2. The Sea-faring King #4
Her fingernails chip as she scrapes them against a pillar, her cheek pressing into the smooth surface to cool her heated face. The pain is a welcome relief as she gasps for breath, snot and drool dripping from her chin as she sobs on the floor in her soggy birthday dress.
She feels so alone. Dorian is leaving her, and soon, if she marries as her aunt wants, she’s sure to be shipped off at the first chance so that her aunt can have Dansui all to herself as she has always wanted.
She slams her fist on the ground, her bones aching with the force of her sobs and her vision blurry.
“A-Are you okay?”
Sapphira hears the words before the clack of heels across the limestone floor.
Her head shoots up. A figure kneels beside her, the light in her teary eyes make it appear to her as if a halo hovers above golden hair and strong arms wrap around her shoulders like a warm blanket.
A cry leaves Sapphira’s throat as soft hands rub down her back.
The woman holds Sapphira in the quiet hall as the storm inside her settles and her eyes dry. She wipes at her nose and mouth, embarrassed by what a mess she is, a headache building behind her eyes.
Those soft, pale hands push Sapphira’s wet hair back from her face and lift her head.
“There you are,” the woman whispers, a familiar face smiling down at her. Sapphira’s breath catches in her throat. I know her . The woman’s face is too close to hers, Sapphira’s cheeks flushing at the intimate proximity. She can smell perfume on the woman’s skin.
“You’re King Cornelius’s aid?” Sapphira says, surprised. This is the woman who has been watching her all night. “His right hand—”
“ Circe ,” the woman drawls. Circe scoots closer, laying a kiss between Sapphira’s eyes, and Sapphira melts at the warmth of it.
“Do you want me to get anyone?” the woman asks. “The lady regent, or—”
“No!” Sapphira says quickly, heat rushing to her cheeks. “Sorry, I…” She drops her head, her voice quiet. “No, I just… don’t have anyone.” She can’t meet Circe’s eyes. The woman places a pointed nail under Sapphira’s chin and raises a sharp eyebrow.
“Come on, out with it.”
Sapphira closes her eyes. What are you doing Sapphira? She scolds. You have this beautiful woman here and you’re blowing it.
Circe snaps her fingers in front of Sapphira’s face and her eyes flutter open. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
With a sigh, her shoulders dropping, Sapphira says, “I’m a princess.
You don’t want to hear my problems. Anyways, I’d rather hear about your adventures with King Cornelius.
He told me you were seafarers. I bet that was exciting, setting out on the open sea.
I’ve never gone anywhere, or seen much beyond these walls.
I don’t even remember what a city looks like. ”
“Cities are loud and dirty. You aren’t missing out,” Circe says bluntly.
“But what about the sea? You’ve probably travelled to so many places.”
“Yes. Being around a bunch of sick men puking their guts out over the ship deck. Rocking back and forth, even while I sleep, and never having steady ground beneath my feet. Wonderful.”
Sapphira laughs, new tears forming in her eyes. She wipes them away. “Okay, I get it. The sea is bluer on the other side and all of that. I told you, I have simple problems.”
Circe picks up a glass from beside her and swirls it between red nails. Sapphira looks down at it, surprised. She had never noticed the woman set it there. The drink spins round and round in hypnotizing waves, and Circe’s voice is soft and seductive in Sapphira’s ear as her lips touch her neck.
“Simple is relative. Simple is telling a pretty woman that I’ve wanted to get her alone all night.”
Those words have Sapphira’s eyes widening. “You have? M-me too.”
Circe’s glass hovers before Sapphira’s face, the rim touching her lips. “It’ll help you relax,” the woman says.
Sapphira has already had too much wine, but she drinks the liquid like she’s dying of thirst, her eyes rolling back into her head. It’s bubbly and warms her chest like a hug from within. She doesn’t recognize the taste, so she figures it must be a Sairin specialty.
“Good,” Circe purrs.
“Are you a goddess?” Sapphira asks as the woman pulls the glass from her lips.
Circe smiles, shaking her head.
“I want to get out of here.” Sapphira blurts. “I want to go far, far away. Can I come with you? Will you take me with you when you leave on your next adventure?”
Sea-green eyes stare down at Sapphira as a pointed nail strokes her cheek.
“Of course.” Sapphira’s eyes droop, the touch lulling her to sleep.
She tries to fight it, wanting to spend more time with this woman.
Wanting to see her face a moment longer.
She said yes. We’re going to get out of here.
She’s going to rescue me from this place.
Circe smells like steel and sea, her golden hair so soft like she spent hours before the mirror, combing it out and smoothing every strand till it shone like gold and was as soft as silk. Sapphira presses her face into it, wondering if it smells like sunshine, or only looks like it.
Circe’s lips move, but Sapphira doesn’t hear any sounds. The world whites out for a moment, then fingers snap in front of her face when she comes to. Her eyes widen like she’s trying to parse the colors and shapes moving before her.
“Princess Sapphira?” Circe calls down to her.
“Uh-huh . . .” Sapphira hums, her lips and tongue numb.
“Perhaps you should go lie down. You look quite ill.”
“I am lying down,” Sapphira whispers, swaying forward to meet her lips with beautiful Circe’s.
The woman pulls away, turning her head so Sapphira’s lips only glance off the side of her cheek. “In your bed.” She adds, “Alone.”
Sapphira frowns. That doesn’t sound like fun at all. It’s still her birthday, and she wants to celebrate with Circe.
“You said you’d take me with you.”
“And I will,” Circe croons.
“When?”
Circe sighs. “Tommorow, princess.” She holds out her arm. “Here, let me help you.” She pulls Sapphira up to her feet, and does it effortlessly, then guides her to the courtyard on unsteady feet.
“I think this one needs to be put to bed,” Circe sings to Fein in that bell-like voice, her nails trailing up the Captain's arm. Fein gives Sapphira a worried look.
“Are you well, princess?” he asks.
“Too much wine,” Circe responds.
Fein thanks the woman and Sapphira feels a sense of loss as the older knight leaves his post to take her from Circe.
He sweeps her off her feet and Sapphira feels weightless, her head swimming as she’s turned onto her back.
She groans as Fein carries her to her room, burying her face in the older man’s neck, the scent of meat and the plums from the wine clinging to his knight uniform.
She doesn’t understand why Circe is abandoning her.
She wants to ask the woman to stay, but the words don’t come, her tongue heavy as she’s taken farther and farther away.
She’ll come for me in the morning. She said so.
Sapphira lets her maidens undress her, the wet dress pooling on the floor. When a small girl clutches the wooden star Dorian carved for her, Sapphira snatches it from her hands. “That’s . . . mine,” she slurs. The startled girl nods, eyes averted as she slips Sapphira into her nightgown.
Sapphira climbs into her bed, which is fitted with silk sheets. She is barely able to draw the bed curtains before she falls like a stone against the soft pillows and clutches the star to her chest as the world bleeds into black.
Not much later, Sapphira wakes, her head pounding as pain stabs through her skull. She tries to bury her face in the pillows, wondering what woke her, when shouting rises in the hall.
“Is the party still going?” she mumbles in confusion, hugging her pillow tighter as she sinks into the soft sheets, her eyes drifting closed again.
“Oh, the party is just starting.”
Sapphira stiffens as the deep voice thunders over her, shocking her from sleep as fear pools down her spine. She raises her head slowly, her heart pounding erratically in her chest and ears ringing.
A man smiles in the shadows, the curtains parted around him and his blade pointed at her chest. A piercing scream tears from Sapphira’s throat, the sound drowned out under the crashing of waves outside of her window.