FOR THE UNKNOWN KINGDOM | BOOK 1

CHAPTER 3

Because there he was again, the man to whom that drawing belonged, walking toward me with an ethereal confidence dancing around him. His clothes weren't wet, only his hair, as if the ocean hadn't managed to touch him at all.

"Please—" he said, out of breath and panting, his bandaged hand extended in my direction. "Give it to me."

I stood up, too. His blood-soaked face had the hairs on my arms rising, while his eyes were pleading me to just hand him the drawing.

I cleared my throat, forcing my fears to dissolve and disappear until there was only logic left in me. "First of all, you need to be quieter, okay?"

Taking a step closer to me, he grimaced with pain. If only one person spotted me with that man, I was dead. Being with a man with golden-brown eyes meant that I supported him, that I supported magic. And I was as culpable as him for not handing him to Lantra's governor.

"Please, give me that drawing, and I'll disappear."

"Second of all," I murmured, keeping my face as blank of emotions as I possibly could. Fear was useless now. Feelings, as well. "You need to clean up your wounds or else I won't be able to look at you for more than a minute."

He rolled his eyes. Lifting his right hand to the height of his face, he used the sleeve of his black coat to take away the blood that was splashed all over his face. His brows were knitted in what seemed to be irritation at my demand, but at least now there were only a few scratches on his forehead and on the place between his nose and lips.

"Better?" he asked, his voice now soft, calm, quiet, like I'd ordered.

"Perfect."

Silence fell over us again, his pleading request hovering between us. Not now, not yet.

Crossing his arms, he scouted the place, his stare screaming that he was ready to defeat any possible threat. There were no threats in Lantra, I wanted to say. We were the only ones considered a threat.

"This piece of paper you're holding as if it has zero value is actually one of the most valuable things I own. And I wouldn't hesitate to tear down the whole country just to get it back," he murmured. Words of such power and at the same time vulnerability put together in silent whispers.

He limped to the bench, every step so slow that I would have instantly moved to his side to have him lean on me if he hadn't been a stranger with golden eyes that had emerged from the ocean. So I just followed him.

"You have magic, right?" I asked, already knowing the answer but still wanting to hear it coming from his mouth, as if hearing the words would make me fully comprehend the importance that this sentence held.

The moment he sat on the bench, he started massaging his knee, his movements slow and gentle, like he'd suffered those pains countless times before and he knew exactly how to handle them, alleviate them even.

He didn't meet my stare this time as he said, "I do. But what I don't have is time. So . . . I really need you to give me that drawing."

His words broke the silence I'd grown used to listening for years in every friendship and every relationship I'd had. The silence of the artists, the creators and the dead.

A warm sensation swirled around me as I sat next to him. The drawing that was still in my hands made me wonder why he hadn't just taken it away from me, since it belonged to him and he was so much more powerful than me anyways—as he'd claimed to be, at least.

"I'll only give it to you if you promise me one thing," I declared, my eyes now focused on the ocean in front of us. I could sense him eyeing me and it was that realization alone that had my heart beating faster again. But I forced myself to ignore that feeling of horror, that feeling of unwelcomed terror and move on.