Chapter 67: 67
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In all honesty, I should be dead by now. I should have died in that forest when Soren first found me, and my guts should be hung up as garlands around the great forest just like they would have been if he had met any other person that dark night, under the shadows of the forest where the moon had long since ceased to shine.
Yes, I should have been dead a long, long time ago.
Maybe, I already am.
Gone is the part of me that feared the vampires, the girl who followed the rules and did not stray close to the border. Dead is the angel who respected her council, who listened to her best friend when he told her: you must never trust a vampire. That girl seems very far away now, lost in the stream of time, and replaced by another: one who is unafraid, one who is bold, and one who is stupid- or perhaps brave enough to take a vampire Prince head on, regardless of the consequences. I am that very creature the angels swore not to be.
For the longest time I could never fathom my seemingly inhuman attachment to the prince: the spiller of souls, spiller of blood, and a monster who drains away the innocence from mortal life quicker than a man entrapped in the claws of quicksand- at least, this is what I believed.
I had always wondered: why? What is it about this creature that sets him apart from the others, that makes me feel so inexplicably drawn to him, to his kind, as though I am a moth drawn to the very flame that will one day set me alight, but strives towards it anyway, if only to dance in the light. For many years, I had questions, but never answers. They always alluded me, shoved away by the dismissive hands of the angels who could not care less for a creature that basked in the shadows and did not step into the light.
Yet now, it is obvious, there is no denying that fact. I have been consumed by that fire, that fated strand, that took over my heart so quickly it was impossible to go back, an idle remanence in my soul that needed coaxing back to life. The bond is there, shooting through me with every fond look and gentle kiss, the way I melt into his body at his touch and over the soothing of his words in my ears. It lingers in the wispy touches of my breath on my skin, and the golden hue that resounds around the room- my body acting without its host's permission, blazing with reckless affection.
Yes, there may be the bond, but I have never loved anyone more in my life.
But I am an angel, and he is not. I wonder sorrowfully to myself if a millennia's worth of wars could be changed on the fate of a single bond.
Soren seems to notice my bereavement, brows drawing together in anguished concern as he nuzzles his face into my neck, murmuring incoherent words of comfort over my skin. He pulls me closer to him, his hands sliding down my back, and just like that, I melt for him.
"Hush, little dove, whatever ails your heart, know that I will love you always,"
"Always?" I ask, a sudden rush of fear flowing through me as I jerk my head up to meet his gaze.
If only he knew…
Soren tilts up my chin, offering up a warm smile.
"Always. Even if you are secretly some foul beast from the end," he jokes, tapping me lightly on the nose, and my lips twitch into a half smile. Perhaps not a foul beast from the end, but certainly something similar.
Soren gently lays us down on the bed, and I sink into the soft mattress, consumed by thoughts and blatant worries as Soren trails his lips over my neck, kissing and sucking and biting at my skin, trying to distract me from the grief that slowly settles in my heart. Of course, with his power, he must see it there, and not understand why such torment had settled into my heart, yet when he pulls me closer, all at once I get impossibly sadder.
I never thought I would fall in love with a vampire; no, I never believed it in a million years. Escaping the confines of Illistrae had been my first miracle, and it seems I have just been offered a second.
My mind flits back the Dawn, to where she might be, lying in a dungeon, cold, shivering, and filled with an unforgiving fear. And I think of the eternal flame, flickering in this palace, guarded by reams of magical spells and violent powers that I do not even know the first thing about. I think of my people at home, of Elris and Lilyana, and all the angels, anxiously awaiting news of my success, or my failure and to find my body strung up amongst the trees as they have found so many others.
Then there is Soren- beautiful, monstrous Soren. A tyrant, a ruler, and my mate. The only vampire that has ever been remotely nice to me, a vampire that, no matter what he does, I cannot bring myself not to love.
I know the choice I have to make, I know the side I have to choose, the one that is right. My people, or my mate? To a Queen, the question is hardly even there.
But there is one other path to be cleaved, one of fire and ice, water and stone, a tricky path where I might yet return the flame and save my people, might win the never-ending war and still keep Soren by my side.
As I sink into Soren, pressing my cheek against his shoulder, I know what I must do.
***
To my luck, (but equally to my greatest dismay) Soren is gone the next morning when I wake up, leaving a cold empty patch in the bed next to me: a silhouette of his figure imprinted onto the sheets. Given his status as Prince and ruler of Sezeria, it comes as no surprise to me, really- he must have numerous duties to attend to, and a plethora of vampires to keep restrained. Not to mention a new angel prisoner to interrogate and prepare as bait. A lump rises in my throat. But no matter how true the knowledge of that fact is, that does stop the torrent of sadness that washes over my body, the drop of my heart that had hoped beyond all manner of small hopes that he might stay the morning.
But of course, it is better for me if he doesn't. The less I see of him, the easier it will be to carry out my plan. Even if it breaks me.
Yet, there is one small flicker of enjoyment let on the horizon, a tiny moment of solace amongst my troubled mind. We had negotiated training times prior to falling asleep last night, and I have since etched the schedule into my mind so deeply that there is no physical possibility of me ever forgetting it:
Training at dusk in the western front of the great forest. No weapons.
I smile to myself and roll my eyes as I begin to pull on my clothes from the day before, my fingers feeling like leaden bricks, my hands as heavy as ice blocks, intent on thwarting my plans. Even my body seems to fight my conscience, my plan. Stupid body.
When I am dressed and the arctic chill of the vampire palace that first hit my body gradually subsides, I take a long breath out, clip my sword to the belt on my waist (left discarded on the floor like most things last night) and sit on the side of the bed, surveying the darkened room with an odd sense of nostalgia, despite the fact it is something I have done innumerable times before.
Where to start?
The decision I made last night is by no means and easy one. The weight of it presses on my conscience, filling my stomach with a sickly dread that rises and bubbles in my insides like some volcanic waste, poisonous and deadly.
I must find the flame for my people and return it to them, that is my duty as their Queen. But at what cost? The cost of my life? Of my heart? Or perhaps something greater? But, I decide, steeling my body to a rigid exterior, and cutting off my heart in the process, the consequences of my actions will come as and when. I started this mission, and I am damn well going to finish it- but perhaps not in the way the council had anticipated.
Silently I hope against hope that that icy resolve will not falter.
Soren's bedroom is, aside from perhaps the scattered papers, torn and crumpled at the edges, stains of ink on the side of his draws and the faint scratch marks which appear to have arisen on the banisters of the four poster bed perceiving overnight (which imaginably could turn the room into quite the chaotic scene), remarkably tidy. The floating lanterns that bob over my head spread a glorious buttery light over the ornate furniture of the room, lanterns which I have since decided must be powered by some sort of fine magic, useless albeit, but magic I would like to have.
Finding leads about the flame in such a pristine room seems like a death trap, and the notion that Soren might just amble on in here as he often does and catch me in the act does not sit easy in my stomach. For a minute, facing all the neatly tidied drawers, and well organized cabinets high on the walls, I find myself overwhelmed by the prospect of searching through everything without leaving a trace. Overwhelmed and extremely guilty.
Even now, with Soren long gone and delving into some unknown business I have yet to attend, I feel that spark welling deep inside me, calling out to him, flaring in the chambers of my heart and roaring through my blood like a wildfire. I feel it all, all that emotion that is so inexplicably intoxicating, and at last understand the power of the link between us, the bond between my soul and his: even if I had to kill him, even if I wanted to, my body simply wouldn't allow it. Perhaps after all this time, the most dangerous thing in this Palace is not the vampires, but me.
I start by searching through his draws, my fingers barely skimming over the pages of documents and patting aside quills and books to look for any clues on the location of the flame. I do my best to avoid the globules of ink stained into the wood of the cabinets beside his bed, in case it is still wet, and then my finger prints would quickly become the mark of a crime scene. I can't let Soren know what I am up to.
Puffing out my cheeks in exasperation, I wipe away the light sheen of sweat that is beginning to form above my brow. Nothing in the first cabinet. Just documents of executions, festivities, official meetings and courtly ceremonies. The duties of a Prince, but nothing on the flame. Obviously, I think bitterly to myself, it was never going to be that easy.
And so I keep searching.
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In all honesty, I should be dead by now. I should have died in that forest when Soren first found me, and my guts should be hung up as garlands around the great forest just like they would have been if he had met any other person that dark night, under the shadows of the forest where the moon had long since ceased to shine.
Yes, I should have been dead a long, long time ago.
Maybe, I already am.
Gone is the part of me that feared the vampires, the girl who followed the rules and did not stray close to the border. Dead is the angel who respected her council, who listened to her best friend when he told her: you must never trust a vampire. That girl seems very far away now, lost in the stream of time, and replaced by another: one who is unafraid, one who is bold, and one who is stupid- or perhaps brave enough to take a vampire Prince head on, regardless of the consequences. I am that very creature the angels swore not to be.
For the longest time I could never fathom my seemingly inhuman attachment to the prince: the spiller of souls, spiller of blood, and a monster who drains away the innocence from mortal life quicker than a man entrapped in the claws of quicksand- at least, this is what I believed.
I had always wondered: why? What is it about this creature that sets him apart from the others, that makes me feel so inexplicably drawn to him, to his kind, as though I am a moth drawn to the very flame that will one day set me alight, but strives towards it anyway, if only to dance in the light. For many years, I had questions, but never answers. They always alluded me, shoved away by the dismissive hands of the angels who could not care less for a creature that basked in the shadows and did not step into the light.
Yet now, it is obvious, there is no denying that fact. I have been consumed by that fire, that fated strand, that took over my heart so quickly it was impossible to go back, an idle remanence in my soul that needed coaxing back to life. The bond is there, shooting through me with every fond look and gentle kiss, the way I melt into his body at his touch and over the soothing of his words in my ears. It lingers in the wispy touches of my breath on my skin, and the golden hue that resounds around the room- my body acting without its host's permission, blazing with reckless affection.
Yes, there may be the bond, but I have never loved anyone more in my life.
But I am an angel, and he is not. I wonder sorrowfully to myself if a millennia's worth of wars could be changed on the fate of a single bond.
Soren seems to notice my bereavement, brows drawing together in anguished concern as he nuzzles his face into my neck, murmuring incoherent words of comfort over my skin. He pulls me closer to him, his hands sliding down my back, and just like that, I melt for him.
"Hush, little dove, whatever ails your heart, know that I will love you always,"
"Always?" I ask, a sudden rush of fear flowing through me as I jerk my head up to meet his gaze.
If only he knew…
Soren tilts up my chin, offering up a warm smile.
"Always. Even if you are secretly some foul beast from the end," he jokes, tapping me lightly on the nose, and my lips twitch into a half smile. Perhaps not a foul beast from the end, but certainly something similar.
Soren gently lays us down on the bed, and I sink into the soft mattress, consumed by thoughts and blatant worries as Soren trails his lips over my neck, kissing and sucking and biting at my skin, trying to distract me from the grief that slowly settles in my heart. Of course, with his power, he must see it there, and not understand why such torment had settled into my heart, yet when he pulls me closer, all at once I get impossibly sadder.
I never thought I would fall in love with a vampire; no, I never believed it in a million years. Escaping the confines of Illistrae had been my first miracle, and it seems I have just been offered a second.
My mind flits back the Dawn, to where she might be, lying in a dungeon, cold, shivering, and filled with an unforgiving fear. And I think of the eternal flame, flickering in this palace, guarded by reams of magical spells and violent powers that I do not even know the first thing about. I think of my people at home, of Elris and Lilyana, and all the angels, anxiously awaiting news of my success, or my failure and to find my body strung up amongst the trees as they have found so many others.
Then there is Soren- beautiful, monstrous Soren. A tyrant, a ruler, and my mate. The only vampire that has ever been remotely nice to me, a vampire that, no matter what he does, I cannot bring myself not to love.
I know the choice I have to make, I know the side I have to choose, the one that is right. My people, or my mate? To a Queen, the question is hardly even there.
But there is one other path to be cleaved, one of fire and ice, water and stone, a tricky path where I might yet return the flame and save my people, might win the never-ending war and still keep Soren by my side.
As I sink into Soren, pressing my cheek against his shoulder, I know what I must do.
***
To my luck, (but equally to my greatest dismay) Soren is gone the next morning when I wake up, leaving a cold empty patch in the bed next to me: a silhouette of his figure imprinted onto the sheets. Given his status as Prince and ruler of Sezeria, it comes as no surprise to me, really- he must have numerous duties to attend to, and a plethora of vampires to keep restrained. Not to mention a new angel prisoner to interrogate and prepare as bait. A lump rises in my throat. But no matter how true the knowledge of that fact is, that does stop the torrent of sadness that washes over my body, the drop of my heart that had hoped beyond all manner of small hopes that he might stay the morning.
But of course, it is better for me if he doesn't. The less I see of him, the easier it will be to carry out my plan. Even if it breaks me.
Yet, there is one small flicker of enjoyment let on the horizon, a tiny moment of solace amongst my troubled mind. We had negotiated training times prior to falling asleep last night, and I have since etched the schedule into my mind so deeply that there is no physical possibility of me ever forgetting it:
Training at dusk in the western front of the great forest. No weapons.
I smile to myself and roll my eyes as I begin to pull on my clothes from the day before, my fingers feeling like leaden bricks, my hands as heavy as ice blocks, intent on thwarting my plans. Even my body seems to fight my conscience, my plan. Stupid body.
When I am dressed and the arctic chill of the vampire palace that first hit my body gradually subsides, I take a long breath out, clip my sword to the belt on my waist (left discarded on the floor like most things last night) and sit on the side of the bed, surveying the darkened room with an odd sense of nostalgia, despite the fact it is something I have done innumerable times before.
Where to start?
The decision I made last night is by no means and easy one. The weight of it presses on my conscience, filling my stomach with a sickly dread that rises and bubbles in my insides like some volcanic waste, poisonous and deadly.
I must find the flame for my people and return it to them, that is my duty as their Queen. But at what cost? The cost of my life? Of my heart? Or perhaps something greater? But, I decide, steeling my body to a rigid exterior, and cutting off my heart in the process, the consequences of my actions will come as and when. I started this mission, and I am damn well going to finish it- but perhaps not in the way the council had anticipated.
Silently I hope against hope that that icy resolve will not falter.
Soren's bedroom is, aside from perhaps the scattered papers, torn and crumpled at the edges, stains of ink on the side of his draws and the faint scratch marks which appear to have arisen on the banisters of the four poster bed perceiving overnight (which imaginably could turn the room into quite the chaotic scene), remarkably tidy. The floating lanterns that bob over my head spread a glorious buttery light over the ornate furniture of the room, lanterns which I have since decided must be powered by some sort of fine magic, useless albeit, but magic I would like to have.
Finding leads about the flame in such a pristine room seems like a death trap, and the notion that Soren might just amble on in here as he often does and catch me in the act does not sit easy in my stomach. For a minute, facing all the neatly tidied drawers, and well organized cabinets high on the walls, I find myself overwhelmed by the prospect of searching through everything without leaving a trace. Overwhelmed and extremely guilty.
Even now, with Soren long gone and delving into some unknown business I have yet to attend, I feel that spark welling deep inside me, calling out to him, flaring in the chambers of my heart and roaring through my blood like a wildfire. I feel it all, all that emotion that is so inexplicably intoxicating, and at last understand the power of the link between us, the bond between my soul and his: even if I had to kill him, even if I wanted to, my body simply wouldn't allow it. Perhaps after all this time, the most dangerous thing in this Palace is not the vampires, but me.
I start by searching through his draws, my fingers barely skimming over the pages of documents and patting aside quills and books to look for any clues on the location of the flame. I do my best to avoid the globules of ink stained into the wood of the cabinets beside his bed, in case it is still wet, and then my finger prints would quickly become the mark of a crime scene. I can't let Soren know what I am up to.
Puffing out my cheeks in exasperation, I wipe away the light sheen of sweat that is beginning to form above my brow. Nothing in the first cabinet. Just documents of executions, festivities, official meetings and courtly ceremonies. The duties of a Prince, but nothing on the flame. Obviously, I think bitterly to myself, it was never going to be that easy.
And so I keep searching.
In all honesty, I should be dead by now. I should have died in that forest when Soren first found me, and my guts should be hung up as garlands around the great forest just like they would have been if he had met any other person that dark night, under the shadows of the forest where the moon had long since ceased to shine.Yes, I should have been dead a long, long time ago. Maybe, I already am.Gone is the part of me that feared the vampires, the girl who followed the rules and did not stray close to the border. Dead is the angel who respected her council, who listened to her best friend when he told her: you must never trust a vampire. That girl seems very far away now, lost in the stream of time, and replaced by another: one who is unafraid, one who is bold, and one who is stupid- or perhaps brave enough to take a vampire Prince head on, regardless of the consequences. I am that very creature the angels swore not to be.For the longest time I could never fathom my seemingly inhuman attachment to the prince: the spiller of souls, spiller of blood, and a monster who drains away the innocence from mortal life quicker than a man entrapped in the claws of quicksand- at least, this is what I believed.I had always wondered: why? What is it about this creature that sets him apart from the others, that makes me feel so inexplicably drawn to him, to his kind, as though I am a moth drawn to the very flame that will one day set me alight, but strives towards it anyway, if only to dance in the light. For many years, I had questions, but never answers. They always alluded me, shoved away by the dismissive hands of the angels who could not care less for a creature that basked in the shadows and did not step into the light.Yet now, it is obvious, there is no denying that fact. I have been consumed by that fire, that fated strand, that took over my heart so quickly it was impossible to go back, an idle remanence in my soul that needed coaxing back to life. The bond is there, shooting through me with every fond look and gentle kiss, the way I melt into his body at his touch and over the soothing of his words in my ears. It lingers in the wispy touches of my breath on my skin, and the golden hue that resounds around the room- my body acting without its host's permission, blazing with reckless affection. Yes, there may be the bond, but I have never loved anyone more in my life.But I am an angel, and he is not. I wonder sorrowfully to myself if a millennia's worth of wars could be changed on the fate of a single bond.Soren seems to notice my bereavement, brows drawing together in anguished concern as he nuzzles his face into my neck, murmuring incoherent words of comfort over my skin. He pulls me closer to him, his hands sliding down my back, and just like that, I melt for him."Hush, little dove, whatever ails your heart, know that I will love you always,""Always?" I ask, a sudden rush of fear flowing through me as I jerk my head up to meet his gaze. If only he knewSoren tilts up my chin, offering up a warm smile."Always. Even if you are secretly some foul beast from the end," he jokes, tapping me lightly on the nose, and my lips twitch into a half smile. Perhaps not a foul beast from the end, but certainly something similar.Soren gently lays us down on the bed, and I sink into the soft mattress, consumed by thoughts and blatant worries as Soren trails his lips over my neck, kissing and sucking and biting at my skin, trying to distract me from the grief that slowly settles in my heart. Of course, with his power, he must see it there, and not understand why such torment had settled into my heart, yet when he pulls me closer, all at once I get impossibly sadder.I never thought I would fall in love with a vampire; no, I never believed it in a million years. Escaping the confines of Illistrae had been my first miracle, and it seems I have just been offered a second.My mind flits back the Dawn, to where she might be, lying in a dungeon, cold, shivering, and filled with an unforgiving fear. And I think of the eternal flame, flickering in this palace, guarded by reams of magical spells and violent powers that I do not even know the first thing about. I think of my people at home, of Elris and Lilyana, and all the angels, anxiously awaiting news of my success, or my failure and to find my body strung up amongst the trees as they have found so many others.Then there is Soren- beautiful, monstrous Soren. A tyrant, a ruler, and my mate. The only vampire that has ever been remotely nice to me, a vampire that, no matter what he does, I cannot bring myself not to love. I know the choice I have to make, I know the side I have to choose, the one that is right. My people, or my mate? To a Queen, the question is hardly even there. But there is one other path to be cleaved, one of fire and ice, water and stone, a tricky path where I might yet return the flame and save my people, might win the never-ending war and still keep Soren by my side. As I sink into Soren, pressing my cheek against his shoulder, I know what I must do.***To my luck, but equally to my greatest dismay Soren is gone the next morning when I wake up, leaving a cold empty patch in the bed next to me: a silhouette of his figure imprinted onto the sheets. Given his status as Prince and ruler of Sezeria, it comes as no surprise to me, really- he must have numerous duties to attend to, and a plethora of vampires to keep restrained. Not to mention a new angel prisoner to interrogate and prepare as bait. A lump rises in my throat. But no matter how true the knowledge of that fact is, that does stop the torrent of sadness that washes over my body, the drop of my heart that had hoped beyond all manner of small hopes that he might stay the morning.But of course, it is better for me if he doesn't. The less I see of him, the easier it will be to carry out my plan. Even if it breaks me.Yet, there is one small flicker of enjoyment let on the horizon, a tiny moment of solace amongst my troubled mind. We had negotiated training times prior to falling asleep last night, and I have since etched the schedule into my mind so deeply that there is no physical possibility of me ever forgetting it:Training at dusk in the western front of the great forest. No weapons.I smile to myself and roll my eyes as I begin to pull on my clothes from the day before, my fingers feeling like leaden bricks, my hands as heavy as ice blocks, intent on thwarting my plans. Even my body seems to fight my conscience, my plan. Stupid body.When I am dressed and the arctic chill of the vampire palace that first hit my body gradually subsides, I take a long breath out, clip my sword to the belt on my waist left discarded on the floor like most things last night and sit on the side of the bed, surveying the darkened room with an odd sense of nostalgia, despite the fact it is something I have done innumerable times before.Where to start?The decision I made last night is by no means and easy one. The weight of it presses on my conscience, filling my stomach with a sickly dread that rises and bubbles in my insides like some volcanic waste, poisonous and deadly.I must find the flame for my people and return it to them, that is my duty as their Queen. But at what cost? The cost of my life? Of my heart? Or perhaps something greater? But, I decide, steeling my body to a rigid exterior, and cutting off my heart in the process, the consequences of my actions will come as and when. I started this mission, and I am damn well going to finish it- but perhaps not in the way the council had anticipated.Silently I hope against hope that that icy resolve will not falter. Soren's bedroom is, aside from perhaps the scattered papers, torn and crumpled at the edges, stains of ink on the side of his draws and the faint scratch marks which appear to have arisen on the banisters of the four poster bed perceiving overnight which imaginably could turn the room into quite the chaotic scene, remarkably tidy. The floating lanterns that bob over my head spread a glorious buttery light over the ornate furniture of the room, lanterns which I have since decided must be powered by some sort of fine magic, useless albeit, but magic I would like to have. Finding leads about the flame in such a pristine room seems like a death trap, and the notion that Soren might just amble on in here as he often does and catch me in the act does not sit easy in my stomach. For a minute, facing all the neatly tidied drawers, and well organized cabinets high on the walls, I find myself overwhelmed by the prospect of searching through everything without leaving a trace. Overwhelmed and extremely guilty. Even now, with Soren long gone and delving into some unknown business I have yet to attend, I feel that spark welling deep inside me, calling out to him, flaring in the chambers of my heart and roaring through my blood like a wildfire. I feel it all, all that emotion that is so inexplicably intoxicating, and at last understand the power of the link between us, the bond between my soul and his: even if I had to kill him, even if I wanted to, my body simply wouldn't allow it. Perhaps after all this time, the most dangerous thing in this Palace is not the vampires, but me.I start by searching through his draws, my fingers barely skimming over the pages of documents and patting aside quills and books to look for any clues on the location of the flame. I do my best to avoid the globules of ink stained into the wood of the cabinets beside his bed, in case it is still wet, and then my finger prints would quickly become the mark of a crime scene. I can't let Soren know what I am up to. Puffing out my cheeks in exasperation, I wipe away the light sheen of sweat that is beginning to form above my brow. Nothing in the first cabinet. Just documents of executions, festivities, official meetings and courtly ceremonies. The duties of a Prince, but nothing on the flame. Obviously, I think bitterly to myself, it was never going to be that easy.And so I keep searching.
