My Enemy, My Love

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔉𝔬𝔲𝔯

Thyme [Sea]

I tried to avoid Luka like the plague. Married life was proving to be a misery - a hellish inferno I had entirely anticipated. Every moment was torture, madness. It was as though we couldn't go a single day without tearing into each other. Every conversation became a battlefield, every decision a point of dispute, every minute in one another's company a time bomb destined for disaster. Surviving it - surviving him - was a gruelling challenge. 

Separation was irrational, and divorce was a ludicrous thought. I simply could not rid myself of him. 

We lived together, alone, in a magnificent nineteenth-century country house, a wedding gift from Luka's father. The move had been tiresome and inconvenient, sparking our first bouts of quarrelling. Since then, the arguments had never ceased. Naturally, we had contrasting opinions on everything - the extent of renovations, priorities, and even the colour schemes. Luka prefered a modern refurbishment of the house, while I insisted on preserving its aged, traditional brilliance.

Defiance and persistence had done enough to enrage him so, to shut me up, he settled the subject with a frustrated sigh and a strict order: no renovations.

I had won and he despised that. 

So, for the first month, living under the same roof had proven to be a painful ordeal. We kept to ourselves, and I purposely - and strategically -  avoided him. The house was large enough to find refuge in its corners, hiding spots where I could exist without his constant presence. By staying put for a few hours, I could comfortably avoid him. It was the perfect escape, a counted on relief. 

A temporary hiding spot which allowed me to forget all about him, this marriage, our conflict. 

But Luka had changed. Something had shifted in his mind, in his attitude. He no longer engaged in our petty, heated arguments. His days were consumed by meetings in his study, reviewing reports of the West. Lords, generals, and even soldiers cycled through our home in an endless procession. Our bickering had dwindled to a silence, replaced by a tense, distant truce. 

But neither of us accepted it as peace. Luka was obsessed with the West. I knew it. 

Matters of the West tormented my mind too, though I refused to voice it. The reports were grim, horrifying: border towns falling, the beheading of another king, armies advancing. The threat of a full scale invasion loomed closer every day, and Luka was clearly set on preventing it. I had never seen him like this before. Determined. Bloodthirsty. Lustful. 

I could not find any means to convict his actions, and nor did I wish to meddle in his affairs.

Luka was serious, for once, and something about it terrified me. 

I had never seen that look in his eyes before. 

That evening, he was in another meeting. I didn't usually wait for him, but urgency clawed at me to inquire about the West. Anxiously, I paced outside his study, restless. I jumped as the doors swung open. A group of men spilled out, their faces grim. They greeted me with polite nods, and I returned the gesture, forcing a smile. Luka emerged last, his steps heavy, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. 

He had removed his waistcoat and jacket; his shirt was unlaced, exposing his chest. Something about his dishevelled appearance ensnared me. Like in a trance, I watched him approach me. I was transfixed. I had half expected him to walk on, ignore me, but no. Not today. Then his lips curled into that familiar, tormenting smirk. 

I didn't waste a moment. "What happened in there?"

"Ah," he began, stopping just out of arm's reach. "So, now you're interested."