Metheea felt like a lamb in the middle of wolves.
Every smile and every look that lingered too long felt like a warning to her. Even with the dangerous illusion magic cast on her, altering her physical appearance and giving her a new name, she didn't feel safe.
Her mother, Queen Tilde of Dythrid, had always told her that she would never be a Katarthan and that the only thing that connected them was the gold they were offering for her head. And yet, here she was, walking among them, pretending to be one of them.
She almost curled up in a corner when she saw a group of men coming towards her.
Panic surged through her veins as she hurriedly stepped toward the nearest door, desperate to escape.
She turned again and again, lost in a maze of identical halls. Every door led nowhere. Where was the garden?
Then she heard slow and echoing footsteps from the way she came from.
A chill ran down her spine with the thought that someone is following her.
In a rush, she entered the nearest room. Her hand shimmered lightly as she began casting her concealment magic.
A soft shimmer wrapped around her like a sheet, mimicking the walls of the room. She vanished, invisible to the untrained eye until the footsteps grew fainter, receding down the hall. She'd barely taken a breath when a voice whispered beside her, too close.
"You're not very good at hiding, are you?"
She jumped and let out a startled yelp. Whipping her head to the side, she saw him kneeling right beside her.
Somehow, without a sound, a boy with black hair had crouched beside her. Her concealment had vanished completely, like mist burned away by sunlight.
How did he see me? she thought wildly. Her concealment had held; even if he had seen her cast it, how did he know exactly where she was?
Then she heard it again. The footsteps that were supposed to be fading were now returning, urgent and fast. Whoever it was, they had found her.
Fear stark in her eyes, she met his gaze. "Help me," she whispered.
He smirked. "Sure... do you trust me?"
Trust you? she thought, incredulous.
Before she could answer, the sound of boots scraping against stone echoed from outside the door. Her eyes snapped to it, panic blooming in her chest. She glanced back at him and nodded.
She almost yelped when he suddenly lifted her from the floor, his hands forcing her legs to cling to his hips. She gasped in indignation as the stranger handled her roughly, but her protest was cut off as the stranger's mouth crashed into hers.
She spun her face away, but there was nowhere to go. The wall was solid behind her, and his mouth was insistent. She felt something foreign, unfamiliar, slip into her mouth, and her entire body stiffened.
Then the door burst open.
"Oh heavens. Another hot-blooded pair of youngins," the man who opened the door muttered, clearly annoyed.
He let her slide down as they separated. Her wide eyes locked onto the smirking intruder.
He turned to the door and bowed, muttering an apology.
She exhaled sharply at the sight of guard on the door, the knot in her chest eased slightly. For one terrifying second, she'd thought she was going to die. The sight of the heaving, red-faced guard made her feel safe, for now.
"Were you those rats that kept walking around here?" The guard pointed at them with his spear. "You better go now or I will be informing the headmaster of this."
The stranger thanked the guard and pulled her out of the room, leading her swiftly through the hallways and into the garden.
She breathed a sigh of relief, taking in the cold air of the empty garden filled with red roses but her eyes were still wide with shock.
Her voice trembled as she faced him. "How... how dare you..."
The boy chuckled, sweeping back the hair tumbling in his face. He was massive. She was taller than most girls she knew, but this man stood tall.
He smirked, amused. "Is this the thanks I get for saving you?"
Blinking rapidly, she took a step back. "You're the reason I got caught," she muttered in disbelief. "Because of you!" she snapped.
"I'm not the one who cried," he said, smirking.
"You—you kissed me," she snapped, pointing a trembling finger at him. Her voice broke, the memory still burning on her lips. It hadn't been a kiss—it had been a violation, a forced act she hadn't asked for. Her entire body tensed just recalling it. "And you—" she pointed again, eyes wide with disbelief, "—you used your tongue!"
The stranger looked amused. "I'm sorry, was that your first time?"
She almost nodded, but the laughter in his voice made her pause.
"I like your magic," he said.
That shut her up instantly. Her heart thudded. Concealment magic was a spell taught only to those born of Dythrid. It was sacred. A student of Katarthan should have no business even recognizing it or using it.
She was going to die.
Before she could think of a lie, he tilted his head and added casually, "I won't tell anyone... if you help me."
She narrowed her eyes, trying to weigh the danger. This man could sense her even with concealment magic. He's more powerful than the carefree personality he presents.
And they both knew she didn't have a choice.
"With what?" she asked, her tone cautious.
He grinned, backing away slowly into the shadows. "I'll find you when I need you."
"What's your name?" she called out, her voice chasing after him.
He paused in the shadows and looked back, expression unreadable. "Azrayel."
Then he vanished, leaving Metheea locked in place.
Shock rolled through her like a wave crashing through stone. That name, Azrayel, wasn't just familiar.
It was her curse.
That name had haunted her forever. And now, it had returned to find her.
She had kissed the one person who wanted her dead.
Her brother. Azrayel.