Mortal Fantasy

✴｜chapter nineteen

I startle awake, gripping the sheets and letting loose a strangled gasp as my fingers claw into the embroidery. A flush has crept to the tips of my ears, and even my heartbeat struggles to regain itself.

What a terrible dream. I pull off the covers, barely noticing that they are not mine. The memory of my slumbering nightmare is still vivid in my mind; the prince holding me down against the bedsheets with no restraint of strength, whispering wickedly into my ear, promising me that no matter how I tried I would not be able to get away. I shiver thinking of it, but my blush only deepens to realize that it is not out of fear or disgust, as maybe I would have felt days ago.

Picking the up the bedsheets in my hands, I notice that it feels far too opulent to be something used to furnish a concubine's quarters, no matter how luxurious even that may be. Waking up in Stephen's bed is a different experience from the last—this time I am not so panicked, mainly because I remember collapsing last night, and the prince himself is nowhere to be found beside me.

Where is he? I slip off the bed, trying to be as quiet as possible, and pull down the crumples of fabric that had ridden up my legs. Wincing at the tangles in my hair, I pull it free of its pins, mindlessly dropping them on the floor. If he's a prince, surely his rooms are cleaned regularly. I imagine him, generally the more poised of the both of us, slipping on the pins or accidentally stabbing his feet with them, and pinch my cheeks to keep from cackling.

Wandering past the elaborate carpets and divans, I find him sprawled in one of the armchairs, terribly slouched and sleeping with his head of dark waves tilted to one side. Despite his slumber he looks troubled, and I kneel besides him to further examine his face, as if it will betray what he might be dreaming about.

Against my better judgement, my fingertips lift up and gingerly run the length of his lips and then temples, wondering at the softness there. It is beyond me why he lacks imperfection even without consciousness; having the chance to look at him like this is like catching him in another world. His lashes flutter subtly against his high bronzed cheeks, giving away that he is disturbed or about to wake. With a quick last touch—I couldn't possibly fathom why I do so—I rise, the faraway thought reaching me that it is unfortunate that I do not possess Yugr's dagger; I could have so easily plunged it into his beating heart...

A hand catches my wrist, sending something of an electric shock through my entire body. I let out a strange noise between a gasp and a shout, and Stephen regards me from below heavy-lidded eyes.

"Let go of me," I say beneath my breath, tugging from his hand.

"You were standing over me oddly just a moment ago," he murmurs, his voice deep and raw from just having slept. "What was going through your head, I wonder?"

"Nothing questionable." I fight to keep my face composed. "I was about to leave, in fact. You brought me here after I lost consciousness last night?"

Stephen's gaze seems more alert. He shifts to sit up straighter, and I notice the clasps on his vest are messily done and in the wrong loops. I urge myself to keep my eyes from straying to his perfect bare arms, all at once infuriated with myself, but he doesn't seem to notice. "Well... yes." He lets go of my wrist and rubs a hand over his face—hiding an expression, or is he simply tired? "I had to carry you all the way up here. Perhaps some gratitude is in order?"

I stiffen all at once, blinking at him. "Before I thank you... you didn't violate any part of our agreement, did you?"

Stephen seems to stare at me for the longest time, before solemnly asking, "Why are you blushing, Ithena?"

I struggle to keep my composure. I can't help but think of the dream—it feels so real that I want to outrightly ask him. "B-blushing? Why in the world would I do that?"

Finally Stephen stands, causing me to stumble back a few steps. I would expect him to be amused at my fluster, but instead he seems uneasy. "Why? Do you... remember something unpleasant?"

I search his eyes; the fire in them seems to falter, and I understand that he is keeping something from me. "What happened?" There is no response. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he says finally, looking off at a far wall of the room. I want to scream, but what can I do? He is the Crown Prince and has no reason to indulge my questions. When I woke, I was clothed just as I was last night, and the sheets spotless...

Yet why is his guilt so glaringly distinct?

"You violated our agreement," I breathe in disbelief. "Somehow. And now you won't even tell me of it?"

Stephen stares at me for a few long, regretful moments, before speaking in a voice so raw and withdrawn that I barely hear. "Alright. I kissed you."

I don't know what sort of a reaction I expect from myself, but it is certainly not to exclaim, "Don't you think I would have remembered that!"

He is possibly as shocked as I am at my choice of words. "You were drugged, Ithena, why in the world would you remember a kiss?"

"Be—because—" I slap one hand over my mouth. "Of all things, you never struck me as insincere, Stephen," I add indignantly behind my fingers.

The Crown Prince glares at me incredulously. "Of all things, you remember that? I have no idea what's wrong with you, Ithena."

"Well—maybe my memory capacities are better than you think," I blurt, remembering my dream. Oh, no. If I dreamed something like that, and it was anything close to what might have happened last night...

"There," he mutters, seeming... disoriented? "You remember it, don't you? Do you remember that I intend to make up for that mistake?"

I try to form a coherent sentence, but am only able to come up with, "Wh... yes?"

The light coming in from the large arched window, between draping curtains, catches in his eyes. "I'll grant you any one, doable request. It can't be something impossible, like leaving the palace, but almost anything else, I'll oblige."

This takes me with a certain measure of surprise. "So... something rather trivial, then."

He sighs. "Whatever that means to you."

When I truly regard him this time, with his bright waiting eyes and apprehensive expression as to my answer, all I can think is that he resembles a boy, so young and innocent and sincere.

"Alright." I think of the endless hours spent in my chambers, even with Adlyn's company, and decide on something rather trivial. "Take me to the palace's library."

A/N

It's been quite a while since the last update. My schedule can be rather irregular, but please bear with me <3

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Until next chapter,

Icelynn :3