There are so awakenings you may fantasize about slow, gentle, bathed in sunny light and perhaps the gentle trill of birds or the scent of freshly baked bread. Mine ca to in the guise of blunt trauma and loud ringing in my ears. One mont I was blissfully unconscious, dreaming vaguely of fruit that could talk, and the next mont the room exploded into pain and china.
Wake up!" a voice that I knew far too well even in a haze of broken china and disorientation.
Eyes snapped open, trying to make out in the darkness. Enara lood over , eyes frantic, gasping, clutching what was left of an extrely expensive and now very broken ceremonial vase. Her hair was loose and wild, cheeks flushed, eyes bulging with so kind of wild fear.
Oh, bravo, I thought vaguely. She's finally flipped and chosen murder over our complicated feelings.
"Enara," I began slowly, warily, raising my hands in a calming gesture, "if you're going to kill "
"Shut up!" she snarled angrily, scrambling towards and covering my mouth with her hand, nearly strangling .
I stared at her, wide-eyed. My heart thumped, half alarm and half inappropriate excitent, confusing and deeply humiliating situations aside. This, I told myself, is not how romance novels start. Unless you're reading the wrong genre.
Enara glanced nervously towards the door. She pulled into herself, whispering harshly, "Not a word."
Before I could demand clarification or gasp magic fire burst beneath us, throwing Enara's concerned face into otherworldly blue light. A teleport circle. My stomach rolled and an instant later, reality itself folded like a sheet that's been crumpled, depositing us sowhere entirely new.
I stumbled, feet crashing against unforgiving ground that most definitely was not my bed. Enara let go with a jerk, and I coughed theatrically, gasping.
"Was that absolutely necessary?" I snapped, staggering to my feet, ironing out my crumpled shirt. "You could have shaken awake like any other killer."
She glanced away, cheeks flushing slightly. "You wouldn't wake up. I panicked. There was a vase. I winged it."
"I don't think you noticed. You winged it all over my head."
"Sorry," she said, but it sounded reluctant.
We fell silent, both of us suddenly aware of our whereabouts. Moonlight poured softly down, illuminating the tender curves of a garden I'd never known existed. Trees whose leaves shone silver rustled softly; midnight-blue and pale violet flowers blood modestly . A quiet stream babbled nearby, running over stones smoothed by ripples. The air was thick with jasmine fragrance and sothing sweet and forbidden.
It was, quite frankly, aggressively romantic. So romantic, it was completely like a trap.
I gave Enara the wary eye. "Did you drag here to kill romantically?"
Enara's expression turned unattractive, and she folded her arms. "Don't be absurd. If I were killing you, I would not go to the trouble of scenery."
I arched an eyebrow. "Then why ?"
She restrained herself, jaw tightening. "Because…I have to tell you sothing. And I don't trust myself around delicate things when I'm talking to you."
I smiled half-heartedly. "Fair enough."
She paced back, black against moonlight, tension radiating off her shoulders like crackling static. After what seed like a forever, she turned. "I don't hate you."
"High praise," I offered, cautious optimist.
"Shut up," she snarled, rumpled. "What I'm trying to say is…you're "
"Traitorous?" I supplied helpfully. "Infuriating? Pottery-reckless?"
She fixed with a murderous glare, fists clenched. "No. Well, yes. All that. But also "
"Charming? Heroically misunderstood?"
"Stop interrupting!"
I raised my hands again, surrendering. "Sorry. Go on."
She took a deep breath, clearly fighting the impulse to run or smash sothing else in the room into little pieces maybe . "I don't…know how to say. I'm trying, Liria. I'm really trying. But it can't be, because every ti I look at you, it hurts and "
She stumbled, voice cracking a little, and all my condescending humor was lost. I stepped closer, the teasing giving way to sothing gentler. "Hey, you don't have to
"Yes, I do," she reiterated crossly, stepping back again, suspiciously gleaming eyes. "Because if I don't tell you now, I never will. You left. You betrayed us, and then you ca back. You're impossible, confusing, and…and I don't want to trust you. But I do. And I hate that."
I held my place there, gasping now, dreading that any interruption would ruin her fragile confession. She half-turned, not wanting to et my eyes, arms folded tightly about herself as if holding in every tangled emotion.
"You make everything complicated," she panted, almost resentfully. "Everything. Just to say this is torture."
"Enara " I began softly.
"Hear out!" she scread again, her voice shaking. "I don't hate you, Liria. I never did. I hate that you left so easily. I hate I missed you so terribly. I hate that you're standing here before and all I can think is "
She turned quick, the look on her face raw and fearful, and before I could think I moved toward her. The space between us was filled with tension, crackling with too many unspoken facts.
"What?" I breathed, my heart thudding in agony. "What do you think about?
She closed them, fists clenched, summoning courage. "This," she whispered, and took a step forward, holding my shirt as if to stake her claim on the world. And then she kissed , hungry, awkward, and completely without flaw.
The world shattered in unspoken, tender wonder. I was there for one heartbeat, frozen, before I lted against her, fingers tangling in her hair. Night air dissolved, to be swept away by the warmth of her lips, the shaking intensity in her grip. And for a mont, tiless as the ages, there was no other no betrayal, or redemption, or even fairy-tale shackles and bruised skulls.
It was all we'd never dared say, wrapped up in a kiss full of hope and doubt.
When we finally broke apart, panting for air, Enara gazed up at , her eyes wide with shock, her chest heaving, clearly appalled at her own daring. Her fingers still wrapped around my shirt, knuckles white.
"Enara…" I breathed, dumbfounded and grinning like a fool. "Was that your decree?"
She blushed indignantly, glancing away again, cutting voice. "Obviously."
"Very romantic. Assault, kidnapping, teleportation. You've topped yourself."
"Shut up," she whispered weakly, clearly fighting a smile.
"I didn't exactly practice this."
"I noticed," I bantered lightly. "Next ti, maybe less pottery."
"Next ti?" She eyed cautiously, hoping and doubting. "You're planning on one."
"I hope so, at least," I admitted softly. "I'm very fond of being ambushed by you."
Her smile faltered, vulnerable and rare. "You're impossible."
"So are you."
"I'm not ready to forgive you," she warned softly, voice wavering. "Not yet."
I nodded gently. "That's fair. I'll wait."
She hesitated, then leaned against , head resting carefully against my shoulder. "Good," she murmured. "Because this is exhausting."
I chuckled softly, wrapping my arms tentatively around her. "Love usually is."
She stiffened slightly at the word, then relaxed again, sighing. "Maybe."
I rested my cheek on her hair, breathing deeply. The night was suddenly quiet, as if we had sohow established a fragile sanctuary in the middle of all the chaos.
"Just one question," I finally whispered.
"What?" she sleepily asked.
"The vase?"
She snorted gently, actually laughing. "I freaked. It was convenient."
"I'll add it to the list of romantic moves," I told her.
"You do that," she grumbled, almost sounding content. "Along with attempted murder.".
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