The King’s Priestess

Chapter2

The smell of books. That woody, dust-heavy scent of the store brought a smile to my cracked lips. My throat tightened, I almost teared up.

“My, my… Adi! What happened to you?!” Mrs. Corrine gasped, genuine concern written deep into her face.

She was the only one I could ever say truly cared for me. Well, her and Grandma, back when she still remembered who I was.

“A bad day,” I managed, forcing a small smile.

“Poor thing.” She reached out, stroking my cheek with a tenderness that made my chest ache. She never pushed me for answers whenever I showed up like this, bruised and battered. Sometimes I wished she did. Sometimes I wanted someone to drag the truth out of me.

“Do you have anything new for me?” I asked, a little too eagerly.

“No, dear,” she said, pouting.

I nodded and turned to look around. That was when my stomach dropped. The twenty coins. They weren’t with me. I must have dropped them when I was getting the beating of my life.

Or… that boy. Did he take them? Was he the thief who stole Mr. Beard’s money, and maybe he pitied me when he saw me being punished?

For a fleeting second, I almost wanted to believe he dropped the coins on purpose, like a secret act of kindness. But kindness doesn’t usually vanish with your only way home.

“Uhm, Adi…” Mrs. Corrine’s voice broke through my thoughts. “There’s actually a book I have. I’m not sure you’d like it.”

Something flickered across her face. Worry. Unease. Like she was about to do something she shouldn’t.

“You know I like anything, Mrs. Corrine,” I reassured her.

She reached behind the counter and brought out a black book with thick covers.

I stretched out my hand, but she hesitated, pulling it back. “Promise me… you’ll only read it.”

I gave her an awkward smile. “You know I don’t have anyone else to share it with.”

That seemed to convince her. She pressed the book into my hands, Her hands trembled slightly as she held the book, and for a second I thought she might snatch it back. Her eyes darted to the window, then back to me, like she was afraid of being watched. Then she turned and left so abruptly it was like something unseen was chasing her.

Strange.

I looked over my shoulder, half-expecting to see a shadow lurking behind me. But all that stared back were piles of dusty books stacked like silent witnesses.

I tilted my head, studying the book.

Then I smiled. At least I had a companion for the next couple of days.

I strolled home. Grandma was sitting on the veranda, smiling at nothing, her eyes vacant but bright.

“I know, Granny. The coming days will be nice, won’t they?” I said, even though she looked at me like I was just a passing breeze. I leaned my head against her knee, the way I used to when I was little, pretending she still knew me. Pretending her smile was for me.

“Hungry… hungry,” she mumbled, patting her belly.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll fix something, okay?” I said, already thinking of what scraps we had left.

At the door, I paused. My throat burned.

“You know, Granny… I got beaten. They called me a thief. They thought I stole.” My eyes filled with tears.

I’d told myself I’d trained my heart not to cry. But with her, it was different. Grandma was my only safe place. Maybe because she didn’t hear.

“Do you think it would have been better if… if…” The words broke in my throat. I sniffed and stepped inside, finishing them only in my mind.

We had a few slices of bread left. I made soup from an old can of fish and fed her carefully, spoon by spoon, humming a lullaby until she drifted to sleep. She never slept without one.

Afterward, I ate the leftovers with bread, drowning it all with water.

I went into my makeshift storage room, stripped down, and stared at the bruises across my skin.

The purple and red marks sprawled over my skin like constellations. I almost wanted to connect them with my finger, like a child with stars, as if they might spell out some meaning.

I rubbed ointment onto the bruises, then lay down, suddenly remembering the new book.

Sliding my earbuds in, the ones Grandma had given me when I was a kid, I played Colours Are Gone by Aurora. The song filled me as I opened the first page.

“To anyone who needs.”

The words were scrawled on the bottom left corner. My chest squeezed.

I turned to the next page. And froze.

It was a painting of a man.

And not just any man.

He looked almost human.

He wore a king’s attire, crown steady on his head. His long hair was tied back. A sword rested in his grip, not like an accessory, but like an extension of himself. His body was tall, powerful, carved like stone.

But his face…his face was something else. Ethereal. Divine.

And his eyes. God, his eyes.

His painted eyes caught mine, and for a heartbeat, I forgot to breathe. They weren’t paint. They were alive. A deep shade of brown, glowing like sunset, like they carried every emotion ever felt. It didn’t feel like I was looking at him, it felt like he was looking at me.

My hand trembled as I traced the chiseled jawline, up over his lips, his nose… until I stopped at those eyes.

I had never felt this way before. Not for any real, breathing human.

But for him, a painting?

If love at first sight was real, then maybe this was it.

Maybe I was already in love.