Mortal Fantasy

✴｜chapter four

I emerge from my fitful slumber with a choked sob. Alone in the small quarters, dappled sunlight falling in through an open arched window, I finally give into the gnawing homesickness that claws at my chest.

I remember the young girl Kieran, whom I had promised to take down to the forest's edge in the early morning of the day I left them. I remember Yugr and the dagger he gifted me, telling me to never feel weak in the face of a golden blood. I remember Barthamieu and his forgetfulness, leaving the hearth blazing through the night and nearly burning down the tavern.

I remember Meir most of all, when he was a young, snow-haired boy who was absolutely fascinated with my claims to all the knowledge in the world. Stealing me a silver-threaded tassle from the coat of a golden-blooded noble for my fifteenth birthday, giving me my first kiss upon my sixteenth.

I remember pushing him away, thinking that he would tire with me, realize I was nothing more than a beautiful face. So many of the other girls of the kingdom would have loved to have Meir—their bitterness towards me was not entirely unwarranted.

I remember the first time Meir saw me, barely eight years old.

You only look at me because I'm beautiful. Boys don't care for anything on the inside.

I've seen better, he had insisted, and had been with me ever since.

Rubbing at the dampness in my eyes, I finally set aside the blankets and perch on the edge of the bed. It is more of a glorified cot—the room itself is smaller than even one of the prince's chamber rooms, and while it has no accessible facilities, the ceiling arches with mosaics that glitter once the first rays of dawn hit them in full force. It is a retelling of the descent of the angels upon the primitive land—beautiful, perfect creatures who possessed potent magic and wisdom. Once humanity began exploiting them for their knowledge and power, the first golden-blooded queen, Kalistratus, led the angels to crush the armies of mortal men and claim absolute rule over a land now called Atellyn, angelic tongue for Crown of the Angels. The most notable kingdoms to emerge as the angel races separated were Kyrie, the coastal kingdom bordering Atellyn's vast forest, and the two eastern queendoms, Losac and Mendys.

It is said that the angels descended upon the earth from a slit in the sky, one that rained fire and charred ashes, and once the fire licked their blood they became insusceptible to it and their blood ran gold as ichor.

Sighing, I run my fingers through my dirty, tangled hair, knowing that I need to bathe. Stephen summoned the maids last night—they had taken me to my room where, exhausted, I had fallen asleep almost immediately. Now, as the sun takes its place in the high sky, I am not certain of how to call them again—I have barely an idea as to how to navigate the palace.

I slip on the thin moccasins that I had left at the foot of the bed last night, cherishing whatever I have left of home. Even if Prince Stephen's plan isn't to exploit me, I am still trapped in the palace with no way to ensure his death or that I will not get discovered in doing so. All I can hope for now is to find some time to get him alone and seduce him—even though it might prove more difficult than I had initially imagined, given the prince's guarded nature.

Sliding the door closed behind me, I step into the hall, wandering down the less lavish servants quarters and hoping I might bump into a maid.

Turning a corner, I walk straight into the plated chest of a guard. Staggering back, I lift my gaze to meet that of a glaring soldier, whose fist tightens around his staff as he scrutinizes me.

His glare eases a bit, and his eyes take a dip from my face before returning. "Who are you?"

"I'm—His Highness' concubine, Prince Stephen's." I force my voice from my throat. "I'm trying to find him, actually..."

The guard laughs, as if I am speaking nonsense. "You expect me to believe that he wouldn't be having you in his own chambers?"

I inwardly grimace; it would only make logical sense that the prince's concubine was still in his room and at his behest, especially on her first night. I push down the mounting panic in my chest and raise my voice, trying to stand taller. "Look here, I... the prince will most likely be irritated that you've been keeping me from him. He specifically gave me a separate quarters and I—"

"Evander?" comes a mildly concerned—and familiar—voice.

I look past the guard and catch sight of Prince Stephen. He is dressed in a dark overcoat, golden chains lacing epaulettes and the breast pocket, illuminating his matching aureate eyes. I have never seen him formally clothed, and it strikes me how much of royalty he really is—his posture, everything about him radiates handsome authority.

"Your Highness." The response is immediate, and I suppress a sigh. "This girl claims to be your concubine?"

"That she is," Stephen says, eyeing me. "I gave her a separate room."

I cast a dead look at the guard, unable to keep my pride from bleeding into my expression, and his mouth tightens as he bows to the prince. "My apologies, I questioned her."

"Fine." He flicks the soldier a disinterested glance. "Be on your way, then."

"Of course, Your Grace."

The guard makes an awkward exit, and when I am sure he is gone, I turn back to face Stephen. Even though he has been callous towards me and does not touch me purely on the basis that humans sicken him, I am grateful to him for pulling me out of such a tricky situation. As it were, I wouldn't have been eager to be taken to the queen to prove my innocence—Queen Auven is even more terrifying than her son, so I gather my courage and speak.

"Thank you... Your Highness."

Stephen smirks a bit at the honorary, then fixes his burning gaze on mine and asks, "Why say thanks? I'd be doing both of us a favor if you weren't questioned by the queen."

I try to think of something that won't make me sound as stupid as I do now. "I'm also grateful that you didn't... take advantage of me, yesterday. I wanted to get a chance to tell you."

Something changes in Stephen's features, the expression all but draining from his face. His eyes burn more so than usual.

Did I say something wrong? My pulse quickens as he steps closer. Thanking him for...? 

"Ithena," he hisses. "Let me stop you from making your first mistake."

At that very moment, movement appears out of the corner of my eye. Every ounce of blood vanishes from Stephen's face and his eyes flash back to me, his fists tightening.

As Queen Auven steps into full view, Prince Stephen shoves me against the wall and melds his lips onto mine.

A/N

... oh my.

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Icelynn :3