Consciousness returned slowly, like the first rays of dawn breaking through a fog-shrouded forest. Sineka drifted in that liminal space between dreams and waking, aware first of the warmth wrapped around her, then the steady rhythm of her breathing. For a moment, she clung to the fragile peace, afraid that if she opened her eyes, the harsh world would come rushing back.
But curiosity stirred within her. She needed to know where she was—how she was still alive.
With a slow inhale, she opened her eyes.
Soft golden light filtered through sheer curtains, casting warm patterns against walls draped in silk the color of desert sands. A faint breeze stirred the fabric, carrying the distant hum of Serapha's bustling streets, though the sounds seemed muted, as if the walls themselves warded off the chaos outside.
Beneath her was the softest bed she had ever known—plush pillows cradled her head, and fine linen sheets of deep burgundy and gold enveloped her weary body. The faint scent of something familiar lingered in the air—sandalwood and tobacco, laced with the faintest trace of something darker. Her fingers grazed the sheets, feeling their cool, smooth texture beneath her fingertips.
Where...?
Sineka pushed herself upright with a soft groan, her limbs weak and unsteady. The room swayed slightly as dizziness threatened to pull her back down, but she gritted her teeth and steadied herself.
Her gaze drifted to the mirror across the room, and what she saw there stole the breath from her lungs.
The woman staring back at her was a stranger. The rich cinnamon hue of her hair hung dull and tangled around her shoulders. Shadows clung beneath her almond-shaped eyes, their hazel depths clouded with exhaustion. Her skin, once kissed by amber warmth, now appeared too pale, her freckles standing out starkly against the loss of color. Her cheeks, sharper than before, hinted at the hunger that had gnawed at her bones.
Fingers trembling, Sineka touched her reflection, as if to confirm that the woman she saw was truly herself. The glass was cool beneath her fingertips. A wave of grief and exhaustion tightened her chest, stealing the air from her lungs. Yet beneath it all—beneath the fatigue and fear—there flickered a stubborn ember of hope.
I'm alive.
The sound of distant footsteps drew her gaze toward the closed door. Her pulse quickened.
Panic coiled in her chest, but she pressed her palm over her heart and whispered a shaky prayer beneath her breath. She clung to the warmth of the bed, the safety of the room, hoping that whoever stood beyond the threshold was a friend, not a predator.
The footsteps halted. The latch clicked.
As the door swung open with a faint creak, Sineka's breath caught in her throat.
Crocodile stepped inside, and the world seemed to shift.
His tall frame filled the doorway, shoulders squared beneath the folds of his coat, the familiar scent of leather, tobacco, and faint desert winds drifting in with him. His sharp gaze locked onto hers instantly, amber eyes darkened with an emotion she couldn't name. Yet beneath the hardened lines of his face, she saw it—the faint tension at the corners of his mouth, the way his gaze swept over her with swift, assessing intensity. As if confirming that she was still breathing.
The sob escaped her before she could stop it.
Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the room into golden haze as relief broke through the walls she'd held so tightly. Her shoulders shook with the force of her breath as she pressed a hand against her lips, trying to muffle the sound.
YOU ARE READING
A Bride for the Desert King | Crocodile
Fanfiction"Marry me," she commanded, almost. Crocodile narrowed his eyes at the impertinence of the woman who stood in front of him. "Ara," he heard Ms All Sunday mutter amusedly. "Who are you?" "Sineka Duskblade," she replied.
