Reaping A Princess

BREATHE FOREVER, OKAY?

For as long as I could remember, my body would shiver as if I were cold whenever I was teetering on the edge of panic. My hands would shake, my chin would tremble, and my voice would crack like a prepubescent boy.

I quickly obeyed Elijah's orders, slipping my shoes off and taking a seat on the worn, grey sofa. I stuffed my shaky hands beneath my legs and put on my best smile to show him I was attentive and pleased to be listening—even though I was afraid. Afraid of what would be said, and even more so, of what I wouldn't be. The unknown was the most terrifying thing to face alone.

After moving about the room, Elijah finally sat across from me in an oversized chair. A small coffee table was the only thing between us, one that was too rustic to be store bought, just like mostly everything else in the room.

"This furniture is beautiful; did you make it all yourself?" I asked, recalling how he was Eden's carpenter.

Elijah nodded, "I did. My father taught me everything I know."

A smile brushed past my lips hearing him speak. The accent took me by surprise when we first met but with everything else happening, it didn't stay a point of interest in my mind until now.

"I'd been meaning to ask, are you originally from Ireland? Or perhaps, your parents?"

"Scotland, actually," he corrected with a grin. "My mother was Scottish, my father American."

"Any siblings?"

"A twin sister, Emily."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, he took me as a man far too solitary to have family. "Are they all here with you or did you come to your father's homeland alone?"

Elijah became visibly uncomfortable, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. "That's...." he took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "That's a story for another time."

I nodded and remained silent, listening and watching as his entire persona shifted before my very eyes.

"I have more important things that I'd like to discuss with you first," he said in a completely different tone. He spoke lower now. All softness of him recalling his time in Scotland as a boy was gone and in its place was an austere man.

"There are rules here, Sarah," he continued. "Everyone pulls their own weight. We truly have to embrace the notion of being our own support system. It's a cruel world out here on this mountain, it's harsher than anything you're used to."

A chortle escaped me despite the seriousness of his tone. This mountainside was a breath of fresh air; wild, untamed, and yes, staggeringly different than anything I knew but certainly not harsher than the woodlands I grew up surrounded by.

I hail from a prison of pines. Nothing about the vastness of this mountain scared me.

Elijah's eyes tightened. "Am I mistaken in thinking turning this barren wasteland into a thriving community is a life harder to live than the one you left behind?"

My brows raised slightly at the question, but I chose to answer him honestly, nonetheless. "Yes, you are mistaken."

His green eyes remained tight and trained upon me. Unwavering as he made no attempt to hide his examination as a wave of emerald swept up and down the length of me. I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable beneath his calculating stare.

Elijah's voice dropped even lower as he mumbled, "I see." After a breath of tense air, he leaned forward and pressed his elbows atop his knees. "To be truthful, I know some, but not very much about your family or where you came from."

"What do you know?" I asked him quietly.

Elijah shook his head. "Just that you lived in a woodland compound in Oregon with your parents and three brothers. Your father... he comes from a long line of God-fearing men that produce strong boys that grow into even stronger leaders."