Chapter 23: Their First Meeting(2)

Lorraine gripped a withered stick tightly, her only defense against the shadows ahead. Curiosity burned in her chest, stronger than the fear creeping up her spine. She knew pain well, an old friend she could endure. But if this figure was something darker, something that could wound her soul, she needed protection. Hence, the magical... stick. Her fingers tightened around the stick as she crept forward, the damp earth soft beneath her feet, hidden under the sprawling vyrnshade shrub. He turned suddenly, his gaze cutting through the darkness to find hers. Her breath caught, a scream clawing at her throat. But the scream refused to break free. She hadn’t spoken in over two years, her voice rusted and buried beneath layers of silence. She couldn’t scream. Before she could do anything, he let out a sharp, panicked cry, high and raw like a newborn torn from its mother. He was scared of her. The sound pierced the stillness, and her heart sank. What if someone heard? The thought of her father’s heavy hand, another bruising punishment, flashed in her mind. Without a second thought, she dropped Sir Stick, mighty protector of the realm, and lunged forward. He shouted louder, and she pressed her hand over his mouth to silence him. Then it happened... He flinched, his body trembling as he shrank back, rolling away as if she might strike him. This boy, taller and stronger than her, cowered under her touch. For the first time, someone feared her. The sight twisted something deep inside her, a mirror to her own terror. In that shared vulnerability, he felt like a kindred spirit. Their eyes met, and the air between them softened. Both realized that neither was a threat. She sank down beside him, pulling her knees to her chest, listening intently for approaching footsteps. The night stayed quiet, and relief flooded her, cool and fleeting. He was warm beside her, his heat seeping through the chilly air. The vyrnshade flowers filled the space with their sweet, heavy scent, but he smelled different—wild and magnetic, like earth and a trace of spice that tugged at her senses. She shifted closer, her shoulder brushing his arm. He was tall, his presence steady and solid. Time stretched, and she rested her head against his shoulder, a comfort she hadn’t felt since her mother held her in that doomed carriage. After the accident stole her only love, warmth had become a stranger. Now, like a moth drawn to a flame, she pressed nearer, craving his heat. He didn’t pull away, and that small acceptance felt like a gift. Noble rules about girls and boys alone together meant nothing to her. As long as she could feel this warmth and avoid getting caught, nothing else mattered. She nearly drifted off, lulled by his closeness, but his hands moved, twisting the vyrnshade blossoms. The motion rippled through his arm beneath her cheek, stirring her awake. Was he going to eat the flower? In that dark night, the darkness he exuded was all too familiar for her. Without thinking, she plucked a flower from his grip. "You..." she rasped, wanting to stop him from ingesting the poison. ’You will not die if you eat this,’ she wanted to say. But her voice broke, and a coughing fit seized her, her throat raw and chest burning from two years of silence unraveling. His large hand settled on her back, warm and gentle, patting until the spasms eased. She clung to his shirt, climbing into his lap, burying her face in the crook of his neck, seeking his comfort as the coughs faded. Even when they stopped, she stayed, nestled against him, his warmth anchoring her. "So, this isn’t poisonous?" he asked, his voice tinged with a faint Kaltharion accent. She had heard whispers of a hostage prince from that land. She wondered if he was the prince or someone else from there. She shook her head, unwilling to test her voice again. Taking the blossoms from him, she ate them, their bitter taste soothing her dry throat, quieting her hunger, and to make her point. He sighed, a hint of exasperation in the sound, but didn’t try to eat it himself. Shifting to face him, she straddled his lap, needing a clearer view of his face. He tensed, discomfort flickering in his posture, but she ignored it, drawn to his warmth and the mystery he carried. Then she noticed a mask covering half his face. Curiosity flared, and she leaned closer, but he pulled back. Her eyes caught the braid above his ear, an emerald pin glinting in the moonlight, marking him as the Kaltharion crown prince. Why the mask? Was he scarred? Or was he ugly? Boldness surged within her, fueled by the safety of his warmth. His big hand was at the small of her back and his initial uneasiness had dissipated into a cozy warmth. She’d already crossed every line of propriety by straddling him and personal space was a forgotten. She reached for the mask, encouraged by his steady breathing and his quiet acceptance. Just as her fingers grazed the edge, he caught her wrist, his grip firm at first, then softening as if he was afraid to break her. He didn’t let go, his touch lingering. She pouted, and her focus shifted to his braid, its golden strands shimmering in the moonlight spilling through the shrub’s leaves. She ached to feel it. She just had to. But he gently pulled her hand away, his strength surprising for his lean frame. She pouted, frustration bubbling up. Why couldn’t she touch him? His masked eyes stayed hidden, feeding her annoyance. Leaning back as if to climb off, she tricked him. His grip on her waist tightened, as if he didn’t want her to leave. She seized the moment, snatching at the mask with her free hand. It slipped down. "You little mouseling!" he exclaimed, leaning back to shield his face. She pressed forward, undeterred, and touched his braid. It was soft, like a chipmunk’s tail. A smile broke across her face. It was worth every risk. But he growled as her fingers lingered on his hair. "Nasty little..." That cut her excitement short. She sensed him getting tense. In her fear, she blurted the first thing that came to her mind. "You can touch my tits in exchange!" The words shattered the air, her first spoken in years, breaking her long-held vow of silence.