“Why did you not return to the palace with her last night?” Princess Nasira asked Cyrus, a curious inflection raising the already elevated octave of her voice. She was inquisitive by nature, as were most individuals of her age tended to be, but this was an instance where she was being particularly nosey.
They were perched within a courtyard alongside her brother, Prince Oris, the future King of Anagénn. He was holding an apple lazily in his right hand as he looked away from them, admiring a spar some steps away between two nobles, and quietly critiquing every maneuver they made. There were a few bites missing from the fruit that had been taken thoughtlessly in between the occasional toss in the air, bits of purple skin cleared away to reveal a pearly and meaty center that was terribly sweet in flavor. His eyes were out of focus as he lost himself in whatever occupied his mind, most of which being the girl with the auburn hair who had gone as quickly as she had come that morning. She was beautiful, but many women were - especially at court. So it was not her looks that had him so captivated, but the power that emanated from her.
The magic.
It was written in that rare shade of her iris perched beneath long brows, creased in confusion through the entire duration of her short lived appearance.
How did she not know what she was?
That she was more than the mundane that permeated the city in droves?
“It is not so easy to knock a girl unconscious and bring her to the vultures of the royal court when you have… questionable morals, but… morals,” Cyrus said with a hint of a smirk and an amused rush of air pushed through a nose with a bump at its peak. It was crooked, almost. Broken once or twice when he had allowed his mouth to write checks his fighting capabilities could not yet cash.
Though those were much fewer these days.
“So… Where were you all night long, Cyrus?” Nasira grinned teasingly, but she knew the answer. She was a rare breed of Magi, a Visior. However, she did not see things as clearly as stories might make others believe.
Instead, she could simply feel them.
She simply knew them.
“Why do you enjoy asking questions you know the answers to, Princess?” Cyrus retorted as he cast a sideways glance in her direction. Years ago, he would perhaps not have spoken to her with such ease, but they had adapted a delicate balance over time. Now, away from the many eyes of the nobles, he could more freely be himself.
“Oh, you know me… I simply enjoy being told that I am right whenever the oppurtunity arises,” her grin bloomed as her ego burned in her words and her expression.
Arrogance could certainly be unattractive, but she wore it almost as well as that emerald dress. Embroidered with silver and golden details in the form of doves flocking around her wrists, and soaring up her slender abdomen. Of course, it did help that she held the same striking beauty of her mother. Skin that seemed sunkissed without the tough of the its lips upon her, sable eyes, and the notoriously enticing features of the Athacan women. Slanted and narrowed eyes lined with thick curtains of lashes, and soft pillowy lips that often dripped with words of seduction.
Athacan women were deadly beautiful, they held an allure that rivaled the fae.
One that Nasira wielded as a weapon.
One that ensured she was desired all across Anagénn.
It was a wonder it had gone to her head…
“You and every other woman who has lived and breathed,” Cyrus replied with a sigh that was more humored than exasperated as he offered her a sly smile.
“Do not insult me by comparing me to others… There is none to be made, Cyrus,” Nasira rolled her eyes as she meandered toward him, a meaningful inflection placed on the use of his name. Subtle attempts to garner his attention and anchor it upon herself - permanently. There was a childlike sway corrupting her gait as her expression became flirtatious. She had long had admiration for him, but she was not allowed to explore its depths.
To her utmost disappointment.
She was used to men wanting her, and so it bothered her when one did not.
Even if it was Cyrus.
“Why?” Cyrus replied simply as he tilted his head to better look at her. “You hold similarities even with a simple beggar in the heart of the city… Even with an outcast like me,” he mused as his voice dropped to something above a whisper, meeting her at her increasingly coquettish level.
“Enough you two… Before I vomit on the mosaic,” Oris jutted his chin toward the work of art in the center of the courtyard. A beautiful image of the sun crafted with rare yellow, orange, brown, and red stones - some of the gleaming in the true sun overhead. Much of the Tarian Palace was a masterpiece, right down to the pillars that encased the courtyard they currently occupied. A careful and identical design found in each one, carved hundreds of years ago by the most talented sculptures the Romadis family could have found.
“Relax yourself,” Cyrus laughed. “Nasira is a little sister to me, nothing more,” he replied with growing disinterest. His attention was on the dagger in his grip, one that he was sharpening delicately with a whetstone. There was no need for it, really. Over the years, it had just become an idle mannerisms when his mind was exploring places far from where he found himself. It was a gift from his father, a man he had only seen once or twice since his birth. Occasionally, he was granted the privilege of visiting the Tarian court, but his stay always seemed to be too short. Still, he told Cyrus each time that he would one day take him away, and return to his home where he belonged.
Cyrus’ declaration generated a subtle shift in Nasira’s expression, one that settled into the nonexistent lines in her blemishless features. She was a royal, a princess, and so it was required that she remained chaste until her wedding night. However, her rebellious nature, as was common to a girl of her age and standing, envied the way men could do as they pleased. Envied the way her brother could take a whore to bed and feed her tea in the morning so that a bastard would not come to claim his birthright years afterward.
“But she is not your sister, nor am I your brother… Brother,” Oris said as he looked toward Cyrus and offered him a rare but genuine grin.
The relationship between them was complicated and layered.
Cyrus was, for lack of a better term, a hostage, after all.
There was a smile offered in return, and while it was not entirely unauthentic, it was weighted by that fact. Held down by the reminder that although he was treated well - for the most part - that he was an outcast.
Just as he had said.
“Thank the gods for that,” Nasira quipped as she leaned against a pillar next to Cyrus, admiring the careful movement of his hands. The sound of the whetstone against that always sharp blade was oddly soothing, and the mindfulness of the way he worked made her wonder of how he might use those hands for other things…
If her sight served her right.
There was someone who was now well aware of those ways…
Which, brought a flare of jealousy to the pining princess and forced her smirk to settle into a line of discontent.
“You were not supposed to sleep with her, Cyrus,” Nasira added abruptly as a stiff sigh departed her slender but rounded nose.
“Cyrus!” Oris turned now to properly look at him, the apple hovering just beyond his mouth in a raised hand as the revelation stopped his next bite in its tracks. “If it is true… If she is Xetu blood… You had no right to-”
“Why?” Cyrus said curtly as his movements quickened in their pace, but his eyes fell downward, adhered to the task entirely. There was something in his voice that told tales of all the years of things left unsaid.
All the resentment that threatened to turn him bitter each day and each night.
“She is of ancient and royal blood, you have no place-”
“What of my blood?” Cyrus interrupted as his gaze wandered upward, his green eyes holding those of a sable hue firmly as something wild flared in his gaze.
There was a reason he was a hostage, after all.
Nasira, quietly impressed, allowed her smirk to resurface as that childlike sway returned her posture.
She was a wicked thing.
She enjoyed trouble, especially when she was the one to cause it.
Once, she had hosted a tournament for her hand in marriage, and when a victor was declared, she declared that the gods had come to her and told her that he was not worthy of her.
King Teris did not disagree, of course.
Though, he was annoyed that Nasira still did not yet have a suitor or betrothed.
At twenty-one years of age, she should have been married long ago, but he had a weakness for his children. One born from the fact that he had married their mother for love, and almost toppled their kingdom because he had led with his heart.
And perhaps another appendage that lived beneath his waistline.
“Besides,” Cyrus continued after a moment. “I was not her first,” he smirked as his eyes relented their grip on Oris’. “She was not raised as a royal… Common women believe in testing the stallion before they purchase it… As they should,” Cyrus chuckled as he raised the dagger in front of him, admiring his work. The sun caught the jewel set in the bone-forged handle perfectly, a gem that was the same shade of green found pooled in his iris. Its emerald shade was left to rest on the chiseled plains of his face as his smile warmed, and for a few moments he thought of the man that was his father.
A stranger, and one he would like to know.
Hopefully sooner rather than later.
Oris did not say anything for a few moments, even as several things thought to crawl across his tongue and depart his lips. Fortunately, the furrow that had found his brows settled, and his expression eased into something thoughtful. “I must admit… I do not look forward to my wedding night… My future wife seems positively frigid… As if a strong gust of wind might just take her away from me, and with hope… It shall.”
Cyrus and Oris shared a laugh then, a moment that was disrupted by the arrival of a messenger. One dosed in the finery of an Athacan servant - a member of Queen Shatrina’s own private household.
“Master Cryus, your presence is requested by the King and Queen,” he said with a bow.
Though Cyrus was not addressed as a commoner, he was not addressed as he should be either.
Here, his status was diminished by tenfold.
Another layer to the insult he was left to wear since his childhood.
“Of course,” he replied with a note of hesitance. “Best not to keep them waiting.”
----------------------------------------
“Your Graces,” Cyrus bowed as he entered the room. It was a smaller, more intimate, throne room. It was not short of material splendor and displays of their prestige, but it did not accommodate the large audience the same as the Great Hall could. Mostly, it was reserved for matters that should not and would not be seen by the public eye.
Gossip could be a terribly damaging thing if it was allowed to spread. Chaotic and destructive like a wildfire in a heatwave without a pail of water or a river to gather it from in sight.
“Cyrus,” Teris greeted with a welcoming grin. Despite the circumstance that had brought him to the Tairan court, Teris did enjoy Cyrus’ company. Throughout the years, they had bonded on various matters and occasions, and he had even considered allowing him to return to the care of his father, but his council never allowed it. They feared there would be retaliation, and they feared what Cyrus could become if his power was truly fostered as it should be by his own people.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Cyrus asked as his hands settled behind his back, and an easy smile crawled across his lips. The casual demeanor was a facade, but mostly because of the presence of Shatrina.
“The… Princess,” Shatrina said the word with heavy reluctance. “She had been seen departing her home in an… emotional state. As you know, Xetu magic and emotion are entwined… Had I not been watching her… The display would still have been… felt,” she explained. Each delicate pause utilized to choose her words carefully, and announce her syllables eloquently. She was grace and regality personified, as the Queen of Anagénn should be.
Briefly, when she spoke of watching, Cyrus' eyes drifted to the bird settled on a nearby perch. Shatrina could see through the eyes of animals, humans included, but she preferred to use what could fly primarily. The golden creature next to her, majestic with its glimmering orange details and swirling silver iris, was her favorite companion. When it was found soaring overhead, one could be confident that Shatrina was watching.
“And this means…,” Cyrus inquired as he looked between the pair of them.
“I can only assume that she spoke to her mother, and that perhaps she was told the truth… To be lied to your entire life… To be kept from who and what you are…,” Shatrina’s gaze held Cryus’ meaningfully as her delivery slowed purposefully. The glacial manner of her syllables somehow became even more unhurried as she alluded to his own status.
Cyrus was aware that she was the greatest advocate in keeping him here as a prisoner.
For what reason?
He did not know.
It was likely for the simple purpose of cruelty.
From what he had observed, it was something Shatrina enjoyed.
“I would like for you to go after her… For you to convince her that our hospitality is her greatest course of action for the moment, and once she is returned to the confines of the palace… I will do the rest,” Shatrina offered something that was perhaps meant to be a smile - meant to be warm - but it missed the mark.
Not even the pits of the Inferna could warm the cockles of the Ice Queen.
There was something in her that had always unsettled Cyrus.
Something in her eyes that emanated from her heart.
Something cold.
Something dark.
Something that should not be crossed.
“What makes you so certain that I’ll be capable-”
“You brought her here once… I have confidence in your skills that you could do so again,” her smile bloomed as she offered a rare complement. Something she only did when she wanted something from the person she granted it to. “Tell her about yourself… Tell her of all that we have done for you.”
----------------------------------------
All that they had done for him?
The words left a putrid aftertaste to linger on the back of Cyrus’ tongue. He had been left to bite it as it ached to offer a venomous response. To scream all the feelings he had harbored since he was just a boy, trapped in the cage they called a home.
Some days it was not so terrible.
Some days he could delude himself enough to believe that this was a life he had wanted - that he was meant for.
Most days it was not so easy.
Most days he yearned for the deserts of Teht, and the greenery of Zatria.
For the chance to meet the woman who had given him life, but was forbidden to see him.
To know him.
What and who he was had always been a secret, and he had been told it needed to remain that way.
He was born from the affair of Zatrian Princess and the greatest warrior Teht had ever seen. Teht, the desert lands of the dead, and Zatria the lush lands of living. Long ago, their kind had interbreeded and kept a delicate balance between the two constants of existence. Unfortunately, alliances often did not last through the course of history, and soon war turned them into swarn enemies.
Forbad alliances, and all potential of kinship.
Cyrus was an abomination.
When Zatria and Teht rose against Vesshire and won, the Romadis family descended upon the ruins, and they were both too weak for another war. So, in a bargain for peace, they took what would unite them both.
What would be a threat when they were restored from the losses of war.
Cyrus.
The result was power that had not been properly fostered, and an orphan that craved a home he had never known.
Still, what he was could not be contained. Even now, as he walked from the palace, the flora that surrounded him bloomed in the subtlest of ways. Flowers standing higher than they had moments before, and leaves a little greener than Quietus had rendered them.
He had done what he could to train himself in private, and Teris had even hired a warrior from his mother’’s lands to train him long ago.
One day, he would take his life back.
One day, he would be who he was always meant to be.
Today, however, he was instead tasked with once again chasing this… Princess.
Something that would become a constant in the path ahead, and even though he was no Visior, he could sense that it would be.
The venture to the city brought him to its heart as dusk approached. Oranges, pinks, muted by the drooping of the sun permeated the sky as the mood of Tarus shifted. There was a magic of the evening in a great city such as this, but there was danger too.
If one could not properly defend themselves.
It was best to return home when the moon came out to play.
Cyrus, of course, could defend himself. So he was rather comfortable as he wandered his way through the bustling cobblestone roads. The occasional courtesan stepping into his path, and offering him a night he would never forget.
To which he, politely, declined.
He did not know where he was going, but at least now he knew who was meant to find, and soon fate would lead him to the unmistakable mane of auburn hair.
She was lost.
Not literally, but figuratively.
The expression on her features was dejected - broken - and her focus was thousands of leagues away from where she stood. She was walking aimlessly, but eventually came to a stop at a stall selling flowers.
For a moment he simply watched her as thought crossed his mind to simply leave her alone. He sympathized, in some way, with what she was feeling, and there was not a bone in his body that desired to add to the pain of her day.
Unfortunately.
That golden bird flew overhead in a quiet reminder that he had little choice in the matter.
That even now the Romadis family tugged on that chain on his ankle.
So, with a long sigh that rose from his chest and departed his nose, he pressed forward. Unlike most members of court, he was dressed simply. Onyx leathers pulled over the disguised muscles that decorated his form, absent jewels and other signs of his status by birth.
While he ventured closer to her, he realized that perhaps…
She may not be entirely happy to see him.
And he would be correct.
Azura, swept away in the flood of possibilities and what-the-fucks turning her thought process into a minefield of panic and anxiety, shrieked as the new presence behind her startled her. There had been a slight warning as the flowers she admired perked, but how was she to know what sort of magic Cyrus was capable of? So, her eyebrows merely furrowed as she turned her head to look over her shoulder, and was surprised to find him of all people.
Why was he following her?
What did he want?
The momentary fear settled soon in a few short seconds, but it was soon turned to something angry as it registered who him was.
She was so very tired of men and the bullshit they brought in of its infuriating forms.
“You.”
She sneered as her lips curled in a display of palpable disgust, an emotion that clung to the delivery of the single syllable as it was hurledfrom her mouth like a dagger intending to kill. “You have some fucking nerve,” Azura began as she pointed one very aggressive finger at his chest. “Pick me up at a fucking party! Take me back to your place! And drag me off to the fucking royal fucking palace while I sleep like some fucked up kidnapper-...,” she threw her hands around wildly as she spoke, her volume raising with each word she uttered. However, in her state of frenzy, she seemed to have lost what little eloquence she possessed.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
It was not much to begin with, for the record.
“Argh!” She screamed as she lurched forward in an attempt to be threatening, invading his personal space in a terribly uncouth display of her outrage.
Cyrus, painfully unbothered, allowed his arms to cross over his chest as he looked down at her. Amusement was infuriatingly simmering beneath his expression as his onyx eyebrows nudged upward, and he silently asked with his manner:
Are you finished?
There was a long stretch of silence as Azura’s breathing, which had elevated, settled to something that might be considered level, but was not quite there. Eventually, the burn of his emerald stare became unbreakable, and so she looked away as her hand raised to swiftly brush her hair behind her right ear. It had dried, partially, but the subtle wind that had helped the effort had forced it to frizz in a way that she had always hated.
Just another thing on the long list of things that was annoying the fuck out of her.
“What!” Azura finally barked. “What do you want?” She asked, but lacked the inflection that truly presented it as an inquiry.
It was more of a… growl.
To animalistic to be described as anything else.
“There’s no need to be rude… I’ve been very polite,” Cyrus replied nonchalantly with a casual cadence that somehow made it even moreinfuriating.
Which was the point.
He was a fan of pushing buttons.
Especially if they could be pushed easily.
The prickly thing that Azura was proving to be a source of entertainment if they’d be interacting more often.
“Polite?” Azura’s own arms crossed to mirror his presentation. Rusty brown eyebrows rising upward and left to reveal the few creases that could manifest in her forehead. “Is it polite to drag someone to the fucking royal-”
Cyrus lurched forward suddenly, cupping her mouth and lowering his lips to her ear. “If you don’t stop screaming that you’ve been to the palace… You are going to attract attention I am certain you are not looking for… Azura,” he whispered with intensity, and moved slowly to meet her gaze afterward. “I will explain… If you would stop screaming at me so that I can,” Cyrus added as amusement tickled the corners of his lips.
There was a fire in Azura’s eyes that dimmed to a smolder as her stare narrowed into suspicious slivers, but she relented. Her arms uncrossed, and her posture eased, but she still did not trust him - nor did she ever think she would.
“Come with me… I will buy you a drink.”
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Azura had been to the tavern before.
It was one of his favorites.
She had carefully avoided the booth they’d always claimed as their own in hopes that it might make being there just a little bit easier. It was still thick with the memories of hours of conversation. Of smiling until her face hurt and the feeling of the fluttering in her chest as she fell for him.
When would it stop hurting?
When would things cease to remind her of him?
Cyrus, oblivious to what she was feeling, led them to a corner away from the heart of the establishment so they could have some semblance of privacy. The dance floor where a motley collection of individuals danced happily to the music the bard was playing. A tale of the way Latrenia was taken turned into a humorous ballad, a common satirical sonnet that musicians were known for.
“Zelarin oh Zelarin, always looking out for the fellow men… To bring Anagénn and all beneath his wing… To leave us all puppets upon his string…”
Azura rolled her eyes as she slid into the booth, a quiet reminder ringing out in her head that who he sang of…
Was her father.
Unfortunately, she was still wading in a sea of denial, and did not yet have intention of making her way to the shore of reality.
Cyrus took a seat on the opposite side of the booth, and lazily unfastened a few of the buttons on his coat as he investigated their surroundings. Eventually, he seemed satisfied with what he saw, or what he did not see, and his posture relaxed. “So, what-”
“Who are you?” Azura interrupted as her stare planted firmly on the man across from her.
There was a moment of hesitance that followed, but not because he did not want to answer. Instead, he was taken aback by being interrupted, and her continued bluntness.
He supposed he might get used to it, eventually.
If given the chance.
“I am Cyrus,” he said simply with his typical cocksure smirk.
“No… Who are you?” She affirmed with an invigorated inflection to drive the deeper meaning of the inquiry. “Are you one of them… Some fucking prince… Or… Their fucking lapdog or something?” Her eyebrows creased as her gaze slipped to the worn wood of the table they sat at for a breath, only to return to him shortly after.
Cyrus’ jaw feathered slightly following her last statement, and probably because it was true. For as long as he could remember, Queen Shatrina had sent him to do things she did not care to dirty her hands with, and he expected the scope of what that might be would only grow with time.
It was not the only part that was true, however.
But that truth was not something she could not learn.
Not yet.
Perhaps not ever.
“I am… an asset,” he explained as he leaned into the booth behind him. “I do as the Romadis family asks, and I have little choice in the matter,” his tone deflated slightly, and his expression became uncharacteristically stern. Typically, there was some smartass undertone lingering beneath his presentation, but in that moment it vanished. It was telling, however subtle, but Azura was painfully observant. Queitly analyzing her surroundings and those that lived in it, even if she did not want to. “I was told to find you, and to bring you back to the palace… Nothing more,” Cyrus said pointedly as he decidedly caught her eye. There was a heat to that glimpse that cracked Azura beneath, however, and so she averted her gaze.
Nothing more…
As in…
It was hard to forget the night before when the one she had spent it with was sitting across from her. He was considerably less attractive given he had lied and kidnapped her, but it had been some time since she’d been with anyone but him.
This wasn’t about that though.
Whoever Cyrus was, he was capable of things that ensured he should not be trusted.
That he was not something she should want.
If only she were sensible enough to listen to sense.
“So yes… Sleeping with you was my choice,” he added with more of that aggravating nonchalance as he reached forward, and grabbed one of the cashews on the table so he could pop it into his mouth.
Azura looked up at him then, and slowly her mouth fell open as it was overwhelmed with all the things she wanted to say but could not form into a single coherent sentence. “Why even bother?” She finally blurted out. “Why not club me on the back of the head and just drag me off-”
“Oh please… Don’t pretend like you didn’t want it just as much as I did,” he adjourned with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t pretend like you regret it,” Cyrus’ voice softened slightly as he leaned forward, and something in those green eyes swirled with life.
Who are you, Azura thought to herself.
He was far more than an asset.
He had to be.
“But that’s not what we’re here to talk about… I just wanted to… Clear the air,” he added as he cleared his throat and shifted his cadence. “As far as I’m aware? Everything Queen Shatrina said to you was true, and yes… I have been sent here again to bring you back to the palace, but I won’t be dragging you there unconscious again,” Cyrus chuckled. When he was met with silence, his features pulled into a grimace. "Too soon?" He inquired playfully.
“Oh… How fucking comforting,” Azura interjected with a biting sarcasm and hard roll of her eyes.
“I don’t expect you to believe me,” he continued after a moment as humility crawled into his timber. “But I really did not have a choice,” his eyes fell to the table then.
It was as if he was embarrassed - as if he was ashamed.
There were layers here.
Things that some part of her wondered if she would ever peel backward…
“They’ve sent me here, but if you don’t listen,” he trailed off as a deep breath was drawn in through his nose. “I’m sorry to say… But… You’re a part of something now that you can’t run from… You’re on the radar of people who can’t be outrun,” Cyrus spoke carefully now. Annunciated with greater effort than he typically would as he grasped her stare firmly and held it captive. “I won’t stop you if you try to… All I can do is warn you,” he asserted as his stance stiffened subtly in his seat.
Then came another instance of silent seconds where Azura did not know what to say. Quietly chewing on the inside of her fluffy bottom lip as she felt herself become quietly overwhelmed by all the events of the day.
By what, seemed to be, an inevitable future.
Some part of her was still waiting for the moment she would awake from this dream.
From this nightmare.
It was then that it all became too much.
That her ribcage suddenly became too tight and the effort to breath seemed to be an impossible one. The nervous bouncing of her leg beneath the table came to a stop as she dissociated into the chaos that was her thought process, and she felt a shade of pigment bleed from her expression.
Then came the ringing.
The deafening sound corrupting her ears that sounded as if it was everywhere but it was nowhere at all.
It was only in her head.
Then, the familiar sensation ascended its way up from her tightened gut, and crawled its way through her esophagus, threatening to become vomit at any moment. All the while, sparks of light erupted in her iris before her eyes closed, adhering tightly as she tried to quietly calm herself - to take her mind far far away from this place.
“Excuse me,” she said briskly as she pushed herself upward from the table. A hand cupping over her mouth as she the first wretch warns of the inevitable spew of chunder that would surely come soon.
Cyrus, briefly thought to follow her, but they did not know each other well enough for him to be so bold. Nor was he the best at consoling others and offering compassion.
He had never been taught it in his youth.
Or any time afterward.
So, Azura pushed through the crowd alone, seeking out the door so she could attempt to breath in the fresh night air. A gasp emerged from her as she broke into the road, and pressed a hand against her heart as if it might just slow its rapid rhythm.
Everything was falling apart.
She felt herself descending into a pit that she already had been living in for months.
But what was further below than that?
Was it the Inferna itself?
Was that what she was living now?
“Zura.”
Of course he was here.
Of course he would be another layer of shit in the pile of shit she was already drowning in.
She could pick his voice out of a roaring crowd.
She’d sworn it would haunt her dreams and nightmare for years to come in her overdramatic state of grief.
The truth was, there had been love before him, and there would be love after him.
It simply felt as if this time was different.
That he was special.
Fortunately and unfortunately, Azura had been wrong before.
Fortunately, he would soon be a mix of good and bad memories that would live as a whisper of a smile on her lips, and a silent sting in her heart.
He had gone no contact following that last explosive argument that had been the nail in the coffin. He neglected to listen to anything she tried to say, or give her a chance to explain herself and how she was behaving. He had run to mutual friends, and they had gone no contact soon afterward.
Leaving her to grieve and heal alone.
They had all abandoned her as she lingered in a low that was drowning her.
Turning her into a monster that drained from the life around her, and her own.
She hated that monster as much as they did.
She would leave her behind too, if she was able.
Still, even if she could not blame him for his choice, it did not dull the pain born from the fact that he had acted as though she had meant nothing to him.
As if they had meant nothing to him.
The worst of it, was without that closure her heart still craved so desperately, she was left to form her own narrative. She was left to paint the worst of scenarios and break her own heart over and over again each night as she cried, begging to be free of the hold he had on her affections.
How could it be so easy to walk away?
She wondered.
Why could it not be so easy for me?
Azura froze completely, and suddenly all that swelling panic was replaced with the resurfacing of that burn in her chest. Of the break he had forged when he told her that she was no longer worth the effort.
That she was no longer worthy of the difficulties that came with love.
While some part of her wanted to turn - wanted to see him again so deeply it made her weak.
There was nothing she hated more than being weak.
Especially for someone.
Another part of her wanted to run, because she was all too aware this would be far more painful than she ever could have imagined. That this would not be the moment in the fairy tale when he realized he had made a mistake and would take her back so they could live happily ever after.
She had accepted that it would never come.
She had accepted they were only found in books.
Even if some part of her still hoped that she was wrong.
“Zura is that…-”
“Yes,” she snapped as her posture eased into a resentful rigidity, and she raised a quick hand to wipe away the tears that had rolled down her cheeks.
At least, they weren’t for him.
Not this time.
He was, briefly, taken aback by her briskness, but he soon realized he should have expected as much, and perhaps worse. She had tried to reach out. She had sent messages and even written him a letter that was pages long. Every word had been heavy with a longing desperation for him to not give up on them, but he had never responded.
He had made up his mind when he said goodbye, and she should have listened.
Briefly, when he had first noticed her, he had considered not saying anything at all, and he was already starting to believe that would have been the best course of action for them both.
There was nothing left here for him, and there hadn’t been for some time.
“What?” Azura added as she finally turned to look at him with a swift turn of her head. The fire in her eyes was something that lived between bitterness and agony - remnants of the broken heart she was trying to heal with each passing day. When she had pictured this moment, she had thought it might be touching. That her heart might stop in her chest before she told him she was sorry for the millionth time...
But love that is not fostered could turn into something unpleasant.
Love that is broken would never be the same.
“Nothing,” he said after a momentary pause. His hands slipped into his pockets as a sarcastic tuft of laughter departed hardly parted lips, a sound that was barely heard over the sound of passing pedestrians. This attitude only reaffirmed the choice he’d made when he’d walked away from her, even if he hadn't previously had any doubts.
At the height of her mania, she was a manipulative monster. She was not the lovely girl he had grown to love and care for, and as he had grown tired of her erratic state it was all he could remember. Beyond his limit, he’d decided that all things he’d admired simply were not worth combating all the things he hated any longer.
That she was simply too broken.
“So fuck off then,” she snapped.
It took a moment, but not a long one, as the annoyance eased into anger inside of him. He was marked by a terrible temper, but that was not uncommon for the Lycun. It was not only in his nature, but he had been raised that way. Taught by a father who filled him with hate that he still, in his ‘matured’ age, could not face. That he, unknowingly, watered with every year as he buried it deep within. Packing it into the depths of the volcano that he was that would one day erupt, and upon the wrong people.
He was broken too.
Fractured just as much as Azura was in his own ways.
But it had never scared her.
The difference between them was that she wanted to heal him.
She saw his pain and the monster it could make him into and she just wanted to take it away.
She wanted him to be her stained glass.
Beautiful in the way all his pieces were pieced together.
It was a terrible thing, when love was one sided.
When one person refused to give up but the other no longer cared to fight through the trials that always came with it.
More than once he’d said a slew of things to Azura that were only intended to hurt her. Fueled by all the spite in his heart planted by his father before him. Weeds that he had nurtured instead of rooting out so they could not corrupt the garden that he was.
A trap of vines and poisonous flora that Azura rested within unafraid for nearly a year.
Things that Azura wanted to fix.
Things that she wanted to work on together.
His thorns never disturbed her, even when they hurt her.
Even when perhaps they should have.
“I see you’re doing well,” he quipped as he moved to turn away from her, and head toward the tavern. The way he could adorn a bitter variation of sarcasm when he was angry was wounding, and often purposely so, but this time it did not hurt as it used to.
This time it made her angry.
Why had she wasted so much of her energy wanting someone back who could make her feel this way?
Why did love make you so fucking stupid?
The sparks in Azura’s eyes ignited and engulfed her iris, bathing it in a vibrant golden glow, and she allowed all the pain of the months he had left her broken to consume her.
To take control.
She was done begging for his love.
Done hoping she could be worthy of him and it again if she groveled and humiliated herself enough.
“You know…,” Azura began, her voice shaking with every word. The subtle cracks in those two syllables were a warning of the storm that was on its way. One that had brewed since their first real argument when she swallowed her pride just so he would stay. The truth was it was toxic, the way she bent for him out of fear that he would leave.
In the end, she tried to be mature.
To respect his choice and to walk away like he had.
But she couldn't understand.
Not when she still loved him.
Not when she just wanted to make it work.
Fuck you.
She wanted to scream at him.
Fuck you and everything you ever made me feel.
Fuck you for making me believe you when you said you’d always come back.
The world around them disappeared as she fought against the urge to unleash it all, but not in the same way it had all those months ago as her gut erupted with the butterflies due to the first signs of love. There was no rose tint corrupting her vision, there was only the vermillion tinge of the pain she’d felt since he’d broken her heart.
Fuck you for letting me let you in, for letting me believe I could open up to you at the height of insecurities and darkness just to fucking leave.
Fuck you for making me believe you could love me and all of my broken pieces and then just-
Instead of setting her pain free, she freed a shaky huff that gravitated dangerously close to a sob.
This wasn’t how she wanted this to happen.
There was so much she wanted to say, but she never thought she would get the chance. Things that were fueled by all the hurt from their end, and despite the truth that might have existed in them, she didn’t think saying them to him would fix anything.
She needed to let go.
She needed to let this chance to let him see all the pain he caused slipped through her fingers, and take the first true step away from the ruins of what they were.
It would only make him angry if she didn’t, it always did.
He had a tendency to fall silent when he was angry out of fear of the hurt he would say if he opened his mouth. For a time, it had seemed almost caring, but it was a warning sign that should have forced her to when it first reared its ugly head. Each time they argued, he would disappear, and return once he found a way to calm himself down. Unfortunately, it never fixed anything. They never could discuss the problem because when she explained her grievances the anger would come again, and soon, he would be gone again.
Then she would panic, but he would reassure her that he would always come back, and she had stupidly believed him.
If she ever tried to make him stay, to talk through it all in the heat of their combined passion and the ugly thing it could become, he would lose control. He would let loose and beat Azura down with his words. With things he claimed he did not mean, but she just believed he harbored quietly – resentfully. Telling her that she would always be alone, and that he could now see why her past relationships have never worked. Dredging up all the shortcomings he could find and holding them in the light where they could be scrutinized by them both.
Giving life to all of the insecurities that would live on in her head for months afterward.
Things that still lived in her head and her heart now.
No, she was not a fucking daydream.
She was jealous and downright irrational when her emotions took hold. Inconsolable and stubbornly obsessive in pursuit of what she needed when she needed it.
It was enough to drive someone insane.
She would know.
She had to live with it.
She had showed him that she was mess from the beginning.
She had warned him.
They told each other how fucked up they were and promised to love one other regardless.
Until he stopped.
It was aggravating, the way he still had such a hold on her.
What a horrible thing it was, to be ruled by the heart.
Despite the way her need for closure was begging her to do otherwise, she finally walked away from him. She turned on her heel without another word, and she left him standing there alone, and she hoped that she would never see him or those big blue eyes again.
Without a second glance.
Without a goodbye.
Aggressively, Azura barreled her way past everyone in her path as she reentered the tavern, demanded a pitcher at the bar, and then returned to where Cyrus was still waiting patiently. He had been watching her cautiously since she walked through the door, sensing a newfound and frantic energy from where he sat. It was seen in the furious new flare to her steps, and the wild look in her eyes that reminded him of when he had first approached her tonight. Though there was something different about it. The blaze was brighter and it was not just anger that kept it burning. There was something else in there that he might recognize if he had a talent for reading emotion, but alas, he did not. Still, he was observant enough to recognize that whatever it was, was not pleasant.
As he lounged comfortably in the booth, his head had moved slowly to follow as she approached him. One of his thick sable eyebrows had raised in an unasked question as she settled back into her seat, and his gaze had slowly moved toward the pitcher that she gripped.
Without answering any of his silent inquiries, Azura met his gaze firmly, and lifted the pitcher to her lips.
Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
She chugged away.
Some of the amber tinted liquid had messily fallen past her lips and trailed over her jawline, charting a course down her neck and settling on her collarbone before she pulled the pitcher away, and placed it on the table with an uncouth thud.
“Ah fuck that’s good,” she exclaimed with a gasp sucked between her teeth.
Cyrus, mildly alarmed if his expression was to be read, simply admired the mess in front of him with eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and perhaps a bit of concern.
This woman…
Was not mentally sound.
Certainly it could be said that most had an issue or two they kept locked away, but she…
She had many of them.
All of which she seemed to wear shamelessly.
Which was rare, and potentially endearing… In the most unsettling way.
“Should I ask?” Cyrus partially inquired as his green eyes wordlessly analyzed her expression.
Something was wrong.
Many things, perhaps.
But it would not take an Anagnosti to deduce as much.
“No,” she replied quickly before letting out an obtuse burp.
Cyrus was long used to the dainty women of court, and none of them did that. Although he was a bit perturbed at first, he eventually offered something like a smile before shaking his head free of whatever he had thought to say. He did enjoy coming here from time to time, after all, and those that occupied it were certainly less refined than courtier. Still, the women he encountered were typically trying to impress him, and Azura certainly was not a member of that category given her current cadence.
“What do they want?” Azura asked as she leaned forward, pushing the pitcher aside. At the moment, she was reeling from the betrayal of being lied to by her mother since… birth, and screaming at the man she had loved for the better half of a year.
As it all settled, she was regretting some of what she said.
She had never wanted to hurt him, she had only wanted him to listen…
To say she was in a good headspace to make any life changing decisions would be a bold faced lie.
Yet here she was, about to do exactly that.
“Everything,” Cyrus replied plainly.
It would be far too late when Azura realized the depth of the truth of those words.