Her heart gave a small flutter when his hand pressed against the small of her back, warmth gathering in her cheeks as he guided her towards the edge of the woods. The usual fog was gone today, giving way to an unrelenting sun that could only be tamed by the presence of shadows.
She watched as Oran spread out the blanket he'd tucked into the basket and once they were seated, began procuring bowls of fruits and breads, placing them in between their outstretched bodies.
“You still haven’t answered my question.” Nymiria squinted at him, teeth sinking into her lower lip when that dimpled smile returned.
He plopped a grape into his mouth and nodded, humming around the juices on his tongue. “Ever the observant one. I was hoping you’d forget you asked me and just see this as a nice little snack shared between friends.”
“Friends do not usually go on picnics together.” She chuckled, tearing off just the right size of bread that was deemed acceptable. Etiquette was the bane of her existence. She’d gladly shovel everything into her mouth if she could, but even the king’s favorite was expected to uphold a certain level of poise. It was exhausting.
Oran’s brow arched in response. “You must’ve had horrible friends.”
“The only friends I ever had worked here. They couldn’t afford this luxury, I’m afraid.” She winced at the bitterness of her own words, eyes flickering up to his face just in time to see guilt settle into his features. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No,” he shook his head. “You’re right. The treatment of the staff here is… detestable, to say the least. You have every right to feel the way you do. I’m the one who should apologize.”
“For what?”
He shrugged, flicking a tiny beetle away from an opened jar of jam. “I forget that you’re a courtesan sometimes. There’s something about you that…” She watched him closely as he sighed, roughly carding his fingers through his hair. “You really aren’t like the others. You’re like royalty, almost. There is this aura you give off that exudespower, Nymiria. And sometimes, it’s not in a good way. Not for you and I, at least.”
She wanted to blurt it out. She wanted the truth to be known. There were only three people in this kingdom that knew her true identity and one of them was buried merely twenty feet away from where they sat. It was a rage she couldn’t explain—knowing there was more for her than this world somewhere. It ran through her veins, it was her everything. From the time that she could walk, she’d worn a crown on her head. She wore it every single day until it was taken from her, stolen away by her own people.
You can still lead, Nymiria.The voice was in her ears, hot with the seductive allure of power.
“I’m a courtesan, Oran.” She shrugged. “And life is not fair. We are to play each card we are dealt and that is just the way the world works.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You didn’t.” Their eyes met. Her heart quickened, her chest flaring with the heat of her anger. Oran’s eyes lingered on her for a moment, emotions sliding to a look of worry. She didn't like it—he shouldn't worry about her. He shouldn'tcare.
Nymiria reached for another piece of bread, jolting slightly when Oran’s hand closed over her own. “I am sorry, Nymiria.” By the sternness of his tone, Nymiria stilled, slowly slipping her hand out from underneath his.
A hollow feeling settled in her stomach, a sort of fear she recognized all too well, one that made her palms sweat and her stomach churn. “Oran, why are you being nice to me?” She asked.
He blinked in confusion, his forehead forming a single wrinkle as he looked over her. “I enjoy your company.”
She shook her head. “That’s not what I mean,” she began, eyes focusing on a lone bird circling over the spires of the castle. “If you’re doing this because you want me to sleep with you, just know that you could take me to your bed any time you want. It’s my duty—“
“Is that what you want—for me to treat you like the others?” Oran questioned. She could sense his frustration as she watched his jaw quiver under clenched force. She shook her head again. “I don't see you that way." His shoulders relaxed the moment the words left his mouth, like he'd been carrying this secret with him for years. "I care about you, Nymiria. Not in a way that will get you into trouble with my father, but in the way that a brother might… care for a sister. There is something connecting us to one another. I don't know what it is, but it is the strongest pull to someone I have ever felt. And I don't want to ruin that with you by having you fulfill your duties."
"Please," Nymiria whispered, shaking her head. "You don't have to say these things to save my feelings." She could feel tears burning in her eyes, a swell ofemotion building in her throat. Aside from Desi, there weren't many people who cared for her like this. There were so many reasons why she knew she shouldn't have gotten close to him. Those around her, those she loved most, always seemed to vanish or die.
That thought, alone, was enough to force bile into her throat. Oran saw her panic, saw her emotions and went still. "Nymiria, are you alright?"
Death. There was always so much fucking death.
The sound of a cough drew their attention to the treeline behind them. They both turned. Nymiria wished she could hide her emotions—her face was still red and her eyes were still wet with the remnants of tears. She wished that her vulnerability was not showing at all because Aziel did not deserve to see it, but he already had and the shame that came with knowing he'd seen her fear made her want to kill him. Even when she turned her head away from him to shield her face, she could still feel his gaze on her. She could feel the cold radiating from him, anangeralmost.
"Hope I'm not interrupting something." Aziel said, his voice laced with a sharp edge.
"Youare." Oran nearly growled. Nymiria sneaked a look in his direction, assessing the hard lines of his face.
Aziel merely chuckled, the crackling of leather causing chills to run down her spine. She did her best to mask them, her hand balling into a fist. "You seem to have a special talent in upsetting women, brother."
"This is none of your business." Oran was now on his feet, standing between Nymiria and Aziel. Guarding her. "And she is not upset. She'sfine."
"Doesn't seem like that from where I'm standing." Aziel's voice was as cold as steel. At the sound of his ire, Nymiria's brow furrowed, her head turning to peer at her target. Their eyes met instantly.
I'm not fine. She wanted to say it. She wanted someone to know that none of this was alright—that she wasn'tfineand that she hadn't been fine in ten years. Her heart sped up to an alarming rate, her breaths becoming sharper to the pointthat they were starting to hurt. Without thinking, she leapt to her feet and started running. Ignoring Oran's worried calls, ignoring the sound of boots thumping behind her in a stride that nearly matched her own, she darted into the forest.
