All Mapped Out

Nemain had just ransacked the contents of her kitchen for a midnight snack and found no stash of Belgian chocolates. Defeated, she decided to look for it in daylight. Besides, she rationalized, that it would be a good extrinsic motivation to finish the dissertation of the mayor"s paper entitled: A Review on the Management of Taxes and Public Highways. Unfortunately, the argument was weak one because the paper was so boring that she had to drink coffee just to stay awake. However, since business was bad, she had to take odd-jobs that bring food to the table. Beggars could not be choosers even if it was against her principles, letting an official to use the tax-payers" money to swindle more from the public by sounding erudite. Fine, she’ll squeeze out all the money’s worth. She stopped on her tracks when she saw door of her study room left slightly open. Did she leave that room open? No, no. She remembered closing it. Damn! Just because she came from a family of demons did not mean that she was immune to ghosts! She inched toward the door and found a huge form blocking her lamp. She could only see the ominous outline. The form was big. However, she could not make out his features even with the moonlight. Her gaze fell on the small table beside the door, looking for ammunition. She knew, that in direct combat, she would be useless. The element of surprise was on her side. Not wasting a moment, Nemain, the town"s designated anti-hero took a nearby dictionary and stealthily approached the intruder. Raising the book high, she brought it down to the intruder"s head with all her might. The lump swayed and fell down on the floor with a thud. As she approached, lighting the candles and lanterns, her eyes widened as recognition sank. It was too late for remorse. She just attacked the town’s hero, Orion Henrys. This, this could not be good. Her mind raced, making and discarding plans, using all the remaining sugar she had for writing the mayor’s paper. Exhausting all her reserves, she promptly fainted dead away. Orion Henrys, the legendary hero and the Crown Prince woke with a dull ache at the back of his head. Shaking off the remnants of sleep, he found himself held immobile by warm arms, no, there were no curves. He looked down to see a mass of dark brown hair and pale hands curled at his chest. He drew in a breath and choked on it as he inhaled her scent, lemons and woman. Horrified, he quickly dislodged himself from her. The damned woman did not move. With chivalry being overrated, he studied her under the morning light that filtered through the windows. She had pale skin and in possession of thin lips and no chest. She had no curves and sadly, not the princess material he was looking for. He heaved a sigh. Finding someone to replace his fiancée was harder than throwing himself into another quest. He sat on a chair and contemplated her and his current situation. His future was looking bleak. He had to face reality. At the age of nine-and-twenty, he was supposed to be primed towards being the king of the country, Albion. He had already finished around five quests and all he needed was a princess to marry. His parents had already persuaded Giselle, a princess of the neighboring country to be his fiancée. Unfortunately, during his fifth quest, the woman sent him a letter that she was eloping with Dylan, an unknown character in his estimation. So here he was, asking the help of Giselle’s friend and the country’s known villain, Nemain Airmid. Of course, he had seen her once or twice, during his brief stay in the country but not this close. He thought, during that time that he had to at least be civil to his fiancée’s friend. . . He never thought that this day would come. If he did, he should have been nicer to her and not nursing this headache. Nemain Airmid, who was she again? He had heard rumors about her, and her penchant for being alone and isolated. Some said that she had pockmarks and lots of falling hair. Others said that she had wrinkly green skin with warts and huge mole on her face that a visitor had to throw water at her to remind her to bathe daily. Her eyes suddenly shot wide open. He leaned back, startled by the movement. Collecting himself, he eased from his position and held her eyes. Her pair of bright blue eyes. With un-self-conscious movements, she stretched and sat on the floor, her gaze questioning. Her gaze was devoid of sleepiness and steady, reminding him of a placid but very, very deep lake, where monsters lurked beneath the surface. How long are they going to stare at each other? Nemain thought as she sat on the floor. She had long ago perfected the blank stare but it did not seem to be working on Orion Henrys. Her blank stare was supposed to bring out the awkwardness of the situation so that the receiver would stop beating around the bush and they could solve the problem under five minutes. It was not supposed to backfire and make her uncomfortable. Nemain swallowed her thick saliva. Before her was Orion, the kingdom’s legend. His dark hair, obsidian eyes and the aristocratic features were the stuff of her dreams. In her lonely nights, she had imagined those lips forming her name and that voice lovingly calling her name. In her dreams, she imagined those lips telling her that he had been in love with her. He would then be enveloping her in his arms and they would be running somewhere (she still had to choose a destination). . . Her dreams always stops before she could even say yes. She saw him open his mouth. Her heart beat crazily under her ribcage. “Nemain.” He said her name. That husky voice said her name! She wanted to squeal and promptly dissolve into a puddle. She steeled her delusional self from doing the latter. She needed her wits about her. People approaching her always needed something from her but wanted nothing of her. It was not good for business to lose her head over a handsome face and beautiful voice! Then he was forming other words. It took her a moment to register his words. No, there was no proposal for her hand. And no, he did not say her name lovingly. It was just a delusion on her part. He used that brusque, no-nonsense tone he used on his men. “Let’s find Giselle.” Ah. Her friend, the heroine, his fiancée, that Giselle. Her heart just plunged down—together with her hopes. See, she inwardly berated herself, this was never really your story. Nemain, face it. You’re the villain, the witch to make others look better and heroic. Look what happened to your reputation when you helped that girl with an irritating small dog, a lion and a scarecrow. . . Right. She was now having a hard time selling her herbs to the people. They should have said that they were looking for that bubblegum fairy instead of a bubblegum princess whose tastes run to red shoes. She muttered something between a prayer and a curse. That flighty friend of hers, who was universally well-liked because. . . because people are predisposed to accept beautiful women with golden hair, blue eyes and charming smile. . . had a tendency to appear and disappear in the most inopportune times. The worst part was, she could not even hate her friend because she was so nice and so sweet. Unfortunately, sweet or no, her friend should have at least thought of the people around her. Nemain could feel the dull pounding of her head. She should not have pulled an all-nighter if she knew what daylight would bring. “She had already eloped with Dylan. Why do you need to find her?” She said glibly and missed the tell-tale hardening of the hero’s jaw. “That character is unknown. What if she was kidnapped?” She briefly closed her eyes and waited for the pain to subside. Sugar. She needed sugar. “What proof do you have of the latter?” There was a brief lost look on his face before he masked it with a stubborn tightening of his features. “I just know it.” Giselle, you flighty bird! Why should I be the one handling your jilted lovers? “My lord, wherever she went, I’m sure she went willingly.” She said, trying not to sound tired or irritated. It was very difficult. “She left me a letter.” Nemain took the paper from his hands and read the contents. This was definitely written by her friend, the small I’s, the extensive use of semi-colons and the worst part of it, the curlicues. Her friend must have been so damned . . . happy. It brought a small smile on her face. She looked up to see dark eyes on her. She wiped the traces of smile on her face. He was so absorbed, staring at Giselle’s letter that she felt a pang of sadness, jealousy and pity. Did he really love her? It must have been painful, loving her and the love not reciprocated. . . Look who’s talking. Are you not in the same situation? No. She would not directly put herself in the path of heartache. Nemain prided herself on being pragmatic. At least she knew that her feelings would never be reciprocated. His was worse because it was at his fingertips only to slip away while he was away. She met his gaze and said, “She’s happy with Dylan. She hoped that you forgive her and wished you happiness.” Was this woman kidding him? There was nothing in the letter that told him those! “I’ll only be happy if I see her with my own two eyes.” He infused enough coldness in his tone. “Help me find her.” She held his gaze and he saw . . . something that he could not understand. He felt something inside him tighten. “I don’t think I could do that.” “Why, you’re the witch they all turn to when things get impossible! Why can’t you grant mine?” He demanded. Silence filled the room. He took a step towards her, using his size to intimidate the woman. He knew it was underhanded but somebody give him a break. He just lost a fiancée and he was going to lose his throne if he could not come up with a solution. Everybody pointed him towards her direction. The witch who made it possible. The sorceress who made wimps look bad-ass. The villain who thought of ways to make the impossible, possible. Surely, he was also entitled of her prowess? She was his last (he choked on the word) . . . hope. Nemain took a discreet step back. He looked feral and untamed. He resembled a villain rather than the lauded hero. She could not just readily agree. That would mean consigning herself to heartbreak. He could not even remember her and he wanted her to find another woman, never mind that the woman was her friend? He continued walking towards her. She continued backing away, until she hit one of the shelves. He had her trapped. She had no choice but ignore the blood rushing to her cheeks. The closed confines had her inhaling his scent, woodsy and masculine. And no, the reason that she was starting to feel lightheaded was because she was low on sugar and not this kind of exposure to Orion. “I am willing to pay you a fortune and grant you any reasonable request.” His words were low and seductive. A fortune, a hero at her feet—her favourite kind of daydream. Business was bad. Romance was non-existent. Can’t a woman have her time to shine? She looked up to see his gaze on her. Such intensity for a woman that was not her. Her heart let out a small sigh. Her brain wanted her to think of the benefits. Before she could even reply, she barely felt the cold chain wrapped around her wrist. It was not until she felt a tug of her wrist towards him that she realized what he had done. She raised her horrified gaze to his satisfied ones.