Then I Will Describe It To Her
1200 Words
A sharp tap against the glass made Lyra scramble backward, her heart instantly leaping into her throat.
"Who... who is there?" she called out, her voice a raspy whisper.
Silence met her question. She strained her ears, listening for her attendants. "Mina? Clara?"
No one responded. The pavilion felt completely deserted. Standing up with trembling knees, her fingers swept across the nearby table until they brushed the smooth wood of the walking stick Mina had left for her earlier. Gripping it tightly, she tentatively tapped the floor, tracing the source of the sound.
She reached the window only to find it swung wide open, a blast of cool, twilight breeze rushing into the room and whipping her silk shirt against her skin. Shivering, she reached out, pulled the heavy glass frame shut, and turned around.
She slammed directly into a sturdy, unyielding chest.
Lyra gasped, stumbling back, but before she could panicking, a sharp flick stung the center of her forehead.
"Ouch," she mumbled, her hand flying up to cover the spot.
"For a fated mate, you have incredibly low intuition," Xalvador's voice smooth and dangerous, cut through the quiet room. "What if I were a thief?"
Lyra held her forehead, completely frozen between sheer terror and sudden exasperation. A thief? she thought, biting her inner lip. I am completely blind. How am I supposed to anticipate someone dropping out of thin air like a ghost?
Realizing who it was, she quickly dropped her stick and lowered her head, bowing as deeply as she could. "Your Grace," she murmured, her scarred throat clicking. Inside, her mind was racing. Why was he here?
Terrifying memories of the previous night flashed through her mind, the choking weight, the demand to strip, the fierce kiss that had nearly drained her soul. Anticipating the worst, she took a cautious, trembling step backward, her bare feet sliding silently across the floorboards.
Xalvador didn't let the distance last. He took a heavy step forward, the subtle scent of woodsmoke and iron instantly filling her senses again.
Lyra swallowed hard and took another step back, her hands rising defensively. He matched her pace, moving forward with fluid, predatory grace. She backed away a third time, but her heel caught the edge of the plush courtyard rug.
Her balance vanished. As she began to fall backward, a powerful, cool palm shot out and securely caught her by the waist, locking her flush against his solid frame.
"Stay still," Xalvador commanded, his breath brushing against her temple. He didn't draw a single watt of her energy; the fresh buffer from the dungeon was holding perfectly, keeping his inner vacuum entirely sealed.
Lyra went rigid in his arms, barely daring to draw breath.
"Have you eaten?" he asked, his tone flat but observant.
She nodded rapidly against his shoulder, terrified that another wrong answer would lead to him forcing food down her throat again. "Yes. Yes, Your Grace. Mina brought a light tray."
"Good. Let’s go," he said.
Lyra blinked beneath her unseeing eyes, her mind completely blanking. "Go? Go where, Your Grace?"
"To show you my kingdom," Xalvador replied, a faint, dark amusement dancing in his voice. "You'll love it."
Before she could process his words, his grip tightened on her waist, and he began leading her straight toward the window she had just closed. He threw the glass open with one hand.
"Be careful," Xalvador murmured.
With effortless strength, he swept her entirely off her feet, lifting her small frame into his arms. Lyra gasped, her hands instinctively clutching at the smooth silk of his shoulders to keep from falling into the unknown darkness.
She was so utterly stunned, her mind spinning so fast, that she couldn't even find the words to voice the obvious reminder: Your Majesty, I am blind.
Xalvador strode out of the window frame, holding Lyra securely against his chest as he leapt down onto the stone pavilion path. He didn't use his shadow mist to travel this time. Instead, he walked, his long strides carrying them out of the western wing and into the sprawling, terraced gardens of the upper court.
The cool twilight wind whipped through Lyra’s hair, filling her nose with the scent of crushed petals and damp stone. She gripped his silk shoulders tighter, her heart pounding.
"Your Majesty," Lyra began, her raspy voice pushing hard against her scarred throat. "Please, I need to tell you—"
"Look over there," Xalvador interrupted, completely ignoring her words as he rounded a massive marble fountain. "The obsidian spires of the central citadel. They pierce right through the low clouds. On a clear night, the dark quartz glows."
Lyra swallowed hard, her face flushing. "Sir, you don't understand. I can't—"
"And down below," Xalvador cut her off again, his head turning as he guided her down a sweeping stone staircase, "are the midnight markets. The blue lanterns stretch for miles across the lower valley like a fallen constellation. It is the heart of the shadow realm."
Inside his mind, a heavy, irritated sigh echoed.
“What exactly are you doing, Xalvador?” Yves asked, the dragon spirit pacing restlessly within his consciousness. “You are dragging her through the cold, pointing at structures, and speaking to a wall. She is trembling.”
"I am bonding with my mate,” Xalvador snapped back internally, his jaw tightening. "The elders say a sovereign must show his bride the expansion of his domain. I am establishing our territory.”
“You are an absolute i***t,” Yves snarled, his voice dripping with pure dragon disdain. "Stop walking and look at her face. Look at her eyes, King.”
Xalvador stopped dead in his tracks on the middle of the grand stone bridge. The sudden halt made Lyra tense, her fingers digging deeper into the fabric of his robe.
Xalvador lowered his gaze, his gold-flecked eyes locking onto her face. The twilight cast a soft shadow over her features. He stared at her long, dark eyelashes. They didn't flicker toward the massive, glowing citadel behind them. He looked directly into her pupils, wide, clear, and completely unmoving, reflecting absolutely none of the shifting blue lights from the valley below.
A heavy silence descended over the bridge, save for the distant whistle of the wind.
"She is blind,” Yves pointed out, his dragon voice dropping into a quiet, exasperated whisper. “She hasn't seen a single thing you’ve pointed at.”
Xalvador stood frozen, his chest heaving slightly under his robe as the reality finally registered in his mind. The Trickster King, who prided himself on knowing every secret in the court, had completely missed the obvious truth right in front of him.
He leaned down slightly, his breath warm against her cheek as he stared into those beautiful, empty eyes.
“Then I will describe it to her,” Xalvador whispered back to the dragon.
He didn't loosen his grip on her waist. Instead, he adjusted her in his arms, pulling her slightly closer so she could hear the steady, heavy beat of his heart.
"Lyra," Xalvador murmured aloud, his dangerous purr softening just a fraction against the cold night air. "Listen closely."
- Writer
