Iliya kicked into the ground as hard as she could, sprinting through the crowds of people with a speed she'd only used in training with her mentor. She felt her calves straining, her arms pumping at her side.

She knew he wouldn't come after her, but she couldn't stomach the city anymore. The people. The constant whispers and chatter. The noise of drums and confetti, of children screaming and cannons going off.

For a moment, she wondered what they would think. What Siofra or Rhydian or even Sulliand, her mentor would make of her sprinting away from this country as she had done so many times before.

Iliya felt just as much shame for running away as she did when facing her people. The men, women, and children of her country. The very civilians that often wished either nothing to do with her or stared at her with pity.

This was the only way.

She kept the chant alive in her mind, circling over in loops.

There was no other way.

The thought had her crashing into a gorgeous young woman with piercing hazel eyes and thick black hair bound in a tight bun that left several wisps breaking free. Crashing or caught, Iliya didn't know.

She couldn't know over the ringing in her ears and the disorientation of her vision.

Iliya felt the hands on her shoulder and understood the woman's lips moved. In the farthest reaches of her mind she could hear a soft voice asking her questions.

In and out, the woman's image swayed.

She focused on the voice.

A soft accent unfamiliar to her.

When her vision stopped dancing, Iliya took in the soft afterglow of her rich red-brown skin. The dawn became her, sunrise warming her cheeks like sunbaked clay.

She gasped roughly, attempting to swallow deep breaths before she lost her composure all together.

"Karna help you," the woman said to her. "Breathe."

Iliya did, training her vision enough to notice she was causing a scene. Several onlookers watched from a distance, though a crowd hadn't begun to draw.

"I'm sorry," she said, still panting. "I really am so sorry."

The woman chuckled to herself, shaking her head as she adjusted a beautiful turquoise and magenta shawl around her small frame. Her clothing was form fitting, with black pants and a tunic that highlighted the curves she otherwise hid.

A few more breaths and Iliya was standing up straight and sliding out of the bracing grip that held her.

"I'm so sorry," Iliya said again. She looked for her balance, grounding herself to the best of her ability. "If you'll excuse me."

"Where are you off to in such a rush?"

She kept her chin tipped down, trying not to panic. "I need to make my way home, my mother must be worried sick."

"I can't imagine she'd be overly thrilled to know you were plowing over pedestrians to get back," she replied, her voice sultry yet playful. "You have to be careful."

She knew that.

Iliya wasn't charging into civilians like a battering ram on purpose. Though the young woman did have a point considering if she weren't careful they could both be rolling over the stones.

She didn't want to stain her Temple gowns.

"You're right," she sighed. "I promise to be more careful."

"Would you care for some company?" she asked. "You seem spooked."

Iliya couldn't shake her head fast enough. "I don't even know your name."

"Qudja," she offered. "I've just come in from Toskapel and I'm afraid I don't know anyone."

It explained the curl near the ends of her vowels, the lilting accent sneaking through.

Toskapel was a very long way to travel, so far north there were only a few ferries that might take you a year.

Deep inside, the war in Iliya's head and heart hit a crescendo. Logically, she knew this was a mistake, a fork in the road of bad decisions on both their parts. Her entire life she'd only managed to inflict pain on those who got close to her.

Siofra was the only person alive who never cared how much it might damage her reputation among certain houses.

Though she lived in Taeori a large portion of the year, somewhere to escape.

Perhaps Qudja could escape it as well.

"I'm in a hurry," Iliya said, cursing herself for what she was about to say. "Maybe I could meet you at the Ceremony of Lights?"

Qudja smiled. It was small and warm, with secret excitement lining her eyes.

"I'd like that," she murmured, more shy this time. "Be seeing you then."

She disappeared into the growing flock of people, leaving Iliya standing there.

Paralyzed, her mind wandered as thousands of people swarmed the streets again. The music began to pick up, the smells of cinnamon and sugar wafted into the air from a nearby cake stand.

Her limbs rebelled, refusing to move. They felt like lead swimming through molasses, so heavy and impossible she thought she might drown.

Iliya endured everyone staring at her, watching her. A nightmare. This had turned into one horrendous, traumatic nightmare.

The worst she'd ever known.

Or so she thought.

Iliya's eyes landed on a swaggering blond royal, his maroon overcoat and otherwise black attire much too fancy for the Heartline City's streets during Solstice.

But she knew who he was.

The Lord of Teresii and two of his followers - each man a very long way from the throne despite the wealth they touted - were cruising through the district until his eyes landed on her.

The worst smirk she'd ever seen framing his lips.

Iliya felt the tension before he ever opened his mouth, the avalanche straight to Heilos just beginning.

~ 🔮 ~

Sorein hadn't intended to follow the Princess through the sea of people, he never meant to find her talking to a native from the Wildlands.

He noticed the tribal emblem embroidered on the back of her tunic first. Phases of the moon that overlapped the runes of their continent.

His friends seldom spoke behind him, realizing quickly after Temple that Sorein had no intention of answering any of their silent or verbal remarks about what had taken place with Iliya Dalaminai.

He was certain it was behavior they were used to from him by now.

But the last thing he anticipated was Lord Turrian of Solraidas' industrial territory prowling toward Iliya as if she were prey.

The disgusting look on Turrian's face said it all.

"Look who decided to join the festival," his voice sneered through the remaining bodies between them. "Princess Dalaminai, Heir of this half-bred wasteland."

Several people gasped at the words.

Sorein froze over, ice running through his veins as his friends paused beside him, unaware.

Irreverent, many called him.

He'd show them just how irreverent he could be if that snarling piece of carcass continued to open his loud mouth.

But he knew the Lord of Teresii would.

A sick feeling began twisting in his gut as Sorein realized the drawing swarm of people. Fae and Therian alike, all on Chiori for Solstice. Even a great many mortals dwelled on the island. An audience, just as the man wanted.

A gathering to watch him degrade and terrorize her.

To the Princess's credit, she didn't cower, not yet. Iliya's eyes were flooding with hurt, but she kept her chin up, eyes holding Riven Turrian's dark stare down.

"How does it feel, your Highness, to know your own people don't even want you?"

Sorein's blood burned now, teeth grinding at the sound of that question ebbing out into the crowd.

Jeremy and Noah exchanged a horrified glance, confusion taking a hold of their expressions. He felt them, their energy tugging at him too, nagging him for answers as if he could elaborate.

As if they had no idea why such vile things spewed from Lord Turrian's lips.

The Princess of both Fae and Therian, abandoned by her bloodline in the west because she was impure. So many of the Fae were offended by her very existence, the blurring of species an insult to their society.

Few Therian's even lived on the western continent.

He supposed he understood Noah's confusion. A human from Nynoli, he had no place in the politics of magic.

But Sorein couldn't turn, couldn't explain. Not when it was taking every ounce of his own strength not to behead the royal asshole where he stood.

"Nothing to say?" He hissed at her, mere feet from her face just as Sorein had been. "How stupid could you be?"

The ruthless stabs cut deep, slicing her heart. He saw it. Watched her bleed out internally, the only sign glinting in her wild irises, the lime green dimming.

She didn't speak, didn't move.

He wasn't sure she was breathing.

Iliya's skin began to pale, her fingers tightening around the black bands dawning her hands. For the first time, her gaze pulled away from the man still taking slow, taunting steps toward her. She searched the large audience, more and more panic blooming on her face.

"You're a disgrace," the male spat at her feet.

A Fae bastard with a holy complex, yet no better than the darkest creatures who inhabited the drainage cells beneath the city.

Sorein could hear her heart thundering from here, somehow acutely aware of the fear gripping her shrinking frame.

Her eyes landed on him, on his gaze, every ounce of rage and murderous intent glowing there.

"Sorein," she whimpered. "Please."

She hadn't needed to beg, Sorein was stalking through the crowd before he'd heard the words. He shouldered through the obnoxious Fae brutes, knocking one flat on his face. Slowly allowing the three inches he'd hidden in slouching to dissipate.

He towered over everyone.

Irreverent. Careless. Arrogant.

He could be those things for them, he could give those rumors merit.

Sorein's blade flew into his hand, balancing casually on his fingers like a party trick. Almost appearing as if he might not know how to use the weapon.

His sauntering form the perfect image of both lethal grace and careless swagger.

But these people knew better.

Knew, too, that before them was the Prince of Darkness himself, and Heir to Azuris' throne.

Lord Turrian balked ever so slightly, fear creeping up as the smell pressed into the air.

Sorein flashed a cold half-smile, allowing his fangs to glint in the light. The growl in his throat nothing short of feral. He strode until he stopped in front of Iliya, tipping the dagger between himself and the male before him.

"That's enough," Sorein snapped with vicious sharpness.

He felt more than saw, Jeremy and Noah watching him, weighing the length he was willing to go to for the cowering woman behind him. To the act of desperation and familiarity with him. Shock and more palpable confusion.

Sorein hadn't gone out of his way for anyone, not in years.

Not to their knowledge.

Though Sorein didn't hesitate, didn't need her to even find him in the mass of people. The permission was a surprise, but unnecessary.

He'd have done it anyway.

"What company you keep these days, Prince," the Lord smirked, the words dripping into the air like acid.

Sorein noted Riven Turrian's edging steps, one after another back. Away.

Iliya's face grew vacant, mortified.

He flipped the dagger around in his fingers before palming the hilt.

Serious then. He could be serious.

Sorein snarled at the Lord, advancing a step. "I'd mind your tongue if you feel inclined to keep it."

The forced calm was nothing more than a facade. A mask to keep the poor girl behind him from crumpling to the ground, an act to avoid scarring her further.

"Tough talk," The Lord smirked. "What makes you think I'll listen?"

Sorein felt the shadows in his veins flare in rage, the flickering edges of his magic dancing both in his eyes and his fingertips. "Would you like to find out?"

To his credit, the male backed down, turning to leave with his rather atrocious accomplices. They disappeared into the pool of whispering souls.

Iliya was gaunt, vision fixed on the spot where Turrian had once been. She still fidgeted with those black rings, skin paler than the moon.

"Iliya," Sorein said, attempting to sooth the edge in his voice. She didn't respond. "Iliya." A statement this time. She only blinked though, taking in slow breaths. "Iliya."

He'd implore her if he must.

A majority of the watching eyes began to turn away, back to what they were doing before. Jeremy kept his eyes fixed on Iliya though, on her statuesque terror. Noah attempted to distract the rest of the gathering, cheering loudly for the Solstice performers behind them.

Still Sorein's eyes stared down, searching the young woman's face.

Nothing but hollow sadness.

"Iliya," Sorein snapped, growling. She blinked twice. "Veni daeil, Iliya."

The Therian language rolled off his tongue in a soft, but terese breath. Something most Fae weren't even fluent enough in to purchase bread at the markets of Taeori Rainne itself.

Come on, let's go.

But the words rang in her ears, stirring her from the broken vacancy.

Iliya blinked at him. Once, twice, and then nodded. She wrapped her arms around her torso, keeping her sights set on the ground, on Sorein's feet.

She followed after him, the brewing tempest given skin. People parted rapidly, terrified of the death in his gray eyes. They gave them a wide berth, afraid of what might happen if they dared find themselves in Sorein Chakrine's way.

Does Anyone think I should make a pronunciation guide? I'm happy to if there are some names of people and places that might be hard to look at and understand. 

I hope everyone's having a wonderful day!