My Promise to My Four King Mates

The sun - Cyra

His touch is warm and absolutely delightful, making my brain turn into a complete mush. I can't think straight as I stare into his eyes, which are two small suns that peer back into my eyes, his lips curled into a slight smirk as we remain silent, in the darkness of the street, a far off lamp post being the only source of light. But as I look at him, I realize there is no need for light. It feels as if his face holds a certain light that allows me to see his features. As if his hair was shinning a gentle light upon the angles of his face, and his eyes give off enough light for me to make out that he was still smirking while staring down at me.

My heart was absolutely frantic, my breath was ragged and I felt like I couldn't support myself for far longer. When my knees feel like giving in, the arm he has around me presses me a bit harsher against him, supporting my body.

"Do not worry my Cyra. I have you." he whispered, his thumb brushing under my lower lip again, tugging at one of the corners of my mouth, his eyes moving from mine, back to my lips.

My lips press together and his lips part, and he swallows the lump in his throat with a bit of harshness, as if this was not going the way he intended.

"Let go of me- " I plead and the man seems to snap out of his strange trance, his eyes moving back to mine, his fingers still holding my head leaned backwards, still forcing me to look at him.

"You've truly forgotten me, haven't you?" he seemed disappointed. His voice is a mere whisper, the smirk on his lips vanishing as if he was done playing around. "You'll remember- " he paused and his hand dropped from my face. Yet, he did not let go of me. "- eventually." he muttered, a bit more determined. His free hand grabbed my bag and tossed it away as if it did not hold most of all my important things. A yelp and get ready to fight him for it, but with a silent hiss under his breath, the man scooped me up in his arms, an arm around my back, another right under my knees as he is holding me bridal style. "You will remember." he mutters in a very determined way, his sharp brows narrowed down on me and his lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tensed and his grip on me growing tighter.

I felt a painful knot in my throat, stopping me from breathing as I simply stared at him, with round, terrified eyes.

Was this the end of me?! Was this the end of my career? Was I going to be sold off?! ... my thoughts swell frantically and as I fear my heart is going to break my ribcage and jump right out of it, I hear the blonde man whisper something under his breath as he starts walking. It did not sound like any language I know, but something completely made up, gibberish and before I can make out anything from what he was saying, darkness creeped into the corners of my eyes and I feel a strange wave of warmth washing over me, the strong smell of long summer nights wafting over me. My eyelids feel heavy and I feel as if I've been drugged. The tension in my body vanishes and it's slowly replaced by a deep relaxation I have not felt since childhood. Before I slip away completely I hear the man speak again.

"We're going home, My Cyra."

***

I am Everyn Nevan. Or, am I?

I'm not sure . He calls me Cyra. Why is he calling me that? is he mistaking me for someone else? Is there someone else wearing my face out there in the world? I never considered myself as having a very common face. I'm not tall. At around 5'2, I don't really stand out much. A diamond face, with high cheekbones and sunken cheeks. My eyes are a dark blue which usually shifts between hues of blue, gray and green, shaded by dark thick lashes. My hair is pitch black, because well... I did some not so fun experiments with hair colors that did not end right and I could not show up to my office job with green hair, could I?!

I'm a graphic designer, and when I look in the mirror, I don't see much. A short, skinny person, with little curves that do not stand out in the baggy clothes I wear. My hair, which reaches at the small of my back, is usually pinned in buns of braids, because It's simply annoying to have my hair frame my face or fall over my laptop.

Who's this Cyra who wears the same face as me? who likes spicy-fruity perfumes? who uses only eyeliner and lipgloss? who does not bother to redo her nails when they chip?

And why is this man that looks like he is a child of the sun, so infatuated with someone like this? He looks nothing like a man. He looks like a god! and he seems deserving of a goddess. Why would he search for Cyra? Am I Cyra?

...

Who am I again?

...

I am not sure I remember anymore...