3. A Leap of Faith

Akraptor sits alone by the window at a table that sits two, a cup of barley tea before him and another of coffee across further down. He watches the wisps of steam weave threads in the air, intertwined for the briefest of moments, blissfully ignorant of just how finite their union is. Thumbing the small plate that holds his cup, he pans to the window, eyes jumping from one pedestrian to another, conducting a subconscious search of the busy street four floors down.

He hasn’t had to think so much since his days at the orphanage, only now, the solutions to his dilemmas aren’t so tangible. This makes their fourth meeting. He hasn’t had much to tell her, she doesn’t tell him much about herself, and neither of them talk about what these weekly meetings really mean. They’ve spent most of their time staring at their drinks, sneaking glances at one another, and talking about flowers.

Flowers. The crown of his boring, simple life, and the distraction from her secret-filled one. It’s surface, but it works, because through the petals, and the stems, and leaves, down to the roots, Akraptor discovers her love for life.

They are the ideal organism, her eyes shimmer like moon-touched waters. The petals enrapture, the stems and leaves support and protect, and the roots nourish. When the roots fulfill their purpose, the petals blossom and because of their beauty, people water and nurture them, rewarding the roots with water and nutrition. If we could live the same way, wouldn’t that be wonderful? Shouldn’t the tower’s inhabitants receive something in return for breathing life into what would’ve been a dark, empty prison without them?

Instead, we grow like rose bushes. Rainclouds swallow the light in her eyes . Pretty from afar, but thorny up close.

‘Why do you like to buy roses, then? he asks.

‘Because they remind me of—she pauses, stone-faced for a second longer before breaking into musical laughter. “I don’t know what they remind me of, I’m just being pretentious. I like them because they’re pretty, and they smell nice. What more could I ask from them? It’s not their fault the tower turned out the way it is.”

Akraptor’s ears perk at the echoes of distant commotion. He glances at the café entrance. The reverberations are getting closer. Kneading his palms into the armrests, he keeps his gaze glued to the door. A few moments pass, and the ruckus fades into the calm of the afternoon. His tensed shoulders sink back down, and he breathes a long sigh. Is he disappointed? He isn’t sure. What was he expecting? Maybe she’d finally realized her worth.

The door he’d just turned away from bursts open, sending him reeling to one side. Gwen stomps through, a sour expression weighing upon her brows. Akraptor watches her with wide eyes, as she cuts through the room instead of maneuvering around the perimeter like she did with their previous appointments, all semblance of subtlety forgotten. They have the entire café's undivided attention.

“Gwen—” he begins, sliding his chair out, but she doesn’t let him finish.

“Let’s get out of here.” She fastens a deceptively strong grip around his wrist and practically yanks him to his feet.

“What’s going on?” He follows her lead as they cut right back for the entrance, but he can’t rid his stomach of the anxious knot tying itself.

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She doesn’t say another word until she’s led him down the stairs, out the building, and past four blocks, where she suddenly pulls him into an alleyway and pushes him up against the brick wall.

“Gwen, please.” Akraptor pants, squinting through the dim space. “What’s happening?”

“Shut up and stay still,” she flattens a palm against his chest and leans into him, cheek brushing against his broad shoulders. She’s close—way too close. At this distance, she might even hear the chorus of drums pounding within his chest. They stay like this for a minute, then two, and then he loses count because he can barely form a coherent thought without being swept away by his fantasies.

“Gwen,” Akraptor gasps. “I can’t breathe.”

“Oh—sorry.” She stops pressing against his chest but doesn’t take her palm away, nor does she make any effort at widening the gap between them. “Try not to make too much noise until I’m sure the coast is clear.”

“Are you being chased?” Akraptor asks through laboured breaths.

“Kind of. It’s … complicated.” She grimaces. “My family has a habit of sticking their noses in my business.

Akraptor finds himself tracing the features of her face with an attentive gaze. She really is otherworldly. He wishes her beauty was the extent of her secrets, but he’s not great at playing dumb. He’s not sure how much longer he can just pretend that he doesn’t have suspicions as to her identity.

“Gwen,” he chooses his words with care. “Are you from … an important family?”

She glances up at him, drowning him in those pools of swirling mercury. Through the ethereal depth, he detects a flash of dread.

“If I am, will it change how you feel?”

Akraptor feels the blood rise into his ears. “How I feel?”

“About me.”

Words abandon him like sparks run from a flame.

“Akraptor.” The determination in her voice is like an anchor, a strong foundation for the seed of courage that has just begun budding. “I’m an impulsive girl. You probably know that by now. I’ve made many impulsive decisions to get to this very moment right here, and I don’t regret any of them, but I still need to know if I should make this leap of faith. So if I’m from a—”

“It won’t.” He hesitates; there’s more he wants to say, but he knows that once those words leave his mouth, there’s no taking them back. A leap of faith. All his life, he’d been living to survive. He’d never considered his own happiness.

“Meeting you—” A small tide wells up in his heart, unceasing, unwavering even in the face of a storm. “—was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She exhales deeply, taking a step back. That’s all the affirmation she needs.

“My name is Gwyneira.”

His stomach lurches. There is not a soul under the first fifty floors that hasn’t heard the name.

“My father is Arie Hon, one of the Great Warriors who journeyed with King Zahard. I’m a Princess candidate. Well—was. From the moment I met you, I knew I wanted to change that.” She offers him her hand. “Hon Akraptor. Will you walk this dangerous road with me?”

Akraptor may be in love, but he isn’t stupid. He knows the world will turn against them, against him for what’s about to happen. But he doesn’t care. If every rose bush he’s ever pruned has led to this very moment, he will not see that effort to waste out of some fickle fear. He will be the roots to her petals, and today, he shall drink.

Taking her hand in his, he leads her down the alleyway, and out into the world that awaits them.