Something With a Prince

Chapter Forty-Two: When Words Become Sound

Tallethea

The next moment, a flash of blond hair captured my attention as it disappeared behind a wall located across the way. At first, I suspected this was a hallucination, but the distant crunching of gravel proved otherwise. My heart leaped inside me, and I shouted without hesitation, "Lansing!"

When there was no reply, I took off after him. My knees whined at the stress and the feeling of a bruise forming on my temple, most likely from being pelted with gravel, pulsated sharply. Finally, I spotted him walking between two walls on my left. My lungs complained, and the air tasted more and more metallic. Whether it was from running or from the blood of Selma, I had no idea. I didn't really want to know.

"Lansing!" I shouted again, stalking toward him, sheathing my sword, and passing my sleeve over my forehead to wipe away some more of the blood before it got into my eyes.

A smile braced my lips, an unexpected, but not unwelcome, reaction. I felt as if I could not help but express the joy that encapsulated my being just then. Like seeing him was an instant rush. From the moment I had awoken here, I had wanted to speak to him, thank him for what he did in the cellar and tell him that...well, I didn't quite have the words yet, but I felt confident I'd find them when I needed them.

He had stopped in the corridor, waiting for me with his back turned, almost like I had caught him sneaking away from me. At least, that's what he resembled. All tight shouldered and still. He was also wearing the same things as I was but was in much better condition on the cleanliness side of things. It was like opening a window in a stuffy room to witness him before me in this place. I let it sweep in.

Reaching out gently, my fingers turned him by the shoulder. Everything beaming as I breathed out, "Why didn't you stop, I was calling after you?"

Lansing's eyebrows pinched together, and he scanned over me, "Tallethea?"

"What are you doing here?" It was my turn to look confused, the smile on my face faltering a little, "Why didn't you stop when I said your name?"

He seemed disoriented, but then I realized that he was not out of focus, but in hyper-focus. Those amber eyes slid over my hands, shirt, pants, neck, and face taking in every drop of blood visible. Indeed, I was covered, and I would wager he could sense those droplets that were invisible as well, as his eyes went jagged, poignant. Lansing swallowed, lips starting and stopping as if he were about to explode with words but didn't dare speak.

Such a look made me uneasy, and I quickly scrubbed at my face. "Sorry, I know I'm disgusting right now--"

"Whose blood is that?" He cut me off, a quiet hurt permeating the air and his voice. Any softness or compassion that he had shown me in the cellar was dissipating at the sight of me. Fear seemed like a spider in my stomach, one you try to smash only to discover it was carrying its young, and now they are scattering everywhere.

"It doesn't matter, you're here. We can finally get out of this hellish place."

When I moved forward to touch him, he flinched away, bringing up his arm as a shield. To this reaction, no words could express the pang of sorrow in my soul. Desperately, my eyes searched his face for an answer, for a hint of a reason for why he would flinch at me.

Where had that look gone? The one he had in the cellar, and in that room where I almost kissed him. All this time, I had been thinking maybe, maybe we could be friends, maybe I could extend that locked away part of me to him, and he might do the same, and maybe it would grow... But now the structure of his face, the honey of his eyes against the grey of the sky, the parted space of his lips all seemed untouchable. And as if my flesh had been stripped, I was laid bare to the elements.