Faith was displeased, to say the least. Angry, enraged, and furious better described what she was feeling right now as she walked with Arechin down another one of those sandstone corridors. And he knew this, because she was radiating a certain energy. If he were to really think about it, he could always figure out what exactly she was feeling—with her he could always predict when a fight was incoming, but that hadn't done much to prevent the bruised abdomen or the freshly scarred cheek.
Thinking about the new scar, made it sting just a bit more. He closed his eyes momentarily, steadying his breath as a raw wave of hatred swept him. No one, no woman had laid a hand on his face, not this way. It took everything in him to not rake his own nails down her face. Maybe he'd even slam her against that wall and jam her windpipe, and maybe—
He made the mistake of opening his eyes. She was looking at him, the skin on her face too delicate, too soft—she was a warrior. Was this even possible? There were no scars, save for a small old wound on her forehead, just above her right eyebrow—now stitched and faded. Barely noticeable from a distance. How had she come to procure that? Her neck too, just a plain stretch of tan skin. He was much paler than her, he supposed.
So, if he were to really jam her windpipe, would that bruise her terribly? Irreparably?
"Arechin." He hadn't realised she'd been calling his name, or rather he hadn't realised he had to respond because he had counted five times—she'd said his name five times already.
"Yes, my sweet." He replied, amusement dancing in his eyes as he anticipated her response.
She scowled. She hated that he called her that way, and it made her nervous. He could sense it. This, he decided, would be the perfect punishment for her atrocious behaviour the previous night.
"Why is the Lord so particular about dinner?" She asked, "Why did you choose to not argue, we don't really have time if you haven't realised Your Highness." Then, squirming out of his grip, she said louder, "And why don't you let go of me!"
He realised that she'd been behaving this way since their fight, nervous and restless. This was rare for Faith Reaper, the face of lethal calm. Perhaps, she'd been struck with the realization that there was no escaping Eltarin, no escaping him, a little too severely.
"To answer your questions, Faith," He sighed, "First, I don't know. Second, it is futile to argue with Lord Syel. I could have argued, and fought and stormed out of the courtroom, and it would've left me only with an aching throat and no answers. Lord Syel is a man of his own principles, and I will not waste my breath fighting them." He looked down at her, dressed a little lighter as the winter continued to flee. Her arms were now free from his grip.
"And third," He said, gripping her wrist just firmly enough for it to hurt a little. "No kicking pots?" He asked, his brows rising in question.
She shook off his grip, and a hint of a smile glimmered across her lips. "No promises, Prince." She continued, "You are not allowed to make conversation with me."
"Allowed?"
"I haven't forgiven you yet." She pointed out.
"Forgive me? That's absurd." He snapped, "You must be beseeching me for forgiveness." He then pointed to his face furiously, "This is not easy to come by. My ladies are going to weep when they see this scar."
"Ladies?" She glared. And suddenly, this was the most alive he'd felt in the last few weeks. But the reality of the situation struck him all too soon. It was easy to regard their fight as if it was nothing. But he knew this was heavy, for both of them. He would not and could not let her go, she was an irreplaceable asset to the Empire. The Emperor had always told him she'd be a formidable ally one day.
And for her, Eltarin was stifling her. She needed an escape. But unfortunately, he was not Serria. He did not care for her wants, her needs, her desires and he'd already made himself far more than clear on that subject.
He watched as she shivered a little, then hugged her body, running her hands down her form. She must've realised the effect of the Sandstone as well.
"Ianor is located in the interior," He still explained. "The summers strike far worse, hence the Sandstone."
She nodded, as he guided her out of the corridors and into the gardens. Here, under the sun, it was warmer. "That's efficient." She noted, "But that would make the winters just as unbearable." They wound up in front of the massive fountain that he'd always enjoyed sitting by when he was younger. Summer in Ianor, had always been a significant part of what little childhood he'd had. Those few weeks away from the Emperor had been his haven. This Fountain was enchanted with lesser Elven magic, and he was keen on showing Faith the Fountain's little ploys.
"Formations." He replied, sitting down by the fountain. "Just like the ones in the Council Room. But this one regulates heat." Now, formations were a lost art. But someone like Syel would be likely to know. These are old enough though, and must be starting to fail, seeing how they're losing their power.
He patted the stone, gesturing for her to sit. Surprisingly enough, she obeyed.
The fountain itself was a three tiered stone structure, with three bowls decreasing in size from bottom to top. Water gently cascaded from the top tier down to the lower basins, creating a soothing effect as it flowed into the circular pool at the base.
"This place is. . ." She paused, as if thinking for the right word. "It's different. It feels different." She completed.
He laughed then. A small, light laugh. "Yes, it is different." And then a little more quietly, "I used to visit the Keep every summer when I was younger. I stopped when I was fifteen." She didn't ask him why, and he didn't tell her either.
Instead she said stiffly, "She's been following us." He followed the line of her sight to find a slender tall Elven woman, her skin slightly pinkish. She was wearing nothing but a cloth carelessly draped to cover just enough. Her legs remained crossed as she giggled, standing amongst a familiar bed of peonies. Then she disappeared behind the hedge.
He had to stifle another laugh, but her eyes were only on him.
"Why are you smiling?" She asked, almost innocently.
"I was twelve when Syel was hosting a Grand Feast. Even the Emperor would be in attendance. It was supposed to be big. I hated those feasts, and managed to escape. I found myself here, wandering by the fountain waiting for it to end. That's when Fleur caught my eye." He nodded at the hedge behind which the pink elf had disappeared. "And I suppose I caught her eye too. Because she decided to take me to the peony bed, and then behind that hedge." He stopped, waiting for her reaction, but she only repeated,
"Behind the hedge. . . Oh." She blushed momentarily and then her expression shifted to mortification. "How old was Fleur?"
"Fifteen." He grinned.
She looked like she was going to retch.
Thankfully enough, a servant scurried into their view, curtseying and offering to show them to their chambers. He held up a hand—there was no need for a servant to guide him to his chambers. Besides, seeing Fleur hide behind that hedge had made him realise that perhaps he had some unfinished business before dinner.
Faith was getting up to leave when he held her wrist tugging her back. "Wait." He said. He'd nearly forgotten why he'd brought her here, to this fountain. He'd been ten when he'd first looked at his own reflection in the fountain, and then he'd locked himself in his quarters for a week. This fountain was enchanted in a way that if one were to look at their reflection for the first time in its waters, then their truest self, their truest intentions would be laid bare before them, in their reflection.
Wicked little thing.
"Look into the water." He simply said.
"What?"
"Do as I say." He demanded.
She rolled her eyes, giving in to his command.
She frowned, and then looked closer. His lips twitched into a smirk.
"Why? Are you hideous?" He pressed on, and then finally losing his patience, jumped to his feet. He peeked into the fountain from behind her.
He stilled completely.
"That's weird." She said to him, "Is this an enchantment, Arechin? Why can't I see my reflection? And why is only yours—"
But her voice had faded away.
Because in the fountain's unsullied water he failed to find her reflection.
He did not see her face, distorted and hideous as it should have been.
He saw nothing at all.