanted it to.

Easy, in theory.

Yet in practicality...?

It was to be far harder than you thought.

***

"Knock, knock..."

The voice from the door of your bedroom startled you from your thoughts, the incessant voices in your head that had taken up occupation since your parting words from your consort.

Taking up residence on the chesterfield in front of the fire, watching the flames had acted as a stimulating distraction from them; an alternative to having to leave the room and run into him, by chance or otherwise.

You glance over your shoulder to see a young man stood in waiting, a soft beige jumper is slung over a broad build, he wears comfortable slacks and socks with no shoes. His two-toned hair is streaked chestnut brown and dusty blonde, his eyes that smile with his plump lips and dimpled cheeks betray the kindness of a personality you can't help but warm to.