The Cold Prince

9

Word Count: 1827

~Avila

I stare down at the paper in front of me, my scrawlings so ambiguous in nature, anyone watching me would have no idea what I'm trying to convey.

It turns out, whatever artistic abilities I had before I lost my life are now gone, because I can't muster up anything half decent.

Groaning, I drop the coloured pencil, resting my forehead against the desk.

Who am I?

The sound of shuffling feet have me whirling around in my seat in panic. Despite being the middle of the day, my mind immediately jumped into assuming it would be Emerick visiting me again.

"It's okay, it's just me," Vade soothes, stepping into the room. "I wanted to bring you this. Roel asked me to."

He holds a pile of books out to me, seeming uncomfortable. He generally avoids me at all costs, so I imagine Roel really had to push him to come bring me some books.

I take them gently, resting them on the desk.

The way we are standing reminds me of the flashback I had yesterday. We are in a similar position, and instead of flowers, he's giving me books.

Yet the dynamic between us is completely different. I'm the nervous one trying to impress him now.

"What are they about?" I ask, shifting through them curiously.

"Some history on the Territories, your family and the political system," he responds.

I bury my hand in my hair, sweeping it away from my face. The moment I'm around Vade, I'm immediately anxious. Something about the way he looks at me sends a chill through me in the most erotic way. It feels shameful to think about, but I'm painfully attracted to the cold, distant man in front of me.

I wish I felt different...I wish I could hate him like he hates me. But I don't.

"Thank you," I breathe, studying him sheepishly.

He nods his head before turning away, ducking it down slightly to pass through my door frame.

"Wait, Vade..."

He pauses, turning back. There's something like hope in his eyes, although it's quiet amongst everything else. The resentment, the distrust, the irritation.

"I used to draw, right?" I say awkwardly, motioning to the desk. "I had a flashback about it."

His dark eyes tentatively shift to the desk. I can see the apprehension, considering I've snapped at him before for trying to look at my drawings.

There's nothing to look at now anyways. It's frankly embarrassing.

"You were an incredible artist. You could turn anything into a beautiful painting. I've always been envious of that ability," he muses, his breathing evening out.

"You no longer have to be...I can't draw anymore." I pick up the piece of paper, holding it up in front of him.

He raises a brow at my attempt at drawing the gardens outside. The slightest hint of amusement plays at his lips.

"Strange."

"It's like I know I should be able to, but I can't physically bring my hand to create anything," I grumble, balling the paper up before tossing it hopelessly onto the desk.

Vade levels a look, uncertainty playing on his expression. It's like he wants to say more, but he can't decide if he actually wants to engage. To engage means to have a real conversation with me, and he's clearly scared of that.

"Roel may know what's going on..." He steps back.

"What if he doesn't. What if there are no answers?" I question. My fear is real, but in reality, I want to keep pulling him back.

I don't want him to walk away...I don't want him to pretend like I don't exist.

"Then that is a reality you must live with," he says. "There are far worse things than being who you once were."