The Flames in the Horizon

13

The morning next is quiet. The sun has just barely risen, the birds' song distant like a pleasant hum. Eris lies awake on his back in the soft streams of light warming through the white curtains. The furthest window from the bed has been cracked open to allow a gentle breeze and with it the smell of crisp dewy air. Eris breathes deeply. Time seems frozen in moments like these when the whole world is still bathing in the warmth of their beds and the land is uncommonly silent. Eris exists in this time alone, floating in the middle of crystal-clear water that ripples absently.

The soft breaths beside him have Eris turning his head just so to gaze longingly at his mate. Azriel sleeps soundly on his stomach, one cheek pressed into the feather pillow with his face in Eris's direction. His arms are cradled around the pillow and Eris can't help but stare at the muscle of Azriel's arm that partly obscures his face. His dark hair—having air-dried since his adventure into the lake—has curled slightly, especially around his ears. Eris longs to reach out and tuck that pesky lick of hair behind the round human-looking ear.

Eris's gaze does not stray. He absorbs every detail of Azriel's face so as to commit it to memory. The steady increase of golden light filtering in through the curtains paints Azriel in a soft, ethereal glow, accentuating the gentle rise and fall of his body with each serene breath. Eris's heart swells with a mixture of adoration and yearning, a silent symphony of emotions only those who have been denied everything would ever understand.

The Mother has gifted Eris this male's soul, a shared bond to never be forgotten, but never to be appreciated. To exist in this void of want but not wanted is to be watched over from afar, to be heard but never understood. It is to be desired but never loved.

So Eris absorbs. He marvels at the subtle curve of dark lashes against soft cheeks, the delicate slope of a perfectly sculpted nose, and taunting lips parted in slumber. A sense of worship fills Eris as he observes the tranquil expression on Azriel's face, a visage unguarded and vulnerable in the quiet of the morning.

Pale fingertips itch to trace the contours of tan skin, to memorize the texture of smooth flesh and the warmth that radiates from a strong body. Eris resists the urge though, knowing his admiration must remain unspoken, a secret to be kept within the chambers of his heart. For Eris understands that his devotion to his mate transcends mere physical beauty; it is a deep-seated reverence for the essence of the being lying beside him. Azriel will accept passion, this much Eris is certain of based on yesterday's experience, but he will never accept Eris's true affections.

In this suspended moment, Eris feels as though time itself has paused to allow him these stolen glimpses into the heart of his beloved. But is this truly love? How does one differentiate between love and obsession? Is his mind even his to claim still, or is the Mother's gift simply a leash to his autonomy? If Azriel casts him aside when their bargain is due, will he go mad as so many before him? Will he be the mad King people think him to be because of his father? Is that all he is meant to be? Will his father's cruel legacy be his purposeful inheritance?

As the world outside stirs to life, Eris remains lost in thought but maintains his innocent adoration for Azriel; a love that burns silently, fiercely, and eternally within him and his ticking heart of fate.

______

He's running.

For some reason, his wings are not working when he tries to summon them, and his shadows do not respond when he begs for help. He doesn't know what's following him, only knows that he can't let it catch him. He can feel the air against his ankles caused by a sharp snap of teeth. A shadow falls over him and he risks a glance up to the sky. The sun is too bright, forcing Azriel to squint but still, he can only see the dark outline of large wings and...and a body. Arms and legs and a head and—