Chapter 149

"Bastian. Open those pretty eyes of yours already."

Bastian shot up straight, his eyes squinting in the light. 'What was this? Where's Hydrangea?' He spun in a circle, the brightness following him.

"Who's there?" He asked.

"Oh, darling. You don't even remember me." He heard a vaguely familiar feminine voice. But then again, he'd heard many a woman's voice.

"Those are dangerous thoughts, Bastian. We don't need those." She said and he could hear footfalls, but the yellow light blinded him. He covered his eyes to shield them from the pain.

"Who are you?"

"Hmm.." She hummed, "I believe I'll make you guess."

He groaned in annoyance, then at his stupidity when the answer came to him, "Timir-mask." He grumbled.

She giggled, "Why yes. I'm surprised it took you so long, although with all your pent up 'manly urges' it's not all that surprising."

He frowned and began to lower his hand as the light dimmed. He was standing in a red room, the walls were stained bright red with strange patterns and the ceiling was shining with sunlight. He looked down and his eyes levelled on Timir-mask, but she looked substantially different.

Her hair the last time he'd seen her had been a difficult colour to determine and had flowed in waves down her back, now it was a dark brown that drifted down in curling tendrils around her shoulders, each strand tipped with flame. An exotic crown was resting atop her burning hair, its golden metal fanned out like rays of sunbeams glinting in the light.

She sat on a throne made of gold, it was painted red with geometrical patterns. On either side were two pyres burning with fire. And behind her throne were two banners, the sun printed onto them with blood.

She was watching him with vibrant orange eyes, he remembered them being white before.

"What is all this?" He asked, splaying his hand in gesture to all of the elaborateness of the throne room.

She smiled, not revealing her teeth, "This is mine. You're probably wondering how." She said, her long fingers beginning to tap on the square armrest of the throne. She stood, her dress draping to her feet, it was cut to reveal her waist but covered her navel.

"I thought I'd dress more appropriately, we both know how jealous your wife gets." She said with a wink as she walked towards where he stood.

He narrowed his eyes at her, but couldn't help the pleased feeling that ran through him. Hydrangea got jealous, she shouldn't though. She was definitely-

"In Cadarama I have power," The Primal interrupted, "I am one of the greats after all." She began, her eyes scanning the patterned walls, "But here, in Selva. I am much, much more powerful."

He blinked, "You… have power here in Selva as well?"

She smiled broadly and he squinted his eyes, "Yes. I am what the Selvans call 'Tonali' the Sun." She raised her arms to form a sun and he saw the flames in her hair brighten. She lowered her arms, "I am what the Mathubans call 'Tafoukt Yemma'. I am powerful in each culture because each culture recognizes the power of the sun."

He glanced away, taking in this information. He opened his mouth to ask a question but Timir-mask waved her hand and he lost his voice. He stared at her in confusion and consternation.

"I am not here to talk about the power I hold and where." She said almost boredly as she walked back to her throne, "I am here to speak to you about that cute, little wife of yours." She sat down elegantly and crossed one leg over her knee, revealing her warm brown skin that looked dusted by gold.

He narrowed his eyes and hers flashed fiercely, the orange flame in them growing brighter. He looked away, feeling that if he watched her much longer she'd burst into flames, or something of the like.

"She has certainly calmed you…"

He looked up, his eyes questioning her statement.

She smiled at something hidden and relaxed her stance, bringing her legs together and resting her hands on either side of the throne, "But she has incited that passion and need that will drive all men mad." She beamed.

"You cannot simply inflict your will on her." She said, her face becoming more serious and her eyes darkening.

His brow furrowed. When had he inflicted his will on her? With the kiss? But she had liked that, he smirked upon remembering her reaction.

He looked up and saw Timir-mask watching him with an unreadable expression. Her nails began to drum along the armrest, "Samadur and Ratri-kar both believe that you two will handle yourselves accordingly. But they don't have much power in this realm. And I do not believe you will." The drumming ceased, "Bastian, I know that when a man desires a woman all the blood rushes from his brain to his 'family jewels', so please try to understand this. Hydrangea is not ready."

He scoffed mentally, his lips still sealed.

"You may believe she is, but trust me," Her voice darkened and her eyes flickered red, "She is not ready. I am ordering you to wait until she initiates your first sexual act."

He blinked in shock and the Primal's eyes blazed in anger, "So, you will disobey me?" She asked in a cold anger, "You would force yourself upon your wife? You would overpower her as that man in Viskogorny did? Coerce her with new experiences to enjoy your bed?"

He looked down at the red ground, horrified at what he'd been doing. His mind recounted each time he'd kissed her that night, each time he'd wanted so badly to go further. But… there were also the times that she'd kissed him.

"You will not have to wait long, your wife does desire you." She said in a mirthful tone. It was strange how quickly her mood could change.

"But Bastian," She stood, her peacock-like crown catching the light from above, "I am not saying that you should refrain from loving her. You seem to think that the only way to show her love is physical affection, but there are many different ways. Physical affection is a fine way to convey love, but a relationship cannot be built on physicality alone. You may hold her if she wants or needs to be held. She is still your wife."

She walked forwards and stopped in front of him, she towered over him by a foot. He was not used to women being so tall. She placed her hand on his shoulder, "And as for those masculine desires…?" She asked, raising a brow, "Deal with it."

He inhaled sharply as he came to. The dream rushed back to him with intensity, 'So, I'm not allowed to touch my wife unless she initiates it.'

He breathed in, turning his head to see Hydrangea curled up under the blanket, her wrists were curled at her chest, as was her habit when she slept.

He sighed, how was he going to keep his hands off of her? He scanned over her body, or the parts of it peeking out of the blanket. Her lids were closed with her delicate lashes resting on her soft cheekbones. Her graceful brows were relaxed as her chest rose and fell with even breaths.

He calmed watching her, feeling his breathing slow to match hers.

Maybe he could do this.

He closed his eyes, but he still pictured her in his mind. Her eyes, her lips, her body.

Maybe he couldn't do this.

As he drifted off to sleep he caught vague whispers of a mocking, feminine laughter.