In the late morning of the next day the bells announce the start of the tournament. Every half a year, the knights with silver plating and pointy boots gather in the arena to duel in various ways, showcasing the magnificence of art of war. Malachite does not do war. They only train for the show, and have been for the past 150 years. Ever since the Seagrave monarchy took the throne.

Nobles from the major cities, Salen and Mar, sit down, colors of their outfits vary from the lustrous greens to nacreous blues. The two largest cities of Malachite are home to many grandiose cathedrals and parks, just like Argenis. I've always wanted to visit, but never got a chance. I've traveled to other countries, visited all Grand Gem Circle countries in my childhood. Mother loved bringing me with her, as she toured the world. We even stepped foot in the Otherworld once. I didn't get to see much, she had her own sightseeing to do, and pushed me in the hands of a governess accompanying us. However, seeing the outrageous outfit a middle-aged man is wearing from Mar - I'd rather stay here.

The king and queen walk side by side and take their seats. People bow, noticing their rulers. My younger sister, Spica, sits by Mother, holding tightly on her jacquard sleeve. Knights cheer at the sight, and a man, dressed in white, holding a scroll, cries out, "In glory of our king Calen Seagrave, the tournament shall begin!"

One day, an old friend of mine, Kaira, asked why our family name was Seagrave. I responded along the lines of “our ancestors took it due to the empire of winds’ fall around the time where tides were strongest”. It was not exactly true, but bore a dramatic effect.

I take my seat, on the very left, at Spica's side. Rigel is nowhere to be seen. He has some guts to not show up on time. Middle child or not, he should show some respect. He is old enough to join the knights, if he wishes, why should he be allowed to be late at such an event?

Mother turns to me, still holding Spica close. "Will you bring Rigel here, please?"

I sigh and get up, going down the wooden stairs. I feel a chilly breeze behind me. "I'm after Rigel,"

"I know," he whispers in my ear. I know him too well to know he isn't really behind me, but on the ground, in shadow form. I turn left, pass the backstage and find myself under the cloudy sky, with no tribunes around.

"Where is he?" I ask, annoyed.

For a minute I'm alone, heels piercing into the earth. Around me there are maple trees and a tiny river passing through. The unofficial entrance to the city park. I was never allowed here alone, and no wonder, as it was rumored that youth gathered here to smoke. I huff, remembering how badly I wanted to be like them back in the day. Rich, from noble families, with enough freedom to do as they like, and enough influence to get away with it. The perfect mix of lower class habits and upper class priviledge. If I were born into a noble family, I'd probably be one of them, but alas I was born to wear a crown.

I can hear the tournament begin, swords clashing, armor clenching under the weight of opponents. I never liked these sounds. They reminded me of something I've never experienced. Maybe it was inter generational memory of wars.

"He is behind the tribune C, kissing a girl," West announces, still a shadow. I groan and head there. Wood creaks under my feet, as I pass through the backstages. Guards look at me with interest, as I search for Rigel. I don't dare ask them for directions, not when my brother is doing something so... intimate.

West keeps close, his eyes not leaving me for a second. I find Rigel standing behind a pillar, under the tribune. I frown, watching as he makes out with a random citizen. Her hair is shining, even without direct sunlight and her slim body twists in ways I never thought possible. I cough, startling them both.

"Mother asks for you," I glance at the girl. My eyes bear judgment but not towards her. I hope she knows that. "Now."

"I'm coming," he rolls his eyes and kisses the girl goodbye. She waves her small hand and blushes when my gaze falls on her.

I decide to stay silent, following Rigel to our royal seats. He mumbles something under his breath and I grab his shoulder. I'm his height in heels, but that doesn't make him much less terrifying when angry. And, oh, he was angry.

"Do not touch me. Shit," he pouts in disgust. I keep up his fast pace. "I don't need anyone coming to seek me, understand?"

"Yes," I say softly. "Mother asked me, I have to obey."

"Yeah, yeah," he frowns and snarls once more. "Mother could have sought me out herself if she wanted." I nod absentmindedly, looking everywhere but the way he crouches when we pass through the backstage. West's still here, but his presence is less pronounced.

When our seats are in sight the tournament has long since begun. From what I hear, it's the second pair, showing off their swordsmanship skills. I gently push Rigel to his seat. He throws me a look full of unadulterated hatred, but sits. Father gives him a disapproving look, but not even a second later, his attention is fully on the knights. Rigel smirks at me, as if saying 'I can get away with anything. Could you say the same?' Indeed. They do not react to anything anymore. If I wanted to do something similar, I could have - but what would it say about my character? Shameless. He was shameless and I hated it.

I huff, eyes locking with one of the knights, who had just won the round. He takes off his helmet and flame-red hair spills out down his shoulders. He lifts his hands up and the crowd rolls into a loud round of applause. I follow suit, as expected.

Spica, on the other hand, doesn't watch, instead playing with her dress. She rips off the ornaments one by one, not caring about the time it took to sew them on. She never cared about working either. It seems as if her doe eyes were always concentrated on unimportant things like dolls. I didn't have toys growing up. I had courses on child psychology, and why the market of toys was one of the most prominent in Malachite. Because children should be happy, and it's our job to make them happy. Have they forgotten I was a child too?

"This knight is wearing linen from Abrayam. They're known for their exotic clothing," Mother's voice is sweet, like the first day of spring. Spica rolls her eyes and I know she sees me staring.

"I don't care about clothes,"

"Oh, but they're beautiful. Don't you think so?"

"No,"

"One day you will," Mother's words sound like a prophecy. I giggle, knowing it will piss off my sister. She glares at me and sticks out her tongue. I smile, narrowing my eyes and stick out my own. Her rolls her eyes and continues ripping out the ornaments. I notice her fingernails are chapped, as if she's been eating them. I look down at mine and see mine are perfectly healthy. I smirk to myself and under whisper under my breath, "That's it. Be jealous."

I decide to concentrate on the knights instead of family business. It does me some good to ignore Spica's annoyance and Mother's overbearing sweetness. I'm sick of it all, truly. And yet, I'm sitting here, unwillingly using my peripheral vision to see how she holds Spica close, how she kisses her head from time to time. I bite my lip nervously.

I know some of the knights personally, but not many. The red haired one is Sir Faxon, one of the best artists in the kingdom. His type of art is blades. He is very flexible, which puts him at an advantage. I see another knight I know, Sir Terr, black curly hair, the darkest shade of skin I've ever seen, crazy about his looks but perfectly capable of putting up a good show. His movements are precise, strong like his build. Most knights are very muscular, very manly. He is a different breed, though. Perhaps it has to do with his origins. He comes from Obsidian. They are all quite tall and naturally physically superior to us, people from the North. They are only bested by Fae.

Speaking of Fae, we've never had Fae knights. Maybe because nobody wanted to serve the king with no army. Father never explained the absence of Fae people in our ranks. West and East were exceptions to the rule - they were sent directly to me, as a gift of sorts, from the Isles to Malachite, to oversee that the king's bloodline stays safe and sound. Father was very happy to hear that, Mother told me one day. What I did not understand, but never questioned either, was why I was the only offspring to have two Fae bodyguards, and not just any Fae, but shadow people. They, too, were a different breed, but, to my deepest sorrow, I never got the answer as to why. Neither from Father, nor West. Even less East. He was always difficult to get along with.

The tournament comes to its end. People's voices become hoarse, and some kids pull their parents' sleeves to leave. My back hurts from keeping perfect posture for two hours. My eyelids feel heavy and I feel slumber at the doorstep, gently knocking. I cannot falter and let it in. The chilly presence of West wakes me. I can feel phantom hands brush a strand of hair behind my ear, and disappear right after. I blush, looking back to see nothing but a wooden wall.

There is only one duel left. Sir Faxon enters the podium under us, cheering at the crowd, certain of his victory. I sympathize with him. He came from a tiny village and became one of the most popular knights. I lift my hand and cheer louder. He smirks and bows to me. I smile wide, bowing my head in turn. From the corridor opposite of his, comes out the opponent. A knight I know nearly nothing about, but the fact that he beat his opponents by a long shot. He is strong, that I cannot deny. His helmet is in his hand, as he bows to Sir Faxon. His hair is short, like spikes, and his expression threatening. Faxon does not falter. I know who is going to win, so I decide to get lost in my daydream.

My lips curl into a tiny smile. The park behind looks like the most romantic place. I'll have to check it out later with West. East stayed at the castle, doing whatever the shadowguard does in his spare time. Fae are not quick to trust others, so he never told me about his free-time, always reminding me of duty and workplace boundaries. I laughed in his face, claiming that I'm not just a princess, but also a girl, in need of familiar faces.

A scream pierces through the crowd and I hectically turn to face the podium. Some nobles put hands on their children's eyes, the others get up to take a closer look. Father furrows his brows and sits straight. Mother gets up and notices something that makes her gasp in horror. My heart beats faster – I cannot see what's happening and the morbid curiosity takes over. I hurriedly leave my seat and carefully push through the crowd, descending the stairs. The announcer speaks loudly, "Please, do not panic, there has been an accident and Sir Faxon is being taken to the hospital. There is nothing to worry about!"

I catch a glimpse of the body. His helmet is shattered, and his face is bloody, and I am not sure if it's a trick of light, but he seems to be missing an eye. While his body is being dragged, a pool of red liquid follows, like a snake, until it disappears under the arena.

Nausea takes over me, so I turn away from the gruesome image. But when I close my eyes, the images crawl in like tiny insects. "West? West!" I cry out, trying to get through the crowd that only pushes forward, like animals, hurrying to get a glimpse of fresh blood. It's been years since I've last seen so many people act so mindlessly. The tournament guards barely manage to control the riot. There's no discipline here.

A strong hand grabs my waist. There's a familiar cold breeze over my exposed neck and I feel safer. And yet, the cries of the visitors, those who ask for more, or those who beg to stop pushing, they scare me. "Your Majesty, I will bring the princess out of here," I hear through a veil, I feel dizzy and then, dark circles blind me. I feel like I'm going to throw up.

I open my eyes in a sharp motion, taking a huge breath of air. West brings me outside of the arena and puts me down on a bench. I notice his steady hands. Perhaps he is used to seeing such things. Perhaps he is used to seeing blood - even though, ever since he started working for Father, he had not seen one drop of blood. I feel a handkerchief in my hand. It's wet and has a weird yellow tint to it. By the gods.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry!" I try to get up, my eyes darting from left to right, frantically searching somewhere to hide. Panic envelopes me, like a heavy sheet, it chokes the air out of me.

"Nor, look at me, it's fine," West's voice is stern, so I look. He doesn't flinch when he takes the cloth from my hand and with a single foreign word, the handkerchief burns, leaving no ash behind.

"I am ashamed," I muster the words.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Nor. You saw something you were not supposed to, and you threw up, it's okay," he takes my hand into his. "It happens. It's natural." I nod slowly, feeling the panic subside. It buries itself under my skin. I still feel it somewhere deep, hibernating, until the next shock. It never truly leaves. I've never quite grown used to it, the feeling of permanent stress. But my heart returns to its usual pace, and I feel better.

He passes me a flash, and I drink, tasting water, cleansing my mouth from the residue.

"I can't believe they let it happen," he huffs and puts his hands in the air in disbelief. "There are rules and security to avoid that kind of accident," I nod.

"Will Sir Faxon live?" I ask, swallowing the last drop of water. I'm sure he will, though West's eyes tell another story. I grab the end of my braid and start playing with hair ends. They remind me of brushes I used to paint my banquet dress. It brings happy memories before the gruesome image can come back.

"I'm not sure, but let's hope he will," West takes my hand and helps me up. "Otherwise the king will have to fire some people,"

"At least Father never kills anyone," I laugh, forcing myself to smile. The shadowguard looks around and brings my forehead to his lips.

"He is a peaceful ruler, that we can agree on," his voice is soft, and I feel his cold breath on my forehead. I look up, pushing back a little, to have a good view on his face. His skin is smooth under the sunlight, and his nose built strongly. I cannot hold myself, as I pull him closer by the waist.

"Norella..." his voice a harmony to my ears.

"Yes?"

"We're in public,"

"Whatever," I say, giving him a kiss on the cheek. He seems worried for a second, concentrating on something.

"What are you doing?" I whisper. His eyes find mine, this time softer.

"Checking something,"

"With your mind powers?"

West chuckles, looking up. "Yes, with my mind powers," he brings me even closer, pressing our bodies together. "We are alone. So, princess, what is your wish?"

I blush under his gaze. It appears severe, but I know him well enough to know he's anything but. I put my hand on his cheek, my thumb gently caressing his skin. He pulls in closer, closing those deadly eyes.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

I get up on my toes, leaning higher, right to his lips. Our mouths meet sensually, slowly. He opens his mouth, rubbing his freezing tongue over mine. I breathe in hard, feeling the heat inside of me rise.

This is so much more pleasant than the tournament, than watching Rigel kiss that peasant girl, than watching Mother hold Spica close.

West's kisses are soft, traveling to my neck, under my ear. I gasp when he nibbles my sensitive skin. A giggle leaves my mouth.

I've never gathered the courage to ask such a thing - not with eyes prying, not with West's professionalism. To a certain degree, he never broke his oath. He has not touched me too intimately. "Will you join me tonight?" I ask, expecting a refusal.

However, my shadowguard looks at me sweetly and nods. "I want to show you a place, not far from the palace." My eyes grow wide.

"Is it a date?" I ask, smiling, mouth open.

"Your Highness," he puts some distance between us, looking at the cloudless sky. "I'd never dare to do such a dishonorable thing."

I stifle a laugh and tap his chest. "Alright, my guardian, let's head home."

He winces at the words, but says nothing. In a second, his magic form takes over, and he is on the ground, by my own shadow.

***

After the main course, we were brought desert. I look at my plate and feel too full to even start with the ice cream. It's a tall crystal glass, with at least three balls of vanilla ice cream, lots of biscuits and a cherry on top. Spica, on the other hand, starts gobbling it in no time. Mother scolds her, but naturally, she is kind when she does so. Father laughs at Rigel's disgusted expression. I stay silent.

"Did you throw up, back there?" Rigel turns his judging gaze to me. I look up, staggered by the question. Mother huffs. "Not at the table, Rigel."

"I will not answer that question," I put out as much confidence as I can. Rigel laughs. His laughter is always a mix of sarcasm and disgust. Other emotions seem to be absent. I blush out of shame and stare at the ice cream. It melts slowly under my gaze. Rigel doesn't seem to be more interested in me, so he turns to Father and they continue where they left off.

Their conversations always revolve around politics, or new technologies, brought by the mages. I have yet to invent something, thinking that everything that could be made, is already made. I watch the boys talk. Father's usual cold demeanor is changed to a sweet one, something welcoming, easy to talk to, while Rigel feels uplifted, his eyes bear a spark I've rarely seen. If they like each other's company so much, why not spend more time together in private rather than disturbing my dinner?

Instead, Rigel spends his days partying or traveling to distant shores; while the king is busy with paperwork, ruling a kingdom is no small fit. Very soon I'll have to join him. I fear that day with all my being. I'm not ashamed to say I'm afraid. Father sculpted Malachite into such a peaceful and great place that filling his shoes will be much more difficult than ruling over somewhere else.

The plates are taken away and I am finally excused to leave. I curtsy, ready to take my leave. When I turn around to say goodnight, nobody pays attention me. They discuss the next banquet – and how many foods they'll taste and how the non-alcoholic wine will be presented for the young princess. I sigh. I don't know whether I should be surprised. They were always like this.

The walk to my room is a force of habit. The lights are dim, and the servants are on their break. Some smoke, some drink something. Rigel would have notified Father, and maybe, one of the servants, the one who smokes in the corridor by the window, would be fired. Out of spite, or badly placed kindness, I leave the servants be.

When they notice me, they hide the cigarettes and bottles. It might be orange juice, for all I know, so I don't do anything. I just walk past them, concentrating on my glistening shoes. I used to like them a year ago. Now they seem old and out of fashion. I don't like them anymore.

Auretta helps me out of the dress. It was heavy and the corset made it difficult to breathe – I'm glad to be out of it. She has seen me naked multiple times. Some of those times I try to forget. Some days were difficult. Now I feel nothing but childish pity for the young crown princess, unable to get out of bed and write in her book of mirrors. Those were the days I remember blurry from tears. Other than this permanent fatigue, my life has been quite nice.

Once I'm crowned and Father steps down I'll make sure to change Aquamarine's education system and make it more accessible to students. Magic shouldn't be as difficult as it is, and if we're to live with it, the system must adapt to new generations. Father says magic was a gift bestowed by Nature after the world war was over. After the First Yule human newborns bore magic, just like the Fae. 800 years passed since then, and the Academy still is a pain. I'm going to change that.

Auretta helps me put on a lilac nightgown with ruffles and after it is done, I send the maid away. I stand, doing nothing for a minute, and then hurry to the wardrobe, from which I pull a blouse and long skirt. I lace up my garden boots. I had ordered them to be made for my spare time, when I would be gardening in the greenhouse, right beside the castle walls. I never touched a shovel or scissors there - but thought that maybe one day, I'll have my own garden. So, the shoes stayed hidden in dust, in one of my wardrobes.

I gather the courage and open my door. Tiptoeing through the corridor, I arrive at my spot. The courtyard is dimly lit by the garden lamps, flames everlasting due to magic. The water streams inside the ivory fountain, with lace flowers all around it, holding it in a tight embrace.

I sigh, looking around, afraid to be caught. And yet, thrill overtakes my body. Who will catch me, anyway? There are no official rules forbidding me to leave my room after a certain hour - I am an adult. I repeat this as if I knew for a fact Father wouldn't sneak up behind me and escort me back to my chambers.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a shadow. As much as he hates theatrics, he is very proficient in them. I turn to face the bubble of darkness, floating right in front of my face. I give it a smile and reach my hand out. It's trembling slightly, but mostly because of the chilly breeze of autumn. I still feel a tinge of fear, but it's buried underneath the longing.

The shadow transforms into the familiar figure. West's eyes are as dark as the night around. His gaze pierces through me and I open my mouth, but muster nothing at all. His lips curl into a ridiculously charming smile. I melt before him. My limbs feel weak and I'm one smile away from falling. Fall so deep, no reminder of duty could ever pull me out. No crown can beat this. Nothing is worth losing this.

"Your Highness," he reaches to my hand, grabbing it gently.

"Please, don't call me that when we're alone," I grimace, accepting his hand.

"Then what shall I call you, crown princess of Malachite?" he asks, curious, before enveloping us in a shadow matter.

I hesitate, trying to think of something stupid, something that will excite him as much as annoy. I lean into him. "How about my name? Let's start there." I chicken out at the last moment. I know I should have said something else.

West starts walking through the hallways, entering the inside of the castle. I trust him, although I cannot fight the urge to run away and hide in my room. What if someone sees us? Would it be so bad?

His shadows tickle me, they're all around us - they seem to be a part of him but also completely sentient beings on their own. They fly around us like fireflies, emitting a violet glow I've only seen in my wildest imaginations of the Otherworld. Someone of my status shouldn't call the Isles this way, but the name given by the people does make sense, even if it's considered insulting.

They are others. They are built different, and have a different grasp of magic. My point is proven when a guard doesn't flinch when we pass by him. West seems to be calm as ever - and when he is relaxed I am too, because there is no danger. And there never will be by his side.

We arrive at the main gates. There are usually two guards there, day and night, taking turns. The entrance is not well protected, like the palace, because there is no reason to waste good knights and guards for such a tiresome task. No one is violent in Malachite. No one attacks us, and nobody ever will. Father has always said as much.

West puts his hand on my eyes, and I close them obediently. I trust him. I also feel the shadows tightening their grip on me, like they are going to suffocate me. We start walking and after several steps, we stop. West takes off his hand and I find myself at the avenue.

I want to ask him what happened, but I know the guards are still in proximity. I don't know how his magic works. I never got a clear answer. Whether his magic deafens those around us or just makes us invisible to the naked eye, I have no clue.

"Follow me, gemstone," he whispers and lets go of me. His long legs move in the rhythm of the night. There is no other way to describe him - graceful and silent. I blush at the nickname. We pass the avenue and arrive at the porch of the old townhouse, where he and East used to reside.

West puts his hand over my eyes again, and I feel wind brush away my hair. A moment later, we are standing on the rooftop. It's a flat square with flower pots and vines. It is a small, hidden paradise. I gasp at the view. The stars are flickering and there is no cloud in the charcoal sky.

"I always wanted to show you where I come to debrief,"

"With East?"

"Not quite. Some days yes, but not here. This place is reserved for royal intervention,"

"Whatever do you mean?" I ask, my eyes settling on his face.

"This is where the Queen of the Isles contacts me. It's on rare occasions. Like before and after important banquets or seasonal holidays."

"So you tell her exactly what happens during every important event in Malachite. That's surprising, because nothing ever happens here," I smirk, discovering the details on West's coat. Little bees are sewed around his chest. It's a thin golden thread, a delicate masterwork. "But why choose this place now?"

"Because you're royalty too. And the view is incredible." He smiles, his hand traveling to my waist, as he settles behind me. He's much taller, and easily puts his chin on top of my head. I sigh, pleasantly. The view was indeed stunning. Although I've seen the palace and the Academy my whole life, I've never been on a roof.

"So I remind you of her?"

The shadowguard lets go of me and puts his hands up in a defensive manner, "No of course not, I didn't mean it this way,"

"Then what?" I approach him, tilting my head. "What do you plan to do with me, a girl of royal blood, in your 'office'?"

West closes his eyes for a second, and when he opens them again, the cold mask he wears so often disappears. His lips part and he inhales, his chest rising. I can see the muscles hidden underneath the tunic. I can nearly see the heart thudding against his chest.

I feel hot.

"I am afraid," he whined. Whined.

"I am not. Not really. Maybe a bit. Just a tiny bit afraid," I stutter, putting my hand on his chest. Yes, his heart does beat against his ribcage. It beats so hard, I could easily imagine it in my palm. Is it bruised? Does it bleed like ours? Is it made of stardust and gemstones? "I admit, I'm afraid."

"Then why do you keep pushing me?" He closes the distance and puts my hand against his cold lips. "Then why do you want me to lose control?"

"Because..." I stutter, unsure as to why. "Because I want you more than I've ever wanted anything,"

"More than the crown? More than your people's allegiance?"

I know what he means. I've been preparing my entire life for this role. I've given my childhood and teens to become the best queen Malachite has ever seen. Some might say I've wasted my youth, or that I've never had a childhood at all. If I were to disclose my relationship, the people would react badly, because royals are supposed to give an example of excellence. And desiring a Fae bodyguard is not excellence, it is a form of treason. Dishonorable, anti-traditional. To the people, to family, to whatever stupid law the Fae and human countries conceived to deny half-breeds.

"More than anything in the world," I mutter, afraid of locking eyes with him.

"My job is to protect you, in ways that you might not even think of,"

"Like keeping my image pure?"

"Yes,"

"Then you are fired," I stump my foot and cross my arms. "What? Didn't expect that?"

"You are not my employer, Nor," he scoffs. "You cannot fire me."

I bite my lip in annoyance and let my arms fall to my sides. "Alright. I get it. What do we do, then? We ignore this?"

I put my hand on his forearm, fingers tracing along the lines of his vest. Shadowguards do not tremble, they keep up appearances, they are creatures of the night. And yet, I only see terror in West's eyes, avoiding mine at all cost.

"I can't ignore what you are to me," he finally says. It's barely a whisper.

"Then what is stopping you? You have not defiled me in any way. I'm not some kind of pristine holy creature, I am just human,"

"If you truly think so, you are a fool," His voice is strict, although he tries to keep it down. I do not buy it at all.

"Kiss me. Kiss me like I've never been kissed before. Please, please," I beg him, my face coming closer to his. His hand finds mine and squeezes.

My senses explode when his lips touch mine. I taste him. Such a delicate sweet undertone, as if he was truly made of stars. He says nothing, as his lips move, applying more pressure to mine. I open my mouth, letting him in. I wish I could merge with him, crawl underneath his ribs.

Was it so terrible to think I could have that? I have everything, but him. He was never truly mine, and I was never his. I must be careful of what I wish for - but I wish for us to be as one, at least for a day, for an hour, for a minute, even for a second. May I be judged and mutilated, may I burn in Hell for this; but everything I do is for love.

His arms wrapped around my waist, holding me tight. I loved his grip. I loved how his tongue traced down my lips and how his hair fell on his eyes. I stopped the kiss out of fear of suffocation. I breathed hard, trying not to lose the composure I so carefully crafted for this moment. I wanted to be exotic, I wanted to be desirable, but in the end, I was but a young girl, begging for affections of her one and only friend.

West breathed hard too, as if it was as life changing for him as it was for me. His hands traveled to my collarbone, where he carefully, unlaced my blouse. He did not speak as he did. His mouth was slightly open as he breathed. The air around us smelled of wildflowers and for a moment, I thought I discovered the Fae realm. When he stood by me, I felt the whimsical myths come to life. I felt as if legends of Fae warriors and their eternal love were true.

"Indeed, I am afraid of the consequences, of what it means for our titles, for our jobs," he starts. "But I'm mostly afraid you will regret it as soon as you receive it."

"I could never regret you, Therin," he flinches at his birth name. I can guess by the look on his face that nobody, in a very long time, has called him this way. It was a name discarded by the title. It was a name no one remembered as soon as he joined the shadowguards. For reasons only Fae knew, this name bore no meaning. But not to me.

He mumbles by name, as he kisses my exposed neck. My chest is free of lace chains. The cold breeze caresses my skin. I let him pepper kisses all over me, I let him forget his duty. I know I've forsaken mine a long time ago. When I first met him I was but a child, but now, I was ready.

Somewhere far away, music played in the streets of Argenis. I feel it in my bones. I close my eyes, listening to the sounds of the night. I let the sounds deafen my beating heart.

West is gentle. His mouth is smooth on my ribs. He sits me down on the cold ground. Before I can lay on my back, he takes off his coat and puts it underneath. I thank him shyly. He parts my legs in one swift movement. I can smell danger underneath the composure. I can feel it banging its fists against his mask. I want it to escape and wreak havoc in me.

He pulls up my skirt, his face hidden underneath the fabric layers. I can feel his fingers take off my undergaments, and his cold breath against my hot core. I wish I experienced this again, at least once more.

Kaira and I were young, and it took us a long time, but we climbed to the peak after an hour of trying. Her tongue was shy, even if she tried to hide it underneath a dominant posture. West's tongue is proficient, it's weathered and strong. He knows where to touch, he knows how to pull my strings, how to keep me grounded, how to stop my thoughts from wandering too far. I don't have time to reflect about the number of women he has been with before me.

My reality distorts when he applies pressure to the bud. It's sweet torture, the way he licks, the way he plays with it. I move my skirt away, to see him devour me. His face does not change color when he is buried between my legs. He seems unfazed, as if it was easy, as if he did this to me every day. There is no redness, no sharp inhaling, nothing proving this takes effort.

I cry out as I reach climax. West wipes his mouth and his hand finds my abdomen. "Did you like it?"

"Yes," I breathe out, helpless before him. I'm still shaking when he puts my undergarments back on. It's wet, so wet I quickly become embarrassed. He pulls my skirt down and helps me sit up.

"Enough for tonight," he whispers in my ear and kisses it. I look at him, eyes glossy, lips parted. The pleasure he offered me tonight was beyond anything I've felt before. My fire ignited a long time ago, but he made a pyre out of it.

"Okay."