I made my way across the room, the carpet silencing my footsteps. My head swayed left to right as I took it all in.So many memories. My thoughts snatched me to my first day here, the day I first entered Semuel’s rooms.
“I thought all the princes and princesses resided in the west wing,” I commented as we climbed the second flight of stairs on the east wing.
“All but one. What can I say? I like my privacy. Plus, I’m closer to the stables.” Then his voice turned into a whisper. “But most of all, I am far away from my mother’s coaxing about it being the right time to find a nice lady companion.” Fifteen-year-old me had chuckled at the last comment.
I gaped upon entering his room.
I felt small in this spacious chamber with high, vaulted ceilings and walls made of sandstone and stained glass. Sunlight reflected in vibrant patterns that scattered across the lush maroon carpeted floors. To our left was a bed big enough for four, and next to it, an eight-door wooden wardrobe. Across from the bed was an oval dining table. And to our front, I beheld a grandiose work desk stacked with piles of books.
When was my gape going to end?
In the right corner stood a tall mirror, its solid frame made of orange wood, intricately carved with delicate shapes of olive tree branches. Semuel walked us left, and we entered another room. A bathing chamber, covered floor to ceiling in dark blue tiles. The bath selfishly occupied a large proportion of the room, yet I almost missed it, with its pellucid water—a mere reflection of the glossy tiles.
I flinched, startled, as my own reflection leapt out of the gleam. I let out a sheepish laugh, different from Semuel’s amused snort. The invisible tall mirror showed me he moved behind me, and I turned around wearing a wide smile.
We moved back into the main chamber. “Just wow. All of this is your room? Room, or rooms? They’re even bigger than the dorms of the orphanage.”
Semuel chuckled. “It is grand indeed. It is more of my father’s doing. He says all princes’ and princesses’ rooms should look like such. A reflective facade, he calls it.”
“All thirteen princes and princesses have rooms like these?” I asked.
“Yes, and most of my nieces and nephews have similar rooms as well.”
Behind the desk was a window. I moved near and peered through it. “Oh, look! That’s the high tower of Kalnar! I can’t believe it can be seen from up here.” Semuel moved closer and leaned over, perching his elbows on the windowsill. I looked at his profile as he faced the view. His complexion was a shade darker than my olive skin, his cheekbones prominent, and his lips thin. Although none of his features were exceptionally striking, he was subtly handsome. And when he turned to face me, his chestnut eyes appeared kind.
“Yes, the high tower of Kalnar can be seen from most of the rooms.”
“It took us two days by horse to get here; I surely didn’t expect to see any part of Kalnar from here.”
“It’s because Sharlam is on higher ground, and the high tower is…well, very high.”
“What’s that?” I asked, pacing towards the side table. “It’s like a lamp but it’s odd, and the flame…it’s—it’s white. How?”
“Can you keep secrets, Wild-heart?” he asked, emphasising my surname’s syllables.
“I can, yes.”
“Very well then.Thatis a pocket flame. It holds what’s known as the immortal flame.” I looked at him in confusion. “An immortal flame…a flame that does not die. If I fold the casein two and lock it, the flame extinguishes, but when I open it again, the flame reignites as if it remembers that it was there and wishes to be there still.”
“How is that even possible?” One day in a building outside of the orphanage and I had already seen too many new things.
“It was made by a powerful Fire Wielder, but it was somehow imbued with some other magic.”
“Whoa. Can I watch it? Reignite?”
“I’m sorry, Wildheart, but I promised I would let it burn. It burns in remembrance of the flames Ilma endured—endures still.”
I nodded in understanding.
“I was your age when it happened. I remember my father and his companions, including my mother, my eldest brothers and sisters, all frantic about the attack. My mother wept when she heard about the beheading. Most of my younger siblings cried that night in fear of our family becoming Naar’s next target. When I crossed paths with the immortal flame, I was so drawn to it, I could not withhold myself from buying it. And when I opened it for the first time, it reminded me of them, and so I made a promise.”
“It’s very beautiful,” I told him, my tone gentle.
For a while, we looked at the immortal flame in silence.
“Prince Semuel?”
“You may call me Semuel.”
