The King's Possession ✔️

TWENTY NINE

Word Count: 1717

Marek stands before me, his dull lamp light casting eerie shadows across his face, the shapes manipulating as he moves.

I lounge upon his desk chair, watching him in a way a studious student would watch their teacher. Right now, that's what he is, teaching me the nuisances of a Summoner and their attacks, having just rambled on for the past eight minutes of Summoner history that I will likely be unable to retain.

His room is similar to mine, although far smaller with plain bedding and only a desk instead of a dresser. His own balcony door is wide open, despite tonight being far cooler than past nights. The ice tinted breeze dances it's way through his dark curtains, tugging at the cover of a book that lounges by his bedside. It must be coming from the snowy mountain caps of the Azure Province.

"Dealing with a Summoner is simple, in reality," Marek explains, his expression having fallen impassive and unreadable from the moment I walked in. "Your reaction determines the success of their attack."

"Gotcha."

"If you're not frightened by them, they can't get to you. Summoners rely on the element of surprise, using shock to get the first move of attack on you." I shiver, swallowing uncomfortably. Seeing the Summoner was terrifying, rendering me completely useless as I failed to overcome the shock until they attacked.

Marek paces, the grace and fluidity to that simple movement forcing me to look away. How is he so beautiful? Tonight his marking is far more intense, the sapphire hues reflecting off the shafts of moonlight through the window like the many facets of a gem. The delicate lines of his cheekbones frame his face, light and shadow tracing the resolute cut of his jawline.

The breath I release shudders. "I've been witness to this, yes."

"They may not just use a disguise of you. They can summon any appearance from you that they like, from just a memory," he explains. My stomach turns, imagining Marek masquerading as anyone of his choice. That means a brother, mother, partner...even someone you met only five minutes before."

"That's terrifying."

"But we cannot take the appearance of any other magical being, other Summoners included."

As I carefully store the information away to be used later, I allow myself to be distracted from the unspoken tension between us. Every now and again, as I spend a moment too long noticing certain aspects of his figure, flashes of a memory will return with an uncomfortable vigour.
My body even physically reacts, chills lancing across my skin as I recall the pressure at which he pressed me back against the wall, how he tenderly gripped my face yet kissed me with contradictory force.

"The easiest way to determine whether it may be an impersonation, is in the details," he continues, shaking me from my thoughts. "It takes many years for a Summoner to perfect transitions. If they use a memory, they must be careful, as it may not be fully developed. This leaves an opening for mistakes. Like I said, it's in the details. Teeth, maybe even the way their hair is parted."

"This is a lot to remember. I had no time to determine whether they had the exact freckle pattern as me; I was more concerned with whether they were going to kill me," I mutter tiredly.
It is midnight after all.

"It takes time, practice," he says finally. "Which I will help you with."

Nodding, I cast my gaze out my window, getting to my feet. With all these sinful thoughts, I need to step onto the balcony and let the cool air brush over my flushed cheeks. However, as I do so, I don't note how close I've been to Marek, our shoulders brushing together as we try to pass each other. The electricity sparked by the tension between us buzzes, something I'm sure we both notice.