Chapter 19
Eliane
He doesn’t act like I am fragile.
Braxton sits in front of me, eating in silence, but his gaze holds mine.
When I finally got out of the healer’s bed last night, it was already dark outside.
Apparently, I’d been out for almost a whole day.
So, after leaving the healer’s place, I went straight to my own bed.
After a bit of reading, sleep pulled me under.
I needed the distraction after what happened with Braxton.
I am not even sure I should call it a thing, but it was probably the most sexual thing I’ve ever experienced with a man.
He acted so calm and cool, while my body was on fire.
I don’t want him to hurt me. But even worse, I don’t want to hurt him.
I am planning on seeing the world after these trials.
Check out the continent together with Da.
I am not going to stay because of a boy.
A man.
A boy or man or whatever.
I am not even sure he would ever really like me.
I don’t even like myself that much. I am anxious and not strong.
My power doesn’t define me the way everybody expects.
So maybe it is also a way of self-protection.
But is that a bad thing? I can’t give in to him.
And he probably doesn’t even feel the same way.
Nor does he seem like a relationship type of guy.
My head is still spinning back and forward about the attraction I feel to him.
So when Braxton appeared in the room later than me, I was kind of relieved. I needed to get my heart under control first.
The tension during this breakfast around this table is to cut with a knife.
I’m not sure why they make us live under the same circumstances as before the trials, while everything between us and our whole dynamic has changed.
Nobody died this first round, but some did get hurt.
I heard that Aaliyah and Aiden won, but luckily that bitch was hurt as well.
Not as badly as me, but still. Because of my injuries I’m not allowed to join sparring training these two days.
It is now April the 16th, and on the 18th the second trial will begin.
I am happy for Aiden that he got first placed.
I learned we finished second, but others say we didn’t finish at all.
There is still some discussion about that.
We are going to watch the recording later this afternoon.
I always forget we film everything. The king has access to everything he wants to display, from us waking up to going to bed.
It is kind of scary, but luckily enough for us, you don’t notice it when you just do your thing.
Hazel sits next to me and we have been chatting.
She and Kailey found each other after Braxton found me and they stayed down the mountain, trying to get some sleep and climb the mountain the next day.
They thought most would. I was kind of surprised when she first told me, but sometimes I forget I am the only light wielder of the group.
She explained that Delilah and Aaliyah also had an impressive fight and both had some injuries.
Braxton also seemed to ‘forget’ to mention he and Caleb had a fight.
He keeps denying it, but I will see if all of that is true this afternoon.
A few people decided to keep their mouths shut.
Ethan seems to be shut up by Delilah. He didn’t fight, but has some injuries because he wasn’t blocked out during her fights.
I am curious if the tapes will reveal the truth.
I’m glad Hazel and I are talking because the conversation helps ease my nerves.
Besides, I genuinely enjoy talking to her.
She really does feel like my sister after all.
Braxton jogs towards me as I walk through the garden. I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know that it is him. I can feel it everywhere. My skin tickles and goosebumps appear. Everybody is in spar training, but apparently, he skipped too. He presses one of his hands on my shoulders.
“I want to show you something,” he announces, whispering in my ear. His warm breathing tickles my ears. I wrinkle my nose at the memories his warmth brings me.
“Sure.” I nod my head and follow him deeper into the royal garden, curious about where he will take me.
“You know when you asked me who tattooed me?” he asks. “The week before the trials.”
He didn’t need to clarify that. I remember the moment fine, just like most of the memories he is in.
“Yes,” I whimper, curiosity racing through me. He matches my pace, staying at my side.
“You will see.” He winks. Apparently, at the end of the garden, on the seaside, there is a forest. My gaze examines the woods he is dragging me in.
Could it be that I got him completely wrong?
He is described as a killer. Maybe he wants to get rid of me before the second trial?
So that I won’t be a burden on his shoulders?
Except something tells me I’m safe, like I can feel his intention through our bond.
The trees look dark and punky. In the distance, light shines through the trees and branches.
“What is that?” I ask, not sure if I should continue following this man.
“If you want to know, you will have to follow.” He nods towards the cabin.
His lips are pressed together, like he is already regretting his decision to bring me here.
The house reminds me a bit of Da’s and mine.
Except for the fact that it is a lot smaller, like at least three times as small.
He presses the dark, oak wooden door open with his good shoulder.
His hand is shaking a bit as he looks down to the ground.
“Sorry, maybe this is not a good idea,” he hesitates.
He steps outside again and runs his hand through his dark brown, wavy, and fluffy hair.
His blue eyes look up and his gaze finds mine.
The blue in his eyes seems to stream as wild as the waterfalls in my forest.
He is insecure.
He never shows this.
My eyes are a bit wide, and I give him a comforting smile. I think hard about the next words leaving my mouth, not wanting to make him shut down like usual. I would really like to touch him, but I know that would not be the right move right now.
“I would love to see, but only if you want me to,” I whisper. He breaks our eye contact and pushes the door open, inviting me inside. My feet drag me in before he has the chance to shut the door in my face.
Wow.
It is warm and cozy with lots of wooden details.
Nothing like the impression he gives you.
But what really catches my attention are the drawings that are hung up everywhere.
The only places that aren’t covered in drawings are the countless windows this small place has.
I climb the wooden stair, bolting through the cabin, wanting to explore everything.
At the loft is a desk, covered in drawings.
A large number of faces stare right back at me.
I stare at myself. The desk is covered in drawings of me.
My heart pounds in my chest as memories crash back in my mind.
The drawing.
My birthday.
Braxton nightly sneak outs.
My breath pitches in my throat. He really is letting me in.
This is his hiding and drawing spot.
But next to drawings of my face that seem to capture my personality perfectly, there are more drawings.
Darker drawings.
I want to lift a paper, but don’t want him to see the ones I am looking at.
Dungeons.
A boy with no face that seems to scream.
As I walk next to the desk, the drawings grow darker.
More painful.
I twist around looking over the railings of the loft.
Braxton stands frozen to the spot next to the door.
His hands are in his trousers, and his lips are pressed into a firm line.
His eyes trace me with every step I make, filled with something that looks like admiration, but his body language says the complete opposite.
His shoulders are held up, high and tense.
I look over at the other drawings hanging on the wall.
Waterfalls, butterflies, clocks, a landscape with birds.
Not only dark ones. I feel like I am walking through a museum.
His museum.
I stop next to another drawing, pinned into the wall.
Huh, I recognize this one.
I carefully loosen the drawing. I stroll towards the railings, holding the drawing in my hand.
“You tattoo on yourself?” I breathe out, pointing my free hand at the drawing. He doesn’t need to answer me to let me know I’m right. He moves stiffly. He literally moves like a penguin.
“Tattoo me,” I command.
I am kind of surprised by my own act of braveness and apparently so is he.
“What?” he answers, voice sounding out of breath, blinking his eyes like he got out some trans.
“I want you to tattoo me,” I repeat. I narrow my eyes as he studies my face for any sort of doubts or regret. He growls something to himself, but it is so soft that I can’t make out the words. I sit down on the small couch next to my desk and drag the straps of my dress down and off my shoulders.
“I want it here.” I point my finger at my collarbone.
He just stares at me.
“You have to come up to actually do it you know,” I tease as he still stands under the bottom of the staircase.
His foot creaks as he walks up the stairs.
He is looking at me, the moment he comes into sight again.
I look at him with narrowed eyes, challenging—daring him to do it.
His eyes darken as his gaze scans my body.
My hair is in a low braid, and I am wearing a light green, flowy dress, with a cute flower print.
Nothing about the way he looks at me right now is cute. I would rather describe it as dangerous.
His fingers rub over his chin as goosebumps appear on his arms. His beautiful, tattooed arms.
“Are you sure about it?” he asks, his voice raw and stuck in his throat.