Diana Of Alcotta (Yrsoreth Chronicles 1)

43 ♛ Guts and Gods

Diana blew on the soup and, with enough warmth, fed it to Bastian. No one in the empire, even in the continent, would have witnessed such concern from a noble to her servant, but Diana didn't mind tradition and aristocracy.

Bastian is family.

The old man didn't object and accepted the meal. He smiled after the first taste of the soup. "It's delicious, My Lady."

Indeed, it was not as excellent as his cooking, but she tried hard. And maybe, even if it tasted like seawater, he would praise it anyway.

They told her he already lost his sense of taste. But even he didn't, he was too kind to tell the truth.

"Thank you," Diana said and also gave credit where it's due. "His Majesty caught most of it. He also gutted them."

The lines at the corner of his eyes deepened as he smiled. "He did? Ah, his fishing skills improved a lot. All those times... he asked people to teach him. But not pulling innards."

"Not innards.." She mumbled, spooning a thin cut from the tail meat of the fish for Bastian.

I practiced, Xander had said, and Diana was doubtful. But hearing it from the trusty butler, she was more confused. Why would a man, supposed to be occupied with conquest and war, as well as political affairs, practice fishing?

She didn't dwell deeper into the questions to avoid reading his intentions. Instead, she filled the meal with more catching up with Bastian.

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At night, she watched the ocean beyond the view of her terrace. She contemplated staying for two weeks, the maximum time she could receive Alec's reply. The problem lies with Xander.

"Still pretty warm for the coming winter," a voice said.

Her thoughts disrupted, she turned to the terrace next to hers and answered the newcomer, Xander. "It is."

As the winter winds creep from the west of the Hedalysia continent, the Alcotta Isles isolated on Gran Dacchia's far east, was warmer. The proof was that the snow was last seen seven years ago.

"Did you pray to Yelwe, again?" He asked, referring to their past conversations about the gods.

"He already granted it," she replied, with the thought of the Alcottans' bigger smiles. "I prayed to another."

"Let me guess, Wiersa and Pasisci?"

"Yes," she said even though it was not initially on her mind, but prayed as well. Wiersa, the god of war. Pasisci, the god of peace. The two were said to be twins and inseparable, yet contrasting siblings. She knew exactly why Xander mentioned the gods. After the temporary peace of the island, the matter between the two empires hasn't been resolved yet.

"Your Majesty, may I ask for another favor?"

"Depends on what you ask," was his direct reply.

"Time. May I have two weeks on the island?"

"On one condition."

"Depends on what condition." She threw similar words at him.

A discreet smile crept to his lips. "Just one question."

Weighing the options, she finally nodded. "Ask away."

"Why didn't you return, My Lady?"

This is not where I belong. But the answer was contradicting. If she was honest with herself, it was because she wanted to get away from him.

Despite the distance, Diana still longed for him, even if he was to marry another. It was sinful to cherish a man betrothed to another. Much more, Alec's presence will cause strife among aristocrats and Xander.

Staying in Gran Dacchia would have a higher chance of Alec being discovered. She feared that his son might find out that he was an obstacle to his father's rule.

The boy deserved to be loved.

Diana wanted to make her future with Alec. She relied on her visions too much and her view of the future was too rigid.

She drank poison and risked her life all for the sake of the 'future.' She realized it too late, and thus when the opportunity presented herself, she left.

She wanted to be her own person, not just the woman who risked everything, even her life, in saving the future.

But then, later on, she found out that all her expectations didn't happen and twisted into something she didn't fathom.

"Your Majesty, why was your engagement with Lady Therese broken?"

Xander stared at her, his hair, longer than she remembered, swayed by the breeze. Then he smiled, yet, by the moonlight, it seemed melancholic. "So, you answer questions with questions."

"Maybe."

"Then, why do you think?"

"My thoughts don't matter, Your Majesty."

"Alexander. Call me Alexander instead. And no, your thoughts matter." He whispered, and the wind carried it to her. "They mattered the most."

'This man is shrewd,' is what she thought. Both of them knew that truth would spill out of her mouth more than just saying his name.

"Diana." He said in her silence. "I'll call your name first, this time. When you're ready, you can call my name too."

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