The Forest King

Chapter One

O N E

     Grace watched the slow lick of fire with an idle mind. Everything around her was familiar; things she has known since birth. All of these faces packed together with red solo cups in their hands, each dancing oddly to the tune of the local aspiring DJ who found his calling within his own name. They were all people from high school, gathered three years after graduation to remember simpler times, yet still barely spoke and more so used it as an excuse to get drunk. And somehow, Grace was coaxed into attending the annual bonfire only to find herself sitting alone just close enough to be considered 'too close' to the fire. As she moved her right leg over the other, a wave of Paul's familiar cologne hit her senses. She relished in the comforting scent for a moment before accepting the cup of clear soda he offered down to her. He glanced over the dancing flames, a wistfully present look glossed his jade eyes with the company of a ghostly smile and Grace couldn't help but stare.

     "Thought you would've skipped out of here by now," he admitted, taking a slow swig of his own drink. The moment his eyes left the blaze before them Grace looked away with heated cheeks.

     She shook her head with a small smile, hiding her face from his line of sight, "funny I was beginning to think you were never coming back with the drinks."

     He chuckled, his knees bending to bring him closer to the ground, his arms resting leisurely against his knees, "Grace Chandler, it hurts my feelings that you think I'd ever leave you. Now, get up we're taking a walk. I forgot how boring these things always are."

     She couldn't fight the sigh of relief, thankful that for once it wasn't her who called for resignation. Excitedly, she jumped up to help Paul to his feet. His hand was warm and seemed to fit perfectly in the spaces of her fingers, the touch sending uncontrollable chills up her arm and across the middle of her back. There was something about him that made their souls gravitate toward one another, whether it be his natural charm or his thoughtful understanding, whatever it was Grace always found herself craving it a little more each day. It was moments like this, spending time alone, that fueled the miniature fire that burned within her own chest.

     They weaved through the small sea of bodies, bumping shoulders and slithering into the narrow gaps until they reached the edge of the beach where sand met grass. Their feet crossed over the invisible threshold, and while Grace knew she was in the same world as those drunken twenty year old's she felt as if they had stepped into their own personal realm. The further they walked the more the loud, pounding music withered until it was a thing of the past and officially they were entirely alone together.

     The thirty minutes of near silence felt like a millennium spent in comfort, neither of them needing to fill the gaps with conversation. It was almost strange when Paul's soft raspy voice interrupted the peaceful quietness, "Do you remember when we first met?"

     Her lungs froze, forgetting to take in the oxygen pooling around them as she was reminder of her plans to confess everything she had ever felt for him, praying he wouldn't be the one to make the first move. She took careful breaths, attempting to recall the memory of his heroism when she was being bullied for her bicycle at the neighborhood park some odd years ago. Paul, although smaller and younger than the bullies, fought back earning him a swollen black eye and soft bruise above his brow. They didn't win back her bicycle, but still she considered Paul to be her hero. He was the only person to step up and help her out when everyone else just milled around. How could she ever forget her own personal superhero moment?

     "My poor bike," she puckered her lip and tilted her head teasingly.

     "My poor face!" Paul rubbed at the ghost of his injury with a frown, "So, you do remember?"