For What is Bought in Blood

Dust Not Collected

Terran

The graying lines of text are starting to strain my eyes in the small hours of the morning. From my seat on the floor I reach to push the curtains aside, peering into the side garden of the castle. No guards watch this corner. The night is silent, the sun long from awakening.

I replace the tome on the massive shelf of books. I have already read them all, some many times over. Yet I scan them on nights like these in hopes for some advice.

What would it be like to love a woman so lost in a world that was built for her? The King worked so hard to create a country Alula would be proud to inherit, to even have a piece of, but now she feels her place is not enough. If her father knew of her involvement with bottom shelf citizens, what would he say? How would he encourage her against it?

Pressing my back against the cold stone of the wall, I sink down onto my small bed. She is so different from anyone I've loved before, from any woman I've known before. They would remain exactly where they were placed in fear of disruption. Alula was born a fighter, born to be brave, just like her father. There is softness somewhere within her, some intrinsic urge to be cared for.

Maybe it is wrong to try and change her mind. She was born the only heir to the throne for some divine reason. It is wrong of her mother to take that from her.

Something else has to give.

***

Alula

I do not bother in shutting my chamber door before running down the hall, Hollie's sleep be damned. I know where I am headed, and despite a year of mourning, I know I will never be ready for this.

The door to my father's war room looks so much larger without him pushing it open for me. He would smile down at me, push open the door, and allow me to strut in first like it belonged to me. For years it felt symbolic, his welcoming me inside like I was meant to be there with him. I listened to him strategize, debate, and hold his ground. I watched a King lead his most beloved generals and soldiers to the edges of the world to claim land for his people.

Standing at the door now, I can feel him here next to me. He's urging me in, trying to help me find what I'm looking for. A sharp breeze bites at my back as if to push me forward, and I grab hold of the knob. A small, cowardly part of me hopes it will be locked. I could turn around and at least tell myself that I tried.

The door clicks open as if not a day has gone by without usage. Even within the eternal darkness within, my eyes adjust and surprise jolts down my spine. Things are different- and there, among my father's most precious things, is Terran.

He holds a sword lightly at his side, obviously startled by my appearance, but calmed by realization of my identity. He is shirtless, breeches partially unbuttoned, brown hair scattered among his features. My rushing pace is halted by the instinct to turn away from his exposed form. I fight it, rooting my feet to their spot just within the doorway.

"Alula," he breathes out, obviously recovering from my surprise visit and violent entry. His sword clangs to the floor as he reaches for the closest candle to light, but I am too enthralled to formulate a response.

As he reaches across his body, his shoulder and back muscles strain at the stretch. They ripple and move, as much a living thing as the man they are attached to. I witnessed my own frail body gain muscle from relentless exercises ordained by my father, but never have I witnessed such perfection. His body is adorned with freckles of scars mixed in with skin that has been darkened by the sun. I'm unsure of where he has been training these weeks, but it is obvious that he has been very diligent. My mouth gapes- I have never seen so much skin on a man. My skin flushes and my stomach flips with excitement.