◼ ╋ ◼ ——— He couldn’t hold his feelings anymore. It was another of the nights when she’d climb through the window of his attic, holding two steaming mugs of tea from who knew where, like she did every weekend. Julien had already been waiting, a blanket wrapped around him as he watched the rain. As soon as she had climbed through, he had a towel ready, draping it over her with urgency. “You’ll catch a cold!” He said, drying her hair. “But you’d take care of me if I did, wouldn’t you?” She smirked, letting him fuss. “Shush.” Julien muttered, but he didn’t deny it. He’d do anything for her. At his expression, frustrated and flustered, Alva laughed. He froze. Alva’s laugh was enchanting—it was free, open, careless. Her head was thrown back, hair messy, makeup mussed, no longer neat and combed. She looked beautiful. At his staring, Alva raised an eyebrow. “What—?” “I love you.” Julien blurted out before he could stop himself, and then froze with horror at the confession. For a moment, there was only silence. Petrified, waiting silence. “Gods, I’m so sorry—that was weird, and wrong, and I know I sound pathetic and stupid and—“ He was cut off by a warm presence against his lips. Alva. There was barely a moment to process before he was reciprocating the kiss, acting on instinct before his thoughts caught up. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt a hand gently move to his waist, before traveling up his side and settling at his neck, pushing down his collar as Alva leaned further into him, and he was pressed against the wall. Then the realization broke through his dazed thoughts like cold water. His mark. He pulled away, catching his breath and scrambling to pull his sweater up. It was too late. She’d seen it. He knew, by the way her gaze was transfixed on the spot he’d pulled up, her eyes flickering with intrigue and something deeper. “Oh my Gods—Alva—please—I’m—don’t—please, oh please, please, please, please—“ “Oh.” The single syllable cut him off, freezing him in his tracks. “So you’re…?” “I’m—please don’t, please—“ “It’s okay, cariño,” she murmured, her gaze still fixed on the mark. “I’m not going to tell. You’re safe with me.” He instantly relaxed, slumping back against the wall. “Oh. Oh. Thank the Gods.” Alva looked up at him again, smiling slowly as she brushed a curl from his forehead. “You’re so cute when you’re nervous,” she said quietly, leaning in again. Julien melted into her, wholly and fully hers. He didn’t stop to realize she never said she loved him back. ——— cont. below
cont. ——— The year was almost over now. He’d be going home soon. Julien realized it with a start one morning, as he was opening. The time had sped by, so much so that he didn’t want to go. It was a sunny day, strikingly different from the day he’d arrived, with beautiful weather. It was like the world itself was urging him to stay. His heart beat faster than normal, like drums to a love song, as he walked. He made the decision that morning, watching the children play and the flowers bloom, that he would ask Alva to marry him. It would be wonderful, a life with her. She knew who Julien was, and she loved him anyway. He imagined growing older, raising children and grandchildren in this city, abandoning the solitude that was required of a Saint. It was everything he would ever want. Everything went right that day. It didn’t rain, he had no patients. He bought flowers, a ring, sent a letter asking her to meet at the marketplace where they’d first ran into each other right after sundown. Everything was planned. It would be perfect. — The air was cooler now that the sun was no longer beating down on the city. The sky stretched across the horizon, painted blues and purples and pinks and reds and oranges and golds like a tapestry. Julien waited in the center of the now-empty plaza, hair brushed, dressed formally, flowers clutched nervously in his hands, ring secure in his pocket. And there she was. Alva stepped into the square, looking radiant as ever, with a faint smile as she walked towards him. “Hi, cariño,” she all but purred, lifting a hand to cup his cheek. Julien leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut for half a moment. “Hi,” he murmured, handing her the flowers. “I—I wanted to ask you something.” “Oh?” She raised an eyebrow, smirking. Julien took a deep breath, kneeling. “I—I know this is sudden, but I love you, Alva. I love you so much. You’re beautiful, not only that, but you’re so funny, and smart, and lovely, and I just—I just love you, and I want to spend my life with you. Please, marry me, and grant me the honor of being yours?” “Oh, cariño,” Alva murmured, reaching down to gently tilt his chin up to hers. He blinked, feeling a strange, unfamiliar undercurrent to her words. Something hungry. “Always so loving.” “Alva—? What—?” Julien froze as he felt a cool touch to his neck, yanking down his collar to reveal his mark. He twisted, only to find himself held in place by an armored hand. He looked back at Alva, but only saw cool indifference. “Alva?” He tried again. “What is this? Please, tell me—what’s happening? What’s going on?” She still didn’t say a word, only motioning her hand. A moment later, Julien felt something clasp shut around his neck. He looked down to see a thick metal ring, like a collar. Panic started to fully set in as he writhed, trying to escape, but it was futile as a similarly built gag was placed over his mouth. He was forced to his feet, hands bound behind him, as he looked pleadingly at Alva, for help, reassurance, anything that would mean everything would be okay. He was given nothing. “Princeisa, qui haremos conelo?” The figure behind him spoke in Archaelic, gruff and muffled by armor. Julien’s eyes widened, recognizing the title. Princeisa. Princess. Alva was a princess. Her words echoed back to him, months ago: “Only the royal family is permitted to perform the ritual”. The sacrifice. As if hearing his thoughts, Alva stepped forward. For one, foolish, moment, hope sparked in his chest. She was going to save him, she was going to order his release, she loved him. Instead, though, she simply took his face in one hand, turning it as if studying a fruit for ripeness. “Such a beautiful specimen,” she muttered. “A shame you are a Saint. I would have loved to have a pet like you.” Then, she turned to the soldiers, ordering, “cajelelo.” They nodded, beginning to tug Julien away. He tried again, one more time, as he met Alva’s eyes: pleading, begging, praying. She just smiled. “You know, I wasn’t lying about everything, cariño. You really are cute when you’re nervous.” ——— other parts in comments ——— ◼ ╋ ◼
