My Enemy, My Love

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔗𝔴𝔬

Prince Thyme [Sea]

Luka stared at me, his dark eyes somewhat captivating as they danced in the shadows of the faint light, that familiar hint of a smirk playing on his lips. He pressed the cigar to his mouth again and took a deep, tiresome inhale of its contents before turning to exhale the smoke in my direction. The putrid stench of it forced me to cough a little, cover my nose with my hand to expel the strength of the tobacco -- or whatever it was -- which made my eyes burn. He only made a disapproving noise with his mouth - a belittling tut-tut - and turned away from me, clearly disinterested in my presence. His insolence, even if unintended for provocation, frustrated me. 

"What are you doing," I demanded, inwardly irritated by his decision to not only use the palace's facilities for his own leisure but to smoke at them, too. I knew he was eager to get on my nerves to test my patience that grew dangerously thin by the minute, but that night, I did not want to give him that satisfaction he craved. Instead, I put my foot down and stood ground to this newly found confidence, hoping to make it crystal clear that this was still my home, not his. Yes, he would be by husband in less than a month, but that did not give him the right to abuse his privileges... not until the knot was tied. 

Luka turned his nose to the sky, perhaps awaiting a sign - to throw an indisputable counterargument at me, one that would be simply impossible to refute, an absolute nightmare to --

"I couldn't sleep," he mumbled to the wisps of clouds floating above us. For a brief moment, I was stunned by that unpredictable and ridiculously honest response; still, it was not enough to count as a valid explanation for his "trespass" without permission. He continued talking, however, before I could intervene with those exact words. "Did you follow me," he then asked, slowly turning his head to confront me with a playful grin, his devilish eyes sparkling with  mischief and intrigue. "How naughty of you." 

I despised the way he spoke to me; the sarcasm in his voice, the mockery he seemed to relish in relentlessly - this was all a game to him, wasn't it? I was overly tempted to kick him, or punch him like I did that day in school after he insulted Mama, or push him in the pool and keep his head underwater until he screamed and begged for forgiveness. I did not move. Instead, I remained at a distance, my escape route practically behind me in case he decided to lunge at me first. He did not try. Instead, his eyes fixed themselves on a point -- on me -- and, as if there was no worth in further provocation, he shrugged his shoulders. Defeated.

"Is there something you wish to say to me?" he asked, flicking at his cigar to release excess ash stashed from the bottom. "If not, then kindly...fuck off. You have no reason to be here," he continued, a light smirk curling on his lips. I wanted to lash out, scream at him -- insult him, somehow -- but the words would not form. He gazed out over the water, momentarily in contemplation, then took a final drag from the cigar before dropping it, without hesitation, in the pool. That was the ultimate straw. 

I marched up to him, hurling all sorts of unhinged words in the air, demanding that he fish the butt out of the water and dispose of it correctly. Luka only smiled, clearly amused by my outburst, but did nothing of the sort to help the situation. "Calm yourself, Thyme. It's better off in the water, anyway. At least those precious little animals won't accidentally mistake it for food if they found it in the grass, eh?"

I hated his reasoning, even if he was right to some extent; why did he have to be so difficult? 

"Fish it out, dickhead," I spat, pointing at the floating butt in the water. "Now."

His cold, black eyes met mine, and for a brief moment it really seemed as though he would bend down and remove it from the pool, but that flash of something -- regret? -- failed to last. "Don't get obsessed, Thyme. It's not good for your health," he replied, his tone slightly on edge. My feverish eruption at his action -- and the touche insult; the classic cherry on top -- had made him angry, a little uneasy. It was obvious who the winning party was in this debacle and Luka, as always, would not accept it. So, he fought back.