BTS: A Court of Embers

19: Dancing Between Worlds

Maren turned over, eyes wide open. Her fits of sleep had come few and far between, but when sleep did manage to drag her under, she saw the light of dawn underneath her eyelids. She felt Namjoon's hand on the small of her back leading her into a horse-drawn carriage stuffed with pretty boxes tied with taffeta. Luggage. Her luggage. The riptide of hot and cold indecision whirled in her chest as she peered back at the golden palace for the Prince of Shadow to come down and save her. But she could never find him in the windows. She only saw the other prince, the one that had learned of her soul and all the maddening colors beneath it.

He would watch her with a silver mask on his nose, his blond hair almost white in the eve of the sun.

Then, she would wake and have to calm her heart all over again.

She ran a finger over the ruby on her hand, certain that it protected her from her dreams of leaving. Yet, it was not supposed to. So beautifully made even if cruel in intent. And even then, she began to ponder how cruel it could truly be. For he had a chance to take her life in full, but he chose instead to give her a new home entirely.

As a sliver of concern for him wrapped about her sleepy mind, so did the concern of others.

Burned homes. Sacked villages. Wings charred to bone. Jin standing over the bodies, blood staining his fair cheeks and pride searing into the remnants of what he'd done.

The Reign of Fire.

The bargain with Faine.

The dagger.

She sat up. The thought of sleep was useless. She needed line up her priorities. In order to do that, she would have to figure them out first. Because as much as she believed Faine and the Dauphin, she still had trouble bridging a complete image of Seokjin having blood on his hands. She still could not vocalize why her and Jimin's friendship was as comforting as arms wrapped about the waist, as kisses to the crown of her head, as silent courage. Yet, her and Jin's relations were as fierce as the sting of tears, as the deep bellowing of desire to be close to someone again, as the everlasting pursuit of honor. She could not even voice why she had yet to hate him.

Recalling the memories of others provided enough fuel to feed off their rage and direct it at Seokjin. She could if she wanted to, and it would be all too easy. And perhaps, weeks ago, she would have. But as she tried to let it consume her, the fury did not send her into haste.

She still believed in the good in him. More than she did for herself.

Nevertheless, a bargain was a bargain and blood would need to be paid for in blood. She was similar to him in how she had her good moments and bad, but she could not define herself as good. Not anymore.

"Maren," said a voice at her back.

She stifled a grin even though the rest of her body could have lifted. Turning around in bed, she watched the second Prince of Dusk saunter past her fluttering gossamer curtains from the balcony. The top of his shirt had been untied, his hair tousled, and his feet bare like he had just woken up and come to find her. Maren held the covers to her chest, aware of the warm air grazing against her nightgown.

"What are you doing here?"

"I decided not to wait to see you again," he said, sitting on the edge of her bed.

"You look like you just woke up."

"Sleep is for the idle. Unfortunately, I have too much to do." His body shifted until he sat cross legged on her covers, his hands holding him up from behind. Maren felt the weight of his palm near her foot. "It does not look like you slept."