"Crowns topple easily. Thrones crumble like dust. Hearts cease to beat. Thorns draw blood."
In a country torn into two, there should have been no room for mistakes. Especially not at the very core of the royal family. That was what she was. Yes, a...
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Irina blew into her wooden cup, taking a small sip of black tea.
The tea was quite bitter, even with the sugar added to it, but it did its purpose in keeping her warm. Over the rim of the cup, she could not help but peek at the man in front of her.
Aleksander. He was handsome, with a natural elegance that made him seem more like a prince than her brother ever did. He held himself in a sense of propriety and charm that did not befit someone who looked so young. But with that propriety came a bit of sadness as if he had lived for many lifetimes and had lost too much.
"When did you know?" Aleksander asked, watching her with calculating eyes.
"About my...infirmity?" Irina questioned, tilting her head.
At that, his eyes seem to flare in anger. Not like the crackle and boom of thunder, but like the steady flow of waves crashing against the rocks. "Infirmity? Is that what you think of your ability? That it is an infirmity?"
"Well, I do not know how else to refer to it. It is not exactly something I could have spoken freely about to anyone!" She defended, putting down her cup.
"You are Grisha." He said simply. "It is not an infirmity nor is it a weakness. It is a gift."
She sighed, pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes. "Look, Aleksander, you may see it as a gift but I don't think I ever could."
"Why not?" His deep voice rang out, his anger barely simmering across the surface. "Is it because you're afraid of your family? How could the Lantsov family ever accept someone different from them?"
Her head shot up, glaring at him. The need to defend her family blazing within her. "Don't bring my family into this! They haven't done anything!"
"Your family's the reason for all of this!" He sneered, the shadows spreading across the room, the light of the fire dying as darkness surged slowly into the room, eating up every bit of light.
In the darkness, the only thing visible to her was the grey glint of his eyes, his gaze full of rage and even, sadness.
She felt the fear first before she felt the cold. She did not know what on earth he was talking about but it was clear to her that whatever he was talking about was something she had to discover in the future.
For now, she had to calm him down before Dima came running inside to kill him. The last she saw of her guard, he was dedicating a prayer to Sankta Marya of the Rock, patron saints of those far from home. Perhaps he prayed for the family he lived so far away from.
Irina called to that soft power lingering in her veins, focusing it on him, willing his heart to slow and the stimulants of anger to slow down. She imagined his heart steadying to calm him.
