Mortal Fantasy

✴｜chapter fourteen

I wander the thick forest groves for what seems hours. When I look to the sky, past the shroud of foliage, I realize with an inward jolt that the sky has already begun to darken.

Taking up fistfuls of my cloak, I hurry back the way I came, trying to keep my pounding footsteps as quiet as possible.

How could I have lost track of time? I try to urge the mounting, fearful pulse out of my ears. If Stephen had visited my chambers at all today...

But what reason would he have to see me? He took me to see Dalaé, given—but what does that mean? He is keeping me at the palace simply as a means of proving something to the queen—what, I do not yet know—and I am there with what bears down to a simple intent to kill him.

So why, as I run along the battered footpaths lining the forest, does a pang of guilt and longing shiver through me?

By the time I reach the servant's corridor in the back courtyard of the palace I am gasping. It takes all my strength to keep my breathing through my nose so as not to be heard; each forceful intake of air burns my lungs raw.

Fatigue plagues my limbs as I stumble up the spiraling steps, nausea curling at the base of my stomach as I am reminded of when I first set foot in the palace. That night had been wrought with fear, uncertainty, utter dread. I cannot say that those same feelings do not haunt me now—but for different reasons entirely.

Through the black patches edging my vision, I am barely able to make out what seems a familiar hallway down into... a suite?

It must be my chambers, I think, all but staggering towards the middle of the corridor, where I can see a knocker. I grab ahold of it, unable to contain my gasp, and pull the door open harshly.

The room is dark—in the large arched window, the moonlight reaches through from high in the sky, and I close my eyes as I stumble around and land on a bed, the sheets soft and beckoning.

With an exhausted moan I throw my cloak onto a hulking shape in the corner—do I have divans in my room?—and strip of the clothes I'd worn earlier today, into the thin panties and short buttoned shirt I'd donned beneath them. I crawl onto the bed and between the sheets, having no energy to properly adjust myself, and my eyelids weigh shut as I splay across the bed.

Mmm... I reach out, feeling something solid, and squeeze it. Is it a pillow? I cannot tell, but its warmth is comforting enough to lull me into a deep, deep slumber...

* * * * *

Oh.

The sunlight is warm across my body—with a slight groan of annoyance, I realize I hadn't pulled up the covers last night before falling asleep. Lifting a palm to my face, it registers that the slightest bit of drool is upon my lip. In horror I swipe it off, squirming, and that is when I become aware of the heavy arm draped across my uncovered waist.

At first I reach down for Yugr's dagger, finding that I had shed it along with my clothes last night, but then I instantly relax. It's just Adlyn. Of course—she always sleeps by me these days. Closing my eyes, feeling a smile of sweet relief overtake my face, I reach out to stroke her hair. It is soft, pliable beneath my fingertips—I run my hand down farther, surprised when the ends come up and my fingers instead slide across smooth, muscularly planed skin.

My eyes open very, very wide.

No.

No.

No—

"By the angels," comes a growl from besides me. "Have you no shame, woman?"

"This—you're in my room, it isn't my fault, there would be guards if these were your chambers," I blather, trying to fathom every excuse my mind can give me. "It's just a dream. A bad dream, in fact, and I will wake up from this nightmare soon. The real Prince Stephen would've—would've—thrown me off his bed—"

"You think I need guards around my chambers? And is that how you take me?" His voice is soft with the haze of sleep, and finally I lift my face to look at him.

His dark hair is tousled more so than it normally is—handsomely so, and I want to pinch myself a thousand times for even thinking it—and when he props himself up on his elbows to study me with a low-lidded, aureate gaze, something flutters in my stomach.

And—he's—

"Shirtless," I gasp, my hand instinctively retracting, and genuine surprise crosses his features before his mouth, incredulously, stretches into a grin.

"Oh my—gods," he sputters, between reverberating laughs. He bends his forehead to his pillow, his entire body shaking with mirth. "Seeing you shaken, it's—it's quite a feat, Avonstef."

"I am anything but shaken," I whisper, horrified. I scramble into sitting position, heaving up the comforter to cover myself—though it isn't as if I am naked. I suspect that it doesn't make a difference to me.

I effectively haul the sheets away from Stephen, which causes him to frown and tug at it with a free hand. With a sharp inhale I fall onto the bed, my head colliding with the mattress.

Through the shock, I register his chin just above my hair, and the warmth of practically being tucked into his neck. I want to surge backward, because the unwarranted proximity will set my body on fire if I do not, but a firm hand sets onto my arm and holds me there.

"Before you break my nose," he mutters, "I will stand first, Ithena."

I bristle from beneath him. "I can stand very well without injuring any part of you, Your Highness."

"Don't prove it to me," he says beneath his breath, which teases my forehead as he tilts his head downward. "Otherwise I'll have to remember your name for the restraining order."

"A restraining order for a concubine," I drawl, drawing myself up as he does so. Perhaps my cynicism is to prevent... other  things from leaking into my voice. "Exceedingly funny."

In the process of sitting up, my movements exactly parallel his, so that when he is halfway onto one elbow, I am staring him directly in the face.

A blush creeps across my face. How stupid could I possibly be? "That obviously didn't work, so maybe next time I'll just..."

I stop, sensing the intensity of his eyes on me. He doesn't move away but makes no move to come closer—though I suppose there is barely a closer.

"Ithena," he whispers, raising a hand.

I immediately tense.

Is he going to kiss me? I struggle to tamp down the undercurrent of thoughts bubbling to the surface. Why would he? Does he mean to toy with me? If he wants to, why am I letting him? I—!

I have no time to act, and to my terrified shock, remain perfectly still as he grips my chin and—

...

A/N

Heyy, who hates me for that cliffhanger? :D

It's been a while since I updated Mortal Fantasy, but I rediscovered the drive to continue writing this story. I really do love bringing stories to audiences (that hopefully find it interesting enough to spend their time reading) and I hope that you've stuck with me through the hiatus!

I can't really promise regular updates but I'm thinking at least once every two weeks. If you want to be notified about updates, follow me or add Mortal Fantasy to any reading lists you might have.

So, to the point here... any predictions for what's going to happen next? I won't reveal anything, because anything is possible ;D

Until next chapter,

Icelynn :3