Luminous

53 - The Substitute ❣️

Meya stared, mesmerized by the semblance of vigor and life. Coris tucked away a lock of wet hair dangling before her eyes.

"Anyway, you were marvelous." He breathed, shaking his head in awe. His fingers trailed down to caress her jawline, yet his eyes never left hers, "I've seen how remarkable you could be, but you keep overwhelming me. I—I—"

His voice died in his throat. His lips went on mouthing words he just as soon decided not to utter. In his excitement, he was on the verge of letting it out, but his good sense overrode him, held him back.

Meya knew she shouldn't hope for the impossible, but she had a vague idea what that slip could have been, could as well become. It was impossible not to wait with bated breath.

So she stared, and waited, and searched his wavering eyes, his blanching face, as he continued to falter and fluster. She must have looked to all the world patient, unassuming. Yet, inside her, the cynic and the daydreamer battled for dominance. Her heart hammered like raindrops in a storm.

Coris's trembling lips settled on his empty smile, the vulnerable depths of his eyes shielded by a devious glint. He leaned in with a whisper,

"I have a gift for you."

"A gift?" Meya blurted out, her voice strangled through the bitter lump of disappointment she must swallow as the price for daring to hope. Coris rose from the pool and strode towards their bed, toweling himself dry. Blinking back rebellious tears, Meya hollered after him,

"Why? What for?"

"Nothing. Could be to commemorate your victory, if you'd like."

Coris called over his shoulder. Meya frowned in bewilderment, watching as he knelt before the heavy wooden chest at the foot of their bed. He propped up its lid, tossing around its content with much thudding and rifling of leather and paper—heavy books. Meya threw back her head with a cry of terror,

"Oh, Fyr. Dun tell me..."

"I have no choice but to." Coris straightened, a brick-thick leather-bound grimoire in his hand, along with some blank papers. Meya moaned and clawed at her face, her worst fears confirmed.

Every night before tucking in, Coris would hone Meya's vocabulary and spelling, using a list of words he curated from multitude of books. Afterward, they'd discuss the meaning and background of each word, during which Meya would glean valuable knowledge and understanding about Latakia's inner workings.

Meya greatly enjoyed the latter half—and what usually came after that, of course, but that was only if she survived the endless lines Coris would punish her with for every misspelling.

"Coris, 'tis already late!"

Meya slid like dead weight down the wall of the pool. Coris spun around to find what resembled a submerged crocodile with glowing green eyes flaring from behind a curtain of yellow vines. His grin widened, undaunted even as he stood naked but for a towel around his waist against the chance of dragon fireballs.

"Haven't you just said the night is still young?"

Bubbles frothed at Meya's nose as she cursed underwater.

"But I dun wanna study now!" Meya flipped onto her back, beating her limbs to stir up a water tantrum, "I'm lounging naked in a hot tub, for Freda's sake! And you're doing runes instead of me?"

Coris was crouched beside the pool, arranging the book and stationery. He looked up, transfixed by the sight of his fair maiden lying splayed beneath the surface. The rippling, ice-clear water distorted her naked body as if to seduce. He grinned even as the beast within him rattled its cage, raring to feast.