Hated by her lineage, Iliya Dalaminai dwells in self isolation, awaiting the day her cousin marries so she might escape the Throne.
Feared by the Gods, Sorein Chakrine's crown is mainly a relic put on display at royal ceremonies to ward off evil.
Wh...
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Only the dust Sprites heard Iliya wake in a cold sweat. Her back ached as she threw herself into a sitting position, panting into the first breath of morning. The sun hadn't even finished cresting the horizon, the gray fog still hovering against the ground.
She felt her wrist sting and began to recoil, staring at the now wrapped burns. Her rings and bracelet were set aside, carefully looped together on her nightstand.
One of the charred marks cut through her black tattoo, the rune no book explained.
"Would you like to tell me what in Heilos happened last night?" A gravelly voice asked.
Rhydian stirred from his chair in nothing more than sweats, the plush clothing and disheveled hair only accenting the heavy bags under his eyes.
He hadn't slept. Her cousin had spent the whole night both pacing her newly cleaned floors and hovering, even snipping at the maids that likely took care of her.
Iliya lifted her shy gaze to him, frowning.
Her memories were hazy at best, flickering between the fireworks and screaming at Sorein.
Oh Gods, Sorein...
Her chest seized and she shoved her face in her hands.
"I don't know..."
Her cousin, despite the exhaustion and worry lining his face, kept a steady gaze on her. Waiting.
"How did I get here?" She asked.
He sighed and came to sit on the bed beside her. "Ezre found you."
Iliya swallowed back her surprise. "How?"
"I don't know," Rhydian answered. "Frankly, once I saw you unconscious, I didn't care."
Fingers absently tracing the mark on her wrist, Iliya wondered how much Rhydian had ever been aware of her situation. How much her mother told him. Every time she thought to ask, the words got lumped together near the base of her throat.
Stuck.
"Did you sleep at all?" Iliya dared to ask.
Her reply was a pair of raised brows and the kind of insinuating glare that didn't feel aggressive so much as incredulous.
She waited. Sometimes saying nothing would force him out of this belligerent dance they found themselves in.
He scoffed and looked toward her couch. "That depends on your perspective," he said.
"What kind of answer is that?" Iliya replied, chuckling. "Did you sleep?"
The guarded look of the estate's Captain fell, the mask falling away to reveal a much softer, compassionate gaze. He no longer looked at her as if she were some subordinate.
