Chapter Thirteen
Yesterday, tailing his speech, Nathiel had announced the time and place for our rendezvous. However, his booming speech had been audible by the many, many women standing in the broad towns square, watching him – the crowd bunching about at the base of the railroad only drives the illogical point of his decision home.
Steam puffs into the air. It twirls up in a plethora of spiraling fumes, issued both from the lips of the hopeful women gathered and the mouth of the smokestack on the great engine growling from the track.
Though often I’d wondered, I’ve never really seen one of these fabled trains up close. I’ve glimpsed it briefly from afar, shining black hide visible from rooftops away. I’ve heard its roar quaking the earth beneath my feet. But never before have I seen the monsters the nobles had tamed to drag them from place to place.
Steam chugs angrily from the pipe. The slick black metal is glossy, as though oil coats its surface. The wheels are large and round, spokes connected by a slender rod. Car after car is bolted to one another. A round face pockmarked with nails heads the machine, a single eye taking form of a light bulb in the center of the plate. The gears hiss and pop. Perhaps the very attitude is a portentous omen, indicating the failure of my trip already.
Wreathed in early morning mist, Nathiel stands behind a row of pugnacious guards. His face is haughty and arrogant as always, his eyes searching the growing crowd of women. He does not have a clue on my appearance, and I, in turn, have no other way to reveal to him my identity other than my voice. Any utterance made by me will be lost in the din of these gathering women. It is unlikely they’ll let within ten feet of the Prince.
From the alley, I watch vigilantly. I await Gay’s return; he’d darted off into the shadows to deal with dirty work. Last night, we’d agreed for his fantasy concerning stealing away onto the train to become a reality. However, for the plan to be set in action, there needs to be a sudden and unexplained vacancy, one not to be noticed by the other staff; a kitchen boy or perhaps one butler among many.
Footsteps crunch over the gravel layering the ground, heading down the alley. Instinctively, I’m aware of who approaches me from behind. My eyes meet the hazel irises of Gay in one smooth movement, our gazes locking.
“Is it done?” I question softly. Gay nods. He joins me, hanging by my shoulders.
Whistling quietly, Gay chuckles, “That’s a whole lot of impersonators. You’ve acquired a fan-club.” Before I can respond, he meets my eyes. For the first time, my gaze skirts down to his hand, where something is gingerly clutched in his fist. “Here. I got you these.” His fingers unfurl, his hand extending, his palm up.
The gesture is strangely touching. Lying in his hands are three topaz feathers, dappled with black spots along the airy material. The very feathers Gay had painstakingly attached to my flashy mask. They quiver in his hand, affected by the small breeze. Slowly, I reach over to scoop them up. The gentle fingers are tender to my palm. The slightest blush coloring my cheeks, I slip the three feathers into my pocket, careful not to crush their delicate stalks.
“Thanks.” Though my voice does not venture beyond a whisper, there’s emotion in my tone. My gratitude isn’t hidden. “But this isn’t goodbye.”
Gay smirks. “Please. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. It’s just something for you to remember me by. Leave it in your room, lying on a table or something, and when I play maid, I’ll find them. Then I’ll know you want to talk. Secret messaging system, you could say. Now, we need to figure out how to get you past those women.” Gay eyes them with scrutinizing disdain, his nose wrinkling. “Princy-Pie won’t recognize you.”
“He will recognize you,” I point out, eager to leave the emotional moment behind. “You could walk me up. They’re women, and you’re a man; they’re practically trained to get out of your way. It should be relatively easy.”
“Yeah.” He flicks his fingers. “But it’s bad enough that I’ll have to avoid the Prince; I don’t want to risk getting in the line of sight of any other lords or earls, not to mention wander anywhere near those guards. Are you sure that Aaron man will keep his lips sealed?”
I hesitate. “If he was going to say anything, he would’ve done it by now. The point that Nathiel still wants me along proves that he’s been silent thus far. I’ll try my best not to piss him off.” A strategy pops in my head, suggested by my line of thought. “Here’s an idea: Maybe you could hang back, meet Nathiel’s eyes, and then back away. He’d look to me.”
Gay considers this. “That may work. If you also search for eye contact. I’m not a one man show. But yeah, we could pull that off.” His eyes graze over my appearance sharply. “You’ve got all your gear? Knives? Survival packs?”
I swing my drawstring back about in a scurrilous fashion. “And my copy of Harry Potter, fear not,” I tease gently, referring to his sacrosanct love of the book. “Let’s get this over with. The sooner I brave that beast, the better.”
Gay nods. He scowls at the open clearing. “God, I hate socialization. At least I won’t have to talk to anyone.” With a salient stride, Gay takes the lead, morphing from the shadows. Nervously, I pat myself down, feeling over my rugged clothing one last time, before following him into the clearing.
The spice of the morning air dances through my lungs. The moment my foot hits the gravel, I feel eyes drawn to mine. The very assemblage of women pauses. Beneath the sudden attention, I feel exposed and violated. Though I dare not blush or reveal any other signs of emotion, its pressuring. But it also works in our advantage; attracted by the sudden show of attention, Nathiel swings his eyes first to Gay, and then to me.
With all honesty, I’ve never seen the Prince without his mask on, either. Sharp cheekbones reign above full lips. His skin is dark and smooth, beaded with dew from the morning’s breath. Expressive brown eyes glint with recognition and building lust as he takes me in. I cannot help being drawn to his towering height and proud span of his broad shoulders. A smile curves his angular face.
Gay pats me on the shoulder once, disappearing down the alley like one of the shadows we’d emerged from. Nathiel beams at me, very much pleased. Perhaps in his eyes, I am beautiful, after all. He can hold true to his promise.
My feet carry me towards the Prince. This time, I do not conceal my tennis shoes, nor hide the proud stalk I derived from predators on the open forest. Like pathetic kittens, the females part before me, with meekness not found in the eyes of anyone with a tickle of self-respect. Their backs hunched and shoulders slouched, they scurry back. Some wear elaborate masks, as if the Prince will be fooled by the “mystery”.
My feet are steady over the gravel. Undaunted by the guards circling Nathiel, I step up the steep stairs leading to the podium. After initial uncertainty, the officials let me pass. It is not them that I fear and lust for the opinion of, so I need not pay them much attention at all.
Nathiel steps forward to greet me. The delicate balance of his proud features is seldom found anywhere other than his harmonious face. Obdurate cheekbones and malleable dark eyes sing with beauty, and full lips only add to his striking display.
Muscles gnaw at the fabric of his loose white shirt, it seems, swelling to attract my attention. The nebulous mist shrouds his body in a halo of grey. His throat dives into the firm line of his collarbone, tendons predominant in the structure of his neck. Broad shoulders and generous biceps carve his upper body into a sculpted map of muscles, appealing both to a favorable eye and my more critical nature. The white fabric of his shirt accents the chocolate pallor of his dark skin. In loose, silky locks, his hair tumbles down from his face, very different from the typical bushy appearance of others with his skin tone. The orange lining his pupils seems to sharpen in color upon first sight, though that may be the overactive imagination of a hormonal teen.
I can feel his eyes skating over me, now making his decision with sight and the light of day shining down upon us. The prolonged silence worries me, even though I feel that the Prince would not dismiss me in front of all these people, and certainly not after his speech. Toss me off the side of the tracks, however, perhaps.
When he does speak, his voice is as even as it is eloquent. “Omega? I take it I am in your company?”
A smile toys with my lips. Staring up at him through my lashes, I nod. “What’s the matter, Your Majesty? Don’t like what you see?” One hand flies to my hip, resting there in a position that should appeal to him.
The answering smirk creeps over Nathiel’s face in a desultory manner, familiar and closely resembling the lustful expressions he’d worn at the masquerade dance. Brilliant white teeth peek through his lips. “See?” Nathiel’s purr is sexy beyond logic, sending my heart rattling uncontrollably. He steps forward, bringing the proximity to a personal closeness. “Like I said,” whispers the Prince huskily. “Beautiful.”
I close the meager distance between us, setting my hands on his shoulders. Widening my eyes and enlarging my pupils to imitate adoration, I press my own body against his. Heat shared from another chases the morning’s chill away, purging the ice from my veins. The muscles beneath my fingers are unrelentingly firm, the rhythm of his heart speeding ever so gradually against the soft skin of my palm. Dark beauty glints in his ravenous eyes.
“Shall I give you a tour of the train?” he questions, deep voice hinting at eagerness to leave behind the gawking eyes of the public. “It looks bleak from the outside, I know, but…” He trails off, a gleam entering his eye. “I’ve found some places to be quite magical.”
Catching the double meanings and squelching my nervousness, I slowly run my hands up from his chest to around his neck. “That sounds brilliant. I’ll need to drop my stuff off.”
“Of course.” Nathiel’s hands brush the sides of my body, caressing from my hips until they rest on the sides of my arms. “We can head to your room first, if you’d like.”
My eyebrow cocks. Separate rooms means less intimacy and less time for him to take advantage of me. If I utter a word on the evocative subject, though, things will undoubtedly change to better accommodate the Prince’s lusts.
“I’d like that.” My lips are a hair away from his, the tenderness of our interaction amplified by the slight brushing of skin. “Would you?”
His hands slide beneath my backpack, lifting the weight from my shoulders. Gliding over my back, his palms massage my tensed muscles, bringing involuntary relax to their tense readiness. The warmth of his body pressing against mine exacerbates internal hormones, turning my inner warfare for dominance to a nuclear bomb site.
“I would like that.” Nathiel's lips are soft as feathers, hovering over mine, brushing my skin with trails of fluttering fire. “I would like that a lot.”
I allow myself to be gently tugged away from the plaza, shielded from the piercingly disapproving eyes of other women. The guards disappear behind us, the train daunts ahead. Nathiel leads me past the puffing engine, past the jet black coals, and towards the numerous cars latched onto the rear of the train, like iron ducklings following a single susurrous mother. His hands, albeit firm where they rest on the small of my back, seem as soft as the first flake of snow in the verging winter months. The warmth burning from his palms can only be resembled to the heat of an inferno licking my skin, exiling the chill of the early morning.
Primal fear sends me stomach reeling as he drags me nearer to the growling steel of the train. My legs lock, tendons seizing control. Stiff and dysfunctional, instincts claim control of my reason and thrust it into an unassailable abyss. Though my mind knows that this creature is tamed and held back by iron chain, my body refuses to compute the bindings and logic.
My mass slams into Nathiel’s espousing chest. My elbow catches him in the tender flesh beneath the ribs, jarring his breath. His lips are at my temple, his quick gasp echoing floutingly in my ear. Mortification quickly overrules instinct, and epiphany swiftly outranks mortification. I huddle away from the train with exaggerated fright, allowing the ruddy blush to color my cheeks and attempting to stagger away from Nathiel as not to over-act.
His arms close around me, two bands of thick, heavy muscle. They twine together, resting between on my stomach. The expansion and contraction of his chest rocks me to a lulling, steady beat, muscles flexing with the motion. The sharp edge of his chin sits at my temple, the proximity of our faces sending ecstatic thrills through my body. My fingers quaver as they touch his full bicep in a gesture of drawing comfort. His lush skin pulses beneath my fingers, smooth and flawless.
“Are you afraid?” The low whisper in my ear is devoid of any easily discernable emotion, but by the way I am clutched, by the way I am positioned, by the way he holds me not against his crotch but to his abdomen – the most muscled area of the male body – reveals something more.
“No,” I lie, playing the part of the tough girl frightened of simple things. I try in vain to wriggle from his embrace, not placing any real strength or thought into my motions at all.
“Are you sure?” Voice a playful murmur, he places his lips to the flank of my forehead. “Because I can protect you.”
Perhaps I would’ve responded with something witty. Perhaps I would’ve responded with something cowardly. Perhaps I would’ve dragged him to bed. Perhaps my future could efflorescent, bright, standing beside the Prince as a concubine. Perhaps I live in a world of sunshine and gilded personalities as well.
A high, female scream turns my blood to ice. Every muscle in my body tenses, awaiting sudden release at the slightest threat. Years of being the prey in the woods has honed my senses to a science, stimulating reactions to the air I breathe, the degree of light over the town, the body language of others. I consider it my lagniappe.
It takes me less than a few milliseconds for her shrill screech to be amalgamated with the voices of others, all crying out with horror. Nathiel flinches with surprise, his hold around me loosening as he cranes his head to peer towards the turmoil of sound. His nostrils flare and the tendons on his neck are tight as cords. An opportunity to run, one I don’t miss.
I duck beneath the cover of his arms, fully expanding my lungs with a deep breath. I espy Nathiel’s unguarded surprise, but in the swiftness of the moment, it barely catches my attention. My fingers converge into blades, prepared to slice into the wind. Tugged from its carefully bound plait by the winds, my braid whistles through the air, flying like a dark flag behind me as I begin to race.
Heart hammering in my veins, I race towards the sounds of screaming. There is only one place the ruckus could originate from, one place with both the concentration of females and the troublemakers necessary. Terror fuels each step.
The soles of my feet smack against the ground with determination. My vision sharpens. The cool air hardly bothers my lungs, the frosty chill more resembling the wintry caress of my own laudatory strength than an obstacle. Muscles burn over my body, their aches energizing the next powerful stride. I struggle to elongate each leap, willing my body to slice through the oncoming gales with increased force. Terror adrenalizes me to dash even quicker over the street, my feet a blur.
Hitting a hard right, I whip around the corner leading to the plaza. My legs slam into a halt, disbelief crushing my heart and my reaction to the current situation. Women cluster along the walls of the officials’ buildings, clutching one another with staged fright. A flurry of motion on the stage is what catches my eye.
Still panting from my sprint, a sudden weight stops my heart. My mind only has the time to roughly recognize an official grabbing Gay by his hazel locks, shoving him roughly to his knees at the edge of the raised platform, and holding a loaded gun to the back of Gay’s head.
My histrionic scream is even louder than the nefarious gunshot that follows.