Children of Fire and Sun: Part One

Chapter Three: Maysa (Domhnall)

"Even the most ruined hearts crave for love."
— Melisa Nadir, Chantress of the Maiden

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There has not been one summer since the past decade, which had kept the Crown Prince Remus away from the halls of Domhnall. 

Their very unconventional friendship began when Maysa was a wee child of eight, and he was a young man of eighteen. Maysa's father had hosted a symposium, and an invitation was extended to the greatest lover of philosophy ever born in Namiona — Remus Desher. The prince, however, had not expected Maysa, already a skilled debater, to be a part of the same symposium. The clarity of her thoughts, her speech which was so profound despite the childish sweetness clear in her tone, mesmerised him. He knew had to speak with this bright beacon. 

And the hands that entwined that day had not parted till date. 

Thinking about it made Maysa smile, despite the news Airon had delivered only moments ago. It was a memory she held dear, one of the fondest ones from her youth. If the past were to really leave her, then this would be the only thing she would ask it to give to her as a parting gift. Nothing could ever be more precious than first meetings, especially ones that lead us to our dear friends.

With a new lightness in her steps, she completed the rest of her walk to his chamber and pushed open the door. The smell of lavender smoke greeted her nostrils as the draft closed room released itself. The smell was a little cloying, but not wholly unpleasant. Her smile grew wider. Old habits die hard. Remus’s love for lavender was as intrinsic to him as his love for philosophy. If she were too long for him in his absence, Maysa would only have to burn a sprig of lavender to feel his presence. 

She walked over to the sturdy wooden table where the prince remained sprawled. His long silver locks were in a disarray, a halo of light around the head of a benevolent deity. The lines of his chiselled face softened in the clutches of repose, while a half-smile graced his rosy lips. They were like a rosebud, feminine in the eyes of many, yet its allure was undeniable. Ask any maiden, and they would have said the same thing with flushed cheeks and a giggle! That was if they did not run away the very moment the question was asked. 

My sweet Remus. Maysa ran her fingers over his face. It was a face she knew well; that wide forehead, the long eyelashes that touched his cheeks, the indent at the bridge of his nose, the high cheekbones, and those cheeks which had kept an infantile softness. They were not plump per se but had a smooth velvet texture to it that felt good to touch. A warmth spread through her being. She caressed his cheeks with the tips of her long fingers; her smile taking a languid grace. 

"Remus."

Maysa's voice was soft, a lullaby from the realm of dreams. She continued her ministrations upon his cheeks as he stirred a little, the corners of his eyes crinkling. In a swift motion, he grabbed hold of her wrist with his calloused palm. 

"My sweet," he mumbled in his sleep, pressing his lips against her palm in a sloppy kiss. 

Her heart swelled at hearing the term of endearment that Remus reserved only for her. "Wake up, Remus." She called. 

"Is it too late?" He asked, his voice muffled against her skin. 

"It is not late, but we need to talk now."

Remus groaned in sleep before sitting up. Again, he had fallen asleep while staying up late to attend to his duties. The man knew not what sleep was. It would have worn out a lesser being, taking them to an early grave. Still holding her close, he straightened the pleats in his tunic with his free hand. Then he looked at her and beamed. His eyes, those intense wide-set pools of indigo, met hers, and for a moment Maysa could swear her heart stilled. Those eyes carried the ache of a thousand worlds.