Chapter 16 #2
She sets up the studio lights next, and I’m momentarily blinded by the pop of the bare bulb. A sheer fabric is draped over it, diffusing the light to her satisfaction and casting me in amber shadows.
Last, she sets up her phone on a tripod, facing us, and taps on her camera. The little red recording light blinks. And then she’s slipping into my arms.
Her fingers fall on my outstretched palm.
Her chest brushes against mine.
Her waist settles into the crook of my other hand, and my fingers instinctively curl into the fabric of her tank top.
Her thighs bracket one of mine, and if either of us pressed forward…
“Harley?”
“Yeah?” My gaze is pulled from our intertwined legs to her face, and I’m lost in the smatter of freckles on her nose.
“Keep your head up like this, okay?” Alice asks, and I nod. She tilts her head to the camera, and hums at whatever she sees. “Don’t move.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I whisper.
The muscles at her waist contract with a small gasp, as if I’ve shocked her with the honorific. Then her body turns to liquid, and she slips out of my hold.
Alice takes a measured step away, tilts her head again, and nods to herself. “Perfect.”
Perfect.
Does she realize I would do anything she asked of me if she keeps purring praise?
She plucks her phone from the tripod and connects it to a speaker on the table.
“Is it okay if I put on music?” she asks. “It’ll be low enough for us to talk, but it helps me focus.”
“Of course,” I mumble, trying to speak through as closed lips as possible.
Alice laughs, and scrolls through her music app. “You can talk normally. I only need your head angled the same way for the lighting.”
“Ah.” My jaw relaxes. “Can you tell I’ve never modeled before?”
“No, you’re a natural.”
“Lies.”
“It’s not a very hard thing to do,” she says, pressing play. A soft guitar plucks a somber tune, and a feminine voice croons a few beats later. “You’ve been modeling for me for weeks without knowing it.”
My tie is suddenly too tight around my neck as it blooms with heat. “You know if I was someone different, I might consider that stalker behavior. Always lurking in the library, watching me, pen scratching my visage onto paper…”
Alice hides behind the easel. “Sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry. I enjoy it, the attention,” I admit. “More than you probably realize.”
A knitted brow and two narrowed eyes peek around the canvas. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
She disappears again. Her shadow stretches along the hardwood, and I watch it religiously as she pours a viscous liquid on the palette, mixes paint with it, and strokes her brush over the canvas.
“I don’t know why I’m surprised you and Jessa are kinky,” Alice says.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Didn’t you?”
I definitely did. “No.”
“So, you’re not turned on by the idea of Jessa watching us fuck?”
I choke on air, tears welling in my eyes as I sputter and cough while trying not to shift my pose. “Jesus Christ, Alice.”
Tinkling laughter fills the room. “I’m only pushing your buttons. You’re cute when you blush.” Alice peers around the canvas again and winks. “And I need the color for reference. You have warm toned skin. Your cheeks get peachier than mine.”
“Oh,” I whisper.
Alice goes back to painting; one song ends and another begins, a deep masculine voice singing out this time, accompanied by piano.
“Are you guys Christian?” she suddenly asks.
“No.” My brow twitches. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, you used Jesus Christ as a curse.”
“Oh. That’s just something I picked up here,” I say.
“Arcadia doesn’t have religion the same way humans do.
We believe in gods, but they’re more a powerful species who wander between realms and wreak havoc than all-knowing creators.
They’re to be feared, for sure, but are not necessarily worshiped. ”
She dunks her brush into a jar of water, and the water clouds as she swishes it around. “That’s comforting.”
“Is it?” I ask, genuinely curious. “Most humans seem drawn to the idea of a god being their salvation. At least, from what I’ve read on the topic.”
“I’ve never believed in any of it,” Alice admits.
And though her voice is soft, there’s a bitterness clinging to her words.
“There’s too much horrible shit in the world for it to be true.
Either there is no god—as in, no one omnipotent being that controls the universe—or they’re a sadistic narcissist who takes pleasure in torturing their creations. ”
Her candidness is a cold and violent wind blowing through the room. “I haven’t heard an opinion like that before.”
“People tried using religion as a means to comfort me when Ryan died. It always left a sour taste in my mouth.” Alice’s shadow stills.
“It was hard to hear people say he was in a better place, you know? Kind of like a big fuck you. It’s not as if he was sick for years and suffering.
Why would heaven be a better place than by the side of the person he chose forever with? ”
Her brush strokes resume with increased intensity, and the song on the speaker changes to something upbeat and contradictory to the somber mood.
My lips part, but nothing comes out. What’s there to say? Nothing I can muster could hold a candle to the weariness in her voice.
Alice breaks the silence with the clearing of her throat. “Why are you guys here, anyway?”
“In Meadowbrook?” I clarify.
“In this realm in general,” she says.
I chew on my cheek, considering the right way to phrase it. Alice waits, patiently, and another brush plunks into her water jar.
“To find you, originally,” I say. “Some stuff went down with Ori’s brother and his Champion. After a while, we figured we might as well start building lives that we’d enjoy.”
Alice pops around the easel with one hand braced on her hip; she waggles a brush at me with the other. “Are you going to elaborate on the whole ‘stuff-that-went-down’ bit?”
“Um, yeah, I can.” I hesitate. “It’s kind of a long story.”
“Well, you’re stuck here for another twenty minutes minimum,” she says, a small lopsided smirk cutting her cheek. “No moving until I say so.”
“Are you sure this isn’t some new kind of interrogation-torture technique? My arms hurt already.”
“Just think of it as payback for keeping secrets,” Alice says, returning to her canvas.
A seriousness drapes itself over me. “I’m sorry about that, by the way.”
“Apologize by explaining.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath. “I don’t know how much Jessa told you, but if you have a question—”
“I’ll butt in and ask, don’t worry.”
My tongue turns to cotton in my mouth.
“We were eighteen when everything fell apart,” I start, slowly.
The memories flash behind my lids as I blink, sending shivers down my spine.
“Most Champions are called to Arcadia when they’re young.
And then they end up living with the royals until the tourney that decides who rules.
Not to be morbid, but the Champions are usually orphans or come from a bad home situation.
So, it’s not necessarily a bad thing when they just… stay.”
“I wasn’t an orphan,” Alice states.
“No, and I’m glad for that. Being an orphan sucks,” I say, knowing from experience.
“But that isn’t the norm. Ori’s twin, Enzo, found his Champion, Maven, at six, which was also abnormal.
She didn’t have many memories from this realm, and from what I can gather the ones she did have were not pleasant.
That’s part of why things fell apart. She got it in her head that Arcadia was her home, which it was, but she developed a kind of…
ownership over the realm.” I sigh. “Enzo fell for her when we were teenagers. Hard. But that’s often what happens with Champions and Heirs. You share a special bond.”
I pause, waiting for Alice to react to that information, curious to see if she picks up on the mention of their bond. But she stays quiet behind her easel, so I continue.
“Enzo was always like a puppy, following her around. But as we got older, he changed. Maven was controlling. And she convinced him that they didn’t have to wait until the tourney to take over the kingdom.”
“So, she staged a coup?” Alice asks, catching on.
“Essentially.”
“Did you fight back?”
I wince. “That’s the catch. Special magic binds the realm to certain rules.
” My tongue swipes over my teeth. “We can fight, but dragons are powerful. With their human counterpart, they’re even more so.
Their scales are impenetrable to the average person—only Champions and other dragons possess enough inherent magic to pierce their armor. ”
A chilling breeze wafts through the open window.
“She killed his parents?” Alice whispers.
“Yeah, Alice. They killed Ori’s parents.
” I close my eyes, trying to banish the scenes of carnage that ensued while we fled the castle.
“Maven is a brutal warrior, and with no Champion at his side, Ori was at a disadvantage. Not only in the battle after the coup, but he cannot compete for the crown alone.” I shake my head.
“Ori nearly got killed trying to protect us. Jessa and I grabbed him and fled into the Wandering Woods to save his life. It kept us safe, guiding us to the Meadow.”
I grind my jaw on the swell of emotion gathering there.
“We hadn’t been to the Meadow in years. We thought the portal had closed.
But there it was, open and beckoning us to this realm.
At first we viewed it as a blessing. We hoped we would find you before it was too late.
But years passed with no luck. Jessa and I have kept hope, but Ori gave up a long time ago. ”
Alice sets her brush down on the palette, rounding the canvas to stand before me with her hands on her hips. She takes a deep breath and pushes it out slowly, puffing out her cheeks. “Okay, so what I’ve gathered is that this Maven chick is a raging bitch.”
I snort, even though it’s not funny. “She is.”
“And Enzo sounds just as terrible, if not worse.” Her gaze hits the floor with a sigh, and a million questions flash across her conflicted expression. “I don’t remember much from when we were kids, Harley.”
“Do you want me to tell you?” I ask, tentatively.
“Maybe. But not all at once. And not today,” she says, looking back up at me, with a small, sad smile. “Are you and Jessa sure that I’m Ori’s Champion? He and I have gotten off on the wrong foot and you make it sound like we’re prophesized to fall in love or something.”
“While it’s common for Heirs to form romantic connections with their fated, it’s not mandatory.
Many simply have strong friendships, like a platonic soul-mate,” I say, quoting a book I once read in the castle library on the topic.
When we lost Alice, research on the Champions was all I could do to help.
“Though it’s his loss if he can’t see how amazing you are. ”
Alice quirks a skeptical brow. “And that makes is sound like you want to add him to this polycule situation you and Jessa are pursuing with me.”
“Well, yeah,” I admit. Her brows hit her hairline in shock and my cheeks heat. “I’ve always had feelings for him. In an ideal world…”
My words trail off, embarrassment stalling my tongue. I pray my eyes communicate my meaning, and that she understands.
Ori and I have a complicated relationship; for most of my life I thought my feelings were one-sided. But a few years ago, Ori came home from his apprenticeship upset and drank himself silly. I joined in. One thing led to another, and he kissed me.
He told me he wanted me.
He also told me he thinks he’s broken.
Then he passed out. And when he woke up the next morning, curled around me on the couch, he freaked out, pulled away, and refused to speak of what happened ever again.
For a long time, I took it personally; my longing for him often warred with a bitterness at his refusal to acknowledge us, though it never wavered in its intensity.
It took a while, but between many thoughtful gestures on his part that showed he cared, and much deep reflection on mine, I came to realize that Ori was simply missing a part of himself.
Alice doesn’t remember, but we were best friends as children. Pack. Family. Even after she disappeared, I think we all moved through life assuming she would come back and slide into our dynamic as if no time had passed. She fits—a missing puzzle piece that connects us all together.
Even if Ori can’t see it yet, I’m sure she’s the key to opening his heart.
It’s a selfish thought, but in this, I find myself greedy. Why can’t I have it all? Jessa, Alice, and Ori.
Alice sighs, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples.
“I’m going to need five business days to process all of this,” she mutters, and I take that as the end to our conversation about Arcadia. She walks to her canvas, scrutinizing it once more. “You can drop the pose now. I’m done for the day.”
“Thank goodness.” My arms sag with relief, and I shake them out. “Will you need me to do this again?”
“Not necessarily. Maybe when I get to the details. The video I took should be good enough in the meantime,” she says as she starts to clean up her workstation.
“Oh,” I say, unable to hide my disappointment.
“Why? Did you want to model for me more?” she teases.
I give her a shy shrug as I inch closer to the easel. “Maybe.”
“Noted,” Alice says, chewing on her lip. “Well, even if you’re not modeling for me, you can still come over and just… hang out or read or whatever while I paint. I’ll need to beat the dust out of it, but there’s an old bean bag chair in the attic I can drag in here for you to use.”
“Yeah?” I say.
“Mhm,” she hums.
“That sounds delightful, Alice.”
I round the easel as she clears the area, dropping supplies on the main table. My brows knit together at the amorphous blobs of paint marking the canvas. It generally resembles two people dancing.
At the risk of offending her, I tentatively ask, “That’s supposed to be us?”
She snorts a laugh and comes back to my side.
“It’s an underpainting. I lay out shadows and highlights and undertones, and then I go back in and carve the rest of it out,” Alice explains. Her shoulder knocks into mine as she stares at the fresh painting. “Trust the process.”
My gaze slides from the canvas to her freckled nose.
“Only if you do the same with us,” I whisper.
It’s a request twofold; to trust us enough to fight and win back Arcadia together, and to trust us with her heart. Both are at stake here.