The Immortal Chronicles | | b o o k 2

33. in youth

Copyright © 2016. All Rights Reserved.

IMMORTAL CHRONICLES : BOOK ONE : cirian wiltshire

. . .

Regnum was just how Cirian remembered it the last time he visited. It rose above the sea on stone-studded bluffs, and shores adorned with massive, chiseled boulders slick with the salty mist of the ocean. They paused for a brief moment in town, distracted by Renée's interest in the marketplace, and saw the artisans at their posts, the fishermen at their leisure, and workers lifting heavy crates of goods from their shops. They arrived no more than ten minutes ago, and Cirian already managed to purchase a souvenir for his wife.

He was in absolute bliss.

It didn't matter that Renée was still adamant about their minimal show of affection in public. There was a spark in her eyes like whenever she succeeded in breaking through his defenses in sword fighting, or nearly pinning Demarcus with the tip of her fencing blade. Thrilling vigor pulsed in every smile she shared, every playful nudge she gave, and every chaste wink she sent his way. As if suddenly they shared a secret that was theirs to keep.

Cirian made no move towards another spontaneous bout of ecstasy since that night in the bath, because he was satisfied in knowing now that Renée was perfectly capable of deciding their love life on her own. The last few nights on the road, when the two of them would be perfectly alone in some remote room in a hostel, she didn't bother with the formalities of full dresses when reading the remaining pages in her current novel. She stretched across the bed in her bloomers, completely and utterly comfortable in the exposure she shared with him.

He'd gotten used to seeing her in her everyday riding clothes, and the trousers that came with them. When they rode into Regnum, though, she was dressed up in a decent gown, and without a mirror, combed out her hair in the carriage in an attempt to braid it. She fashioned the plait from her bangs and around to the opposite side, and in the marketplace, it held up nicely, and shined in the afternoon sunlight a brilliant spark of orange against the herd of muddy mixtures of brunette and black, and the occasional washed-out blonde. Cirian merged into the crowd nicely, if it weren't for the striking difference in his apparel.

Markus walked alongside Renée as they wandered absently among the stands. Cirian was content watching from afar on the steps of an elegant building made of granite and marble. It seemed to be a main attraction, which called the market to take place in the square that stretched out before it. There were people scattered all along the steps, basking in the sunlight, and eating pastries and snacks of the sort.

People flocked to the building archways that Cirian promptly recognized as being a temple. There were women and men dressed in their finer clothes, making herbal offerings of white sage incense and sweet-smelling lavender. He watched the people who laid themselves down on their hands and knees and prayed to the sculpted statue of their goddess.

A good while later, after spending a sufficient amount of time people-watching, Cirian saw Renée weaving her way through the crowd, with Markus in tow. The man was carrying a box of sorts in his hands, and Renée seemed just as chipper as usual.

"Cirian!" she called to him, waving her gloved hand over the crowd of people. He rose to his feet, biting back the laugh he knew was just waiting to bubble out. "Cirian, look here, look here," she exclaimed, prancing up a few steps to meet him. Markus held out the box to her, and she opened the top, her smile breaking up the delicate paleness of her skin with rosy cheeks.

He peered inside and wanted to toss his hand against his heart and faint. "You didn't! Renée!" he chastised.

She let out a haughty sound and snapped the box closed again. "Oh, hush. It's for Ariela. I figured since we came slightly unannounced—"