Warrior of the Moon

31

He mouthed her name, his expression going slack with shock. She watched in silence, drinking the sight of him in, as other emotions took over his expression and a flare of anger lit up in his eyes. Clearly, he was attempting to make sense of her role here: she had been the leader of a rebel group in the Realm. She had been here for weeks against his wishes and without his knowledge. She had been in the midst of fighting multiple times; something that had always been one of his worst nightmares. Listing off her indiscretions in her head, she wondered if he would ever be able to forgive her. The idea of being cast out of Tarin's life was unimaginable.

He took a hesitant step forward. "Who did this to you?" he asked softly. At first she thought he was just asking who had brought her back to the Realm, but then she noticed where he was looking: her eye, her bandaged hands. Her injuries.

"I'm fine, Tarin," she said. And she was. The black eye was beginning to fade, and her palms were just burnt from casting the magic in Timbercress. Nahla had offered to heal the burns, but Serena had declined again. Her marks provided proof that she was fighting, even if they had stung when she had wielded Tarin's blades.

Tarin met her eyes again, and from the agony she could see in them, she knew he was not entirely convinced by her statement. "Help me to understand this," he said, and his voice was constrained. Oh, he was very angry, but he was trying to give her a chance to dispel it.

She stepped forward, and he did not move. She let loose another breath, this time in relief. That was a good sign, anyway. If he wanted nothing at all to do with her, he would have stepped away. It was a rare occurrence, but he had done so before.

"Are you not happy to see me at all? It's been weeks, Tarin. Weeks."

He seemed frozen in his spot. His fingers were still clenched around the handle of his dagger, but she was not in any way worried about it. She trusted him implicitly. He would not harm her, not on purpose. And, while his entire aura was emanating anger, his eyes were soaking the sight of her in; or at least, that was what she hoped was happening, as they did not leave her face.

"I don't know what I'm feeling, your Majesty. Please provide an explanation," he repeated stiffly.

She frowned and tossed back her hood, throwing her hair over her shoulders. "It's a fairly simple explanation that I'm sure you've already worked out in that clever brain of yours, Tarin. I decided that, as reigning queen of the Fae, I shouldn't just sit in hiding anymore. I had to at least try to help my people, or I would not be worthy of my crown if I were ever to win it back. So I came back. I found some friends. I trained. And it's lucky that I did; I've killed a lot of Infernals, Tarin, and I sure saved your butt yesterday," she explained, trying to end on a light note to make him smile. He did not.

"Your Majesty, this is foolish--"

Rolling her eyes, Serena unclasped her cloak and hung it up in his closet, trying to make the situation seem a lot less tense than it was. Icy Tarin intimidated her; aggravated Tarin, she could deal with.

"Stop calling me that. You know I don't like that. Not from you," she interrupted him, brushing her hands over her shirt before looking back up at him. She was surprised to see that he was now staring at her with wider eyes, and his composure seemed a bit shaken. Furrowing her brows, she asked, "What are you looking at?"

He blinked rapidly. "Nothing, I just... I've never seen you dressed in something like that, is all," he said, too hurriedly. "Princess," he added on afterward, a flush creeping up his neck.

She raised her eyebrows, and, sensing a moment of weakness, moved closer again. "You mean... pants? They're all the rage in the human realm," she joked. "Leggings are a whole lot easier to move around in than gowns."