The feeling of love
The man drops my hand, and presses something to my chest. I clutch the object instinctively in my hands, not looking at it, instead captivated by the movement of his lips as he forms the words:
"Until next time," he whispers in his rich, velvety voice, that suddenly makes me aware of the strange ache in my heart at the very notion of his beauty. He hesitates for a moment, as if debating something to himself, the coolness of his breath fanning over my cheek. So close. The reckless part of me half wants him to stay, so that I might drink in his handsome features a little longer, commit them to memory and lock them away in a part of my brain that surely won't forget. To continue whatever strange, lucid experience I am having in a forest where anyone could be anyone, where I could forget that amongst everything my race is dying, and that I am probably the only one able to stop it. To be free just a little while longer, for just one more moment... Before I can stop him, the man draws back, almost apologetically, his lips parted, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. He draws his hand to his lips, touching them lightly, as if he wasn't aware of how long he had lingered there beside me, so close to the heat of my skin. His jaw stiffens. He looks like he wants to say something, but instead turns abruptly, plunging his hand into the floating flames, extinguishing them. I blink back the absence of the light, adjusting my eyes against the gloom. When the darkness settles, the figure of the man is gone. Instinctively, my fingers close around the object in my hands- a dark purple rose, its leaves like jagged keys indenting against my palm. I clutch it closer to my chest, not wanting to let go.
From the corner of my eye, I see a flash of white in the undergrowth. Oh no. I look up. Light is just beginning to pour in between the canopy of trees, and I hear the sleepy pitter patter of little feet through the bracken. When did it start to get so light? Hitching up my dress, I run back towards the carriage as quickly as I can. My heart beats fast, but not as fast as it was, the pendant crashing heavily against my chest, mocking me. Desperately, I try to shake myself from my drunken daze, my head spinning to the sound of a slow and steady waltz.
***
Ithuriel sits on the side of the carriage, a lantern in one hand, elbow propped up on the piles of boxes. He leans to the side, his head tipped away indignantly. He's trying to look like he doesn't care. But that's the thing about Ithuriel, he always cares. He pockets the ring and I hear it fall with a tinkle in his pocket, his hair flaming red, seething. He's waiting for me to approach, not looking in my eyes, but not looking away either, as though he suspects to catch me doing something I shouldn't. Nervously, I climb my way into the carriage, stumbling over the steps, half falling, half placing myself down on the floor. I tuck my legs into my chest, the rose still jammed between my fingers, and look away, my gaze just as indignant as his. The horses whinny at the front of the carriage, confronted by two impish pixies who are pulling faces. One of them gets swiped to the side by an angry hoof, crashing headfirst into a blackberry bush. I see them sit up amongst the thistles, laughing giddily and splattered in purple, and I giggle under my breath.
"What were you thinking?" Ithuriel hisses, cutting into my thoughts, still not looking at me. A faint red aura emanates off his body. The sound of his nails rapping hard against the wooden floor sets my teeth on edge. I turn away, my brow furrowing.
"I can take care of myself," I mutter, a little defiantly, picking at the petals of the rose. Am I not allowed to do things by myself? Ithuriel's fingers continue tapping persistently.
"So you thought" he starts slowly, the anger rising in his throat, "that frolicking with" -he struggles to find the words- "that creature was okay?" I do not answer, humming steadily to myself as I build up a delicate pile of rose petals beside me, rocking gently. The little pixies have gone now, and the horses are quiet. All at once the light of the lantern seems much more harsh than before. I stop humming.
"We didn't frolic," I tell him stubbornly, a bit too late, my body swaying to the sound of a long departed tune. I discard the empty stem of the rose with one hand, restlessness stirring within me. Part of me wants to go back, to feel that sense of inexhaustible freedom and irresponsible carelessness crashing like a tidal wave through my body once more. Just one more time. "Besides," I add impatiently, "he was going to the Palace, he might be able to help us." Ithuriel goes quiet. A little too quiet. I lean back stiffly against the side of the carriage, watching his hair simmer from red to white. Calm. A leaf lands on my shoulder. Hastily, I brush it away.
My mind whirls back to the haunting yellow eyes, and the strange silhouette of the hooded figure. I remember the softness of his voice, how each sensuous word rolled off his tongue like honey. Absently, I brush my fingers down the side of my cheek, tracing the spot his breath had lingered, as if I might draw back its warmth. The more I think, the more I find myself enchanted: the freedom I felt, dancing through the night carelessly, like I had imagined when I was younger. I recall how easily everything melted away with his touch: like a drug. A very dangerous drug.
"We have a mission, Serena," Ithuriel reminds me sternly, shaking his head. He looks me up and down, peering his eyes at me, reading my aura. His nose wrinkles in disgust. Clearly he doesn't like what he sees.
"I know," I sigh instead, crossing my arms begrudgingly, the cold pendant pressing harshly into my skin. Then I laugh, catching even myself by surprise. "Those vampires won't even see us coming." I grin at him slyly. At this, Ithuriel looks relieved. He reaches over to place a hand on my knee, rubbing in soothing circles. My shoulders ease a little, and a steady fear ebbs into my heart, trickling into my veins the way a river runs into the sea. A combination of nerves and a rush of adrenaline pump through me. Running my thumb over the hilt of my sword, I imagine plunging it into the faceless princes' chest, their heart skewered on the end of the silver tip. Bring them down to their knees, I think cruelly to myself, begging, their heart in my hand, helpless, scared, as I throw it into the sacred flames along with the rest of their body. Let them taste fear.
"My Queen," Ithuriel prompts me carefully. I look up abruptly, noticing his features growing more pronounced as the light slowly streams into the forest. His two toned eyes are clear, but even without being able to read his aura, I can tell he is worried. He holds out the reins to me, which jingle softly. "We will be arriving in a few hours, I can't be seen like this," he admits obviously, gesturing his silvery wings, feathers ruffled from the growing wind. Reluctantly, I take the reins from him. The leather is cool in my hands, heavy, but comforting all the same. Shuffling to the front of the carriage, I sit, staring blankly at the road ahead of me. The horses buck as I tighten my grip on the reins, their white manes flashing like beacons. A pine marten scurries hurriedly up a tree at the sound, a little wooden man with elongated limbs clinging to clumps of its fur desperately. I can feel eyes watching me from the forest, inquisitive, afraid. A herd of deer stop at the edge of the wood, touching noses, pawing the earth, their flowered bodies emanating a pleasant smell that wafts towards the carriage.
A little white woodfox comes to sit by me.
"Hello Ithuriel," I smile, using one hand to scratch his little fuzzy head. The fox yips happily, purring, the fern like bristles on his back shivering as he leans against my side, its leafy antennae glowing content. I fix my gaze on the road ahead. Whipping the reins, the horses whinny loudly, and start into a gallop, the carriage lurching forward with a heave. The deer scatter. Little goblins run into the undergrowth. To the castle, I think. The fox nods at me.
To the castle.