The Bluest Hour

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She spun away from him, toward the darkening shroud of the blazing setting sun. Despite everything that just happened, it was a beautiful sight watching as the plunging sun shone on the silver city in a wave of fire. But, it wasn't a raging fire; it was a delicate simmering overtone as if a candle's flicker was blanketing the massive trees and stone-infused architecture. It was a view she would have enjoyed sharing with anyone. 

But, like this, with him, it was different.

She held her elbow, and turned her away from him, letting the rays of the sun distract her from the flush of stars shamefully blazing on her shoulders. 

"I told you. They hate--"

His voice was quick to cut her off, "--I'm proud of you."

The strange words were enough to turn her away from the sun, "For what? For tolerating how they walk over me? Yeah, that's what my family says."

"No, actually." Elijah's hand didn't hesitate to find her shoulder. She didn't turn to him, but she didn't push him away. "These people have taken too much from you. But, you've never let it bury you. You've found a way to survive. You've found a light to guide you past it. You've become your own light. But... You don't need to do it alone."

She turned back to the sunset and shrugged him off. "I don't need you to help me."

He lowered himself to her ear, "You asked. And that must have taken a lot. Asking for help from a stranger."

She opened her mouth to retort, but couldn't think of anything to outwit him. Not this time. 

"Think about my proposal. You can escape this country. There is a home for you beyond these walls. One that will bend a knee to you."

"I told you to stop lying to me."

"I'm not." He shoved his hands in his pockets, and stood beside her, watching the light of the sun disappear beneath the horizon. "Besides. A home is more than just a place."

"Please. Stop." She closed her eyes, sighing in response. "There is not one person in my life that trusts you. They all say to stop this deal of ours."

"Good." A smile shone in his voice. "They're careful. They're concerned about you. I'm glad you have loved ones who look out for you."

She turned to him, and raised an amused gaze at him, "Is this not when you're supposed to persuade me to trust you?"

"Why would I do that? They're right. I've only ever gotten everyone I've loved killed. They're right, I'm sorry for asking. It's better to stay away, isn't it? Don't worry, I'll leave you alone after this is over."

A silence filled the space between them. A jarring frustration lifted to her chest at the thought of it. At the mere idea of him leaving. Perhaps it was meant to be. The idea of her sailing was preposterous. Antor would never allow it. But, the people would no doubt enjoy her departure. Besides, he couldn't have been serious about his offer. It was likely just another jest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, staring at the fireflies replacing the light of the sun. She let the buzzing of the flies fill the space between them. "Losing people is never easy."

He chuckled beside her. "Don't be. I know you understand. Being accused of your mother's murder. Everyone in this nation was able to grieve. They all had someone to blame. Everyone except you. She was your mother. You should have been able to grieve; mourn; to move on. They took that from you too."

He continued, an amused tone rose from him, "It's been years, and you've become so desperate for answers, you seek help from the first outsider you encounter."

She remained silent. No one ever speaks to her like this. She itched to deny it. But it was true. Elayna had been there to help her grieve. Her sister was there to hold her every night, but no one else. No one allowed her to speak her mother's name. No one allowed her to visit her memorial. Antor barely allowed her name whispered in his presence.

No one allowed her to mourn her own mother. He was right. 

She rose a quick fist to his arm. "Watch yourself."

He scoffed but smiled at her. "I don't mean it offensively. I just find it... appalling? The manner the nation treats you. Truly I look up to you for dealing with it the way you do. You don't let your emotions drown you. You make it seem easier than it is."

She turned away from him again and felt around her belt. She knew she wouldn't be able to hide the stars flushing at her cheeks. No one had ever spoken to her as Elijah did. No one ever understood her feelings. How could she leave him? How could anyone tell her to leave the one person who understood her?

Metal clattered as she pulled out a metal spyglass. She turned in the direction of the castle and scanned the walls.

After a delayed silence, she jumped at his sudden noise from the pirate. "I just realized you remind me of something."

She finally found it. The light remained flickering in her room, untouched. No one had entered her room. No one knew she was gone. She continued to examine the other rooms. 

"They hate you because they're terrified," the pirate continued, mostly speaking to himself, "They're afraid of how beautiful you could be. For them, for the nation, for the world, even. They dread the unknown. It's the same fear that ruined the peace of my country. But, I'm glad I got to see the same beauty somewhere else. Finally, alive and--" he froze, staring at her.

She removed the glass from her face and lifted an amused eye at him. "You're not as smooth as you think, freezing up like that as often as you do."

"Astrea." He whispered her name in an air of realization. "Is that short for anything?"

"Not that I know of." She retracted the spyglass and clicked it back into her belt. 

She blinked, trying to understand the whisper under his breath.

The soft call of a name she had only heard spoken in holy books. A name of a God so well-known, it had a constellation named after them. But, he whispered the name in another language. The Pyrian name. A name she had only ever read. But, it was a beautiful sound on his lips.

"Oh Darling, you have me now... Come here." Corinthian pulled her more comfortably on their lap. 

The girl trembled in their arms, but still grasped their coat. Finally, out of the hull, she was still getting accustomed to the light of the sun through the portholes of the cabin. Despite her eyes hiding in their neck, she finally surrendered and sought warmth in their hold.

"You can see it, can't you? I'm the only one who can keep you safe." Their spider-like fingers crawled up her shoulder and brushed against her neck. A tender gesture to soothe the silent tears threatening her eyes.

The girl was as quiet as the sea, with small waves of fear as if the wind was rippling against the surface. But, she was clever. Anguished, but obedient. Smart enough to know to stay silent; obey and refrain from using her magic. 

"Shh," they pulled her closer still. "Shh, it's okay. You're okay now. I'm here. You're safe with me. I'll protect you. From everything."

She couldn't hide the shudders, never forgetting the threats and secrets of the hull. But, that wasn't the only thing they protected her from. And she knew it. 

"Nothing can hurt you anymore, sweetheart. Not the sea, not the wraiths. You've been on the seas for weeks now, haven't you?" They waited until a slight nod rubbed against their chest. "And tell me, you've heard them calling for you, haven't you? The wraiths." She nodded again. "...Do you hear them now?"

The waves of the seas splashed against the cabins. The cheers of the men echoed through the walls from their latest conquest, sharing in the spoils. Everything was as it should be. Even her. A flawless little plaything.

She blinked, never encountering this stillness at sea before, and she shook her head.

"No. No, you can't. With me, they can't see you. They can't hear you. They can't harm you. With me, there's no need to fear the sea." Corinthian, moved their lithe fingers to her cheek and brushed her hair behind her ear, "No danger will come to you with me. Do you understand?"

The girl didn't move, still unconvinced. But, that was fine. Astrea was born into a world of ridicule and lies. She was used to assessing and seeing the truth. All the more pleasing. Toys were no fun if they were easy to break. But, that just meant she had to shatter more of her world. Everyone she loved. Everyone, she placed her trust in. They would have to break it. All of it. And fit a hole just for them. 

"Nobody is coming for you," Corinthian continued, knowing well how she repeated the same whisper of names every night as she slept, "If they loved you, they wouldn't have let you go. That boy that reached for you... That pirate. You worship him, don't you?"

She froze in their lap. Suddenly fidgeting, she nearly pushed off but knew better.

"I saw the look in your eyes... And in his. The utter terror when he couldn't reach you..." Corinthian sighed, unable to hide the fatigue. "Elijah. The Masked Phantom. What do they call him now? The King of the Seas? Everyone on this ship knows him. Tell me... Do you think I'm a monster?"

She shifted uncomfortably at the mention of his name, and his titles. But still, her grip on their coat didn't loosen. Her grip tightened. 

"I am nothing in comparison to him, and his mask, Astrea. Every man here is a better man than that creature. They could each tell you tales of how they have been destroyed by the man you love. Maybe they should. They each have a scar and a story to prove it."

This time, the girl's hands loosened. She turned away from their chest and glanced at the window. Corinthian took the chance, and took hold of her chin, lifting her gaze to theirs. 

"A King of the Seas. As powerful as he. He can quiet the wraiths, as I can. He can protect you from the seas, as I am. But, he didn't. No, he chose not to. Do you call that love? He wanted you afraid. He let your fear foster. He let it devour you. Did it not? Did you not feel as if the world were constricting you on those stormy nights? My dear, he didn't protect you. Not as he should have."

Despite her pitiful attempts to look away, Corinthian tugged her gaze back. 

"I've known him since he started as a pirate. Every man who sails these waters knows his story. I would gamble he didn't tell you any of it, did he? How he got himself banished from his home? How he acquired his first crew? Why he no longer sails with them? How he earned his titles? The Masked Phantom? The King of the Seas? You do not get those reputations from acts of kindness and mercy. Being called a King is no compliment either, not on these waters. It's a name of disdain. Mockery. Kings are merciless, vengeful, and bloodthirsty... But you..."

Corinthian squeezed her cheeks, unable to hide the fury in their chest. They ignored the tremble returning to the girl, and the tear streaming down her cheeks. 

"You. You were his prize. His dream he sought for years. His treasure. A Name that could bring him back home to seek the vengeance he always dreamed of. Of course, he would show you a lie. A lie that he's capable of love. He is nothing but a liar. A traitor. King of the Pirates? Yes, a king among kings; swathed in the veil of the sea. You've seen his mask. Masked so no one can see the grin on his lips as he killed, raped and slaughtered all who got in his way. Did he tell you where he got that infernal mask? No? Oh, so another story he kept from his love?"

Corinthian released her cheeks, but a scowl of disgust never left, and neither did the girl's gaze. 

"Gods." Antor cursed. In an exasperated sigh, he raised a hand to his throat, and unbuttoned his coat, revealing his sweat-soaked neckline covered only by a tunic.

Edrei smiled at the sight. Having Antor admit she was right brought a second wind to her lungs. Her legs no longer dragged through the dirt, rather, her chin lifted in delight as she trekked up the stone steps with a rejuvenated pace.

"Don't." Antor breathed out and groaned. Leaning on a nearby large stone, he slowly dropped to take a seat in the shade of the moss-covered stone.

"Whatever do you mean?" she grinned as she stood above him.

But, finally standing over him, she noticed just how apparent his size was. Despite sitting in the dirt, Antor's slouched head was at her height. And his shoulders were nearly as wide as the stone itself. The stone was tall and wide enough for her and Illyera to take naps on together when they ran away from their duties as children. But here he was, broad enough to cover the entire rock.

"How much farther?" Antor took his canteen and took a small sip in between breaths.

"Halfway." She raised a hand to her neck, wiping away sweat. But she couldn't look away from him; dressed in his Oracean coat opened to reveal a thin tunic. Beneath it, she could see his large chest rising and falling, trying to catch his breath from climbing a mountain. Despite her warnings, he seemed stubbornly confident he could handle it. "We can go back." Edrei crossed her arms, the grin never leaving her cheeks.

"Give me..." he lifted his hands to his knees, trying to slow his breath, "...a moment."

She smiled down at him and obliged. She could imagine what Illyera saw every day she had spent with him. A husky soldier adorned in a black and red military tailcoat. His chin lifted high with twin sword sheaths on his hips. Despite the fatigue plaguing him now, she could see everything that had made him great, including his determination to conquer a mountain fuelled by something greater than stubbornness.

But there was always something else she wondered about - a rumor of Pyrian customs. One she always wanted to ask Illyera. She had heard of the knight Rondar in her letters; a knight who never left Ezekiel's side. She had read stories about the things they had done together; going to public baths, and privately riding together on various trips. Illyera never confirmed nor denied the idea, which only made Edrei more curious. But she had wondered about Illyera's excitement on the... directness of their culture. Experiences she had looked down upon with scorn. Until Illyera's excited letters drove her curiosity.

Watching him now, and getting to know him... She had felt how gentle he was as he touched her, and she had seen how merciless he was if anyone he loved was threatened. A man who deserved the monstrous nicknames he was given, despite the despair in his eyes with every life he took. It was different than anything she had known.

Still, she didn't know his culture. She didn't know his customs. And yet here they were. Together. Partaking in an Oracean custom of climbing their Great Tree to pay homage to their Prophet. Together. She had only needed to hint at the desire, and he was quick to offer his company. He had done it for her.

"You." Edrei crossed her arms. "Must be a good kisser."

Antor's head flew up, eyes widening. "Excuse me?"

Edrei turned away from embarrassment. "I - I apologize. That didn't come out right."

"Are you sure you take this trip often?" Antor playfully leaned an arm over the rock, "The air must be getting to you too."

Edrei turned back to him, "Pyrians... Are more open. Are they not? To experiences. That's why you came."

"What? I came because I wish to know more about your life." Antor sighed again, removing his coat entirely, and pulled out the ties of his tunic, fanning himself with the opening of his shirt. "About Astrea's future here too. It has nothing to do with that. Where do you hear these things?"

"I see." Edrei looked away again. Her thin slippers tapped the mossy stone staircase they stopped at. It was one thing to admire him in a fashionable tailcoat, but it was another to watch a thin shirt the only thing separating his chest from the air. "I must add indecency to the list of Pyrian habits."

"I wouldn't call your nations desire to be eternally suffering without complaint as decent. Nor is it wise to deny yourself of simple pleasures. It is simply hot, and I am out of breath."

"Be glad we're alone, then."

She heard the smile in his scoff, "Now that I'll agree with."

"Was I wrong?" She turned to him. "Are you... Do you have...?"

"Ah. Your Majesty. You're bold for asking such an indecent question on holy land." He mocked, a sly smile lifted to his cheeks as he rose to his feet, towering over her again. "What will your prophet think? What will your people think? You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

A frustrated freckle lifted to her cheeks, "If you continue to refuse my questions, I will just assume you're a terrible kisser and be done with it."

"Edrei." He lifted a hand to her, and beckoned her closer. His sly grin mixed with the fatigued flush on his cheeks as his lowered his head down to her, "You've had one lover."

She immediately turned away again. "How dare you! And what of you? A king? Dare I assume, my own sister?"

Antor's eyes widened, finally realizing the purpose of her question. "Oh. That's what you think?" He lifted a hand to hers and slowly pulled her closer to his chest. "Not your sister. But she did ask."

Edrei scoffed, trying to avoid looking at him. "Of course she did." her eyes widened in realization. "Wait. But what about--"

Cutting her off, Antor gently took her chin. He dipped his lips down to meet hers, holding her slim waist tight in his grip as he kissed her.

Finally, she felt a breeze flow through the foliage that enwrapped the spiral staircase. A cool breeze billowed through their warm, fatigued embrace, sending a cooling touch through their clothes and hair.

But, something struck Antor, making him slowly peel himself from the kiss. She opened her eyes, and noticed a paleness around the reds of his cheeks.

"Antor?" She blinked.

He cursed in a tongue she barely recognized. "Sorry. I - I just." he whispered, closing his eyes. He took a soft step back towards the rock, falling back to sit in the dirt again. "Heights."

Edrei brought a hand to her lips, realization donning on her. "You... You're afraid of heights? You?" she couldn't stop a scoffing laughter rise up her throat. "Why in the world did you want to come?"

Antor raised his heavy gaze to her, trying to find the confidence he had when he kissed her. "Your traditions. I want to know them. Even if it means... This."

Warmth leeches to him, hellfire a mere shadow in place of darkness, but he craves the intimacy of touch, of skin. When his skeletal hand cradles her thin, frost-kissed cheek, he can feel neither the bite of cold nor the tenderness of her beauty. 

“Persephone,” he says more strongly, the words urgent and shielded from his limitless anger, “I meant what I told you. What transpired in that forest will not happen to you. Whether I perish in this world, whether you rule alone, I will do anything to protect you. My servants will pledge their entire existence to guard you. You will never hurt, nor will anyone you love. No matter where that love goes, or who it passes onto. Now please… enough crying.” 

It kills him, such a thought, of another man keeping her tears at bay and whispering pledges into the nape of her throat. When Demeter’s magic succeeds, he’ll be nothing but a memory, the same as the stories the elders murmur of titans. He’ll be a gravestale, no more frightening than that skulking shadow Thanatos. No one dwells on the fury of a titan, grave-sent and near-forgotten. No one will dwell on him either. Not even her. 

Yet part of him wishes so desperately that she always will. 

He tilts her head back, thoughts greened by swirling envy. The teeth of his skull brush against the plain of her forehead; then her cheek, then her lips. She caresses his teeth gently, mimicking a kiss. 

“She hurts because of us.” 

“She grieves because of me.” The blame belongs on his shoulders alone, burdenless to carry when she tries to adopt some of it. “She can’t see beyond her despair, which is why it’s so prudent that we find her. That she… knows that healing is possible.” 

“How, Hades? How will this get better? If she thinks I belong to you once this curse resolves, she won’t stop. She’ll end the entire world to get me back.”

“I sympathize,” he notes demurely. 

“Be reasonable,” Persephone says, sighing as the tears slow down her cheeks. 

“As reasonable as I can,” Hades agrees. “We share a vision of the world, Demeter and I. To lose you now that I’ve called you my own?" Her turns away instinctively, still cautious of any anger trying to take shape on his faceless skull. "What matters to me—the only thing that matters—is that you want your mother. It's simple, darling girl. Your mother you will have.” 

He feels her slacken in his arms then.

In the end, all Hades can hope is that Demeter will see reason and justice, not a memory sharpened by her brother’s trickery. Disgusted that such antics seemed to belong in Zeus’s realm, yet it was Zeus who comforted Demeter and brought her the child—now Hades' wife, his undoing.

Persephone, her hair kissed by Helios, glimmering and haloed, attempts to wipe away all evidence of her tears with the back of her dirt-smudged hands.

“I don’t want her to think that you would do such a thing.” 

“You’re not to clear your mother’s misunderstandings,” Hades says firmly. “Whatever resentments she carries for me are for me alone. For me to challenge myself. You’re her daughter, not my forsaken lawyer.” 

"But she's not going to want to listen to you! Just as my father wouldn't listen. And those wretched twins."

"I suspect she'll lose respect for both of us if I hide behind you to clear my name of something you weren't alive to witness."

"Just because she doesn't carry lightning bolts, doesn't mean she won't cause you immeasurable pain—"

Hades tilts his head down, as if to study his body.

"You needn't worry about me ever making such a mistake again," he agrees.

His young wife smiles then, the sight still unfamiliar to him. Like it should be reserved only for portraits or the attention of anyone else.

"I love you." They're the only words he can think to say in that moment, even if she doesn't answer them. Where they once stayed safely hidden, refuged in the deep, strangling darkness of his bones, now pruned free the more the worst of him rots away.

“Have we laid this to rest?” Hades says. "We should go. Lest we run into another damn monster who's forsaken his king."

Persephone takes his green, mossy hand between her warm, pearled fingers. Deep in the grave of his rib cage, a strange pulse drums against his bones.

.

Astrea raised a suspicious eye at the pirate, offering his hand out to her. His long curled hair draped his youthful cheeks. And a shit-eating grin flashed down at her in a nefarious little smile.

He wanted to make a deal.

She might not have known him long, but it was a smile that never saw the end of anything good. Manipulative. Conniving. Untrustworthy. If she took his hand, it would be as if a snake ensnared around her arm, and rattled its tail in her palm.

But she glimpsed around them.

Assassin's littered around them like a halo. Bodies, and clothes were drenched in blood. His daggers ripped through half of their throats. And her sword met the other half; straight through their hearts.

He helped her. He saved her life.

But it was breathtaking. It was perfect. With his back to hers, his eye caught everything she missed. He deflected every stray sword or arrow. But she did the same for him. She burnt the ground beneath anyone who snuck up on him and stabbed them in the heart. He pulled her away from enemies she missed. And she pushed him away from everything he missed.

Fighting with him by her side brought her to life.

And she could see the smile in his eyes when they fought. It wasn't just her.

So, she glanced back to his offered hand.

She needed him, and his wickedness. He needed her too. He needed her knowledge, her skills, her magic, and her wit.

So, she smiled down, and clapped her bloodied hand in his.

She might not have trusted the darkness in his eyes. He might have planned on using her. But there was something in him that drove him to save her - drove him to care.

And drove him to stay.

But, for now, she didn't care. She would use him just as much as he would use her. Anything to get what she needed.

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WIP masterlist.

But even under the brilliance of both full moons, his chest shimmers a sorrowful red. With every shuffle forward, he paints the dirt with cascading red petals.

Nonetheless he shuffles forward.

Because even he knows the night is not over.

But he carries the hope that one day... one day it will end. His chin lifts with the dream of spring. And the hope of a coming summer.

He closes his eyes and allows the dream to warm his frigid bones. His grin pierces his grief for a moment, seeing her heel on the throats of the men who killed everything she should have been. The men who crafted her into a Monster she never should have been fed to be. But he laughs. His laughter explodes through the field. He drinks up sight of the men beneath her heel, glaring up at the sight of her reclaiming her home.

He can not help but relish the joy at the sight.

The sight of her wearing the hope of the nation like a cape, billowing with the cheers of her people. The nation rejoices as she reclaims her home; the throne. Tainted by ash and blood, she will cleanse it in the blood of all those who harmed her.

Finally, with the weight of the world is lifted from his shoulders. His red eyes barred to the world.

Because she is with him.

Together.

Because she stepped beside him, and joined him.

Together, they carry it all. The knowledge of how to win. The will to go through with it. And the power to raise a fist through a kings heart. The two of them.

They know the world can not have peace without first having suffering.

And... it will be her. With a wave of her finger, she will bring the greatest suffering. But still, just as a rising sun, her smile shall grant the greatest peace.

But first... her name must be spread. A name to remind us of love, but also strike fear. A name to remind us of power, as well as spark hope.

A name to that carries the weight of their mission to any who utters it.

Any who can bear to glance at her shall know...

Antor. Bloodless Heir Book 2: Leviathan Wakes. Drabbles.

As the Daughter of Grief and Love...

She closed her eyes.

With one final breath, she lost herself in the rough callused hands grasping her waist. Hands that have ripped throats open, and yanked bones from bodies; the merciless hands of a warrior with skin long since stained in blood. Regardless, he held her with mercy and grace, as if he were picking up a cracking glass, brittle enough to break if touched in the wrong places.

Much to her dismay, a thin nightdress separated his touch from her skin. Her arms locked around his neck, and she pressed her cheek against his heart. But she frowned at the thin tunic separating her touch from him.

Together, they swayed to the beat of a song played below them; an echo of some tavern just barely audible from her terrace.

But, it was liberating to be with him. Just with him.

Only him.

Nothing mattered anymore. Not the politics of her nation. Not the dreadful creatures invading her lands. Not the looming threats of death, devastation, and calamity.

She had enough.

His absent-minded humming lulled her; a deep hum that reached down to her bones. She smiled at the sound. A warrior renowned across nations, losing himself and humming.

Antor, the fabled dragon of the south; a hero of legend in more countries than she could name; a man whose fire could compare with any God in any sky.

He was singing. For her.

So, she joined him.

Her hips swayed and her fingertips danced behind his neck in rhythm to her soprano hum. A match to his deep bass; a song of gentle pleas.

She whispered his name over his heart.

And with his hands firm on her hips, gently swaying with the midnight air, he answered. Antor's grizzly whisper of her name sounded like she had never heard it. It had her smiling like a little girl biting into the sweetest berry for the first time.

The three moons shone brilliantly in the sky, a rare occurrence to see all three at once. Normally, a cause for celebration. But tonight, neither of them cared for tradition. Neither cared for any celestial show.

"Come with me," Edrei whispered into his chest. "To the next ball."

And every ball after that.

He didn't answer, but he did stop holding her. She felt him lift his head to the stars above. They soundlessly listened as the tavern song echoed between the stars and mixed with the chirping of the nightlife.

She parted her lips to continue, Dance with me as if you had just asked me to marry you.

But she knew better.

She settled for his fingers brushing against her waist, and his arms keeping her close. And his heart, beating in sync with hers.

She wanted to pull his neck down and whisper on his lips, pull me in and kiss me as a husband ought to kiss his newly-wed wife.

But she knew better.

She convinced herself it was the Gods that wished to bear witness to yet another cruel dance between nations; a colliding of cultures. A fight they shouldn't have waged, but a war the Gods started on their own that day they placed Ezekiel and Illyera together.

If it was any other life, she would have whispered, Love me as a King ought to love his Queen.

But she knew better.

"I can't." Antor sighed into her silver hair, closing his eyes. She shivered, feeling his fingers rise to her spine. His thumb brushed her back as her long hair cascaded between his fingertips. She could hear the disappointment in his whispers, "You know I can't."

With her ear pressed against his heart, she could hear his heart speed up. Despite his words, he longed for it just as much as she. He never needed to say it. She knew. He wanted to take her hand for all to see. He yearned to dance with her as a man ought to with a wife. He dreamed of spinning her in a dance for all in her petty little nation to see.

Perhaps he even longed to sit in the throne next to hers, as she did.

"You don't have to dance with me," she whispered against him. Her smile fought through the sordid truth lingering in the air. "You can just... be there. With me. We can simply just be there. Together."

A deep chuckle reverberated through his chest. "Yes. Yes, I suppose you would like that, wouldn't you?"

"Hmm?" She smiled at him. Smelling the wine off of his breath, her fingers brushed down his neck, and played with the open collar of his shirt. "I don't know what you mean."

"You enjoy it." His rough voice rose, pulling her heart closer. He finally stopped swaying and trailed his fingers up her arms. "You enjoy watching me stumble around the ballroom. You enjoy seeing me lose my composure as you dance with... him. You enjoy seeing the look in my eyes as he puts an arm around you, and tries to hold you..." his lips dropped to her forehead, and his fingers traced her jaw. "You like seeing the fire in my eyes when I'm forced to watch as he claims you. For all to see."

"Oh?" The wine guided her thoughts. She blinked, letting his finger lift her chin to him. And she smiled at the sight of him. A weakness in his eyes unbefitting of a man who could take any life, if he wanted. She bit her lip, fighting back a laugh as he pushed her back against the balcony rail. "And why would I like that?"

"You're insatiable. Like any other born into power. As much as you hate to admit it, you like it. You think I don't notice?" He brushed a stray hair behind her ear, and lowered his gaze to her lips. The wine seemed to guide as much as her as whispered over her lips, "You smile every time I bare my fists at the mere sight of you together. You must realize, the sight of his face alone plagues me with dreams that would have me beheaded."

"Better not say it, then." She dropped her smile to his lips as she traced the veins of his neck, up into his growing stubble hovering over her. "I could have you arrested for treason."

"Arrest me, then." His thumb traced her cheek. "I bear only ill will towards your husband. You know how many times I've wanted to take that crown from his intrepid little head and smack him with it?"

"Oh. It'll likely crumble under your fist before it even reaches his face. We don't give him real gold." A smile reached her eyes, hearing Antor's laughter so close to her. "I believe it's nickel painted gold, actually. Very brittle."

His cheek rose into a pink; amusement mixed with his wine. And his eyes softened looking down at her, love and joy apparent in his gaze. A look she only rarely witnessed on the man so plagued with sorrow and grief.

And yet, the love never left as he starred into her. She softened, and leaned against the rail behind her, feeling as his callused thumbs caressed her cheeks.

"No matter what he wears. Gold or no.You are the crown. He is nothing without you. A man toying with power on a pretend pedestal. And they call him a King? He is a simpleton who needs to be reminded of his true station. He is nothing. But you?" His fingers wrapped around her jaw, "You are everything."

The wine already did a marvelous job of turning her cheeks into a flight of stars that could compete with the night sky itself. But hearing Antor speak such words; she was sure the cosmic eruption on her cheeks could compete with any celestial show.

"And you like it when I talk of your husband like this." Antor's lips hovered over hers, brushing her lips with his thumb.

"Well." She lifted her chin at him, "You are the only one in the nation who has the gall to say the truth to my face." She traced her fingers up to his wrist, holding him closer. "He truly is nothing but an oaf."

"What am I then, Edrei?"

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Persephone, her sweet shadow. Demeter fitted a crown of Tyrian hyacinths and wheat stalks atop her newborn head, weaved jewel-toned petals and silky leaves that brushed like kisses as they encircled around the spring-born infant. Before Persephone, the shell of her body warmed only beneath the sun. Nothing penetrated her the way this stirring goddess wrestled beneath her scarf. Her lips suckled greedily at Demeter, her tiny, grass-blade fingers winding around Demeter’s chiton, warning Demeter not to lose her. Demeter, swearing in a whisper that she wouldn’t.

"Fuck!" Elijah switched to his native Pyrian, "Nothing. We've got NOTHING!"

Glass shards erupted from the wall. Elijah panted, red faced, and sneered at the wooden wall.

He had found a deserted home, one long abandoned to war or crime. The valuables had long since been looted. Where blankets and food once laid, he collected bottles, and papers. Drugs to lose himself and clues to consume himself.

But nothing had come of any of it.

"After all this fucking time!" Elijah snarled, picking up another half-empty bottle, and readied to throw it. "After all this time!"

But he froze, seeing her face on the wall.

Terrified. Screaming his name. Reaching for him.

Her fingertips just grazed his before being dragged away from him.

But a sudden red, white, and black flashed- his face kicked into the dirt.

Heat suddenly flared throughout his cheeks, and a surge of tears threatened his eyes. The bottle slipped from his cold hands, and dropped to his boots, exploding in a crash of glass and booze.

He whimpered her name, gaping at the old and new shards around him.

His knees crunched the broken glass. He didn't care that his knees bled under the cracks. He didn't care that his hands painted the glass shards in a growing pool of red.

"We won't find her like this." Antor's voice echoed in his head.

He lifted his hand to his head. But he bit his lip and cussed, and immediately flinched away; a trace of glass stuck in his palm.

He snarled at his fist and slammed it back to the floor.

With every dead end, Elijah pummeled into the nearest tavern, searching for the bottom of every bottle he could find.

His eyes swelled as he stared at the shards beneath him, drops splashing on his hands.

He grit his teeth, trying to ignore the pain of glass mixed with alcohol in his skin.

With every rumor, he brandished his daggers. He threatened a point to their necks, and a fist to their chest until they cried out with answers. But with every poorly chosen victim, he sliced their throats, discarded their bodies, and chased more rumors.

But they were all empty. Pointless. Unreliable. Ignorant fools.

He shut his eyes, trying to stop the tears. But he couldn't. His body trembled as he sunk into himself. A scream shook the house as his fingers grasped the glass shards into his white-knuckled fists.

Her. He needed to think of her.

He hadn't seen her in months. But she was the only thing that sparked life in his heart. The only thing that helped keep his feet moving day after day. The only thing that gave him hope in this utterly hopeless world.

And he needed her back. He needed to find her. He needed to protect her. He needed to save her.

He hugged himself as he trembled.

He needed her.

Together.

Always together.

He needed to remember.

The joy in her blushed cheeks when she laughed. The girlish giggles as her dress twirled when she danced. Her little smirk when she took his shirt in her fist and teased him. Her tongue stuck out in a smile when she bumped his arm. Her soft wink when she laced his fingers in hers.

Hers.

Always hers.

Water dropped to his hands below him, mixing with the blood pooling beneath him.

He remembered her lips whispering his name on his neck. Her arms tangled around him. Her eyes shining up at him like he was the first embers of warmth after a dark winter. Her hands wrapped around his neck, drinking up the heat like it would be taken away from her if she looked away.

His name whispered against his lips. A vow. A promise.

His eyes opened, and he glared at the wall in front of him. Glass shards stuck to the wall; and alcohol reeked from the wood.

He remembered her eyes widening in fear as they clamped her magic off; a type of magic they hadn't faced before. A new threat they weren't prepared for.

He rose to one knee. He breathed out the tension in his chest, and slowly crunched the glass beneath him, raising himself to his feet.

Astrea sat under a table, knees up, and burning herself in her arms. She trembled and she cradled herself.

Water. Pyrian's didn't sail. Water consumed Flames. That's why Oracea would always be safe from Pyria. An Ocean separated them. She was tired of hiding it. She couldn't conceal her fear anymore - not when roars of thunder mixed with the murderous calls of the sea.

Not when so many claws scratched against the hull of the ship. Not when there was a cacophony of whistle-like screeches calling her name, each begging to leech on her neck, and crawl into her throat.

When the wraiths got her the first time, she thought she understood. She thought she learned her lesson.

No sane Pyrian that would traverse the seas. Not with this fear so engrained in their bones.

"Hey, it's okay." Elijah pulled her between his legs, and held her tighter in his arms; still hidden under a table. He caressed her trembling hair, and pulled her head into his chest, "We're okay. You'll be okay. You're safe."

But her skin was too cold; she couldn't move. She could only quiver and whimper in his chest. Even her arms still trembled, as she buried her face in them.

He took a deep breath in her hair. Slowly he combed his fingers through her long hair, tracing his fingers down her back. "Can I tell you a story?"

For a moment, the thunder quieted. She shifted in his arms.

"It's a love story. It's quite silly." He kissed her head, and twirled her curls in his fingers, "But, I think you'll like it."

She loosed her grip on her knees and pulled at his jacket. Slowly, she nodded in his chest.

.

.

I'll have to warn you, I might find it silly but its still a tragedy. It's about forbidden lovers, destined to be together, and destined to die by eachothers hand.

Together. Always together.

But, I know you like that. The tragedy of it all. The highs and lows. You can't enjoy the stillness of land without first being threatened by the swaying of a sea storm, can you? What's warmth without a chill? Happiness without sadness?

Nothing. Life is nothing without both. You told me that.

So, this is a story about Love. It's a love story between Hope and Despair; and the many names they have.

They were in love. Since the beginning of time, they knew they were in love. Perhaps it was the molten stars that existed from the beginning of time that poured them out to flow into the cracks of eachothers hearts.

No matter. They met, and they married. They were bound to each other with their fingers entwined. Everything was there to witness them, and even an endless sea of stars roared in celebration as they finally joined. Some say it was by the grace of the gods themselves that promised them; others say they outlived the Gods; promised since the beginning of time, since the death of the eternal light; and the death of the eternal dark.

They were the result of a mixture of light and dark.

And so, as their foreheads touched, they whispered against eachothers lips,

"I was made for you."

There were many names for them. Some called her Hope. Some called her the sun, the light, or life itself. But, to most, she was Day. Some called him Despair. Some called him the dark, the deep, or death itself. But to most, he was Night.

As you know, you can not have a shadow without first casting a light.

Even we can feel their hands entwined on our cheeks; walking through bitter cold. The first rays of the sun caressing your bitter cheeks. That's Day and Night embracing on your cheeks.

But this is a tragedy. And so, they must meet fateful ends. They're cursed to fight, just as much they love. They're cursed to duel day after day, each ending and beginning with their death, and their life.

And they promised,

"We shall meet everyday over the horizon."

And so, their swords sliced the air, and together they sung a forbidden song of steel.

They're stuck in a loop; trapped to face eachother for all eternity. Forever destined to paint each other's cheeks red, destined to cut the sword from eachother hands, destined to fall to each other's dance.

One was always destined to stand over the other in victory. Every day. A different victor.

And so, as they met swords, their steel would sing,

"I was made to fit in your arms, and dance with you."

Their meetings are never meant to last. But they would dance, and they would sing, and they would twirl each other in the mud for as long as they could.

Although, it never needed more than a moment.

And, it always came.

Parting was the sweetest sorrow as the love songs they painted with steel ended.

Looking down at Night, Day could see how the dirt might touch upon his cheek as he lay moaning in the mud.

And all The Day could scream is this,

"oh happy dagger. I was made to end you, and so your chest shall be my sheath."

And so, she pulled her dagger from Night's chest and tossed it aside. In sorrowful tears, the metal clattered to the ground. And just as Night ended, she turned to the approaching shadow of another Night to come.

As they always do, and always fall. They could never stay together for long; only for a brief dusk.

And Day would smile with all the love in her eyes as Night approached her again, this time, with sorrowful victory set in his eyes.

And Night would loom towards her, a sweet sorrow on his cheeks,

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you. I love you. I love you. And, I wish to see you again. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry - again and again, I must kill you. Because I love you. Because I was made to love you, and I was made to kill you."

.

.

He didn't know when she stopped shaking, but her cheek rested against his heart, and her grip still held firm on his cloak.

"You know why I don't like it?" He brought his fingers to trace the curve of her jaw, feeling her shiver under his touch, "Because I understand. I understand what it feels like to love. To love someone so much you have the urge to die for them. To risk everything, and give yourself for them."

He smiled, looking down, watching her play with the hem of his cloak.

"But what's the point dying for her? If you love her, live for her. If you love her, fight for a life with her. Traverse the seas for your love to live on. Fight your fears for it to live on."

He felt her smile as his thumb traced her lips.

"If you want a future with her... never raise a sword to her. Hurting eachother is existence, it'll happen whether we want it to or not. But not like that. I don't care if we were the night, or the day, and could only meet at dusk. I'd risk it all. I wouldn't hurt you. And I know you wouldn't hurt me. You have my heart in your hands, and I know you wouldn't raise a sword against it."

His fingers traced down to her chin, and pulled it up to face him. He smiled at the glowing blush on her cheeks, and reflections in her red eyes starring up at him.

His fingers slowly laced behind her neck, bringing her cheeks up to his lips; planting gentle kisses under each eye. "We'll be okay."

She scoffed, smiling as his lips traced her cheeks. Slowly she laced her arms around his neck, and buried herself in his hold.

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