Reaping A Princess

HE CHOSE ME

On my first morning in Eden, I was slow to leave my bed. I sat up and watched through my parted curtains as the rising sun set fire to the rolling hills beyond my window. The barren trees were silhouetted in burning hues making them glow like kindling. The sight made me fear spring would be slower to arrive here than back home, as if the sheer elevation of our little village upon this ridge made it harder for my favorite season to ascend at such heights.

I looked around my temporary room and was instantly bombarded with heavy, dark thoughts.

How long would I be able to stay in this room alone? Until Elijah stops coming to me for conversation, and comes to me as a husband seeking his wife instead?

Lord, please don't let it be soon. I am not ready!

What will happen if I can't be useful?

Elijah made it abundantly clear that my place here was one out of necessity and I had to work to earn my keep. I had to bring some sort of value to the group in order for it to thrive, but I wasn't entirely convinced that making lotions and soaps would be enough.

What if it's not?

A sudden cold wave spread throughout my body at the chilling thought, but I stopped it before it could make my jaw tremble or my breath to abandon me with an erratically beating heart fanning the burn in my lungs as they search for air.

I furrowed my brow and took shaky, yet deep breath, drawing strength from the fear until it faded, leaving nothing but determination in its wake.

Whatever I offer, it would simply have to be enough.

At home, I was constantly reminded of just how short I measured up in every way. Even though I was kept under lock and key—a key often thrown away and forgotten about—but at least I was kept. Here, I couldn't afford a slip-up. I couldn't risk being deemed insufficient or worthless.

I sat, shoulder blades brushing against the cold wall, eyes absorbing every new ray the sun released as it continued to rise higher above the tree line. I stayed, until the wafting aroma of breakfast had me changing into my warmest dress and tugging on my cardigan. When I entered the kitchen, Elijah was standing at the stove and the sight of him made my stomach do strange things.

He hadn't noticed me yet, so I used the opportunity to really look at my husband.

Elijah was a handsome man, a small place in the recesses of my mind thought it the moment his green eyes met mine. He had long, lean legs that made up most of his 6'5 frame, and impressive broad shoulders. He was currently donning grey sweatpants hanging low around his hips and no shirt. His back, skin still clinging to its summer tan, was on full display. I watched the muscles flex gently as he mixed some milk into the pan in front of him on the stove.

Thick veins wrapped up his strong forearms and I marveled at how I wasn't crippled by fear of him. It equally disturbed me how the sight of him had me wanting to draw nearer.

Just to look.

I knew what was expected of me as a wife; I grew up learning all about my duties in the home and my place in the bedroom. There, each lesson was wrapped in fear and though the memories reminded me that I had no reason to trust Elijah, as I stood there watching him cook, the normalcy and calmness of him reminded me that I also had no reason to distrust him. He'd shown me kindness when he didn't have to, and I supposed that was enough for me to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Are you going to come sit, or would you rather keep watching me from the doorway?"

My cheeks flamed instantly, and I tugged on the sleeve of my cardigan as I quickly crossed the kitchen to take a seat at the table.