I arrive at the Temple, the Amazonian Youth already gathered like so many eager ducklings at the banks of the River Samara. The air hums with anticipation for the ritualistic bath, and Priestess Soledad, bless her soul, is already positioned at the altar, awaiting my arrival with a serene smile.
"Ah! The little Queen Arielle! How is your morning going so far?" she asks, her voice a warm honeyed drawl.
I purse my lips. Something is amiss, and it's muddling my usual sunny disposition. "I am a little perplexed about a great band of creatures that walk our streets here in Khavena, my priestess," I confess. "I have never seen anything like them before."
Soledad sighs, her gaze flickering with an emotion I can't quite place. "We are as confused as you are, little Queen. We awakened to see these sights ourselves. You know we usually have no visitors in Khavena."
My brow furrows. "I guess mother knows why they are here. She has to be aware. Unless otherwise a war would have brewed in the city, don't you think?" Honestly, sometimes the complete lack of information is simply maddening.
"I do so, your grace. Shall the bathing ritual begin now?" Soledad asks, ever the pragmatist.
"Certainly, my Priestess," I say, and with a swish of my robes, I head towards the River.
I watch the other girls splash and giggle, their youthful exuberance a stark contrast to the knot of worry twisting in my stomach. I always prefer bathing alone, anyway. It's one of the few times I can truly collect my thoughts without a gaggle of advisors whispering in my ear.
When the last of them has scampered off, their wet hair plastered to their backs, I shrug off my clothes and slip into the cool, embracing water. I dive deep, reveling in the silence, the pressure a comforting weight against my skin. Six minutes pass – or perhaps it is simply an eternity – before I rise, gasping for air. I dive again, pushing myself further, seeking the solace of the river's depths.
But as I break the surface the second time, a shadow flickers at the edge of my vision. I turn, slowly, cautiously, and there it is. The very same creature I saw in the streets, but this time, impossibly, closer.
It stands tall, and… well, I'll be frank. It has a rather muscular body compared to mine. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, I'm simply stating a fact. It is more good looking in a closer view, which is…unexpected. I have never seen anything like it in my entire life.
My mind, usually a whirlwind of activity, grinds to a halt. The only word I can find is "What are you?"
It remains silent. It resembles us, yet he is paler, different. My intelligence, honed by years of courtly discourse and quiet observation, fails to categorize it. I rise, drawn by a curiosity that tugs against the ingrained decorum of my Amazonian upbringing, and stare. It returns the favor, its gaze sweeping over me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, a slow, insolent perusal that ignites a most disconcerting flutter in my stomach. It is not predatory, its look, but rather...awed. A passion-filled smolder of amazement warms its features.
I find myself wondering what, precisely, is so fascinating about my person. Is it the curve of my jaw? The set of my shoulders? The fact that my form seems to hold it utterly captive? My gaze snags on the intricate drawings adorning its skin – a sprawling tree, a strangely familiar face, a chaotic tapestry of symbols that hints at a world utterly beyond my comprehension.
Then, it dares. It reaches out, his touch feather-light as it traces the curve of my cheek. No Amazon has ever touched me with such…reverence? Such possessive wonder? A shiver races through me, a feeling entirely foreign, a sensation I have never experienced in my life. It is unsettling, this sudden awareness of my own skin, this unexpected vulnerability.
"My Princess," my maid's voice cuts through the stillness.
I turn, torn between a desire to flee and an uncharacteristic urge to stand my ground. The maid, bless her frantic heart, wades through the shallows, a silk robe clutched in her hands. She shrouds me, protecting my exposed form from its frankly unnerving gaze. But my eyes, against my will, remain fixed on it. It still stares, unwavering, as if I am some wondrous, newly discovered treasure. A small tremor of something akin to fear, laced with an uncomfortable prickle of something I dare not name, courses through me.
"My Princess, you know better than to stand bare before visitors," the maid chides, though her voice trembles slightly.
"What is this?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper. "A visitor?"
The maid's face pales, her eyes wide with an emotion I cannot quite decipher. "They are not 'its,' my Princess. They are Seekers. He is the Prince of the Seekers, Caith Saint Callum. He isn't a beast, he is a…man."
The word hangs in the air, heavy with implications I cannot grasp. "What is a man?"
"Hennesia!"
The maid, her face etched with worry, begins to pull me away. But my gaze, much to my chagrin, remains locked on the distant figure of Prince Caith Saint Callum, this…man. He is a mystery, a puzzle, and a disquieting sensation that I cannot quite place. And, blast it all, I find myself wanting to know more.