She didn’t forget; she couldn’t forget. That turbulent farewell that left fire in the pit of her stomach and poison embedded on her tongue. It was a memory that still frequented her mind – angered her – but she always found ways to subdue it. The last time she saw Sylva’s trees was the first time she touched a male – enjoyed him – and curled into him. Her manner to cope with the rage had been to melt into Lior, to satisfy that thirst and curiosity. When his skin warmed hers, she wondered briefly if she would regret the decision, but she hadn’t. She still doesn’t. They’ve since coupled again, crumbling in the face of temptation to give birth to a female heir. The fleeting thought sends a chill down her spine, but when she blinks, she sees Stillwater and she contemplates whether it was his hovering breath that actually incited the shiver.
He doesn’t hesitate to approach her and to breathe her in. Nayl’s own nostrils quiver when she draws in the scent that has been gone for so long. Years. She avoided him for two years after leaving Sylva’s borders.
The smell of him is a raging memory. It stabs into her again and again. At first there is happiness, trust, temptation, but then it swirls into anger and frustration. It fuels her to almost leave, to leave him forever with a bitter memory, but then she remembers why she is here, and she reminds herself that she came to him and not Djinni. He has seemingly forgotten their last meeting. His lips are dangerously close to her skin, feeding her with the allure he once had on her.
Another tremble traces down her body, her autumn eyes staring ahead, not yet having even looked at him. ”Unlikely,” she responds with a voice of hardened steel, ”I would think I’d be the last one you’d ever want to see.” For a long few breaths, she lets him nearly taste her. His lungs drunkenly swallow her scent. She almost leans into the touch, almost sates the underlying curiosity that has been submerged beneath the surface for years.
Something I can help you with? He asks, and suddenly she cranes away from him and nips the air next to his face.
Nerine. Politics. That’s why she is here.
But is she lying to herself?
Castile. Lior.
She is wanting to be touched, but now she wonders by whom.
”I’m checking on my subkingdom,” she forces herself to say before she can take it back and hesitate under his heavy stare. ”And to advise you that I have a second. They will be another alliance for you.” Politics, she reaffirms to herself. That’s why she is here. Politics.
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