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Natalie remembers it with horror.
She trembled as she recounted blood, and tears, and the splintering of wood before her lover was killed by some nameless, faceless gilak. Her loss writhes in my stomach as if it were my own.
My head spins as I try to make sense of the situation, and I sink into a nearby chair with a groan. Telling Natalie about my involvement with the raid might very well ruin any possibility of me being able to fulfill my duties. Knowing that I was the reason for her lover’s death, however indirectly, is bound to make her hate me.
“I can’t tell her,” I decide.
There’s too much on the line for both of us to risk not doing what needs to be done, and the idea of taking her by force makes my stomach drop.
No, she can’t know about the raid.
I’m responsible for her safety, and including her in the fact that I coordinated the raid would breed neither of those things. I try to convince myself that I’m not taking the coward’s way out, that it’s better for both of us this way, but a nagging feeling lingers.
I’m not sure why the idea of her being unhappy or hating me bothers me so much. The image of her, fraught with anguish flashes before my eyes again, and I rub my hands over my face, trying to dispel the image from my mind.
I’m only worried about her well-being because she’s my responsibility while she’s here. There is no love lost between the two of us, and this situation has no room for any nostalgic, emotional sentiments. I am doing my duty to my King and my people, nothing more.
My decision is based on logic and reason, not emotions.
Magical candles flicker to life around the room, startling me from my thoughts. Time has passed more quickly than I thought, and it’s nearly time to return to Natalie’s room.
I stride to the bathroom, taking stock of my appearance in the mirror. If I’m going to follow through on my orders, the least I can do for Natalie is look presentable.
I run a brush through my long, silver hair, working out the knots and letting it drape over my shoulders in an impressive mane. The way my hair falls makes my eyes look too piercing, too assertive, and only serves to highlight the dark crown of horns atop my head. I pick the brush back up, rearranging my hair into a ponytail at the nape of my neck.
Having all of the small symbols on my face on display looks too intimidating, especially for Natalie in her current state. I don’t want to scare her. I sigh, throwing the brush onto the counter and ripping my hair from the band holding it back.
I have no idea what I’m so worried about. I’ve slept with plenty of matrons, and although I’ve never slept with a human I can’t imagine it’ll be much different. There’s no reason for me to be so concerned about pleasing her. This is an assignment, not a tryst.
It’ll go more smoothly if it’s at least somewhat enjoyable, I tell myself, shoving back the growing notion that there could be something more behind my behavior. There’s nothing wrong with wanting this to be pleasurable for us both.
I glare at my reflection, seeing myself through Natalie’s eyes. My horns are razor sharp, their ends twining toward the sky, their pitch-black tone only highlighted by my silvery hair and pale skin.
My eyes are pools of black, emotionless in the eyes of a human, sucking in all of the surrounding light.
No wonder she’s so terrified, I think bitterly to myself, turning away from the mirror. Natalie is the epitome of softness and warmth, all inviting curves and gentle features, while I’m… well, a demon.
I’ve never been so concerned with someone else’s feelings, and it’s exhausting. I’m not an egoist by any stretch of the imagination, but I’ve always felt confident in my endeavors, sexual or otherwise.
This is all uncharted territory for me, and I detest the uncertainty.
I pick through my wardrobe, thumbing through tunics and overcoats. Many of the items in the wardrobe feel too formal and stuffy.
I spend longer than I’d care to admit weighing the options before deciding not to change at all, keeping on my simple black tunic and pants. It might send the wrong message if I change, and I don’t want to overwhelm her.
I wonder if she’s gotten the trunk I sent up to her room.
One of the zonak was supposed to take the new clothing upstairs for her to change into, but seeing as how they’re almost entirely useless around the house, I can’t count on the fact that she would have received anything.
And even if she did, she may not have accepted my gift.
For all of her tears and softness, Natalie has a stubborn streak that’s difficult to contend with. Still, I can’t help but picture her in the dresses I’d commissioned. I didn’t know what she would like, and didn’t have any measurements for her besides a rough estimate, but the tailor promised they would fit and that any woman would be glad of the collection we compiled.
I glance out the window, and my heart skips a beat as I realize the sun is well below the horizon, the stars peeking through the gathered storm clouds.
How long has it been dark?
I take a final look in the mirror, running a hand through my hair before leaving the room and turning toward the west wing. My steps echo through the halls, ominous in the silence.
