7. Seven
Her prayer’s to the Weather Gods must have been answered, as in the days following her return from the western village, a sprinkle of snow flurries were reported and the meat was safely transferred inland, preventing fears of famine. One less thing for Ludelle to stress about, at least. Balvan had applauded the way she handled herself and her court. Ludelle didn’t need his praise.
By the castle, the snow came down faster, the ground already covered in a thin coat of it. A blessing, the halls had chanted, a sign of good luck for Queen Ludelle’s Undertaking! Sveta had sung her praises, too. For Ludelle, it meant nothing more than a job accomplished.
Ludelle stared up at the gray sky, snowflakes landing on her pale skin, slowly melting away. The droplets of water dripped down her face, cleansing her. The smell of pine filled her nostrils. It revitalized her. Brought back the energy she craved with only days away from the Undertaking. She would need every bit of strength to get her through it. She would need a drink to get her through the matchmaking session that Balvan had scheduled for her. He thought it would be a positive sign for the people to hear that she was carefully considering all her options, using her time to interrogate the men, one of whom would be sat at her side for the rest of her life.
For now though, she ignored that line of thought. Her future could wait for a few minutes. It was not everyday that she had time alone like this, usually someone only feet away keeping their eyes on her. She had snuck away for this small sliver of freedom.
“I’ve never grown tired of the peace of snow.”
Ludelle jumped even though she recognized his voice immediately—except maybe that was the reason her heart missed a beat.
She didn’t face Zimyn, yet. “Snow can be deadly, too.”
She could hear him smirk from behind her, the crunch of twigs and leaves growing louder as he neared. “Like they say, each snowflake is unique, multifaceted…just like people.”
Ludelle groaned, picking at the individual pieces of pines, sap coating her fingers. “That’s horrendous.”
“I was going for inspirational.”
“Well you inspired me to decree an order that you no longer can utter a word.”
“Oh, but who would be there to warn you that you have chocolate on your face before an important meeting.”
She snapped her attention towards him, throwing the pine needles against his armored chest, the ice scales looking clean and newly polished. “That was one time!”
He wiped them away, but one stuck to his hair that he didn’t notice. “We can’t all be perfect, Ludelle.”
Ludelle sauntered over to him, her dress dragging against the dirt, but she didn’t care. She plucked the pine needle loose. “Apparently not.”
“See? We would each be doomed without the other—”
Ludelle saw the moment he noticed his error. The way he cringed at his own words.
It pained her to consider a future with him no longer there beside her. He had been there through it all. Every lashing from her parents, every boring lesson, every sickness. As the weight of her crown crushed her, he was there to alleviate it, to take it on alongside her. She refused to trap him, though. He deserved the life he dreamed.
“We’ll survive,” she responded. “The world deserves to see your bright smile. It would be unfair to keep it hidden.”
“You know?” he asked carefully.
“I know.”
Zimyn breathed deeply, rubbing his face and shagging his hair. He stepped up so close to her, their chests touched. He lifted her chin upwards so she was staring right into those dangerous eyes. “I’m sorry.”
His words died out. Once again, they found themselves in this situation where their bodies stood too close, where one more step would leave no more space between them. The way he stared at her lips, which must have turned even bluer than usual, left her frozen. His own chest was pumping hard, as if trying to take in any breath because his own body forgot how to.
“I—” he started.
“We can’t—” she pleaded.
She willed her eyes to stop the tears that begged to be shed. Because even though the snow was their only witness, Ludelle could not allow them to take that final step—not now. Even if it was all that she desired and craved. Individual snowflakes might be unique, but once they were packed together they could no longer be distinguished. They weren’t as special as they convinced themselves to be.
She loved him, deeply and wholeheartedly. Sometimes she thought his love ran through her veins, instead of icy powers, because that was how ingrained Zimyn was into her body and soul.
He had taken over as Captain because of his strong capability and he would stand in front of any blade to save her. But she could never say the same. She would never be able to sacrifice herself for him because of her position, and that was not fair. She had not been there for him the way he was for her. He deserved to walk freely without that weight any longer.
She had to let him go.
Tears now fell in earnest, and she didn’t try to stop them or wipe them away. This one final moment of vulnerability needed to be shared. He took her in, every broken part of her.
She didn’t have the words to release him, though. Not yet. She had to figure out what she wanted—no, needed—from him before he left her. She stormed away from him, her heart shattering into fragments of ice, sharp enough to pierce.
He slammed the door behind him. His guards stopped eating their dinners to flick their eyes to the cause of commotion. Zimyn’s anger had become so strong that his vision blurred.
“Did Kotyn try to eat your hand again?” Flix joked.
He knew the words were said light-heartedly, and he knew that he shouldn’t take his frustration out on his guards but he snapped.
“Shouldn’t you be patrolling the back gardens?”
Flix rested his legs on the long table, as another guard quickly swiped his plate away so as to not get dirt on it. “I’m not taking the bait. You know that I don’t have a night shift today. Something must be really wrong if you’re getting it mixed up in your head.” He took a big bite of his bread roll, talking with his mouth full. “I think we all know who it’s about, too.”
The other guards seated at the long table nodded.
“If I’m so obvious,” he said as he stole his own bread roll from someone’s plate, “why are you asking?”
Novus stepped in, pouring a small glass of clear liquid that he shoved into Zimyn’s hand. “Out of respect. We want you to say it, to trust us enough with your sorrows like we trust you with ours.”
Zimyn gave Flix a quick look, trying to read if the other guards knew of his upcoming departure; he shook his head.
It could wait then. Besides, he needed to be clear-headed to make such a large announcement. They all deserved that much at least.
Zimyn swished the liquor before downing it. His eyes stung again, not used to drinking since he always needed to be on alert. He took the bottle from Novus’ hand and poured another. The second shot went down more smoothly, and the burn coated his throat nicely.
All eyes were on him expectantly as if any moment from now he would break down into tears as his heart bled out. No, he wouldn’t do that. There would be no point, speaking about it wouldn’t staunch the wound.
“I am your Captain. I share your sorrows, but you do not need to bear the weight of mine.” He tried smiling, but his mouth started to feel detached from his body.
Pyro said from his spot along the back wall, “You don’t have to do it alone.”
But he did.
Once, long ago, he thought that he would have Ludelle by his side for the rest of their days. Not just as her Captain, but as her talisman that would serve her as decreed by the Weather Gods. His purpose was to keep her flesh safe and her heart whole because they were each other’s life source, one could not breathe without the other.
That was when he accepted his future fate as Captain because it meant being by her. Now, he knew that could never be true. He needed to leave.