Chapter 8
“AH!” Enya awoke with a startle as the plane hit a bad area of turbulence. One moment, she had been asleep in the warm, soft bed, and the next, she was nearly tossed against the wall. Luckily, even half drunk and asleep, Cole's reflexes were fast. He grabbed her before she hit the wall, yanking her back against him. The plane bumped again, and she whimpered, moving into his arms. “I don't like this. I don't like this.”
“Shhh,” he said, rising slightly over her. His shirtless torso was warm and gleaming in the low light. He rose slightly over her, his eyes open and his ears perked up. He reminded her so much of a dragon listening for danger. She knew that he would protect her from anything that he could. But he wasn't in control of this turbulence, and it felt like it was getting worse with every second. “It's OK. It's OK.”
Just as he said it, the plane dropped what felt like 15 feet. Her stomach dropped, and she heard the screams of the people in the back rows. It stabilized quickly, but the damage was done. She leaned over the side of the bed, gagging and then vomiting on the floor.
She was furious with herself, even as it happened. They had made love for at least half the flight, their passion tangled in sweat, limbs, and sheets 30,000 feet in the air. They had both just dropped off to sleep when the turbulence took over and now she was ruining it.
“Oh, God,” she whimpered, as he put a hand on her shoulder. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”
“It's OK, Enya,” he said, kissing the back of her head. “It's OK.”
Finally, she fell backwards onto the pillow. Her head was throbbing, and her mouth felt like sawdust. He managed to find a water bottle, handing it to her to take small sips.
“If I was flying the plane, this never would have happened,” he growled. “Some people just weren't meant to fly.”
“Could we do that with you as a dragon?” she asked. “Fly long distances like this?”
“Yes,” he replied. “It's absolutely possible. But I can't go as fast as this, of course. By myself, it's fine. But if you were to ride on my back, it might not be so pleasant.”
“You did seem pretty cuddly, though, when you transformed,” she put the water bottle down on the bedside table. “Should we call someone to clean up?”
“I think you should rest.” He pulled her back into his arms. “We can deal with things like that later.”
She sighed, curling into his side.
“This is what it's going to be like,” she said. “The whole time. Things are going to be fine and wonderful, and then my body is going to rebel against me.”
“Well,” he replied, “we will deal with those things when they come up. For now, everything will be fine, alright, my love?”
“Where did they teach you such compassion?” she asked. “In prince school?”
“Compassion?” the word surprised him. “Most people on my planet say that I have no compassion.”
“Well, they are wrong,” she said. “Of course, you do.”
Even after she slipped back into sleep, he contemplated the word.
Compassion.
There had been so many times that the people he had helped slaughter in battle begged him to have some. He and his brothers had been heroes on one side. But there were others who called him a villain, who called him a monster.
Yet, here was this innocent-hearted girl who called him compassionate, who snuggled up to him like he was the safest place in the whole world.
When they finally landed, he was sober, but his head was a million miles away. He wanted to hear her say it again–that he was compassionate, that he was kind, that he was not the monster they screamed he was.
“Do you think you could help me?” she asked, as they waited to exit the plane.
“With?” he asked, standing at the door, waiting for the signal.
“I feel like my legs might collapse if I walk right now,” she said, and he turned around in alarm.
“Enya?” he asked, in concern. “What can I do? How can I help?”
“Don't look so worried,” she said. “This just happens sometimes. Especially after I throw up, I get so shaky.”
“Tell me what to do,” he said, plainly. She gritted her teeth, and it was clear that she hated admitting weakness. But at this moment, she had no choice.
“Just ask them if they could get a wheelchair,” she said. He cocked his head, the word unfamiliar. They had been through this a few times, and she stayed still, looking him right in the eye. “Wheelchair.”
“Wheelchair,” he repeated, just as their private attendant came in.
“My girlfriend needs a wheelchair.”
That startled Enya more than the speed of the attendant entering the room.
“Do you know what that word means?” she asked as they were left alone.
“Wheelchair?” he asked.
“Girlfriend,” she replied.
“Oh,” he colored at that. “It was the easiest word. I didn't want...I mean... I wanted to honor you, so that people knew you weren't just my mistress.”
She laughed at that.
“Things are different on Earth. No one would think that. I supposed that they would think that of a Prince, but here you're just normal. We're just two young people traveling.”
“Normal.” He smirked at that. “I don't think anyone has ever described me using that word. If they have, it's usually proceeded by ‘why can't you be...’”
“My mother used to ask me that all the time as well,” she said. “Especially when everyone else around me would get a cold, and I would get bronchitis or something.”
“Do I want to know what that is?” he asked, as the attendant arrived with a wheelchair.
“No,” she answered. “You do not want to know what that is.”
They had a layover between Belgium and Spain, which Enya had originally thought was going to be an easy transition. But she could see there was something wrong as soon as they got out into the main section of the airport.
Nearly everyone was crowded around a single board, and she could see red on it everywhere.
“Uh oh,” she replied. “Push me closer.”
“If you tell me what to look for....”
“I could, but it's complicated,” she said, and so he obliged. As soon as she scanned the board, she realized what was happening. There must be a problem at the highest level, for everything said ‘Delayed’ or ‘Canceled.’
“Excuse me, sir?” she turned to the man next to her. “Do you know why everything is lit up?”
“Problem with air traffic control,” he replied. “Could be hours, or could be a minute.”
“Amazing,” she said, and turned to Cole. “Alright. We better find some place to settle down.”
“What's air traffic control?”
“Don't worry about it.” She could explain everything to him, but it seemed an insurmountable task at this point. She was already incredibly weary after a transatlantic flight. She couldn't imagine how she might have felt had they not had a bed. Last night had been mostly amazing, but it certainly hadn't been restful. “All you need to know is that until it's fixed, no one in this entire airport is going anywhere.”
“This does not inspire confidence in humans,” he said, as he found them a bench. “It's also incredibly frustrating. I can fly.”
“You can't fly,” she pointed out. “Not unless your magic has returned.”
She lowered her voice when she realized she was getting a few stares from people around her.
He laid a hand over hers. “Even if it has, I'd want to preserve it for you. I hate that you don't feel well and I can do nothing about it.”
She gave him a soft smile.
“It's kind of you. But I'd feel better if we could just get to our destination. Airports aren't exactly designed for comfort, so perhaps the wait won't be long.”
“Is there another way?” he asked, and she shook her head.
“No. We need a plane, unless we enjoy 48 hours of boats, trains, and walking.”
“Humans are dumb,” he said, and she chuckled.
“They don't teach you much patience, do they?”
“I'm a Prince,” he reminded her. “We never had to wait for anything.”
“But you're...,” her face contorted. “Are you immortal?”
“No,” he answered, softly. “My lifespan will be far longer than yours, but we can perish, and eventually, we do grow old.”
“Are you old, though?” she asked. These were all things she had wondered many times before, but never got around to asking. Now, it seemed as if they had all the time in the world.
“No,” his answer surprised her. “Not even for a human.”
She met his eyes.
“So, you can probably guess what my next question is going to be.”
“32,” he answered. “Exactly as I appear.”
“Huh,” she leaned back. “I expected you to say 292 or something. That's not bad at all.”
“It's the age of majority,” he replied. “Which is probably why my father chose this year to tell me the truth. He thought I could handle everything I knew being a lie easily when I reached majority. Turns out, it's harder the longer you believe a lie.”
“Cole,” she squeezed his hand. “We all make our own path in life.”
“My Enya,” he answered. “So ridiculously positive, even though we're stuck in a God-forsaken place.”
She glanced around. “We could go shopping. I have a bit of room left on my credit card, and I've never shopped in an airport before.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Why? Are things different here?”
“It's the experience,” she said, and he rolled his eyes but rose to oblige her. At that point, his heart would have given her anything that she wanted. He dreaded spending time in this place. It seemed overly chaotic, tempers were running high, and everywhere he looked felt dirty. The effect on Enya's fragile state was not going to be a good one.
As the hours ticked by, it was exactly as he feared. They lost their spots on the bench, long since taken after a shopping spree. Despite his better judgment, he let himself be convinced to sit on the floor, so she could lie in his lap. He wasn't quite sure that she was sleeping, but she was quiet, still, and her body warmed as she snuggled against him.
Eventually, an announcement came over the PA, offering to re-book flights for the following days. But by the time he got the front of the line, they only had seats for two days down the road.
“It'll be fine,” Enya said, barely sitting up when he returned. “We can explore Belgium. Unless you have a time limit?”
“I don't,” he answered, crouching down to meet her eyes. “But I am concerned about you.”
“One last time,” she said, with a smile. “To have an adventure and act normal before you take over the world. What do you say?”
If it was anyone else, he would have smote them. But instead, he leaned forward, kissing her soft lips.
“One last time it is, then,” he said, pulling back. But, he worried it would be more than just one last chance for a normal life. Perhaps this would be one last chance at life itself.