The King's Possession ✔️

TWENTY SEVEN

Word Count: 1354

The tension mulling around in my stomach doesn't leave me, even as I wake.

Marek haunted my dreams all last night, and apparently my first waking hours. It were his eyes, usually a warm, cornflower blue like the wildflowers that grow endlessly along the line of the forest, now like chunks of sharp ice, a dagger like glare chasing me through my nightmares. His intentions, etched permanently within my mind.

He wanted to kiss me. Did I want to kiss him? It surely felt good, but only for the fleeting moment I allowed myself to be carried away with the magic, the heat of his body and that heady, addicting scent.

I need to occupy myself, to escape this overwhelming feeling.

Dragging myself from bed, I focus my attention upon the pens and paper Tai gifted me. I've tried drawing, and I wasn't particularly good at it. Right now, as I feel like my mind is about to burst, I pick up a pen and begin tentatively writing.

I'm not sure how long I sit there, writing down a flood of emotions, entwining them into my own imagination as I create a nonsensical story.

By the time I'm finished, my hand aches, and my head pounds, demanding to look anywhere other than the ink swimming around my page. I'm too frightened to leave my room, to risk bumping into Marek, even if I know I need to. My stomach is starting to growl in protest.

Pushing the pages to the side, I release a long breath, steading myself. Morning has sunken into afternoon, a warm buttery sunlight flowing through the room as I finally get to my feet.

I can't avoid leaving the room any longer.

No one graces the hallways as I wander through, eyeing the oil paintings surrounded by ornate gold frames I have become increasingly familiar with. Tentatively I sweep through the upper level, where my room is, and down to the middle, not straying from the guest quarters and into the workers. Marek's room is near the rest of the Hunter's, so as long as I keep my distance, I shouldn't run into him.

With my head bowed, trained on the dark carpet beneath my feet which then transitions to slick chestnut wood, I hardly notice the figure pass me, knocking my shoulder with a strange amount of force. Holding my shoulder, I whirl around, a mumble of apology getting lost in my mouth as I realise what I'm starting at.

Myself.

Blinking once, I let my gaze fall upon the mirror image of myself standing before me. Blonde curls tightly wound back against my head, crimson tinted lips with cheeks to match...It's an exact replica.

This is a Summoner, taking my appearance to frighten me. Death usually follows swiftly after this, if I'm not already convinced that this is Marek.

"Marek...I don't know what you're trying to achieve by doing this," I say tentatively, stumbling over my own ankles as I back up.

Is this a sick joke? Either he is trying to clear the air between us, or this is far more sinister. Perhaps he's getting back at me for pretending to be Vaia. Or maybe even the wretched Princess put him up to this.

However, the perfect image of myself doesn't fade back to Marek. It remains still, the expression ice cold with a gaze of lethal poison. The silence that stretches between us has a chill falling over me, as I consider the fact that this may not be Marek, and I may be staring at a rogue Summoner in the middle of this estate, all alone.

The exact moment it reaches behind it, footsteps sound from behind me, rapid upon their descent down the stairwell and down the hallway approaching where myself and the Summoner stand.