Writen in the Stars - Working Title

Chapter Three

"I'm gone for a few weeks, and this is the state you get yourself into princess? I knew you couldn't live without me". Zeke chuckles, hiding the worry from his tone, but not his eyes.

I scoff at him "stop calling me princess, you arsehole. I've been just fine without you. Thank you very much. It's not my fault I was left behind with all the hard jobs whilst you got what appears to have been a holiday!"

Truthfully, his golden skin looked even more tanned than usual, highlighting the freckles that have spread across his nose, cheeks, and shoulders since I last saw him. And had he gotten taller? Unlike me, Zeke has always embodied someone made for Akatina, with his shoulder-length wavy blonde hair, the ice blue eyes, and sharp cheekbones. I'll never tell him, but he looks like a God damned God of Akatina.

As he pulls me into a hug, I scowl "don't touch me either, you great big ogre. I could have done with at least a few more weeks of peace, you know." Zeke just laughs at me in response and momentarily hugs me tighter, I bite my lip and struggle not to wince from my injuries.

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, princess, but we don't have a lot of time. The King has given us another job, and we need to track down some merchant selling supposed enchanted goods down in the marketplace. And then we need to attend a ball the King is throwing at the palace tonight. So, you better get cleaned up quickly and catch some sleep."

Sighing at the absolute terrible luck I've been having, I nod, "I'll skip the sleep and take a bath quickly and be ready to leave in twenty minutes. Any information on the merchant?"

"I checked out the harbour before I returned here. I think he's human, and he's leaving on a boat today, so we need to ambush him before he leaves, get that over with, then fight for our lives at this ball tonight." He hesitates "Are you sure you're OK, princess? I can handle the merchant myself..." Hardly finishing his sentence before I send a punch straight to his shoulder.

"I said I'm fine, I'll be ready soon, now can you stop fussing so I can at least wash?" I flip a gesture over my shoulder as I sulk to the bathroom and turn the water on.

As I wash my hands and arm in the sink, the bath slowly begins to fill. Testing the temperature, my only option today is ice cold, so gotta be quick, I guess. After climbing in just long enough to wash the worst of the blood off, I clamour out, choosing to wash my hair over the sink before tying it back into its braid, and then yank on a pair of leggings and a shirt. The events of the last few hours fill my head until it swims, and I shudder as I add some leather padding around my shoulders, and armour from my wrists to my elbow, bandaging the cut on my right arm beneath it. Then my corset and trusted black hood. Finally, stuffing my feet into black boots, still caked in blood which I clumsily rinse under the tap as quickly as I can, I chose a few weapons, my sword on my back and two daggers in the belts round my thighs. I sigh, pulling out the pocket mirror to check my appearance and feeling even more frustrated when the tarnished glass does not reveal my reflection. Vampires don't have a need for mirrors, so why would they ever let the humans have one. And a so-called enchanted mirror? Hell, I would be happy with an actual mirror right now. I sigh again, and it's time to get this next mission over with.

Moments later, we make our way down from the rooftop and across the slums in the direction of the harbour. As we climb the cliffs, we pass the old fighting grounds. I stare at the imposing coliseum, stone steps circling a sand fighting pitch, and if you took the archway on one side, you could access the weapons room hidden beneath the seats. I had learnt to fight here, to ride a horse, and then to wield a sword and shoot an arrow. But all of this was before the Vampire King had killed my trainer at my feet. An important lesson I needed to learn, the consequences of losing, or so the King had told me. I was just thirteen when I had watched my surrogate father die, half vampire though he was. He was also one of the closest things me and Elodie had to a parent. So I stare and stare at the spot that frequents my nightmares, and I can almost hear his voice, warm and encouraging. Don't look back. Keep going. Do not give in. If only my happiness didn't always end in a traumatic life lesson.

Not long after the death of Bastian, the Clothier arrived. Strange creatures, so grotesque I had been told that they could make grown men cry and piss their pants. The Clothier were demons, made entirely from shadow and nightmares, with deep hollow eyes and pointed, crooked fingers. They spun clothes from the skin and hair of their victims, mainly cloaks which they wrapped themselves in as they went to hunt their next victim. The vampire hate them as they have no preference over who they choose and are just as likely to pick one or two of them as they are the humans. More likely, if anything, as humans rarely went near the training grouds. I'd heard the stories of how evil the Clothier are, of how they bring bad luck and haunt victims to madness, before finally harvesting the skin whilst the donor remains alive for days and days. To be honest, to me, they behaved no differently from the desperate humans, the bloodthirsty vampire, the selfish, greedy fae. They were no more monstrous than anyone else who graced these lands, and they fascinated me. For two years, as I attended the training grounds every single day, mourning the loss of Bastian and putting myself through even more gruelling sessions, vowing revenge for his death, the Clothier had never bothered me. And when Zeke finally found the courage to approach me, they hadn't bothered him either. A part of me trusted them more than those I was surrounded by, for at least the Clothier were without bias. And they never hunted their own.

Zeke POV

We pass the training grounds, and I find myself side eyeing Talia, her face almost as pale as my own. Whilst the fear of the monsters that frequented the grounds kept my hand on its dagger, I knew Talia's fears were not so easy to see. I'd spent years watching her train with the half breed and a couple more after that before finally approaching her. Yet she was cold and sometimes cruel, even more so than now. I'd watched her fight to the death during the King's games, plunging swords and knives through skin as if it were butter. The same calculated movements as if she were simply baking a cake from memory, a long loved recipe. She didn't even flinch when the prisoners were brought here for judgement, each cruel act of torture growing more depraved as the King sought a reaction. I suppose that's the thing though, when you've been to hell like she had, whilst she never spoke of it, nothing bothered her much again.

Before I can stop myself, my remaining hand creeps to her own, her sharp nails cutting my palm as I stop her from pulling away.

"For my own sake." I say, nodding to our hands. "Protect me from the Clothier princess?"

"Shouldn't the warrior protect the princess?" An eye roll, but she doesn't make to release my hand.

Then, a moment of silence, a short window of vulnerability, and my voice is but a whisper:

"Are you OK?"

She laughs at me before answering, that dazzling smile she wears as a mask. "I'm afraid if I ever faced my own fears, I might lose my impeccable sense of humour. What would you ever do if I wasn't so truly funny? Heartbreak is the main ingredient you see.

Now, let me show around my home, dear soldier. Here, you will see the picturesque pit of death, the blood-soaked floor, an original feature - hand designed my yours truly".

"And if you look over here, this incredible rock. Have you ever seen such a delightful rock? A perfect spot for tea and an afternoon of murder".

"Ah, yes, princess" I agree "what a wonderful home you have. We must have dinner here soon."

"Dinner my dear? Anyone may think you wish to marry me!"

"And where shall we be married? Perhaps on the cliffs edge so I may push you over if the desire takes me?"

"Oh no, dear warrior, we shall be married on the graves of our enemies, of course. You must see the graveyard. A true piece of artwork."

Our little game continues as we approach the harbour and the smell of the sea and the sand and the sounds of humans working at the docks cause my heart to pang with homesickness.

"Do you ever miss it?" My voice, once again, no more than a whisper. But Talia stiffens, and I know that the moment has gone. "The Sea Serpent is set to sail today at the King's orders. I think the merchant may use this to escape, so we make our way to the fishing boat to the left, and when we see him, we make our move".

Talia nods and races towards the boat "last one there is a rotten fish".

So I chase after her, as I have always done.