His smiles don’t escape her. There is an easiness to them that lulls her tension away. Her nature is to be cold and fierce, but she has been playing with fire lately.
Or maybe she is weakening. Is 20 years alone too long? Is it finally eating away at her skin and settling into the heart that she has spent a lifetime protecting?
She is too afraid – too stubborn – to perhaps love, but the curiosity is burning inside to know what it is like to touch and to curl herself into a man. When she glances sideways to him, she notices how he inches closer, but never reaches. It’s in their nature to touch and yet she has a natural deterrent that has preserved her skin, shielded her from everyone she ever knew.
”Felt,” she echoes as it hangs lavishly from his lips. An airy chuckle burns her throat. ”Not in any way you may think,” her reply is awkward and her body shifts underneath his eyes, briefly curling inside herself as she looks away again to stare at the surrounding dunes that act as guardians to their western border. Her mind clumsily fumbles for another answer, another save, but all she can mutter is, ”I will have no legacy at this rate.” Then silence. It holds steadily for a long, painful moment as she draws in more of the salty air.
When she is able to look at him, her fiery eyes curtained behind her forelock, she scrambles for her composure and desperately latches onto it. A stillness creeps along her body as she regards his statement (compliment), remembering when Beqanna was recreated and when they had nothing. Nerine was not yet built and she searched tirelessly for the sisterhood, but she hadn’t been rewarded then. They looked at her as they would an ignorant child. They disregarded her until she finally stepped out from the shadows. Only then did she carve her name into their flesh and into their memories and into the soul of Beqanna. Only then did she escape the overbearing shadow of her mother and grandmother. It wasn’t easy, but it was easier than she anticipated.
”I stole the crown,” she finally admits with a heavy sigh of air, ”or, well, won it, I suppose.” Her shoulders ripple in a nonchalant shrug. ”I took what I wanted by challenging the original Queen of Nerine.” The battle had been feverish but brief as two powers collided, titans rumbling the world, but Nayl quickly became the victor and sauntered home with a smug confidence building in her step (but the simplicity of the victory made it taste slightly bitter). ”I’m not afraid to take what I want, I suppose.” A lopsided grin as the ferocity of her voice returns, the sheepishness from minutes prior quickly melting away.
A dip of her head is meant to usher and guide Magnus down the foreboding path along the Cliffside. Rocks and pebbles tumble around their legs before finding rest as the bottom of a ledge. The footing is questionable and Nayl’s steps meticulous, but it leads them to the shore.
The waves calmly lap at the sand while the seagulls squawk overhead. Behind them lies the cave mouths that so many seek refuge within. Nayl spares them a glance, but nothing more, as her attention first seeks Magnus then the glimmering ocean. ”Tell me your story, Magnus. I know yours is more interesting than mine.” Because hers has only just truly begun.
|
