A Hundred Kisses To My Enemy

Ona Rafel of Vasil

Vira’s hand froze over the cutlery she was about to grab. What was this? She had not accounted for this. She assumed that they would keep an eye on her but not so close. Her face fell for a moment before she found it in herself to look more pleasant and grateful.

She gave the Yipor a soft smile. “That is really not necessary, Yipor. The fact that you hold such concern over my well-being gives me hope for the negotiations, and that is enough.”

Her eyes fell back on the guard behind him, not noticing any discomfort or resistance. Ah, they planned this, she thought before scoffing mentally.

Her plan was as simple to explain as it was complicated to execute. Get into their database system, retrieve the files from 20 years ago, make a list of people that were present at the time of the m******e, and kill them.

Vira reached for the cup of tea to her right.

She had been dreaming of this for so long that the consequences were the least of her concern. Not the governments, the people, or any celestial being could come between her and her goal. That’s how sure she was of her victory.

“I’m afraid I am only the messenger, Envoy Robins,” the Yipor said. “Her Heavenly Highness, the Noble Regent, Rennen of Averyo, has decreed this. I do not hold the power to counter this.”

She hid her smirk as she pretended to drink the tea. No power to counter it? Please. The least you could do is give my intelligence some respect.

She put the cup back down and rested her back against the chair, looking at the siren in front of her openly. She commended him for not shying away from her attention as he had his breakfast, occasionally meeting her eyes.

The Yipor was a good-looking man in his own right and as beautiful a siren can get. His head was full of silver hair that fell a little below his shoulder. And his indigo eyes were hardened with years of struggles, but there was also a strange kindness in them.

A scar ran across his right cheek down to his lips, and his left, three-pointed ear was chipped. He had ascended as the leader of his Order at a young age following a great tragedy, and he brought stability to it, which meant he was competent.

Vira sighed mentally. If he were not a siren, even his age couldn’t have stopped her from pursuing him.

She leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table, resting her chin on the top of her folded fingers.

“Well, if the Yipor insists,” Vira said, tilting her head with a sweet smile.

If her enemies were so eager to play, who was she to say no?

The breakfast was over soon enough, and Vira was ready to make her way back to her temporary residence in the North Wing of the Palace.

Jordan Parker had refused his assigned residence in the Palace at the time of his arrival and so lived within the city in a beautiful townhouse, but she wanted to stay close to the Palace so that she could work on her personal mission.

The Ona followed her without even speaking a word. After she stood up from her chair, the Yipor escorted her to the entrance of the institute building, which was located a quick 15-minute ride from the Palace, while acting oblivious to the stares and whispers of the people within the institution.

“I really do hope this is not the last time you grace our humble institution,” the Yipor said in his forever-present formal tone as he bowed his head in an almost unnoticeable manner.

Vira bowed deeply and said, “It will not be, Yipor. Thank you for hosting me. Until next time.”

She lifted her veil on her left side and winked at him, surprising him. As she turned to walk down the stairs, the Ona offered her his gloved hand to grab.

She spent a moment looking between his masked face and his hand while he remained still, waiting for her to accept it. She grabbed his hand reluctantly. Her other hand lifted her glossy, marigold jacket dress with a blue larkspur flower on her lapel, and the pair made their way to the hover car that would take them to the Palace.

He opened the door for her, and she stepped in with the Ona following her. They had nowhere to look but at each other, and so Vira offered him a curt nod of her head, which he did not return. Not seeing his face was making her uncomfortable because she couldn’t understand what he was thinking, and he was as still as a tree.

“Can’t you lose the mask?” she questioned.

He remained still and said monotonously, “It’s a helm.”

She frowned. “Are you a robot of some sort?”

“No.”

“So you just talk like that?”

Rafel did not say anything. She thought about it for a moment; whether she wanted to become familiar with the Ona.

“Do you need my permission to remove the helm?” she asked.

“You do not have the authority to grant me permission. In any case, we are out in public; it is not allowed.”

She tilted her head and asked, “Is it a law?”

“No, simply a rule.”

“Then remove it.”

“I cannot.”

“Come on, it’s like a thousand degrees!”

It was not. It was actually colder than it normally was. Rafel clenched his jaw, though she couldn’t see it. “I am comfortable as I am, Envoy.”

Vira didn’t say anything for a moment, simply staring at the siren. “Alright. What’s your name?”

“Rafel of Vasil, Ona of the Sacred Order of Xiona.”

“Alright, Rafel of Vasil, Ona of the Scared Order of Xiona, am I just not going to see your face for the entirety of my stay? We’re going to be spending a lot of time together. And I mean, a lot.”

He muttered something under his breath before lifting his mask off his face. His narrowed eyes looked at her with exasperation as he said, “Are you satisfied, Envoy?”

Good Gods, is he even real? She thought as she stared at his iridescent eyes. There was a scar on his nose, and his lips were twisted in annoyance. The Sirens were a bunch of assholes, but by the Gods, they were beautiful beings. She could tell he was beautiful all over, even with the rest of his body covered to the ends of his hair.

She gave him a smirk. “Satisfied, Rafel of Vasil.”