Having lost the man she loved to the cold clutches of suicide, Amara's impulsive decision to join him leads her to accept the marriage proposal of a mysterious stranger she shares a drink with at a bar.
Xelan's weddings were an awful affair, with ea...
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***
The sun had retreated fully when they had returned to the manor. The show had been a pleasant affair, a masterful rendition of a folktale in Xelan's youth, of a woman's greed that had driven her to murder her own kin. Amara had been sucked in immediately by the brilliant performance and the magic that was weaved into bringing the story to life. Much to Xelan's relief, as he had no interest in carrying on any conversation after her question. No doubt it was Ida that had said something to inspire her question.
He was getting rather tired of that woman's nosing. But then, Lyle might have also had a hand in fanning the flames of her curiosity. It was quite amusing to see him work to hopefully foil plans that aren't even in motion and would never be in motion, even with the sincere look she gave that told him of her desire to help.
To avoid having to see that look again, he kept silent throughout their journey home, unwilling to bring up any conversation that could encourage her to revisit the subject. It seemed to have worked, bringing them to the doorsteps without a single discourse. Then as they stepped into the foyer, the spell of silence was broken.
"Thank you for today," she said.
"It was my pleasure," he replied, shrugging off his coat. He did enjoy himself as well, more than he would like to admit.
"Your world is really beautiful."
"It is."
That he never doubted for a second. In every errand that took him into new places, every destination left him yearning for when he could finally step foot in Sythmore once more. When he did, he always seemed to find—much to his disappointment—nothing left in the beautiful world that resembled in some way what home used to mean to him. Only echoes of what it was once, lingering in the shadows of the manor and the unfamiliar world that greeted him on his every arrival. Until today. Today he had but a taste of his old life, all thanks to the woman in front of him. And as they both navigated through the aura currents by the bridge, he was once more in the Sythmore he knew as a boy. As if nothing had changed.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, drawing a sharp breath.
"Are you alright?" she asked, giving him that look again.
"I am." At least he would be, when he was in the safety of his bed and far away to not let her feel exactly what it was doing to him. That was the problem with the Aftermath. If it was given nothing more than an inch, it would still find a way to snatch up an extra mile. Ida stepped into the foyer at that moment.
"Welcome back, Lord and Lady Calthorpe."
"Evening, Ida. Did the bags get here?" he asked, relieved at the welcome distraction.
