The Princess's Guard ✔️

22

Word Count: 2064

~Kiva

It's a clear, beautiful night tonight.

The moon is full, shining its milky light over the snow lying peacefully over the lawn.

I could stare down at the sight of it for all eternity I've decided, leaning my cheek against the cold window sill.

A figure shifts distantly, right at the edge of the forest.

I straighten, squinting my eyes through the darkness.

It's impossible to decipher who it is, but deep down, I know I'm looking at my mate.

Scrambling up, I throw a coat over my shoulders, shove some boots on my feet and lace them up as quickly as my numb fingers allow before I consider how I'm going to get down to him.

Ark is outside my door...

I could scale down the trellis below my window, but it's high off the ground, caked with ice and laced with sharp brambles.

But what choice do I have?

Gritting my teeth, I flip the latch and slide the window up as silently as possible, wincing at the cool blast of icy winter air as it hits my face.

Of all Territories my ancient relatives decided to conquer, why one deep in the mountains, constantly harassed by snow?

Glancing back at my door, I suck in a breath and slip out the window.

The icy air seizes my entire body as I clamber down. I take it slow, steady, not stopping until my feet sink into the fluffy snow.

Brushing ice off my gloves, I make my way quickly to the edge of the forest and beyond, making it to where I know my mate will be waiting for me.

And sure enough, he's there, leaning against a tree trunk.

"Whatever happened last time will not be happening again. Got it?" I say immediately.

The last thing I need is for us to charge at each other and rip our clothes off without actually speaking. That's not the point of this exchange.

He nods, keeping his casual standing position.

"You better be willing to talk this time," I say, wary that this will be another speechless staring match.

He reaches into his pocket, and for a fearful moment, I'm convinced he is going to pull out a knife and slaughter me amidst the snow.

Instead, he pulls out a leather-bound notebook, followed by a pen.

"Ah. Notepad and pen, huh?"

I shouldn't be surprised. At least it's something, though. It's a way of communicating, even if it's another way for him to prove to me that he isn't willing to pull his hood back.

He flips it open, scribbling something in it before holding it out for me to read.

'I don't want to put you in danger by revealing who I am.'

My blood chills, and not just because of the bitter chill of the night air that crawls under my thick coat.

Is he implying I know him?

"Put you in danger or me?" I ask, seeking the clarification that I've wanted since he broke in that first night.

Who he works for terrifies me more than who he is. He may have been dragged into the rebels' grasp with no escape. He may be trapped...or, he may have every intention of continuing his tyranny.