ARTHUR
THAT EVENING, Arthur studied his brother; something smelled off. He was too happy…and he would not stand for it. He chuckled while growing mushrooms, thinking of ways to rectify it.
Elaine crunched her face while side-eyed him, then leaned over to whisper to Artizea. "You have been leaving a lot lately. Where are you always disappearing to?"
Artizea smirked, "Sometimes the palace walls feel stifling. A bit of air clears my head."
Elaine tilted her head, "Was that supposed to be for Father or Arthur?" she scoffed, "Come on, I am your one and only sister. Please tell me, where are you going? It is not like I can follow you, Arthur grounded me…" she whimpered.
"Damn right I did," Arthur muttered. "Talk to the plants."
Elaine huffed in boredom, then quickly stuck out her tongue.
ARTIZEA
Dinner concluded shortly after; at first, she thought about doing the sensible thing in walking straight to her chambers, though she found herself slipping through a servant's corridor. Finding herself at the edge of the lake once more. The moon was just as high as the night before. She had not planned on entertaining the notion of a 'date', but somehow, her feet had carried her here anyway.
"You came, Artizea Pendragon," came a husky voice from behind her.
To him.
"Yes, well, we have figured out you are not very good at letting people have alone time," she mused. "I would not put it past you not to 'glide' by my balcony."
"Would you fault me?" he chuckled
"I would not…" she grinned, "Though, should you not be in heaven, Angel," she called again, her tone teasing but wary. Finally, Artizea turned slightly to see him leaning lazily against a tree, arms crossed, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Rhyssand chuckled, "Should you not be in a castle, Princess?"
For months, their paths had crossed in the halls, heated stares and dangerous proximity had fueled an inner flame and desire within, that same fire that threatened to consume them. And now, they had every chance to act upon it.
Artizea faced the water once more, then bit her lip while slowly taking off one of her gloves, tossing it at him, hitting him square in the chest, making him raise a brow. She giggled, rolling the second glove slowly from her fingers before tossing it too. He caught it this time, before she caught his reaction. She spun toward the water, failing to hide her smile when she then looked over her shoulder. Her eyes locked with his while she stepped out of her tunic, which slid down her frame ever so slowly, curling around her thighs before finally pooling in the grass.
Challenge issued.
Rhyssand dropped her glove, then stepped closer, concealing his wings once more. Shirt gone. Boots forgotten. Seconds later, they were Inches apart. Heat swirled around them, even in the cool lake. Her breath hitched when the warmth of his hand tilted her chin; her neck felt a sharp bearable, his towering height pressed down on her, proof again that he had been right: they were not equals. When his other hand slid lower, finding her hip, she swallowed hard against the whimper that nearly escaped. They should have kissed, and they almost did. Then Splash. Water hit his face. He blinked, water dripping from his hair strands and jaw. Through his lashes, he saw Artizea giggling innocently. His eyes narrowed. That made her freeze.
Catching the danger and lack of ground she possessed in this moment, the only reasonable course of action would be to flee, and she tried her best, but she was too slow. Based on the way, Rhyssand caught a handful of her hair, wrapping the loose strands around his fingers, not enough pressure to hurt, but just enough to make her stand still.
"Rhyssand—"
"Try again." He pulled her head down, catching her by the waist. Her earlier laughter was replaced with uneven breathing.
"Rhys," Artizea whispered.
Whatever walls had been between them were gone as they gazed at each other, their eyes wild with passion. Their bodies pressed close, their breathing slowed. His hands cradled her face.
"I have yet to ask my question." Artizea blurted out.
Rhyssand raised a brow, fighting a grin, and said, "By all means." Stall as long as you wish. He thought.
Think Artizea, Think, she thought."What happened to your brother?" she asked softly. "You said you had one."
Rhyssand's gaze flicked toward her and the sky, "He died," he said simply, letting go of her hair.
"How?" sinking into the water.
"In battle." The answer was Final. A door closed and locked behind the words.
"My deepest sympathies," Artizea muttered, to which he half smiled. She did not press further. Instead, she crept closer, catching him while his gaze was lost in the stars. With a sudden tug at his bangs, she pulled his head down, laughing under her breath. He shook his hair free, droplets scattering. "That is how it feels," she teased, raising her middle finger in mock defiance.
Rhyssand tilted his head, arching a brow. A faint twitch followed, as if time itself had begun to tick between them visibly."Before I pass my judgment… It is midnight. Do you have another question, Artizea?"
She finally met his gaze. After a thought, she said, "No, I have a request, Rhys…snez…." She folded her arms, giving up while ahead, "Two truths and a lie," she finally managed.
"What?"
"It is a wager game, The whole the whole truth and nothing but the truth originally, but we switched it up now and then," she explained, a flicker of a smile ghosting across her lips. "My family plays it sometimes. Arthur always loses because he's the worst liar of the four of us, mostly because he cannot help it."
Rhyssand arched a brow. "Believe it or not, my realm is not that different from yours. I know what it is, I just… never played a game before, at least with my family. You will take advantage, I can tell."
She placed a hand over her heart, "I swear it as a future monarch to another, upon my mother's roses I shall not cheat."
"Are these… special roses?"
"Long story," she beamed, "Maybe I will tell you someday."
Rhyssand smirked, "Fine then, you go first."
"Let's see…" tilting chin in consideration. "I hate the color yellow, I have a very dead lover, and I once stole an entire tray of my brother's favorite tarts and blamed it on my sister, because I knew he would believe it."
Rhyssand's expression shifted instantly. His lips twitched. He tried not to laugh, but failed.
Artizea's eyes narrowed. "What is so funny?"
"Nothing…" he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. But when she turned away, he stepped closer, his smile gentler now. "Forgive me," he said, reaching for her hand. He caught it and tugged her softly toward him until she was pressed against his chest.
"Guess the lie," she whispered.
He looked down at her, brushing his thumb lightly across her fingers. "You forget," he murmured. "I have been watching you for quite some time. I know about the lover you lost." He leaned closer, voice low against her ear. "And I know you would never blame your sister for anything, just as I know she would take the fall for your sweet tooth addiction."
Artizea's breath hitched because Elaine had.
"And you do not hate the color yellow, you love the sunrise so much so you wake up at the dawn of every marrow just to watch it, you just dislike the truth of the fact that there's something else you would rather see now and you cannot stop yourself from admiring…me." Rhyssand rested his chin atop her head. "My turn?" he asked with a smirk.
"Listening…" she breathed out, trying to focus on the freckle on his chest, hoping perhaps if she stared long enough, it could stop her from evaporating the lake.
"I have a bird who sings terribly in the morrow…there's a bewitching, beautiful lady in my arms, and I am infatuated with her." She stilled. Lifting her face slowly.
He lowered his head to catch his favorite hue. He had the best of both worlds; they reflected at him ever since they got, and oh how he adored testing just how long he could make it stay on her cheeks… "Guess the Lie…" he grinned.
"Well," she said softly. "Fin is a terrible singer. I am in your arms and, apparently, beautiful. So the lie is…" She hesitated. Her voice dropped."You are not… infactuated with me." leaning her lips to the freckle.
Rhyssand smiled then, "Wrong…" he whispered. "You are no lady." Her breath caught, upon his palm rising cup, her jaw. "What is your wager, princess?"
"Is there someone else…?" she managed.
"There was."
"Who?"
He let the word hang. "You are out of questions for this cycle."
"Do not bullshit me, Rhyssand. I am not fucking some other woman's man. You want me, and I want the truth, and youare going to give it to me because it is within your ability to answer, is it not?"
"You want the truth?" He repeated, softer.
"Yes—"
"Have it then—" his grip on her jaw tightened, while his other hand slipped along her spine, then further down,the water of the lake could try its best to take the credit for her wetness, but he knew better. "I had a fiancée. We were to be wed for the sole purpose of siring an heir," he lowered his head to inhale her scent via her cheeks. She smelt heavenly when she was aroused, even better when she knew he knew that she was.
"And?" she mumbled, then hitched upon, feeling pressure below.
"I called it off," he whispered.
"When..?" she whimpered, but pressed on.
"The moment I saw you." His eyes burned into hers. "You are very much correct. I dowant you, and I willhave you." Without a word, he lifted Artizea. She yelped and squirmed, but his arms cradled her to shore, while she struggled against his grip.
"You have two options of judgment, Princess. Choose wisely." His voice was low.
"Fine… what are they?" still fighting in vain.
"Now," Rhyssand murmured, his breath brushing her ear. "Or never."
Artizea stilled, but her pulse quickened. "What is that supposed to mean?" she yelped when he caught her legs, lifting and securing them firmly around his waist. The sudden shift stole the breath from her lungs.
"What is it going to be, Crown Princess?" he murmured.
He got his answer when his lips were unexpectedly captured by hers in a kiss that left them both breathless, though it was cut short by a beastly growl that rumbled in Artizea's throat, her hands flying to her mouth in shock.That was new. Though Rhyssand was far from being intimidated, the primal sound only added to the intensity of the moment. He growled back, his angelic features twisting into a feral grin. "I know how to handle you," he whispered against her lips. "Kneelfor me, Princess," he commanded, his voice low. "You know you want to."
For once in her life, Artizea complied, her knees sinking into the soft grass. Her hands fell from her mouth, reaching for the waistband of his trousers, her fingers trembling slightly as she freed his throbbing length, her breath catching at the sight of his impressive manhood. She ran her fingers along its length, marveling at its vines' pulsing with a golden hue. Every so slowly, she finally lifted her gaze to meet his; her breath caught in her chest, they were at their full brightness, only this time she had no wish to look away. She needed to feel—someone else's fire—a flame that would spare everything around her, yet merciful enough to ruin only her. She yearned to be burned to ash, so that the real Artizea Pendragon, the one she kept burning alive, may be Reborn.
"I have never… done this before." She finally confessed.
Rhyssand tilted his head, "Do you require my assistance?" He asked in a nonteasing tone.
Artizea gave a small, trembling nod.
"You remember what to say, do you not?"
Her lips parted, the word spilling out in a whisper. "Please…"
Rhyssand's thumb brushed her bottom lip, holding her jaw with deliberate care."Open," he ordered.
She obeyed, lips parting. His thumb slid inside, "Lesson number two," he murmured, voice low and deliberate. "When I do this—" he pressed, down against her tongue, guiding her gently. "You do that. No teeth…" he stressed, "Got it?"
She hummed a soft "mhm" around him, eyes wide.
When he finally withdrew his thumb, she whimpered at the loss, saliva slicking her lips. With a firm hand, he tilted her chin upward, guiding her gaze and her mouth toward his waiting length.
"Show me."
She leaned forward, her breath ghosting over the sensitive tip, and then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she took him into her mouth. A groan escaped her; her warm, wet mouth enveloped him. She sucked gently at first, her tongue swirling around the head, savoring his taste. Then, with growing urgency, she took him deeper, her lips sliding up and down his shaft.
"Fuck, Artizea—" Rhyssand hissed, his hands gripping her hair, holding her in place.
She moaned around his cock, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through his body. "I know what you need—" He said, thrusting his hips forward slowly…"To be tamed…" he whispered, "Is this why you wish to say my name so badly? You wish to scream it at the top of your lungs?"
She huffed a no.
Rhyssand grabbed her hair once more, picking up the pace."That is what you long for. To yield, to be undone, and not just by just anyone." His voice dropped lower, a vow and a threat entwined. "By me."
Artizea did not protest this time, nor could she; she simply looked up at him, her red eyes smoldering with building desire. With a final, deep thrust, Rhyssand pulled out of her mouth. She fought to catch the last shreds of breath, thought it was instantly stolen from her once more, as their tongues danced. He laid her down on the grass that now felt like a blanket, another question for another day, perhaps, she thought. Her left hand flew to his grounding hand, while the other dug into his shoulder, anchoring herself. But what good was an anchor… that no desire to be still?
He turned her over, pulling her closer, adjusting her to the right level.
"—I quite liked the other way…" she protested.
"You do not listen to me, or a word I say—" positioning himself at her entrance, "So why should I listen to you, Huh?" he murmured, "Take it well, and I shall reconsider…"Artizera's mouth thinned, "I have contraceptives—" she blurted out.
Rhyssand's mouth curved into a dangerous smile. "Mine are better than tea…" he said, his hand reaching out to brush a specific lock of hair from her face, then cupped her jaw, an action that seemed to make her tinted cheeks all the more visible, even more so when he tilted it to his gaze. This time, he leaned in for a nibble of it. He needed to see her, he needed to see what she had become of her after…
"What are yours?" she whimpered at the sudden pressure.
Rhyssand leaned close, his lips brushing hers, "The will of a god."
With a slow, deliberate push, he slid into her, filling her with a delicious fullness. Making her gasp, her body welcoming his invasion. He paused, giving her a moment to adjust to his size. She panted, muffled under his lips, before he began to move. It was a steady rhythm, like their relentless banter over the weeks. He pressed her body down further into an arch and watched as she trembled with each stroke. He felt her inner walls clenching around him, milking him for all his worth. Above all, he felt her desire. She was close to the edge even at this pace. He grunted in restraint.
"Just do it—" she urged, deaf to all reason, surely.
Rhyssand's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and delight. She thought she could escape him so easily? After all this time? After everything? He grinned, "What the princess wants, she gets…" he murmured.
Artizea whimpered as his trust was more powerful, driving into her with primal urgency until she felt a wave of numbing pleasure, only to choke on a sob that turned into a moan as his thrust became brutal. This could be the death of something, truly. With one last powerful thrust, he surrendered to her climax, although he withdrew, his member was still throbbing.
"Let us revisit this, shall we?"
She shuddered, daring to peek, before being taken by her leg, switching into a position where they were now face-to-face. She watched as he then placed it above his shoulder with a gentle caress.
"W-wait—?" she stutttered. "You didn't—"
"No, Princess, I did not," he mumbled, "I am far from done with you."
She whinched, making him suervy below, he frowned upon realizing his lack of gentlemanship. "My most sincere apologies," he leaned over to wipe the tears of pleasure from her eyes, "I need to do something for me."
She nodded weakly.
"Hold these, please," he said, motioning to her thighs.
Artizea had a look of bewilderment but complied.
He lowered to her entranced, and she hicthed, it was sensitive than the first time…"Wait—Rhys—"
"Do as you're told, princess…"
How was she supposed to not tremble beneath such a thing, let alone keep her hands still? But damn, did it feel so good that she kept on squirming. Rhyssand retrieved her legs, pressing her thighs together.
"You do not much care for instructions, no matter what form or fashion they are dressed…" he murmured. "So now we do it my way."
"Wait—I'll be good—I'll be good—" though the counter was in vain when he took both hands, typing them behind her knees, her head flew back when she felt another wave of ecstasy almost instantly.
"Break time's over…" he said finally against her core, leaving her gasping from the vibration.
Artizea's eyes flew open. "That was break time?" her breath still catching.
He gave her that damnned grin, "Yeah—"
"How are you even still up?!" she snapped.
"Questions, Questions… more questions." He tilted his head, "Do I look human to you?" He watched her attempt to answer, but faltered when he easily slid in.Her thighs now parted from him like the narrow sea. That was a start. "Does this look like the time or place for your endless curiosity?" She shook her head with thin lips, ceasing any rebellion. "Correct…" he murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Now…where were we?" He pulled her closer every chance she gave him.
"Dear gods…" she hitched.
"I'm listening…"
"Fuck—" she panted.
"You…" he mused, his arms wrapped around her waist, "would you look at that, the scales are balanced. Once more." claiming her lips.
Artizea cried out as he pounded into her without anymore remorse. Her hand shot up to his chest, but he took both her hands within one and clasped them together above her head. Her body trembled as she stretched further from sanity; the sensation of it all overwhelmed her senses, though she could not stop her legs from buckling over his waist.
Rhyssand began to move slowly, but not as kindly as the first time. And when he was sure she was ready, he pulled her up every so slightly, tightening the hold on her hip, a silent warning for what was to come. His trust became harder, faster, as his wings fanned the air, providing a fleeting, gentle breeze that simmered their body heat.
The only question Artizea wished to ask was an answer she had gotten since the council room. This was not his first time.That thought alone made her cling to his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, as she met his thrusts. He grunted in response. There was that shred of hope. She refused to be the one needing guidance, and now that she knew better, now that she was learning froma literal god.The sky was the limit. She searched for his gaze, to see nothing but raw desire burning in his bright golden eyes, matching the greed spoken within her fire-red robes. She refused to look away while matching his rhythm as they moved together. "Give in, Rhys—" she teased. "You know you want to—"
Rhyssand's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. "I loathe you, Artizea Pendragon…" he growled out.
"No, you don't, Rhyssand," Artizea said, his name like a slur while melting into his embrace. "You love it here…and so do I—" she hicced when he slammed into her with more force, which made her mouth open in shock. He saw an opening and took it, their tongues dancing in rhythm. Their kiss deepened as they moaned together. He was close…so close. She could tell due to his tightened hold on her, and so she went for the kill. "Please…Rhys…" she whispered.
That was it.
Rhyssand broke the kiss, then nuzzled her neck as if he was fighting demons and lost, emptying himself deep within her. Her body clenched around him as they lay entangled, as their in-sync hearts raced while their out-of-sync breathing slowed. "We should have more dates…" he finally said.
Artizea's lips curved, "This is not a date by human standards, at least."
"Oh?" He tilted his head in confusion. "Then what would you lot call it?"
"Anunderstanding."
"An understanding…" he sang lowly, brushing a thumb along her cheek. His eyes softened."And what, pray tell, is the difference?"
"Dates are spent doing something mutually enjoyable."
He arched a brow, biting back a grin.
She flushed, realizing how her words sounded. "No—I meant this does not count—!"
Too late.
Rhyssand flipped her with ease; she was now straddling him, one hand gripped beneath one cheek of her ass, the other shot to her neck. "Sit," he commanded while guiding her down to his lap until she gasped, pirking back up, only for him to press insistently against her. "Did you just threaten a celestial?" he murmured, amusement curling in his tone.
"Yes…" she admitted, breathless.
"Yes…" he mockingly echoed, lips brushing her ear. "Seems I feel as though you are begging for punishment. Is this true?"
"Yes…"
His grin widened. "It also seems as though you are enjoying yourself, Princess? Strange… how could that be? Unless…"
"I was lying…"
"Lying…" he snarled, "—on your mother's roses, too—" His voice hardened dangerously. "That just won't do," His mouth grazed her jaw, "Lesson number three: we have stamina…" he planted a burning kiss against her collarbone, while lifting her with ease, guiding her down onto his hard length. "We are very agile…" another kiss above her cleavage, "and… we grow," he murmured against her pulsing center, before consuming it.
Artizea tried to add something, but her words were replaced with a sharp gasp when he thrust into her in one sudden, claiming movement, her body jolting forward against his chest, good she thought, because she had no wish for him to see her pupils dilated wide upon insisting that she adjust to his new size, her breath stuttering as sensation doubled through her, overwhelming her with a new sensation she was sure to be the first human to experience.
"Relax…" he said, upon guiding her upward, only to trust harder. "I made sure you can handle it."
"Ha—!" she yelped in vain, but not in pain. never pain.
"It seems the only way you remember a sliver of our lessons," he drawled, "Is when I fuck theminto you. So tell me again, Princess—are you enjoying yourself?"
"I am…"
"Have you finished learned your lesson?"
She shook her head frantically; she did not wish to hear her own voice anymore because she could not get enough of his…
"That is what I thought as well." He complied. "You are a difficult case, Artizea, one I will personally see to its grand reveal…"
A low chucked rumble through her chest. It was not hers, yet the sound alone made her spiral, the vibration against her body sent her legs trembling apart, threatening to give way. And if that was not enough—
"Tell me what you learned this fine marrow…" he gritted out, "…and say it like you mean it," thrusting into her with a fierce urgency.
"No more lying…" she swallowed a cry.
"I cannot hear you."
"No more lying!"
"To whom Artizea Pendragon."
"No more lying to you."
"Good girl." his hand tightened around her throat, his other hand's grip firm as he guided her. "Show me your true self."
Her eyes instantly fluttered open against her will, her pupils dilated with desire. She could feel her pleasure intensifying. The hand on her throat seemed to ground her as she surrendered to the raw, primal need coursing through her veins.
"Nothing left to say, princess..?" he inquired teasingly. Her reply was a horse whimper against him. "Aw…That's too bad, I wish to hear it, baby…" he whispered in her ear, earning another shiver. She was close. "Say my name…and I'll think about it."
Artizea gripped his shoulder weakly, trying and failing to suppress her groans of pleasure.Trying not to want him… much less need him. "Rhys…" she subconsciously said over his shoulder.
Rhyssand grinned, "That's it, princess. Let it all out. Scream it for me…" he growled with desire. His body is moving in perfect harmony with hers.
As if in response, Artizea's body convulsed around him as if commanded, "Rhys…" she cried out.
"I'm listening…"
Oh, that name… she thought "sand…" she gasped.
He smirked, tilting his head. "Sand? I see no shores in the south…"
"Ssand.." she stressed. "Snesh…"
"Snez…" he corrected in that teasing voice again.
"Snezniyah…"
"Mhm…"
"Rimat…"
"Very good," he said, leaning closer, "I wish for you to look me in the eye as I fill you… in vain."
Their gazes locked, fire blazing with each trust amplifying the intensity.
Until unable to take it anymore. Her release shook her core, literally. Her spirit retreated, leaving her feeling both satisfied and empty.
Rhyssand leaned into her cheek, then waited for his reward. Just as expected, when her gaze lifted to meet his, he saw a perfect reflection of everything he had been feeling, every mixture of emotion she cursed him with; he had carved upon her like a scripture, one he wished for nothing more than to read….again and again… until the invincible end.
"Tomorrow, then," he said finally while pressing a kiss to her neck, sealing the promise. "A proper date." Another below her chin, "We both bring something…" His lips hovered just above hers. "Less Enjoyable…" his lips caught hers before she could recover, swallowing her right to breathe without him.
They did meet again at the lake during the day.
Rhyssand was waiting beneath the same tree, a large woven basket set neatly on the blanket beside him.
"What is that?" she asked while setting her paints down with delicate care.
Rhyssand raised an eyebrow and tapped the basket. "Food."
She blinked. "Food?"
"I made it all myself, enjoy…" he smirked.
"The Prince of Heaven…A man… and a Cook?"
Rhyssand smirked, reaching into the basket to pull out a plate of perfectly wrapped cheese-stuffed pastries, glistening with honey and thyme. "Says the Crown Princess, who is an artist," he threw back.
She giggled, plopping down across from him on the blanket. "Fair."
As the day wore on, the sun arched higher, casting soft rays through the trees. Artizea set up her small canvas, balancing it against a rock. She dipped her brush, making quiet strokes across the blank white, the scene beginning to bloom with a soft, gentle light.
She perched herself in Rhyssand's lap somewhere between the second plate and the third cup of sweet water, her back pressed against his chest, one of his arms looped loosely around her waist. He did not move much; maybe it was for a good reason. His thumb was tracing idle patterns along her thigh. Every so often, she paused at the canvas, her head tilting in contemplation. But it was not the paint that truly unsettled her. What plagues her is whether Rhyssand cooked human food because celestials do not eat? And if so, was he eating for her? And why did such a simple gesture make her insides feel so inexplicably warm? This was just an understanding… or fornication?
"I am ready for my question," she said.
"If it is within my—" he began.
"Yeah, yeah… 'within your ability,' I know," she smirked, cutting him off.
He chuckled under his breath.
Artizea resumed the unfinished corner of the canvas, pasting the colors more slowly now. "Do celestials feel what we feel?"
"Like…" he raised a brow.
"Hunger?" she quipped.
Rhyssand fought a grin. thought he took a moment to consider her words for what they were. "Hunger, no. Emotions, yes. We are living creatures; we feel joy, sorrow, grief… love. But hunger is different." He exhaled faintly, his arms tightening around her waist. "It is less about need… more like pleasure. A luxury. Not survival. I make what you humans do because…it soothes me, the smells. It feels like home, within my home."
Artizea nodded slowly.
"That is your question?" he purred.
"Mhm," she hummed, still focused on her strokes.
Rhyssand frowned, then smiled faintly, resting his chin lightly on top of her head. "What now?" he murmured.
Artizea huffed softly and tapped the corner of the painting. He reached around her with his brush, a darker stroke here, a warmer hue there, weaving into her design like a missing piece to a puzzle she did not know was unfinished. She watched quietly. He was good at this. Good at many things. She furrowed her brow, "That flower could do with a bit more red—" pointing to the petal he had painted.
Rhyssand did not argue, just plucked a piece of cheese from the basket and popped it into her mouth, "Less commentary, More chewing."
Artizea glared playfully, cheeks full. "But look at how much room I have left to work with…" she murmured, gesturing again, this time dramatically at the cramped edge of the canvas.
Rhyssand slid his arm a little tighter around her waist, pulling her against him. She froze when she left a sharp heat rose to her cheeks, and she stiffened slightly in his lap.
"Are we finishing with this painting?" he murmured, "Or should I start improvising?"
She blinked, the missing red hue burning along her face.
ARTHUR
Arthur was loudly accusing Eugene of enchanting Arthur's favorite cloak to change colors randomly throughout the day. Arthur glared at Eugene, who sat in the corner, for once pretending to be engrossed in his book.
"Admit it, Eugene!" Arthur yelled, holding up the offending hue cloak that was glowing a faint pink. "You charmed it!"
"I did no such thing," Eugene replied, "Perhaps it is reacting to your personality."
Artizea took the opportunity to vanish. Neither of her brothers had the time of day to notice her tiptoeing past them, slipping through the side gate of the palace.
Another day went by while Arthur sat in the courtyard, polishing his sword. He was not about to let Eugene's little prank go unanswered. As if summoned by his thoughts, Eugene strolled into the courtyard. He did not notice Arthur at first.
Arthur smirked to himself, a plan already forming. "Ah, little brother!" He called out cheerfully, setting his sword down and standing to greet him.
Eugene glanced up, "Arthur," he said with a nod, already suspicious of his brother's overly warm tone. "What do you want?"
He clapped a hand on his shoulder, steering him toward the training yard. "You have been working way too hard, buried in all those books. It is time you joined me for a little… brotherly activity."
Eugene stopped dead in his tracks. "Not if this is about sparring, I am hopeless with a sword, remember," he mimicked.
"Do not worry your precious genius little head about that—" Arthur said, his grin widening. "I am not asking you to wield a sword… I just need your help with a little experiment."
Eugene frowned, glancing around warily. "What kind of experiment?"
He gestured to a barrel nearby, its lid slightly ajar. "See that? I want you to stand right here—" he pointed repetitively to a spot directly in front of the barrel, "—and cast one of your little shielding spells." He motioned his hands awkwardly.
"Why?" Eugene asked skeptically.
Arthur leaned casually against the barrel, his expression the picture of innocence. "I need to test how well the spell holds up under sudden pressure. You are the only one I trust for something like this."
Eugene looked dubious but sighed. "Fine. But if this is some trick, I swear on m—"
"—Mother's roses, yeah, yeah, it is not a trick," Arthur interrupted with a smirk. "Now, stand right there and focus."
Reluctantly, Eugene moved into position, his brow furrowing upon murmuring the incantation for a basic shield spell. A faint shimmer of light surrounded him, the protective barrier flickering to life.
Arthur waited until the shield was fully formed before casually kicking the barrel. The lid blew off, and out spilled a flurry of squawking chickens, their wings flapping wildly as they scattered in every direction.
Eugene's spell shattered instantly, and he let out a startled yell, stumbling backward. One particularly bold chicken flapped onto his shoulder, squawking indignantly. "Arthur, You Swore!" he shouted, flailing to fend off the feathery chaos.
"I did no such thing." Arthur doubled over with laughter, clutching his sides. "What is the matter, baby brother? I thought you liked animals!"
Eugene glared at him, "You are a menace to the realm, Arthur—!"
Arthur wiped a tear from his eye, grinning. "Consider it payback for Thomas. I had to sleep with one eye open thanks to you!"
Eugene finally managed to extricate himself from the chickens, brushing feathers off his robes with as much dignity as he could muster. "This is not over!" he muttered darkly.
Arthur pouted, watching his brother storm off.
ARTIZEA
Artizea knelt in the garden, hands smudged with soil as she pressed new seeds into the earth. "My mother does this all the time. I do not know why I cannot," she muttered with a small frown. "Hey, you—"
Rhyssand was sprawled across the grass, one arm propped behind his head, shifting his gaze to watch her with a softness."Yes, Princess…"
"You should help me." She scooped up a handful of soil and flung it at him. "Do you not have gifts for this sort of thing?"
He grimaced, flicking the dirt off his chest with mock offense. "I am more of a strategist angel, not a garden angel."
"Oh, really?" She rose, planting her hands on her hips, looming over him. "You sure do look like one to me."
His smirk deepened. "Come here—"
With a sudden tug, he pulled her down beside him. She giggled, smearing her dirt-stained fingers against his cheek in defiance. He scoffed in protest, but the sound melted into laughter, well into the night when the stars shimmered in place of the sun.
"You speak as if the stars are your friends," Artizea whispered.
Rhyssand pointed out a constellation. "In Celestia, there is a story we tell… about the breathing stars. They are said to carry all the wishes the gods could not grant. When their burden grows too heavy, the stars will fall together, not in anger, but in release. And when they do, the seeds of the earth will welcome them, creating a new world." his gaze shifted toward her frog-like expression. "Do not worry, it is only a story," he chukled.
"I was thinking maybe you should get some new friends…" she blurted out.
He chuckled, "You are new, are we not friends?"
"I do not sleep with my friends," she quickly shot back. "Do you?"
"Ah—" he smirked, "Condumdrums must be our thing…And you have not asked a single question in days. They are backing up, princess."
Artizea turned to him, one brow raised at the skillfully dodged question. He might have been right in his profession, but he was wrong to underestimate her stamina in pursuit of an answer. Hence, the conundrum they were entangled in as they spoke."I have been distracted." She murmured in mock thought for a moment, then pounced. "Aha— do you—"
"Do you not wish to know something about yourself?" he cut in.
Nice try…Artizea thought, Very nice. "No, actually," she then admitted softly,
"Oh? Pray tell."
"I do not know…" Artizea frowned, "I find myself wishing to know more about you than me, of late."
"Aw."
She gave him a shove, rolling her eyes at his smug grin.
"What if I wish for you to ask anyway?" he pressed.
"Why?"
"I wish to know more about you and what goes on that crazy head of yours."
Artizea blinked. "I am not crazy."
"Of course not…" he chuckled. "I am merely considering the possibility that you could be."
"Mhm."
"…And if that is the case, then I would desire to know—" he added swiftly. "More."
She exhaled, "Fine. Ask a question, then I will ask one, four out of four."
"Deal." He paused, considering, then smiled. "Tell me something I do not know about you."
"Ugh, you sound like my first and last suitors." She groaned, "I have a shithead of a brother named Arthur Pendragon—My turn!" she exclaimed
"Cheater," he grunted.
"You said I cannot lie; you never said anything about playing the board to my advantage. Now it's too late, you cannot take it back."
Rhyssand hummed, as she learned in, narrowing her red orb eyes, until she hit him with—
"What was she like—your ex-fiancée?"
His face twisted into a grimace of a 'you brought this on yourself kind of face' "Truth is… I cannot answer that."
"I knew it!" she cried, triumphant. "You did not call off the wedding because of me—you are a lying toad of a prince and she's the prettiest girl in the whole realm; just admit it and I will ease your pain upon your descent to the underworld…." She pouted like a child.
He looked at her, wide-eyed, "Dear gods, you were right, you're not crazy." Then, despite himself, he grinned. "You are insane."
"Fine. Maybe I am—" she protested.
Rhyssand suddenly pulled her into a kiss. When they broke apart, he whispered, breathless, "I like it."
"Then why can you not answer, Rhys?" she slurred.
"Whole Truth is, I do not know what she's like," he said softly. "Nothing but the Truth, I never saw her face, nor do I have any interest whatsoever in finding out." He tilted his head at her. "Your turn."
She melted back against him, searching his face. "Do you think there's a purpose for me?"
Rhyssand's hand found hers, fingers curling around hers like an anchor. He met her eyes. "Of course there is…" his fingers traced the edge of her hair, brushing the strands that had grown just past her shoulders.
"Last question—what does 'let there be rest' mean? You said it to the deer… and to my brother."
"It is a command," Rhyssand explained quietly. "Higher celestials hold the most. Rest. Truth. Life, Darkness, Light …Judgement. A few of them are tied specifically to the essence of their thrones. Lower celestials are restricted to only one or two. The throne of a monarch is where the true power lies—the one who sits upon it is bound to its command. Has your father not told you this?"
Artizea's eyes widened, then she shook her head, "Can you tell me some?"
He hesitated. "Not without you first being affected."
She pouted, then glanced around. Reaching down, she plucked a small flower and held it out to him, "What about this?"
Rhyssand stared at the blossom, sighed, and finally took her hand along with it. His voice dropped low. "Let there be eternal rest."
At once, the veins beneath his skin flared, glowing faintly as the flower in her palm shriveled. Its stem blackened, its petals curled inward, withering within her fingers.
Artizea's breath caught. "They are… energy transformers," she whispered. "They either give or take?"
"Balance," he corrected, his voice low, steady, almost solemn. "What is given must be returned…" He reached for a seed from the dead flower and guided her hand as they planted it together. It did not grow to its full height, but a single stem emerged."Everything in this world must maintain its balance," he said quietly. "As a celestial and heir, it will be my duty to preserve it, no matter the cost."
Her eyes lifted, sharp with both wonder and fear. "Can you bring it back..?"
"If I sat on the throne—perhaps. For now, my power is limited," he replied.
She scoffed, "Well, you could have told me that beforehand! Now I feel bad. Why not take whatever balance there is from me instead?"
"It is only a flower…" he said, but upon seeing her flat face, he tried again. "Okay, yes, I know what I said. However, there are times when the greatest act of mercy a flower can offer… is to die. As cruel as that sounds, sometimes there is just no other way around such a fate," he inhaled, "I swear on your mother's roses, I will not use such commands on you."
She chuckled, "Well, if we're making promises, promise me… You will stay away from my mother's gardens."
"I promise." His gaze softened as he watched her twist a curl of her hair between her fingers, nervous without realizing it.
"You do this often…" he murmured.
"Do what?"
"Touch that specific curl," he said, his voice calm but laced with curiosity. "Why did you cut it?"
Her breath caught. Of all the things he could have asked, this was the one question she was not prepared for. "It is not a story you will want to hear," she said, turning her gaze back to the stars.
Rhyssand shifted closer, his warmth grounding her. "It may surprise you that I may take pleasure in knowing everythingabout you, Artizea. Even the things you think I would not wish to hear."
She hesitated. It had been months since the Rite of Challenge, but the memories before that day still lingered. "It was the first lock I grabbed to cut." The memories clawing their way to the surface. "I did not be rid of it because of the Rite of Challenge, not entirely. I did it because…" She paused, the words catching in her throat. He waited, his patience as steady as the earth beneath them. "I did it to leave behind someone I thought I loved," she finally admitted, "I thought we were in love."
Rhyssand's expression did not change, though his eyes were fixed on hers, urging her to continue.
"We were supposed to be wed in secret; it was a foolish idea to begin with. Before we even got down he isle, he betrayed me with someone I trusted. My father found out, and everything fell apart. Cutting my hair was my way of shedding that part of myself, of proving to everyone, and to myself, that I was not weak. That I could let go of those human feelings and focus on my duty." Her voice wavered, but she pressed on. "I thought it would make me stronger. And maybe it did. But there are days I still wonder if I lost a part of myself that day, too."
She finally turned to him, her eyes shimmering with vulnerability. "That is why I cut my hair, Rhys. Not for some noble reason, but because I was broken and did not know how else to move forward." For a moment, there was silence. "You are staring again…" she said, her tone teasing but her expression unreadable.
"Hard not to," Rhyssand replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "It suits you," he reached out, gently brushing his fingers against hers.
He reached out, his fingers brushing the strands of her hair with a tenderness that sent warmth coursing through her. "Artizea," he said, his voice a soft murmur. He tilted her chin so she could not look away, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her heart race. "Do you wish to know what I see?"
"I bet my crown you will tell me," she joked.
Rhyssand smiled slightly, "I spy with my bird's eye… a fierce woman. I see you, I can see no other," he murrmed, "It is unfortunate, as it is painfully undoing. Nevertheless, with the hope of reciprocation, I will endure it."
His thumb brushed her warm cheek with sincerity in his expression that left her breathless.
"I see what you deem to be imperfections, each meaningful flaw carrying its own thread in the tapestry of the real you…the one I alone have had the grace to see uplose. And it is perfection, Tizea. Every scar that hides every secret of the past, every strand of hair is a brushstroke of your very essence, every choice you have made to survive, in a story only you could write. You are perfect exactly as you were made to be. Never wish to alter a thing. I beg this of you."
Her breath hitched upon feeling a tear slip down her cheek; she raised her palm to wipe it away, but he got to it first. "You are still insufferable…But I promise…" she murmured, fighting the sea of tears building up.
"And you are still bewitchingly insane…" Rhyssand chucked, brushing a strand of hair from her face, behind her ear. "But I realized something else. I would not have it any other way."
"Really?" she whispered, leaning into his touch.
"Really…" he whispered back.
BA—DUM
She nodded at his reply. "My friends call me Tizea."
A small smile tugged at his lips. "Friends, huh?"
"Is that a problem, Rhys?" she whispered.
"Only if you wish it to be, Tizea."
BA—DUM
She swallowed hard. "Only if I am the only… friend you do this with…on both parties' sides, no guards or ex-fiancés allowed."
He hummed, lips twitching. "Why is it you find the utmost pleasure in making everything in life as difficult as you imagine it? The way you dance around something so painfully straightforward… You couldn't bend it if you tried, and yet you try, anyway—" He grabbed her jaw, inhaling her scent, cupping her cheeks once more. "It makes me so… furious."
She tilted her head, pressing her lips to his in a fierce kiss, then pulled back slightly, curving them into a mischievous smile."Maybe I like seeing you struggle a little," she whispered. "It makes victory taste so much sweeter when the prey finally accepts their fate."
He blinked at her, stunned for a heartbeat, then a laugh, "Very well." He took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. "Your wish shall be mine alone to grant."
Her laugh cracked the tension. "You could pass as a guardian angel, you know…you certainly have the look for it."
He grinned. Before she could pull away from her own fate, he swept his fingers across her sides, tickling her until she squealed.
"Rhys, no—stop—" she giggled.
But he didn't stop. He caught her ankle, gently pulling her foot up, "I suppose a friend would not know this trick either?' as he hovered his tongue across the sensitive arch of her toe to the side of her foot. "Much less would a prey dare to touchit…"
"Don't you dare—Rhys!" she squealed again upon feeling a creep down her spine when he made it to her inner thigh. She covered her face, then finally, after feeling him pull away, she glanced down, her eyes caught a faint red mark blooming on her skin. "What is that—and tell me it goes away."
He tilted his head, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. "I do not know what you humans call it. But yes… after some time."
"Should I know these things?" she asked warily.
"It is good that you do not know these things," he murmured, amusement flashing in his eyes. "Verture and all."
"Tell me."
"It is not within my ability to answer…" he murmured, "Leave something for your future husband to pretend he taught you."
Artizea arched a brow then huffed, So, no?"I'll ask someone else, then—" she threatened.
"Not if you wish to explain how you got it,"
Her lips parted. "Does that make me… sinful?"
Rhyssand's gaze lingered on her mouth before meeting her eyes. "What do you think, Tizea? Are you sinful?"
She hesitated, "I think it is only balance that I give you one too, Rhys," smiling fainly.
"You needn't ask…" he whispered. "Unlike you, I do not have to explain myself to anyone."
Artizea reached for him, her fingers tracing the line of his throat. She traced his neck; her very touch illuminated a glowing vein. She also chose it deliberately so as it may warn away other friends. He would have to explain himself then…she thought. X marks the spot, they say.
He grunted then sucked threw his teeth.
Artizea unlatched from him, "Are you seriously getting a hard-on right now?" she said with a flat face, thought replaying the noise in her head like a broken play.
He gave a quiet laugh, "What god-fearing man wouldn't?"
"You're a god…" she whispered, leaning closer. "Does that still count?" her lips hovering over his.
"It does, Princess…" he replied, brushing her lips, featherlike.
"Teach me more then Oh All knowing god…"
EUGENE
Eugene stormed back to his chambers with the faint scent of chicken feathers clinging to his robes. However, as his frustration simmered down, his sharp mind began to formulate a plan. Arthur might have won this battle, but Eugene was preparing to win the war. He spent the evening poring over books, flipping through pages after page to find something worthy of Arthur Pendragon…
"Ah-ha…" Eugene murmured. He had found the perfect one. A sly grin spread across his face. "Let's see how you like a taste of your own medicine,Big Brother."
It began as a light chuckle, then escalated into a maniacal evil laugh.
The Queen's knight guard stood outside his chambers, completely horrified by the recarnation of the blood-red king. She then smoothed her expression, straightened her shoulders, and walked away, as if nothing at all had been amiss.