“Sure.” I nod my head and follow him deeper into the royal garden, curious about where he will take me.
“You know when you asked me who tattooed me?” he asks. “The week before the trials.”
He didn’t need to clarify that. I remember the moment fine, just like most of the memories he is in.
“Yes,” I whimper, curiosity racing through me. He matches my pace, staying at my side.
“You will see.” He winks. Apparently, at the end of the garden, on the seaside, there is a forest. My gaze examines the woods he is dragging me in. Could it be that I got him completely wrong? He is described as a killer. Maybe he wants to get rid of me before the second trial? So that I won’t be a burden on his shoulders? Except something tells me I’m safe, like I can feel his intention through our bond. The trees look dark and punky. In the distance, light shines through the trees and branches.
“What is that?” I ask, not sure if I should continue following this man. “If you want to know, you will have to follow.” He nods towards the cabin. His lips are pressed together, like heis already regretting his decision to bring me here. The house reminds me a bit of Da’s and mine. Except for the fact that it is a lot smaller, like at least three times as small. He presses the dark, oak wooden door open with his good shoulder. His hand is shaking a bit as he looks down to the ground. “Sorry, maybe this is not a good idea,” he hesitates. He steps outside again and runs his hand through his dark brown, wavy, and fluffy hair. His blue eyes look up and his gaze finds mine. The blue in his eyes seems to stream as wild as the waterfalls in my forest.
He is insecure.
He never shows this.
My eyes are a bit wide, and I give him a comforting smile. I think hard about the next words leaving my mouth, not wanting to make him shut down like usual. I would really like to touch him, but I know that would not be the right move right now.
“I would love to see, but only if you want me to,” I whisper. He breaks our eye contact and pushes the door open, inviting me inside. My feet drag me in before he has the chance to shut the door in my face.
Wow.
It is warm and cozy with lots of wooden details. Nothing like the impression he gives you. But what really catches my attention are the drawings that are hung up everywhere. The only places that aren’t covered in drawings are the countless windows this small place has. I climb the wooden stair, bolting through the cabin, wanting to explore everything. At the loft is a desk, covered in drawings.
A large number of faces stare right back at me.
I stare at myself. The desk is covered in drawings of me.
My heart pounds in my chest as memories crash back in my mind.
The drawing.
My birthday.
Braxton nightly sneak outs.
My breath pitches in my throat. He really is letting me in.
This is his hiding and drawing spot.
But next to drawings of my face that seem to capture my personality perfectly, there are more drawings.
Darker drawings.
I want to lift a paper, but don’t want him to see the ones I am looking at.
Dungeons.
A boy with no face that seems to scream.
As I walk next to the desk, the drawings grow darker.
More painful.
I twist around looking over the railings of the loft. Braxton stands frozen to the spot next to the door. His hands are in his trousers, and his lips are pressed into a firm line. His eyes trace me with every step I make, filled with something that looks like admiration, but his body language says the complete opposite. His shoulders are held up, high and tense. I look over at the other drawings hanging on the wall.
Waterfalls, butterflies, clocks, a landscape with birds.
Not only dark ones. I feel like I am walking through a museum.
