Chapter 5 Where Want Is Priced
1393 Words
The price made itself known at dusk.
Not announced. Not negotiated. The Kingdom of the In-Between preferred its debts revealed slowly, like bruises surfacing after the blow.
Amihan stood at the edge of a terrace carved from living wood, watching the pale light dim into something closer to breath than illumination. Below her, paths folded and unfolded like thoughts reconsidering themselves. Somewhere beyond them, the forest she knew waited, restless and displeased.
She could feel it now.
The claim.
It rested against her like a second skin. Not tight. Not cruel. Just present. A constant awareness that her space no longer belonged entirely to her.
“You’re pacing,” Silawán said behind her.
She turned. “You’re watching.”
“Kings do that.”
She snorted softly, then sobered. “When does it start?”
Silawán studied her for a moment. “It already has.”
He gestured, and the terrace reshaped itself subtly, wood smoothing into a low bench beside her. He sat, hurried, leaving space between them that felt deliberate.
“The first rule,” he said, “is that claiming is not ownership.”
“That’s comforting,” she replied dryly.
“It’s dangerous,” he corrected. “Ownership invites rebellion. Claiming invites attention.”
She frowned. “From whom?”
“Everyone who has ever wanted what I stand between.”
The weight of that settled uncomfortably.
“And the price?” she asked.
Silawán’s gaze slid away, briefly. “Visibility.”
Her pulse quickened. “Explain.”
“You will be seen,” he said. “More clearly than you are accustomed to. Your desire, your hesitation, your fear. The forest will amplify them. So will others.”
“And you?” she asked.
A pause.
“I will be accountable.”
That surprised her.
She studied his face, searching for mockery. Found none.
“You don’t like that,” she said.
“I have avoided it for a long time.”
The terrace darkened slightly, as if responding.
“And if the price grows?” she pressed.
Silawán met her gaze fully now. “Then something must be surrendered.”
Her throat tightened. “What kind of something?”
“That depends on what you cling to.”
Silence stretched between them, thick but not uncomfortable. Not yet.
“You said you would teach me,” she said finally. “How to be desired.”
He smiled faintly. “I did.”
“You said you would.” she corrected.
He leaned back, resting his hands against the warm wood. “Very well. Lesson one.”
She waited.
“Desire is not pursuit,” he said. “It is permission.”
She frowned. “That sounds like something my mother would say.”
Silawán’s smile softened. “She learned it the hard way.”
He rose and stepped closer—slowly, giving her every chance to step away. She didn’t.
“Walk with me,” he said.
The moved along the terrace, the world adjusting itself to their pace. The wood beneath their feet warmed where they stepped, as if the terrace itself approved.
“Most people think to be desired, they must show themselves,” he continued. “Reveal. Offer.”
“That is not wrong,” she said.
“It’s incomplete,” he replied. “To be desired, you must also withhold.”
He stopped. Turned to face her.
The pale light caught the gold along his collarbone, faint but unmistakable.
“Tell me,” he said quietly, “what do you want from Ilyaon?”
The name struck like a bell.
She stiffened. “That’s not—“
“It’s the lesson.”
Her jaw tightened. “I want him to see me.”
Silawán nodded. “He already does.”
“I want him to choose me.”
Silawán’s gaze sharpened. “Does he?”
“No.”
“Why?”
She hesitated. The answer pressed painfully against her ribs. “Because choosing me would cost him control.”
Silawán stepped closer still. Close enough that she could feel the steady heat of him, the faint scent of sun-warmed earth and something older.
“Then stop offering yourself as something he can afford.”
Her breath caught.
He lifted his hand slowly— palm open, fingers relaxed— and let it hover just above her shoulder. Not touching. Not yet.
“May I?” he asked, voice low.
She swallowed. Nodded once.
His fingertips brushed the bare skin just above the collar of her baro— light as a breeze, deliberate as a promise. The contact sent warmth spreading outward, slow and sure, like sunlight finding its way through leaves. He didn’t press. He simply rested there, letting her feel the weight of his hand, the quiet strength in it.
“You are not scarce because you hide,”he murmured. “You are scarce because you do not need.”
Her eyes fluttered closed for a heartbeat. When they opened again, he was watching her — not with hunger, but with something closer than reverence.
“And how do I show that?” she whispered.
Silawán’s thumb traced the smallest arc along her collarbone— barely a movement, yet it made her skin hum.
“By letting him come to you.”
He lowered his hand, but the warmth lingered.
“Stand,” he said.
She obeyed.
“Close your eyes.”
She hesitated, then did.
“Breathe,” he said. “Not for me. For yourself.”
She did. Felt the claim stir, warm and alert.
“Now,” he continued, “imagine him standing where I am. Imagine he wants to touch you.”
Her pulse leapt traitorously.
“Don’t move,” Silawán said, voice velvet and iron. “Let the wanting do the work.”
He stepped in until the space between them was nothing at all. His hand returned— gentler this time— to the curve of her shoulder, fingers curling lightly, anchoring without claiming. She felt his breath against her temple when he spoke next.
“Feel it,” he said. “The ache. The pull. Let it live in you. Don’t chase it. Don’t offer it. Simply… be its home.”
She felt it then. The heat rising in her chest, steady and deep. Not sharp. Not frantic. Just undeniable.
Silawán’s hand slid down her arm— slow, deliberate— until his fingers brushed hers. He laced them together for a single heartbeat, then released her.
“Good,” he said, stepping back. His voice was rougher than before. “That is enough.”
She opened her eyes, startled, and found him already retreating a pace, expression composed but eyes darker than they had been.
“That’s it?” she asked, breath uneven.
“For now.” His gaze lingered, something raw flickering there before he shuttered it. “The danger is not in teaching desire. It’s in learning it alongside you.”
Before she could answer, the terrace dissolved.
The forest reclaimed her without ceremony.
She stumbled forward onto familiar earth, Kisê’s hand catching her elbow instantly.
“You vanished,” Kisê hissed. “Then the paths spat you out.”
Amihan blinked, heart still racing. “How long?”
“Long enough.”
Across the clearing, Ilyaon stood where he had not been before. Closer.
He did not approach. He never did.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.
She felt the words like a test.
“I am where I stand,” she replied, remembering Silawán’s lesson.
Something shifted in Ilyaon’s gaze. Not interest. Not yet. But attention sharpened by resistance.
“You smell like the In-Between,” he said. “That is unwise.”
She smiled faintly. “You noticed.”
His jaw tightened.
Kisê looked between them, sensing the tension. “We need to go.”
Ilyaon nodded once. “The forest is restless.”
Amihan took a step back, deliberately increasing the distance between herself and him. She watched him notice. Watched him not follow.
Good, she thought. Let him feel it.
As they turned to leave, the ground trembled.
Not violently.
Expectantly.
From the trees, a voice drifted, amused and sharp.
“Already practicing,” Maharlika said. “Careful, little wind. The forest charges interest.”
Amihan turned.
And felt the claim tighten.
- Writer
