24. The Waiting Game #2
The Dreamweavers gathered their things with impressive speed, murmuring goodbyes and good lucks as they filed past Xül. He stepped aside to let them pass, his presence filling the room like a toxin.
Lyralei was the last to leave, pausing briefly to squeeze my hand. "Remember what I told you before the Proving," she whispered. "Eyes up. Back straight. You belong there as much as any of them."
Then she was gone, leaving me alone with Xül.
I stood, smoothing the fabric of my dress. "Well? Is adequate the best compliment you can manage, or are you saving your charm for the banquet?"
His lips curved in that almost-smile I'd come to recognize. "You clean up well, starling. Though perhaps I preferred you covered in blood and victory after the Hunt."
"You would," I muttered.
I brushed past him, stepping into the corridor. He followed, his footsteps soundless against the stone floor. "So what kind of fuckery awaits at this divine gathering?" I asked as I walked toward the entrance hall.
He pursed his lips as he caught up with me, matching my stride. "A feast, of course. Socializing. The usual tedium... and the proper greetings, naturally."
I stopped abruptly, turning to face him. "Excuse me?"
Xül looked as if he was fighting back a smile. "When greeting your assigned Legend in such official capacity, there's a protocol that must be observed. Most critical among them is kneeling."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "Kneeling? To you? I'd rather eat glass."
"I recall your vehement resistance to any form of obedience," he replied, his eyes glinting with mischief. "But by all means, starling—" he stepped closer, a playful smirk tugging at his lips "—allow me to give you a quick lesson so you don't embarrass us both when you inevitably kneel before me. "
I glared at him, crossing my arms. "That's never going to happen."
"Oh, but it is," he insisted. "First, you must approach with appropriate reverence." He gestured to the space between us. "Three steps forward, eyes lowered—but not too low. I still want you to see my face when I accept your devotion."
"My what?"
"Your devotion," he repeated. "Next, you slowly lower yourself to both knees." He made a graceful downward motion. "Hands placed on your thighs, palms up—symbolizing your willingness to offer your service to me."
"I'll offer you something, all right," I muttered, "and it won't be service."
He chuckled. "Then comes the declaration."
"The what now?"
"The declaration of my magnificence," he explained, as if it were perfectly reasonable. "Something along the lines of 'Great Warden Xül, I am humbled by your presence and acknowledge your superiority in all matters.'"
"You've lost your mind."
"What about 'I kneel before you, Warden, because no one else has ever looked quite so good in black'?"
Despite myself, I smiled. "Slightly better."
He reached for my hand unexpectedly, and I let him take it, curiosity momentarily overriding my better judgment.
"You know," he said, his voice dropping lower, "it's easy to joke about, but I'm beginning to think you have no idea how to properly kneel at all."
"Oh, I’ve found myself on my knees more than a few times,” I shot back. "But I have standards when it comes to those I deem worthy of such devotion.”
"Is that so?" he asked softly, his grip tightening just enough. "Then indulge me."
Something twisted inside me sparked at the insistence. Maybe it was the way he looked at me, or the absurdity of the entire conversation, or just the fact that I was tired of him thinking he could unsettle me.
"Fine," I said, pulling my hand from his. "If it will shut you up."
Before I could overthink it, I sank to my knees before him, maintaining eye contact the entire way down. The cool stone pressed against my knees through the fabric of my dress.
Xül went completely still. For a moment, he seemed genuinely caught off guard.
I placed my hands on my thighs, palms up in exaggerated submission. "Oh insufferable lord of the afterlife," I drawled, with an exaggerated flutter of my hand, "how truly special it feels to bruise my knees for you."
His eyes darkened, fixed on me. He stepped closer. I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.
"Is this what you wanted?" I asked.
Danger flickered in his expression. He reached down, his fingers brushing my cheek. The gentle pressure there made my breath catch.
"The view is certainly... satisfying," he murmured.
We held there, suspended in a moment that had started playfully but had somehow transformed into something else. Our eyes remained locked in a way that made it suddenly difficult to breathe. I couldn't remember the last time we'd been this close without the buffer of hostility between us.
Then, as if remembering himself, he withdrew his hand and stepped back. I rose quickly to my feet, brushing off my dress.
"There is no kneeling protocol at divine gatherings, Miss Morvaren," he said, his voice carefully controlled again. "But I must say, you're a remarkably quick study."
I stepped away, my body still humming with the ghost of his touch.
"Well played," I said, the words cool and precise. "I'd applaud, but I wouldn't want to feed that monstrous ego of yours any further. "
I turned away from him and moved toward the entrance. "But next time you invent elaborate excuses to get your hands on me, at least make them believable."
The silence that followed felt like its own kind of triumph—brief but satisfying, before he collected himself and followed. I didn't look back, but I sensed his presence like a shadow at my heels, his momentary discomposure a small revenge.
I pushed through the massive doors and into the cool evening air. "Are you going to open one of your death portals, or shall we swim to this wretched banquet?"
He joined me, amusement lingering in the set of his mouth. "Patience, starling. The night has only just begun."
With a flick of the wrist, he tore reality open before us, revealing the swirling darkness. He offered his arm, suddenly formal. "Shall we?"
I hesitated, then placed my hand on his forearm. "Let's get this over with."