by Jayden Woods
*
For a moment, she considered running forever and never coming back. She hated this palace. She hated this Haze. She hated the people who loved it and spent their entire lives intoxicated with safra. She hated these noblemen and their ability to toy with her. She hated the responsibility of being a Princess and the necessity of playing a game for which she didn’t know the rules. She hated her father for not explaining anything before he died. She even hated her own brother, who never acted as he ought to, and yet still managed to know what she didn’t.
I don’t want to be like my family, she had said to the Wolven that terrible night. I despise the Violenese, my own ancestors. I hate them for this curse they’ve given me. I hate my father for raising me in their shadow, never even giving me the knowledge to choose a fate for myself. I am glad that he’s dead and I want to thank you. I want to thank you for freeing me.
When she said those words to the assassin, she thought she lied to him. The words had burned on her tongue, supposedly from the pain of the lie. Now she realized she had felt the pain of the truth.
Her dress thrashed against her legs as she ran. A few pearls ripped from the thread and scattered to the floor. She hated this dress, too. She hated all of it. She didn’t want to find Kyne. She wanted to run to the stables and get on a horse. She would do it. She would grab a pouch of safra to sell later, or just collect it as she rode through Dearen. She would ride as far as she could, and after that, she would sail, or walk, or climb, or do whatever she must to get away. She would stain her hair with dyes and assume a new identity. She would lead a completely new life.
Two dark shapes rounded the corner ahead of her. With great reluctance, she lurched to a stop while she remained in a shadowed section of the hallway. She waited for the figures to pass and used this opportunity to catch her breath.
The two shapes moved closer, into the light of the sunset through a window. Immediately she recognized the smaller shape as Prince Kyne, but he kicked his feet and rammed his fists against a larger shape. The man held her brother by the collar with one hand, seemingly without effort, and twisted the fabric about the prince’s neck. Kyne increased his efforts again the man, who then pushed Kyne against the wall. Kyne cried out.
“Darius?”
The man turned and looked at her with surprise. “Fayr!”
She walked closer, still out of breath, for she had held it again while watching the two of them struggle. “What is going on here?”
“Forgive me, Princess, if I used too much force. Your brother was running so fast that he tripped and nearly hurt himself. I caught him and tried to calm him down, but he’s been fighting me ever since.”
“Oh ...” She didn’t know which issue to address first: Darius’s mysterious absence from the feast, or her brother’s untimely flight from it. She was still trying to sort this all out when a third figure stepped into the light of the window. He was a lean young man with long black hair and bright blue eyes.
“You’re the princess?” said the fellow. “The princess of all Dearen?”
“Gregor!” snapped Darius.
“Um, yes, I’m Princess Fayr,” she said. “And you are …?”
“This is my slave, Gregor,” growled Darius. “Please forgive his presumption. He has never met a princess before.”
“It is an honor!” said Gregor, bringing his fist to his chest. Then he winced, for his wrist was bound tightly to a piece of wood as if injured.
All this while, Kyne thrashed and flailed against Darius. His efforts were so futile that Darius didn’t even seem to notice.
“Calm down, Kyne,” said Fayr at last.
“He fucking hurt me!” squealed the prince.
“Not enough, it seems to me!” Fayr shook her head with exasperation. “I can’t believe your behavior tonight, Kyne. You shamed me in front of everyone. Furthermore, you embarrassed yourself.”
“Let go of me, you bastard!” yelled Kyne. It was as if he heard nothing Fayr said. “Let go of me or I’ll fucking stab you! I will! I’ll take you to the dungeons and kill you!”
Fayr’s blood curdled. Darius, meanwhile, went very still. He stared at the prince with an expression Fayr did not recognize. His eyes took on a very strange appearance, the brown of his irises strangely flat, while a faint glow crept round the edges.
He released Kyne and stepped away.
Kyne took a moment to collect himself, then straightened his tunic and yelled with new vigor. “That’s right, fuck with me again and you’ll be sorry!”
He turned and ran off.
Fayr watched him go in a state of shock. It was a long while before she found the will to speak. She thought her knees would give out from under her. “I … I don’t know what’s come over him,” she confessed at last. “I don’t know how to deal with it. How can I deal with it if I don’t even understand … ?”
Then it happened. She burst into tears.
“Oh my gods,” said Gregor. He whispered, but she could hear him clearly. “Do you see that, Chief? She’s crying. She’s the princess of Dearen and she’s—”
“Leave us, Gregor,” said Darius. “Now!”
The slave reluctantly shuffled away.
It was a good thing he did, for Fayr couldn’t hold it in anymore. The floodgates had opened, and now her emotions gushed out of her in an unstoppable deluge. Her muscles weakened, like a puppet with its strings cut, and she collapsed against Darius. She pressed her face to his chest and poured her tears into the soft wool of his mantle.
“Oh Darius,” she sobbed, “I am frightened.”
His arms wrapped gently around her. He pressed his cheek to her hair and, instantly, she began to feel just a little bit better. His heartbeat thudded against her, steady as a drum. “You need not be afraid,” he said. “You are the princess of Dearen. And when you are ready, you’ll be Queen.”
This thought pushed forth a new stream of tears. “I wasn’t ready to be the princess of Dearen,” she cried, “and I’m certainly not ready to be Queen! My father never taught me how to run this place. He never taught me anything except how to manipulate people with safra. And soon, I will not even be able to do that!”
Darius tensed. “Why not?”
“Because he never taught me how to make it!”
A terrible silence followed her confession. She refilled it with the sound of her weeping.
“The Haze is running out, Darius,” she moaned. “Perhaps it is not obvious to you or anyone else, because you have not lived here all your life like I have, watching the Haze from afar, using safra to manipulate everyone around you, yet never able to enjoy it for yourself.” A new sob wracked her frame. “I suppose you know the truth now. There it is. I am completely immune to safra and I have always been, as all Violenese were before me. I suppose it is the cost of being able to make it—though I can’t even do that! I can’t even find the key to the dungeons. It disappeared after my father died.” She shook her head in despair. “That night I saw you shed a tear, I knew you might be able to understand me. Perhaps it was a tear of joy, or perhaps a result of the weakened Haze … but what does it even matter? Soon it will make no difference.”
“Fayr. I do understand.” He reached up and brushed her cheek with his fingertips. His body closed against hers, filling her with warmth. The warmth seemed to come from within her body as much as from without. His touch calmed her deluge of sorrow and filled her with a new sensation. “Perhaps I am not completely immune to the safra like you are. But I have lived almost my whole life in darkness, and as a result, I have kept my emotions at a distance.”
She pulled back enough to look up at him. His hand cradled her cheek, brushing softly against her hair.
“You might say that I have lived most of my life feeling nothing,” he said, “or at least trying not to. But that changed when I came here. It did not necessarily change as soon as I came to Dearen, so I don’t think safra is to blame. No; it changed when I met you, Fayr.”
&nb
sp; Her heart pounded against her ribs. Her head spun. But this time, it was not from fear or bewilderment. This time, a heat flooded her body like nothing she had felt before. She wondered if this was what safra felt like to everyone else. Her skin tingled with sensation, especially where it touched Darius. As their bodies pressed together, an ache spread out from her belly and into her thighs, but it was the most pleasant ache she had ever experienced.
She wondered if Darius felt something similar. One of his hands tightened against the small of her back. The other slid deeper into the waves of her hair, his fingers tangling in her purple locks. He leaned closer to her, his breath hot against her lips.
The light from the window waned slightly. As the shadows shifted around them, Fayr knew that the sun sank below the horizon, pulling night over the landscape.
Darius stiffened against her, his hand clenching in her hair. “I must go,” he said.
“Why?” Her repressed anger flickered against the surface of her feelings. “Why must you always run away at sunset? Why did you not come to my feast tonight? Is there something you’re hiding from me?”
“I …” His grip on her wavered. “I must go.”
“No,” she said, and pulled him towards her. “I forbid it.”
Then she kissed him.
She had kissed many boys in her lifetime, and even a few girls. No one thought much of the gesture in Dearen, where people sometimes copulated as casually as shaking hands. She remained a virgin, as a princess should, but she had never hesitated to play along the boundaries. Despite all that, nothing she had ever done compared to the kiss she shared with Darius.
A fire seemed to erupt in her loins and spread through all the veins of her body. As her lips closed against his, she tasted the sweetest drink in the entire world. Her mouth became dry and an unquenchable thirst arose from her throat. She grew dizzy with intoxication as she tasted him, and the more of him she drank, the more of him she desired. Her hands wrapped round the rippling muscles of his back and pushed him closer to her.
She hardly needed to push him, however, for he pulled her with an equal fierceness. His tongue lashed into her mouth as he kissed her. His fingers tugged her hair with a sweet pain. His other hand wrapped round her buttocks and gripped hard enough to leave a bruise. He pushed her against the wall and pressed her there with the weight of his body.
All rationality seemed to escape them as they kissed each other. No matter how tightly they embraced, it wasn’t enough. His tongue seared the roof of her mouth as he drank her. His hand in her hair moved down to her neck, squeezing almost painfully. His hips pushed against her, so hard she felt the strength of his desire, stiff against her thigh. She gasped with ecstasy, breaking their kiss for the first time since it began.
She regretted it immediately, for as soon as Darius tasted the absence of her, he pulled away completely. He put a hand over his mouth, as if to prevent himself from kissing her again with his own physical force. He breathed raggedly as he stared at her with bulging eyes.
“Darius ...” She did not think she would ever breathe normally again. “Darius, please ...”
He turned and ran away, and she did not have the strength to follow him. Even if she tried, she did not think she would succeed, for her limbs seemed to have melted, and he ran faster than anyone she had ever seen.
