𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐃│✔

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟗

"My...outfit?"

"From what Liam told me, you'll infiltrate as a priestess from the temple near Hillas. You've said it yourself, that following the route they've been pursuing, the temple should be within their reach in less than ten days time."

"Indeed, so I was planning on wearing a regular temple garment."

"Your Grace -"

"Please, call me Pandora. We're both mortals, there's no need to address me as if I'm anything more than that."

"Very well," she smiles, "If you call me Candice."

"As you wish, Candice." I roll the letters of her name slowly over my tongue, tasting its meaning expectantly.

For mortals with an overly powerful mana presence - such as High Nobles - calling someone by their birth name gives them a sense of belonging and control over that person. If I were to ask Candice to do something for me, swirling tints of mana in the letters of her name, she would be more inclined to do it. However, only if she were to give me her Holy name would she surrender all of her to me. For her Holy name is bound to her soul, unlike her birth name that's only bound to her body. Soldiers often hand over their Holy name to their captain, hence hand over their lives to them. Father has tried endeavoured many times to access mine, because once he did, he could extract my curse from my soul with no regards to my body's condition.

I never ceded it to him - to anyone.

That name withholds the last strand of identity still standing. Without it, I would've truly been nothing. A borderless pit of emptiness. I've heard stories about couples who exchanged Holy names as evidence of the unconditional love they reciprocate. To feel for someone so truly, to trust someone so deeply, that you're willing to lay completely bare-souled in front of that person. That you'd let someone look into the abysmal depths of your every being. I wouldn't wish such atrocious exposure to any body. Or soul, for that matter.

A shill runs down my spine at the contemplation.

"Pandora, do you know the adequate dress code of our Holy Priests?"

Dress Code?

"Aren't all temples wearing the same garments?"

She lets out another courteous laugh. We haven't finished the content of our tea pot, yet her vocal cords have closed to let out such amiable sound so many times already. To be able to laugh so effortlessly, I admire her to no ends for it.

"And that is why I'll let my personal maid take your measurement. It'll take the time of your leave to design a well-fitted High Priestess dress." she says, and right on queue a maid knocks on the door before coming in, a measuring tape and scrolls of papyrus occupying her strong arms.

"I could've let my personal maid do this in my room, you didn't have to bother." I whisper as the maid writes down the size of my waist on paper. The bluntness of her charcoal pen leaving the scripture botchy."Where would the fun of that be?" Candice smiles in return, her allure not once faltering.

"Anyways, now that that's done. Let's head to diner!"

This is going to be fun.

"I had never, in my entire life, heard such high pitched shrill coming from a grown-ass man!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up! You would've pissed your pants if a spider this big appeared crawling on your chest out of nowhere!"

The table snickers. All of them looking up to Sir Pisces standing up from his chair, pointing a sauce-dipped fork at Sir Aries, who cockily leans back in his chair with a coy smirk plastered on his face.

"We were in the middle of damn practice when you suddenly run off, screaming like the little girl you really are," the King joins in, "I'd never seen you run that fast though, congrats."

The abundance of their voices hazes to the background as I inspect the gawk-worthy male sitting at the other side of the table. A row of straight, white teeth seeming more dazzling with the evening candle light. His ever so celadon eyes skim over Adonis's standing form, before finding my stare leisurely. That's how we both grasp onto each others' curiosity for one another. His gaze may have disregarded my presence throughout the evening. But, as if being a compass searching for the true North, they couldn't keep themselves from going back to me, whenever they thought I wouldn't notice. Yet I did, the moment I walked in, I felt it. The attraction he feels whenever in my presence. The subtle change in attitude when he notices me noticing him. His chuckles becoming laughs, his smiles becoming profound, his stiff posture becoming open, and the dark circles under his eyes gaining rest. He reminds me of a dog spotting its owner - the centre of his world. It's a shame I'm more of a cat person. Thinking about cats, I wander off to today's meeting with the aggravating councilmen of our House. The chess pieces spread out on the map of our territory establishes that the rebels, or Salavars as they prefer to call themselves, were marching through the Cold Blood Clan in a straight line to Cat-Eye.

"Pandora?"

Had they followed through with that route, they could've easily bypassed our main port, and entered through the weakened city of Jeney. So, why? Why take a sharp left, miles from our borders, going straight into our heavily secured mines of Kiona?

"Pandora?"

As if they want to cross paths with as many people as possible. The same was done in the Central District of Silver Scale. Instead of going through the poor region of Siamese Barrio, they took a detour to the affluent neighbourhood Neon Tetra. Counting the hours of rest any shifter needs to be able to function sanely, each one of those 'missteps' takes half a moon longer than they would've needed if they'd just stick to their plan. Stealing ransoms after each riot would be too much of a hassle to carry on foot, and looking at the members of their resistance, it's obvious that manpower isn't something they can toy with so easily as to take on unnecessary battles on a whim.

Just what is it the aim for by doing this?

"Pandora," the subtle pressure of fingertips against my shoulder wakes me up from my dazed state, "Are you alright?"

Candice's worried expression passes by me when I feel another three pair of eyes on me, each one seeming less genuinely worried than the last. Each one more fearful than the next. The King's gaze stills on my face, on my furrowed brows. Sir Pisces' less alert expression goes over my form idly, the crystal glass of burgundy liquid resting on his bottom lip. The only one not focusing on me, but rather what I'm holding is Sir Aries, who doesn't look away from the spoon I'm gripping onto with so much force that I fear it might bend under my hold.

It hurts.

To only have the attention of those around me on these occasions, that might involve them in danger also. For none of them are looking at me with worry, but rather at what might've made me look so perplexed. Because they must know that what is feared by me, should be feared by all of them.