Chapter Twelve
Avari
The clock was nearing lunchtime when I decided to have my meal in the garden.
I hoped the soothing embrace of nature might help me recover.
Although I'd improved considerably, there were still moments when tiny tendrils of weakness spread through me, too overwhelming to bear.
I knew I needed time, but perhaps I needed nature too.
The temperature had begun to drop, autumn slowly creeping in, and I found comfort in the gentle rustle of leaves carried on the wind. Living in the woods had its perks, and so did Fogoya. I could already feel my witchcraft trying to mend and expand, though it would take time.
I changed into a deep purple jumper and swapped my usual linen trousers for a warmer pair of black jeans.
Whoever had stocked my wardrobe had good taste; I liked most of the pieces, even if the abundance of jewellery made me uneasy.
Necklaces, bracelets, rings—relics of my old life.
But what even was I now? I wasn’t a princess here. Not in this court.
My eyes fell on the tiara under a crystal dome in one of the drawers.
It gleamed faintly in the dim light, as though its beauty could hide the weight of what it represented.
I shut the drawer quickly, telling myself that one day I’d return, and it would be gone, quietly corrected by whoever had made the mistake of placing it there.
Opening the door in a hurry, ready to step out, I walked straight into the king. I collided with a wall of muscle, and the impact knocked the air from my lungs. Before I could fall, his hands caught my arms, steadying me.
‘My God.’ I jerked back, struggling to catch my breath as my pulse thundered in my temples.
‘I usually get “my King”,’ he said with a grin, and I had to bite back the urge to roll my eyes.
‘And to what do I owe the pleasure?’ My tone came out sharper than I intended. Promises of safety or not, I still couldn’t ignore the memory of his temper. Yet, I didn’t step out of his reach either.
The king leaned against the doorframe, the curve of his bicep drawing far too much of my attention. How one person could be so sculpted was beyond me. The way his muscles shifted beneath his skin reminded me of ancient paintings depicting angels.
But he was no angel.
I wondered whether the curse had damaged my brain.
His long fingers tapped against the wood in rhythm with my racing heartbeat, and a faint smile tugged at his lips.
Confident as ever, yet somehow softer than before.
Since my near-death, this new attentiveness of his appeared more often, but the image of his violence still haunted me.
Was there a world where one existed without the other?
‘I was about to run some errands in town,’ he said, almost shyly. ‘Thought you might want to join me.’
‘Town?’ I repeated, blinking. The offer caught me off guard, but the chance to see beyond the castle walls was too tempting to pass up.
‘Yes. A great chance to show you around. Unless you don’t want to go. No pressure.’
I hesitated, searching his expression for the trap. Villain or saviour—I still hadn’t decided. ‘No, I do.’ I grabbed my jacket and bag. ‘Is Michael coming too?’
Something flickered across his face, too quick to name. ‘No. He’s busy.’
‘Spy business?’ I teased, pretending it was a joke, though his jaw tightened at the mention.
‘He told you that?’ The king's voice rose slightly, and he stepped close enough for the tips of our shoes to touch. His eyes darkened to smouldering amber. ‘How close are you two exactly?’
Not wanting to provoke him, I chose my words carefully. ‘He seems like he could be a great friend.’
‘The opposite of me, then,’ he muttered. His irises deepened again, and I wondered if it was self-doubt or self-contempt I sensed. Gaze lingering on my face, he searched for something too.
Having met a couple Fogoyan men recently, I started to wonder if their volatility was cultural, genetic or simply the result of endless war.
‘Oh, come on,’ I said, forcing a lighter tone. ‘You don’t want to be my friend.’
That caught his attention. ‘And why’s that?’
A dozen reasons came to mind, from witchcraft to my indecisiveness, but I went with the simplest. ‘I’m needy.’
A corner of his mouth curved like he didn't expect it. ‘What if I like needy?’
‘You’d get bored of it,’ I said, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks as I pretended not to notice the spark between us.
We walked down the stairs in silence. I watched the subtle ways he scanned his surroundings—the small shifts of his shoulders, the measured pace. A soldier’s habit, always ready for an attack.
We reached the ground floor, and just as I was about to head towards the portal, he turned down a different corridor, opening the door to another staircase.
Though as elegant as the main one, this one was hidden from prying eyes.
I said nothing and followed, curiosity coiling low in my stomach.
Within a minute of our slow descent, we reached the basement.
‘Wasn’t the portal one floor up?’ I asked before following him through another set of wide doors.
The king grinned, his tone playful. He held the door half-open in a way that forced me to duck under his arm. As I passed, he murmured, ‘Look who’s been snooping.’
‘Not exactly snooping when I’ve used it already,’ I shot back, refusing to let him win. His ego was inflated enough. Besides, sparring with him was strangely fun; I just hoped he wouldn't take it too far.
‘We’re taking a car. The route’s scenic—you don’t want to miss it,’ he said, opening the passenger door with surprising gallantry.
The car was massive. Its logo, a swirl of silver flames, told me it must be a local make. It made sense; Fogoya had closed itself off long ago, so of course it'd become incredibly self-sufficient.
‘Most royals I know don’t drive. They portal and have chauffeurs,’ I said, buckling in.
The king flashed a wide smile. ‘So do I. But driving relaxes me.’
I giggled. ‘Is this a roundabout way of saying I stress you out?’
He looked straight into my eyes, tensing. ‘You have no idea.’
My pulse stumbled. I turned to the window, pretending to watch the road, though the smirk lingering in his reflection told me he noticed.