Chapter 4: Where Lines Are Drawn
652 Words
Datu Kalas did not believe in waiting.
I learned this when he appeared at my side without warning while I was attempting—badly—to grind herbs under Lila’s supervision.
“You’re doing it wrong,” he said pleasantly.
I jumped, nearly spilling everything. “Do people here ever announce themselves?”
“No,” he replied. “It ruins the fun.”
Lila stiffened beside me. “You are not expected here, Datu.”
“Expected?” He smiled. “No. But welcomed.” His gaze slid back to me. “Aren’t I?”
I straightened. “Depends. Are you here to be helpful or irritating?”
His eyes brightened. “Both, ideally.”
Lila muttered something sharp under her breath and excused herself far too quickly. Coward.
Kalas leaned against the post, relaxed, confident, entirely too comfortable for a man who wasn’t supposed to be near me without the rajah’s permission.
“Rajah Alon knows you’re here?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Not everything requires his approval.”
“That sounds like the start of a war.”
“That,” he said, stepping closer, “depends on how far you let me stand.”
There it was again—that line, thrown back at me like a challenge.
I set the pestle down deliberately. “You enjoy provoking him.”
“I enjoy truth,” Kalas replied. “And he is very good at pretending he doesn’t want things.”
My pulse ticked faster. “And you?”
“Oh, I’m excellent at wanting.”
He was close enough now that I could smell him—sun, sweat, iron. His gaze was direct, unapologetic.
“You don’t lower your eyes,” he observed. “Not even when men like him look at you.”
“I didn’t realize I was required to.”
“In this world,” he said softly, “women learn early when to look down.”
“And men learn when to look away,” I countered.
He laughed quietly. “You’re dangerous.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “I’ve been told.”
His hand lifted—not touching, just hovering near my wrist. Close enough that my skin prickled.
“If I touched you,” he said, voice low, “would you strike me?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he said. “That means you’re still yours.”
The moment shattered when a shadow fell across us.
Rajah Alon stood a few steps away, expression carved from stone.
“Kalas,” he said. “Step away.”
Kalas turned slowly, grin intact. “Or what?”
Alon’s voice dropped. “You test my patience.”
“And you test my curiosity,” Kalas replied. “Tell me, Rajah—does the forest allow you to keep what it chooses?”
The air tightened.
“I will not warn you again,” Alon said.
Kalas held his gaze a heartbeat longer—then stepped back, raising his hands in mock surrender.
“For now,” he said lightly. “Enjoy your mystery.”
He glanced at me one last time. “We’re not finished.”
After he left, silence pressed in.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally.
Alon exhaled slowly. “You have done nothing wrong.”
His eyes flicked to where Kalas had stood. “But he has.”
“And you’ll deal with it?”
“Yes.”
The certainty in his voice made my stomach flip.
“I don’t want to cause trouble,” I said.
He looked at me then—not as a ruler, not as a protector.
As a man.
“The trouble,” he said quietly, “began when the forest chose you.”
And for the first time, I wondered—
Not whether I could survive this world.
But whether this world would survive what the forest had brought into it.
- Writer
