Moonlit Promises

Chapter 5

After their heated exchange in their room that morning, Mira stormed out, her cheeks flushed and her heart racing from the intensity of their last conversation. Celin, hot on her heels, danced a devilish grin across his lips as though he was savouring the unresolved sparks crackling between them.

They quickly had breakfast while discussing where to head next, the tension from their argument still hanging in the air like a thick fog. They promptly decided to head to the city. It would take around three days to reach it, and as they were focused on their route, the barmaid from the night before approached them, her expression profound and enigmatic.

"I'd advise y'all to steer clear of the roads, mates," the barmaid cautioned, pourin' their coffee with a bit of a huff. "Word's out 'round here, the king," she spat, "is on the prowl for his young brother," her eyes locking onto Celin's, a silent yet profound warning of the brewing troubles.

"How do you know this?" Celin demanded, surprise and suspicion flashing across his face as he lowered his voice with a sharp warning edge, the lighthearted banter from moments ago long forgotten.

"Cause it's my job to know," she replied, palms up in a gesture of peace, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as if the walls themselves had ears. "Let it be known, my prince, I am on your side, as are my men," she said, emphasizing the word "my," suggesting an alliance beyond mere words.

Celin's eyes flashed with understanding before he quickly schooled his expression. Taking a sip of the coffee, he asked before the cup reached his lips, "So what do you suggest we do then?" The girl only placed a rolled-up piece of parchment on the table before swiftly walking away to tend to other tables.

"What is it?" Mira pressed, her curiosity piqued as Celin snatched the parchment, concealing it quickly. "Something to be opened elsewhere, Nirael." At his words, Mira's brow furrowed. Nirael? What was that? She had asked him, but he turned away, hiding a smile behind the rim of his mug, the corners of his lips betraying his enjoyment. Frustration bubbled inside her, and she huffed, crossing her arms defiantly and leaning back in her seat.

After eating, they decided to get preserves for their trip. With the added detours to avoid the king's men, the journey to the city would now take a week—an entire week of nothing but camping out in the woods, hoping and praying they wouldn't get caught.

Mira still wrestled with uncertainty about Celin; he had saved her as a child, but she didn't know him at all; was he indeed her ally, or was he one of the king's puppets playing a sick, twisted game? Why should she trust him, honestly? Wasn't that not the number one rule? The first thing all the village inhabitants were forced to learn from the moment they could first walk? If you ever have the misfortune of meeting a fae, never trust them. It was said so often that the village teacher even devised a saying for the younger kids to help them remember: never trust a fae; they might wear a smile but often enough hide a dagger behind their backs. The kids quickly made it into a game, as kids do; it was a fiendish game; anytime the other children had forced her to play, she was always the fae, not by choice. She learned quickly to hide away from them in the deepest corner of the village's only library; no one dared to go in that far; it was always rumoured to be haunted, but she didn't mind; she always liked it. They were always mean to her, simply because her hair was black and not blonde like her sister and mom's and her ears had a slight point to them, half-breed they called her; she had no idea why though, as everyone knew the fae never reproduced with humans like her mom, besides if she was a half-breed as they so claimed, so was Isabella after all they were twins, born on the same day; The doctors of the village were living, breathing proof as such. Still, they loved her, always following her around as if she were the goddess of spring herself, and she happily allowed them to and sometimes even encouraged them to bully Mira; she had no idea why, though.

She glanced at Celin; as she thought about children's cruel antics, her thoughts suddenly turned, and she remembered the boy who had confused her for her sister, rejecting her. When he kissed her, she was so overjoyed; she had thought finally, someone had chosen her, not Isabella but her; she couldn't help but smile. But when he pulled away, his expression twisted with disgust; it felt like the ground had vanished beneath her. She was twelve, and his disgust shattered her heart. Shoving her to the ground, he spat, "Eww, I kissed the ugly half-breed!" The moment carved a lasting scar, and the cruel label that lingered in the air was nothing but a heavy reminder of how unwelcomed she was all because she wasn't her sister. She remembered isolating herself, overwhelmed with tears, as Isabella laughed, cruel and sweet, at her expense. At that moment, she had wished her mother were still there—her only friend, the sole person she thought cared for her, but she left, and then she realized that she was truly alone, unloved, and unwanted.

Suddenly, Celin's strong arms enveloped her, the comforting aroma of sandalwood and lavender wrapping around her like a protective shield against the storm that claimed her mind and soul. A salty taste betrayed her emotions; she felt the tears spill down her cheeks, pushing him away in shock. When did they start flowing? She looked up to find genuine concern etched into Celin's features.

"What's the matter, Nirael?" he asked, his worry evident in his tone as he leaned in to meet her gaze; holding her face in his hands, he gently wiped away her tears. "Are you hurt? Did someone harm you? What can I do? Please tell me what to do, Liraenel."

Mira shook her head, so caught off guard by his concern that she didn't notice the new name. How could someone like him, so handsome and mesmerizing, care about her well-being? She thought to herself. She couldn't fully comprehend his feelings or intentions. Was it just a trap, or did he care? She couldn't understand him at all.

Celin asked a few more times, desperation creeping into his voice. Unwilling to talk about it, she just brushed him off. Ultimately, he dropped the subject. Mira shook her head to clear her racing thoughts, her heart throbbing. Why did he care? With his enigmatic ways and piercing gaze that sent shivers down her spine, this confusing fae had burrowed deep into her thoughts; even if she didn't want to admit it, she was beginning to like Celin. She couldn't honestly say it was love or anything like that, but his presence sent calm waves through her, leaving her mind at ease.

She felt wanted for the first time since her mom left, which delighted her. Each moment spent with him cracked her defences a little more; she just prayed that he didn't betray her; she didn't think she could survive that hurt again. He appeared to honestly care about her, which formed a storm of emotions that threatened to drag her down; she could neither control nor place each one as they swarmed in her. Deep down, she knew that she would have to face the storm eventually, lest she be consumed by it.