The kitchen is so warm it's stifling. Malia tugs me by the wrist through the kitchen. She easily dodges a cook carrying a large, steaming pot of oatmeal, and pulls me out of the way of a woman bearing the weight of a hefty basket of apples on her back.

            "For apple cider," Malia explains. She's quite observant, picking up on the way I stared for a beat too long. Over the course of our evening together I've caught her gaze numerous times. She regards me with a rare scrutiny, as if she can see right down to my innermost parts. It's unsettling, to say the least.

            I've taken on a chatty persona with her, in order to glean what information she might be privy to and happen to share. Unfortunately, my efforts haven't been the most fruitful. Malia is not as open a book as I'd hoped. I'd have better luck with the piranhas, but it's doubtful they'll know much beyond trivial gossip. So I've followed Lady Sinduril around all morning. A step in the right direction— by way of earning her favor, I'd say.

      "Mmm, strawberry rhubarb pie." I pry my gaze away from Malia's dark waves, realizing then I'd been admiring her cascade of long curls. I look instead to the vast counter space that hosts an assortment of desserts. I hadn't taken the Fire Order for gluttons, but a massive pie, strawberry rhubarb, as Malia called it, sits upon the counter. A cook dusts the pie in powdered sugar. Additional dishes of pudding, muffins, and the like accompany the pie.

            What is all this for?

            "They're testing out tripled recipes to make sure the food cooks thoroughly in such large batches," Malia says. She must read the confusion still evident on my face because she continues, "It's for the celebration of perihelion. It's in a little over a week."

I have to be more careful, wearing my thoughts on my face like that. She peers up at me with those eyes— twin pools of amber— neither hazel nor golden, but somewhere in between. I have the sudden urge to avert my gaze. I fight it. Since when do I get unnerved?

            "Perihelion," I repeat, staring back at her just as intently as she stares at me. It requires all my willpower not to drop my gaze. My heart beats in silent revolt. She probably doesn't mean to stare— can't help it. Maybe she doesn't even realize it. "You celebrate Perihelion? During the second month?"

            "The third moon of the second month, yes. You sound as if you find that strange— Holtz celebrates too, you know." I'm familiar with the back to back parades and festivals— the commoners' celebration at the start of the month, followed by the temple's religious ceremony toward the end. It seems to me as if the southern celebration of Perihelion is a combination of festivities and religious rituals.

            "Yes, but we celebrate during the start of the first month, not the end of the second." I retort. Malia waves a hand dismissively. "You northerners think you're so close to God, perched high upon your mountains and snow. Perihelion actually does take place at the end of winter. Before the start of spring. We're actually closer to the sun now than in the beginning of winter."

            I shake my head, "No, I've seen the records. Our measurements of the sun are larger than yours. Even more so during the year's first moon cycle."

            "Our scholars would have to disagree."

            "Even the Cavanese agree with us, how can your scholars possibly know better than two well-established nations? My father was close personal friends with Vincent Guhn, and he was physically present when Theodorin performed his measurements of the sun."

            Was.

           We've just exited the kitchen, and entered the dining room where students chatter, spread out along the lengthy table as they eat their breakfast. The words had just poured out of me, and for a moment I'm horrified that I've mentioned my father. On the other hand, speaking about him aloud is different, but nice. Remembering him as something other than deceased.

            "Your father must have been an important, or at least an intelligent man, to be thus acquainted with an established scholar such as Guhn," Malia appraises me with a raised eyebrow, and those darned eyes roam across my face. Ever searching. We approach the table where a cacophony of numerous conversations happening all at once drown out our voices. I pull out a chair for her, a false smile falling easily into place.

            "Allow me, Lady Sinduril," I say with an exaggerated air of dignity. She smiles then, and I swear the clouds part to allow the sunlight in. Malia quickly hides her smile behind pursed lips. I find that I'm staring at her mouth a little too intently, admiring the delicate arching bow of her upper lip. I'd never wanted to kiss someone so badly— wait— is that what I want? —No, I'm just exhausted from weeks of traveling. I'm not thinking clearly Malia takes her seat, averting her gaze.

            Shit.

            She definitely noticed I was staring. Malia clears her throat.

            "They'll be coming around with the food soon. Breakfasts are usually on the lighter side, but look forward to dinner– the main course will be rosemary seasoned chicken breast tonight and usually some type of boiled vegetable on the side." I take my seat beside her, helping myself to a muffin from the basket in the center of our end of the table. It's still warm inside when I break it in half and spread a bit of butter on it. Malia does the same.

            A young boy, about 15 years of age judging by the looks of him, comes around the table filling and refilling glasses of orange juice. A girl close to him in age carries a pot of the oatmeal, ladling it into our bowls.

            "Thank you," Malia tells them. I mimic the sentiment and shovel a spoonful of the steaming substance into my mouth. It burns my tongue, taking every ounce of my willpower not to spit it back into my bowl.

            "Good?" Malia asks me. I nod enthusiastically, swallowing the mouthful. "Those two are on kitchen duty. They probably got caught holding hands or something." Malia looks at me with a glint in her eyes that can only be interpreted as mirth. She's trying not to laugh at me, I realize. Nothing escapes her notice really, not even the fact I burned my tongue.

            "Hot," I say, knocking back my cup of juice. It soothes my tongue which now feels quite numb. A pleasant taste of bold, sweet citrus spreads across my tongue. It's so good, I chug the entire glass.

            Malia laughs then. A small smile plays at my lips and I take another bite of my food, blowing on the hot oats to cool them before taking my next bite. I might be enjoying the company more than I should be. I'm really only going to use her in the end, to achieve my own ends.

            I'll have to be careful. She's keen.

            But so am I.

            The rest of our meal passes by in a blur. I managed to snag a bottle of white wine from the cellar on our way out of the kitchen. I take a long swig. It tastes sweet, and slightly sparkling, like a crisp green apple. I'm surprised that bottles of alcohol are kept in the temple of all places.

            "I suppose they're not worried about a case of drunken students should they get their hands on this?" I inquire, only half joking.

            "Oh , they are. Some of us just have more sense than to drink, or to get caught for that matter."

            "What is it used for?" I can't help but wonder. Cooking? Rituals?

            "For a black robe you certainly lack knowledge about these things, Aedan. If I didn't know better I'd think you were an imposter!" Malia's voice carries a dramatic note, as if to imply such an idea would be ridiculous. I work to keep myself from tensing up, or looking at her too sharply. She must have some sort of suspicion, indeed, to be prodding like she is. It occurs to me at this moment that we're playing the same game, she and I. Dancing around each other in circles to see who falters first.

            "I did prove inept, after all. They took me for a grunt man, nothing more." The excuse comes easily enough.

            "Yes well, to answer your question, certain recipes call for alcohol which, of course, cooks off. Then there's the matter of our water supply. We don't have fresh melting snow to supply us with clean water as you do in the north. I believe the wine serves the purposes of sterilization." She eyes me with an indiscernible expression. I take another drink, and offer the bottle to Malia who politely declines. I'd thought a bit of drink would loosen her lips, but she doesn't seem inclined to have any.

            "There's no evidence to prove that it works, though." I'm referring to the water-alcohol purification method. "Some would say it's even been disproven."

            "You seem to know a great many details about science, Blackrobe. For one who claims himself to be inept— it's curious, really."

            "It's not about science and history. It's about the rituals and the rites— all of which require excellent pronunciation and knowledge of Ancient Palivian. The Tongue of the Mikari, as some say—  the Tongue of the gods— or God, depending on who's talking."

            Malia snorts, "You don't believe in Mikari, do you? A wise man of science, stooping so low as to afford undue veracity to myth and legend."

            I shrug. I honestly couldn't care less if they existed— the ancients had been wiped out, regardless of their blessings. My mother told me stories though, about a line of ancient rulers— kings and queens alike— who rode on the backs of dragons to lead their kingdom to victory. I'd also seen artifacts from pagan villages and cities absorbed into Holtz— children's books with illustrations depicting dragons, fairies, trolls and sprites. Thus, historical truths are given over to imaginative tales.

            "No less likely than an omnipotent God creating a world just to altogether abandon it upon deeming his own creation unholy." I don't believe in God. Or anything for that matter. I have no use for the false comfort of a God. Especially not when nearly every civilization can't even agree upon the number of gods, let alone the existence of hell. The fanatical Fire Order claims hell is metaphorical for eternal separation from Agni— so wouldn't we be in living hell, right this moment? He's gone, isn't he?

            Malia leads us through the hallways, absently meandering around great marble columns. I recognize the route, she's taking me to the baths. Finally.

            "I mean, it isn't as simple as you make it seem, though. I was taught that our greed, and the transgressions of war led to Agni's departure. Leaving us to do as we wish since we didn't follow his guidance in the first place," Malia twirls a winding, curly strand of her hair around a finger, over and over. A subconscious tick of hers, it would seem. My eyes track the movements as I formulate a reply.

            "Yes, you're right, I suppose. I just have doubts, that's all." I backtrack as subtly as I am able. I've allowed myself to relax around her, and she's becoming increasingly suspicious of my identity. The ruse would be altogether ineffective if I inadvertently convinced this girl that I didn't even believe. I have a mission to carry out. I have information to glean and the location of a book— of all things— to discover.

            "We're almost to the dorms," Malia murmurs after a stretch of silence between us. I look at her meeting her eyes, shadowed as they are as we enter the hallway. I have to gain her trust.

            Her affection would make the feat all the easier.

            The thought sends an uncomfortable chill down my spine. It's true, though. A life is at stake. One more precious than my own, and the life of my sister far outweighs the prospect of Malia's broken heart. I believed my family to be slaughtered, not one spared. I should have known Hector would keep some form of leverage over me. Malia might want to kill me in the end, but she won't face death. Yelena— I mean— Raine will, Silas will, I will— if I fail.

            "I'm going to have to leave you here," Malia states matter of factly. "I've been summoned to the priestess' private chambers for a discussion. I'm supposed to report there now."

            The way she says the word discussion, it comes out sounding more like torture or execution than a simple talk between priestess and acolyte. There's more going on there than she'd like me to believe. No matter, though. I have to meet with Silas, and Malia has been otherwise focused on keeping me close by.

            "Alright," I say with a shrug. "I suppose I can go with the others. The black robes are leaving soon— they're going for a swim at the lake."

            "You do that," She replies. Malia heads back the way we came, and I watch as she traverses the gardens toward the eastern wing of the temple where the priestess awaits her arrival.

—

            The first few days I've spent at the temple have been relaxed, a welcome reprieve from the weeks Silas and I spent on the road. My arrow wound has healed nicely, barely more than some light bruising and scarring remain of the former gash.

            I awoke early this morning to the sound of Priest Illian barking orders at Jacob, who then barked orders at the rest of us. We're to get up, get dressed, and be in the courtyard for training, immediately.

            Now, hours later with the sun beating down on my exposed back, sweat coating every inch of my body, the afternoon heat only feels more intense by the minute. I'm engaged in mock combat with Zion, a tall dark skinned man with rippling muscles and a killer gleam in his eye. He bares his teeth, diving for my legs. I dart to the side, and the man somersaults across the stone pavement before popping back up onto his feet. He's quick, but rapidly losing speed. I'm likewise running through my energy stores, in dire need of a drink of water— but I've trained to withstand torture. I can withstand a petty scrimmage with a bunch of temple boys.

            Priest Illian levels an intense glare at me, watching my every move. He oversees the training at the temple, and I know by the long, jagged scar across his exposed back that despite Naidara's facade of peace, this man has seen battle.

            Zion rushes me, and once again I deflect his blow, meeting his fist with a forearm. He swings his other fist toward my head, but I duck and roll, springing back up before he can spin around to face me. I wrap my arm around his neck, positioning my other hand on the back of his head. He's in a headlock, but does his best to throw me off balance. He elbows me in the side, but I angle my body so it's impossible for his elbow to make contact. The man is full-on choking now, all I have left to do is wait for him to fold. He doesn't tap out, though, instead, his dark skin turns darker, an undercurrent of purple and red tinging his cheeks.

            Priest Illian paces back and forth, and Jacob circles around the two of us like a vulture circling its prey. The former wears a neutral, though hardened expression, whereas the latter glares at me with barely concealed rage. I fight the urge to grin, as easy as it was to best Zion, knowing that would only cause them to question my morals, and I would definitely earn myself some new enemies, if I haven't already.

            "Release him, Aedan," Illian finally says in his deep voice. I release Zion, as ordered, and immediately he turns on me, gasping and throwing his fists.

            "You want to choke me?" Zion shouts. "Huh? You piece of shit!" I dance backward a few steps to avoid the majority of his blows. The rest glance off my forearms as I block them, one by one. Jacob and some others rush forward to restrain him.

            "Woah, woah! Woah!" Jacob shouts, wrapping his arms around his friend "Zion, stop!"

            Zion the wild mustang.

            I snort, finding the notion amusing. He's being woahed and reigned in like a horse, indeed.

            Their efforts finally prevail against Zion who eventually stops kicking and thrashing. He's still spitting out all manner of obscene words and insults. I pay him no further heed, instead stalking over to Priest Illian who folds powerful arms across his chest.

            "Can I go now?" I ask him, pulling on my shirt. The man merely nods once, and I take off before he can change his mind.

            The halls are loud and packed. Students just finished with class lectures swamp the halls, scurrying this way and that. Servants and acolytes on cleaning duty dust picture frames and light sconces with flame in preparation for sundown. The temple is lively in a way I hadn't quite seen since arriving, but the noise is nice. It distracts me for the time being.

            I find Malia perched on a staircase, her nose in a book. She chews her lower lip, brows knit together as if in deep contemplation over something or other.

            "Hey, you," I call out. Seconds pass before she finally looks up, confusion clouding her eyes.

            "Oh, it's you," She states. "Hello, Aedan. For a second I didn't recognize your voice."

            "Come with me to get a bite to eat," I say, treading over and picking up the couple of books she has stacked beside her. Malia nods her head, letting me carry her books for her.

            "Wait," She blurts, turning to peer up the staircase. "I got these from the Priesthood's private library— I should return them in case they notice they're gone. I'll be right back." And with that, I watch as she bounds up the staircase, around a corner at the top, and disappears from sight. Minutes tick by, feeling incredibly slow in their passing. I pace the space before the staircase, my stomach grumbling, and my hair damp with sweat.

—

            Dinner was heavenly. I can still taste the tomato bisque and the salted pork chops they served as the main course. Even the roasted carrots appealed to my gaping chasm of a stomach. Malia and I exit the dining hall together— as seems to be our new ritual. We head down the hallway branching off toward the bathing chambers, stopping only just outside the tunnel leading down into them.

            "Do you think you could lead me the rest of the way?" I've been staying at the temple for a week now and I've rarely had the chance to speak with Malia outside of the dining hall. I don't want her to leave just yet.

            For my mission's sake, nothing more.

            Telling myself that won't make it true, but I'll ignore that, too. Add this girl to my list of victims. If she stays out of the way, she'll be the only one of them who'll have kept her life.

            Malia offers a half smile, "And here I thought you were so astute you'd remember your own way. It's been a week, don't tell me you haven't bathed since you've arrived." She's teasing. Good.

            "Add that to my list of shortcomings," I reply. She peers up at me beneath dark lashes. She's over half a foot shorter than I am, probably about 5'7. Not short, but shorter. Malia's legs are long, slender and suntanned. The hem of her white chemise hangs just above her knees. I know it's meant to hide the feminine curves of the wearer, and it does to an extent, but the way the fabric drapes over her hips still catches my attention.

            "Oh yes, I have a mental list going. It's beginning to populate so rapidly I'll have to start transferring it to paper soon!"

            "You're hilarious," I deadpan. We're walking side by side down the long, dimly lit tunnel. The air feels thick with humidity. I'm pleased at the prospect of finally washing the day's sweat and grime from my body. I haven't felt so gross since arriving in Naidrin City after weeks of travel. Even this pales in comparison. At the thought of travel, Sol comes to mind. I wonder where they're keeping him. I hope I can sneak away at some point in search of my stallion. I could use a good ride.

            "Here we are," Malia says when we enter the bathing chamber. The cavern is enormous. I've been in here a handful of times, but the sheer enormity hasn't yet failed to astound me. A large pool of water stretches to the other end of the space, and multiple smaller pools of bubbling water are situated to the side. So far, I'd come at some of the busiest hours, being relegated to these smaller, more shallow pools in order to avoid close proximity with the others. The water is naturally heated, a luxury I'd never experienced before coming here. In Holtz, the wealthy would have servants boil water for their baths, but even those were nothing like this.

            I kneel at the edge of a smaller, more secluded pool and place my hand in the water. It's as warm as last time, with steam hovering just above the surface like a raincloud. Large stalactites hang from the lofty ceiling high above. Sconces holding flickering candles, and wrought iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Oil lamps flicker— placed on natural outcroppings of rock— though some are altogether burned out. This odd arrangement of candles, lamps, and chandeliers dimly illuminate the chamber.

            The air in the tunnel always feels heavy on our way down, but a steady draft keeps the air in here from feeling as thick with humidity. I wonder where the air filters in through here. I turn to ask my guide just that, but I catch a glimpse of Malia's forlorn expression, gazing over the water. She's looking to the far right corner of the pool. I follow her line of sight, but I see nothing but stalactites and shadows. Lost in thought, I guess.

            Shaking herself from a stupor, Malia motions to the right, "Over there you can find fresh clothing. The baskets are sorted with attire for male and female students, as well as clean black robes folded in the chest beside it. The laundry doesn't do itself. We rotate laundry and kitchen duty among everybody, so try not to unfold everything. There are also towels along this wall. Again, help yourself." She takes a step forward, and I rise to my feet from my kneeling position.

            "Interesting, Silas didn't mention that before," I mutter. He'd just tossed some pants and a shirt at me. I didn't get so much as a towel. "Anything else I should know?" I follow her over to the towels, selecting one from the bunch.

            "I figured," Malia says with a huff. "Men are rarely so inclined as to remember the orderly or cleanliness aspects of things." A large mirror hangs upon the wall, thick and reflective. I see my reflection in the glass, dirty blonde hair disheveled, a day's stubble growing on my cheeks and jaw. My dark eyes appear darker, bags beneath them shadow my features and betray the exhaustion of my recent travel wearing on me. Malia's form is bent over in the reflection, digging through supplies stashed within a chest with drawers as well as shelving hewn into the stone wall.

            "Just give me a second," Malia rustles through an assortment of bathing supplies perched on the earthen shelf, then begins combing through the drawers. She holds up a jar of bath salts in one hand and a bar of soap in the other. I certainly hope she doesn't intend for me to use either- they smell strongly of roses and lavender.

            "God, I can't find it. Hold on." So her search continues. I wait for a moment more before my boredom wins out. I pace the chamber, drawing close to the edge of the large pool. I have it all to myself. The bubbles pop upon the surface in a tantalizing display, and I can't resist the temptation any longer. First I remove  my belt and scabbard, then I work quickly to unbuckle my dagger's holster from its place strapped to my thigh. Next, I pull off my shirt, unlace my boots, then leave my breeches and shirt in a pile at the water's edge as I dive into the depths of the water.

           I open my eyes. Effervescent bubbles rise through the water. At first I'm disoriented, but I follow a turquoise glow toward the water's surface. I swim toward the light, but the more  I swim, the further away I seem to be. The water is a low rumble in my ear. The sound resembles that of thousands of feet marching on hard packed earth. That's when I start to hear the voices.

            Aedan.

            Startled, I turn my head sharply to the left, then to the right. I see nobody, not that they could speak underwater anyhow. The voice is that of a woman this time. It permeates my skull, echoing as if in a vaulted chamber, with an otherworldly cadence. Ethereal, even.

            That which you seek will bring about your destiny.

           My lungs are starting to burn. I try not to panic, but I'm swimming madly now, desperately reaching for the surface.

             Why is this happening to me?

             Aedan, du nir dyrvordr.

            The last time I heard those words, I was poisoned and delirious. I convinced myself it was a figment of my imagination, nothing more. Maybe it is, maybe I'm suffering from hallucinatory effects of the Icelace poison. My lungs are screaming louder by the second, and I'm swimming madly, searching for the surface. Just when it feels as though my lungs are about to give out, a surge of energy courses through my veins. Adrenaline.

             I break through the surface, gasping for breath, eyes wide and wild.. Droplets of water scatter from my water darkened locks. Malia stands with arms folded at the edge of the pool. I swim over to her, quickly working to master my startled features and calm my breathing. I resort to flashing her a wicked grin. She holds a wrapped bar of soap in one hand, and extends it toward me.

            "Are you okay? You were splashing about like a Black Serafin," Malia appraises me with raised brows.

            "Oh, don't worry, I can swim. I just got a little disoriented. The water is pitch black down there." I hope I sound as lighthearted as I intend. Her expression softens, appeased for the moment. I realize that was Malia's version of worry. She was worried about me. Not enough to dive in after me, apparently, but still.

            "I was trying to find you some soap that didn't smell like roses and daisies. Here," I watch Malia's eyes drift from mine. They roam across the breadth of my shoulders, and settle on my chest. The supernatural voice, hallucination, whatever it was, is forgotten for the moment. Lukewarm water laps at my skin, disturbed from its stillness by my impromptu dive.

            I lift a hand to take the soap from her. Our skin comes into contact, and I wrap my fingers around hers like a vice. A look of shock dominates Malia's features as she realizes my intentions. Without hesitating, I pull her into the pool with me.

            "You asshole!" Malia shrieks as she's falling through the air, face first. I manage to bring my hands up to her waist and support her fall into the pool. She falls into me and sends us both crashing backward into the water. My senses are again enveloped by the dull gurgling of the water. Startled by the traumatic experience I'd just undergone, I jerk away from Malia. I release my grip on her, unwrapping my arms from around her waist. I open my eyes in time to see her body suspended over mine, her hands gripping my shoulders. She lets go. Our eyes meet. A halo of dark hair floats about her pretty face. She's in her element. I could mistake her for a damn siren, a mermaid for that matter— if it weren't for the two very human legs kicking in the water. We float apart, and I push down on the water to propel myself to the surface.

           I break through the surface of the water once again, blessed relief washing over me that I didn't have another episode, or drown during the first for that matter. Malia gasps upon coming up for air, and gives me the most scalding look I'd been on the receiving end of since my mother caught Niklas and I sneaking into her strawberry preserves.

The memory brings about a twinge of homesickness that comes into stark contrast with my current feelings of elation. I focus instead on the girl peddling water in front of me. Her white chemise is plastered to her upper body, her arms move in circular motions to keep herself afloat.

            "What is wrong with you, I'm completely clothed and you just— and you're nearly naked and—"

            "You look good," I cut her off. She looks particularly startled by the compliment which only causes her brows to furrow. The face she's making reminds me of a disgruntled toddler awakened too early from a nap. The comparison makes me laugh, a real, genuine laugh, and not for the first time since our meeting. She's looking at me so intensely I could forget my own name. Maybe she really is a siren, at least in part. I half expect her to start singing me to a watery death.

            My grin slowly disappears from my face. I'm fully aware of the hair plastered to my forehead, and the rivulets of water running down my chest. We paddle to the edge of the pool, where the water is shallow enough to stand. I'm waist deep in water, my upper body fully exposed. As is her's. Malia's white temple garb is nearly sheer, soaked through and through. It clings to her curves now, accentuating the slope of her hips, and the shape of her breasts.

            Her eyes dart between my eyes to my mouth to my abdomen, and back again. She's abashedly trying to avoid my gaze. When a droplet of water trails down her face, beading at the edge of her chin, my hand moves of its own accord. I cup her cheek with one hand, brushing my thumb across her jaw. Malia's skin is soft beneath my calloused palm. I swipe the drop of water from its place on the edge of her chin.

            She is gazing up at me, her conflicted expression mirroring my own. My lips hover just over hers, our breaths intermingling. It occurs to me at this moment, that in my prevention of that droplet's plummeting from the precipice of Malia's chin, I send myself tumbling over the edge of another, albeit figurative, precipice. She looks so perfect, her hair a sopping pile of curls draped over one shoulder. I'm painfully aware of our proximity. I have to actively steel every nerve, and tense every muscle in my body to keep myself from closing the distance between us.

            It feels like eternity passes in the span of just a couple of seconds. I swear the stars could explode— a supernova like nothing we've seen since Agni breathed His breath into the heavens and fashioned the mountains with His hands— and I'd still be standing here, unable to move, rooted in place as deeply and as certainly as the Lykavian Mountains. I hate myself for missing this opportunity, I hate myself more for wanting something so badly when I should be a husk of a man after all the lives I've stolen and hearts I've broken. I should leave and never look back, I should walk out, do my task, and be the king's willing instrument to raze the earth— people, cities, families. I should— but I didn't think to consider the possibility that someone like her could exist.

            Malia takes a step forward at the same instant as I. I'm half expecting the stars to rain down, a supernova indeed. Nature, however, does nothing to revolt this turn of events. It's been so long since I'd last allowed my senses to open, to explore an emotion other than a numb obedience to King Hector's whims and wishes. I crave this feeling I've only just tasted, as a thirsty man craves water in a bone-dry desert.

            My eyes bore into hers, switching from her lips to her eyes, her lips to her eyes. Malia gazes at my lips with a similar intensity. We're but a handbreadth apart, but before I can close the distance between us, Malia backs up a step. The warmth of embarrassment slowly washes over me, my face a mask of relief and horror, both battling for possession over my features.

            What the hell is wrong with me?

            I feel wild and dazed. I'd like to believe I'd been possessed, thinking not of my own free will. Anything other than the truth, really. I wanted to kiss her. Thank God she stepped away.

             "I just— oh God, I don't know what came over me," I really don't. Malia's cheeks are tinged red, like the strawberries in that pie we saw earlier. She balls her hands into little fists. I wonder vaguely if she's going to sock me. I must resemble the human embodiment of contrition, because she unclenches her fists as if deciding against striking me. Of course I could stop the blow, but I just might have let her.

            I wear this regret like a shield, hoping she doesn't see right through me, hoping she doesn't interpret this as some attempt at seduction. I'd like to believe that myself, rather than the unfortunate alternative— she bewitched me. A simple temple girl with a bad attitude and a penchant for sarcasm, charmed me. Her scowl lessens as I put more space between us, but Malia watches me warily all the while.

            "I don't mind it, you know. Spending the evening with you. Just— I don't want— I mean, I just met you." She struggles to string together a sentence. If the circumstances were better, I'd poke fun. I refrain.

            I shake my head furiously, "No, I know."

            "It's alright. I'm... gonna go." She lifts herself out of the pool. "I'll see you tomorrow. Can you find your own way back?"

            "Yeah, I'll manage." I try not to watch as she walks over to grab a towel. Malia wraps the towel around herself. She disappears into the tunnel leading back to ground level. I wait until she's gone before groaning loudly.

            Fuck.

            I drag a hand over my face, feeling like the biggest dumbass since the legendary Mikari warrior, Castian, broke the maiden, Sheira's, heart. Even this pagan myth doesn't seem much in comparison to the cosmic embarrassment I made of myself. I tried to kiss her, mere days after meeting her. Maybe one day when I'm dead and gone, they'll tell my story and this will be my definitive failure.