Chapter Six
The reading became a habit. A good one, which stopped her from struggling to sleep at night. If Mordred couldn't do it, Winifred took over instead. Both had a different way of delivering the words. Mordred preferred a soft, almost growl to his voice as he read, and he had less expression for the dialogue. Winifred, on the other hand, loved putting on different voices, though it did mean that sometimes Kiara got jerked away when Winifred became too excited over the material in her hands.
She should have known Winifred would like the books, despite her constant complaining about how mushy they were.
With the new pattern in her life, over the course of her next few months staying in the palace, she tried hard to stomp out the debacle of her first few days, and the miseries of her travel when she first realized that her father planned to sell her off to another nation. All for the price of a tenuous alliance, with a high chance of being sabotaged by her. And probably because he intended to marry Bethany off to someone beneficial. Someone whose help they absolutely needed. Kiara to her father was a shot in the dark.
A necessary choice. A disposable princess.
Though she knew it to be the truth, that didn't make it any easier to digest. It made it hard, simply because she didn't like to think of herself as that. Even though, in a way, she'd been working her entire life to be unimportant.
So unimportant, it seemed, that she'd alienated most of the people who should have cared for her.
True to his word, Mordred never pushed her into doing something she didn't want. It allowed her time to adjust to the oddities of Kanthus, to send letters home to her family at last, and to associate more with the servants and the Highborn of the domes. She needed a connection to home, somehow. In the vain hope that she'd discover that people did miss her, that they did care.
People still didn't really like her in Kanthus, though Vasha always made a point to share a little gossip. Vasha and Winifred and Mordred together didn't fill the void inside.
Still, some good things came out of the chaos. The one thing that seemed to baffle absolutely everyone was the fact that Kiara could manifest light into something solid. She still couldn't do any of the other basic stuff, even after a month of Winifred and a few curious lightweavers attempting to teach her—but the oddity of her weaving even attracted attention from one of the most distant human nations in existence—the realm of Nos, a nation mostly comprised of scholars and researchers who enjoyed collecting information about the times before. They had sent her a formal invitation to attend their great kingdom, which Mordred recommended she not take up.
“They just want to find a way to steal the weaving off you. That kind of lightweaving could turn the tide of battle if they discovered how to mass produce it. Speaking of mass producing... how's the weaving going?” At this point, she had been walking with him in the domes, examining each of the unique plant species that grew beyond the rope barriers.
“Badly,” Kiara had admitted. She could only manifest the solid objects for a short amount of time—as long as her concentration permitted. Which meant that she couldn't theoretically produce more of her blobby shields, or any weapons to go with it. Mordred still hadn't found the ones responsible for trying to kill his wife, though he did usher out a decree that if anyone so much as looked at Kiara wrong, they'd incur his wrath. Nice of him, really.
She didn't like the pressure this power of hers placed on herself. People expected her to do amazing things, and acted shocked when they realized she couldn't even manage the basics.
She did, however, like Mordred's attentions. The way he always checked in on her, every single day, making sure everything functioned well. He even helped Kiara get more of those stupid romance books, since the princess had now started reading them in a guilty-pleasure mindset.
He introduced her to his father and mother, both yellow-eyed, intimidating people who looked as if they wanted to eat her up if she so much as said a bad word towards their precious werewolf son. At least due to her quick marriage to Mordred, it encouraged the king to continue forging ahead treaty terms with Fjorn, and soon the main route between their nations began to bristle with trade, bringing much-needed resources into Fjorn. And bringing Fjorn's furs and meats to Kanthus.
Early nights, for sure, but no merchants had ended up mysteriously dead in the gutters as of yet.
Which left Kiara with her books, her rooms, or her husband’s rooms when she stayed over, trying to give herself a lot of excuses to not like Mordred.
Difficult to not like him, really. Especially with the effort he put into her.
The main issue was—even if she did allow herself to tumble into love, a possibility she now admitted, it still didn't change the fact that the people of Kanthus didn't like her. Mordred might flex a few muscles and do everything in his power to protect her, using his status as a god. That didn't mean he could, however.
Which left two choices.
Either she learned to protect herself, so that no one could ever hurt her again... or she became a distant wife. Living in Fjorn and visiting Mordred every now and then. That way, she didn't need to worry about forging heavy diplomatic relations with such a sullen kingdom.
But at the same time, what really awaited her back home? Just the awkward silence that occurred when people want to say something, but don't want to admit it. To say that they didn't want her there. But to never admit that to a princess.
And now she was making herself miserable. Great.
The few months of being read to, however, made it harder to consider the fact that she should go for a distant relationship.
I should try harder to make myself fit in. Difficult when her life had been a habit of never fitting in. Before, she loved dodging her responsibilities, living free. Now she faced the reality that she couldn't just go back to that. Alone in a foreign kingdom, with a power she barely understood, let alone everyone else who said her power shouldn't exist at all. People now expected her to do wonderful things.
And if she wasted whatever impossible power she now wielded, there'd be a lot of disappointed individuals. Including herself.
With all her doubts swirling about her like a thunderstorm, she found it a relief in that darkness to be with Mordred. He helped take away some of the anxiety feeding her insides, and the doubts that existed.
She finished her daily walk with Mordred, mostly to keep up the public appearance that their wife and husband status was still going strong for the other Highborn, and partly because Kiara actually liked spending time with Mordred. She headed to her rooms, because Mordred needed to do patrolling duty by the fens, protecting the farmers there from any potential intrusions. Pushing through the door, she prepared herself for the mind squeeze of practising her odd light ability again, before spotting a letter resting upon the bed.
On the back showed the words: From Bethany Fjorndis.
Suddenly excited, Kiara almost tore the envelope and letter at once, before checking herself and teasing it off in a sensible way. She smoothed out the letter in front of her and stretched out on the bed, preparing to read.
Dearest Kiara, it began. I was glad to receive your letter the other day. I had worried about the life you might experience, being thrust into a situation for which you've had no proper training. I know you always wanted to be free, and I half-expected you to just vanish one day into the woods and never return, having chosen for yourself a wilder life, one where people aren't constantly telling you what to do.
Unfortunately, things didn't turn out that way at all. It should have been me, sent in your place. Not you. You should have been allowed to live your dream.
I'm sorry that never worked out.
There's nothing for me here in Fjorn—no useful prospects for marriage, no way to advance further than we already have. I know father thinks otherwise, but he's been training me for years as a diplomat. I'm hardly going to let these powers fester.
From what you've told me, these “gods” of Kanthus, these werewolves—they truly are something we should be focusing on for an alliance. They have a power that we could consider ascertaining and potentially incorporating for ourselves. Imagine if we had such creatures in Fjorn! You can bet the silence from our enemies will be deafening.
I've taken it upon myself to prepare for travel to Kanthus. I'll be of more use there than here. You'll be seeing me soon, little sister. You don't have to worry about being alone.
Your ever-loving sister, Bethany.
Kiara reread the letter. Part of her was delighted at her sister's words, delighted from the warmth the letter gave her. The other part felt slightly offended that Bethany was coming here.
As if she knew Kiara would do so badly here, that she had no choice but to come over and sort out the mess. A stupid assumption, to be sure, but one she made nonetheless.
She could just picture Bethany now, ordering her servants to pack everything up, to prepare for a comfortable route of travel here after cajoling their mother and father to let her go. And even if they didn't—well, she doubted a simple no could stop Bethany.
Where Kiara purposefully ran away from responsibility, Bethany dived headfirst into it. She loved being in the center of everything. And to risk her stable, former life to come here, of her own choice...
The Kanthians didn't know what was coming to them.
Kiara smiled and tucked the letter away. Then she began to practise the magic.
No sooner had she just about conjured up a shield, when someone rapped smartly upon the door.
“Come in,” she said, and raised an eyebrow when Mordred admitted himself, closing the door with a graceful sweep of his arm. He did walk around with a serene grace, she thought. It matched those strong, stoic features, those startling yellow eyes, which contrasted more sharply with his dark hair. The kind of features that tickled her stomach and sent warm shivers up her spine.
She plastered on a smile. “I thought you were supposed to patrol today?”
“Yes, but... I decided I didn't want to. And Mika's filling in for me. I wanted to spend more time with you,” he replied, returning her smile. The confidence made her face brighten, and likely her cheeks showed it, because his eyes drifted there, lingering.
She always ended up being a little self-conscious around him, thinking about whether she'd smoothed down her hair enough, if there was a button out of place or if she somehow had her dress on the wrong way around. Also made it hard to concentrate, especially when she needed to somehow master the lightweaving, so people got off her back at last.
“Unless, of course, you want to have some time to yourself.”
“Oh! Please, stay. I like having you around.” Curses, that slipped out too easily, didn't it? Well... probably best that she didn't hide these thoughts. She'd been pushing him away for far too long already, defying the point of an arranged marriage.
Or semi-arranged one, anyway. He just made it easy. Giving her personal space. Treating her with respect, not as an object from another kingdom. It made her lean towards him, watch him, and wonder how things might be if they took their relationship further.
And actually became the husband and wife everyone else thought them to be.
Out of all the issues she had in her life, that one, for some reason, frightened and excited her the most. Just imagine that. If she reached out to pull him into her embrace. If she stood on the balls of her feet to draw him into a kiss, and brushed her lips in a tantalizing manner over his. If her hands fumbled under his clothes, touching that soft, hot skin, feeling along the powerful muscles, perhaps pressing harder into him, until they couldn't handle it anymore.
“Though, if I'm honest, you might be a distraction. Winifred and those boring tutors want me to manifest my lightweavings better, but so far, the only thing I can do without any real effort is this.” She showed off a little to him, allowing the connection to open from her brain to her right arm, letting the shield materialize. It formed now a roundish shape, better than the shapeless mass it was a few months back. Mordred briefly admired the solid light, tapping it with a long finger.
“You'll need to learn to work your weavings in front of people, especially under pressure. And you need to know if this can protect you from anything, for example. Like...” he balled up his hand and punched her shield. Then he made an ow sound and shook his hand. “That's pretty solid!”
Kiara grinned. “I know, right? And I barely felt that impact.”
“You should have.” He appeared worried. “If I'd done that to normal flesh, something should have given. You should be in pain. I wonder...” now he fished out a small dagger. “May I?”
“Sure.” Slight anxiety permeated Kiara's brain at the sight of that weapon, even though she knew rationally that he wouldn't hurt her. “Just... the safe part. Please.”
He rolled his eyes, still wearing that near irresistible grin. “Yes, because I want to stab my wife. Clearly.” His hand whipped forward with the dagger, and it scratched off the shield. Soon they progressed from the dagger to him firing a bow and arrow directly at her, whilst she cowered behind the shield. It resisted everything.
Crouching behind the shield gave Kiara an idea, one that she tried working on for the next hour. She only had enough lightweaving to produce the shield and nothing else. The only way she could generate more light came through attaching the weaving to an object, then waiting for her reserves to replenish.
That is, if she happened to be a normal lightweaver like everyone else. What she tried doing was bending the shield around her arm, making it thinner so that she could spread the light in an even manner, covering more space.
Mordred watched her in interest as she attempted this, which made it hard to focus, since he had such a penetrating stare. “You know, you don't have to put so much pressure in learning this, Kiara. I'm happy with you the way you are. Impulsive tongue and all.” He sidled close to her as she managed to wrap the shield around her arm, leaving an amorphous chunk of it still floating above. “And what a tongue it is.” He breathed those words in her ear, and she yelped, dropping the lightweaving completely. She leapt away from him as if on fire, and clutched a hand to her rapidly beating heart.
“You did not just do that!”
“Didn't I?” Oh, he appeared so innocent now. “I didn't do anything wrong. It's true what I said. I like your wit. People don't like you at court because you don't speak to them with all the levity they've come to expect. You're... refreshing. You stand for your own mind. You should never be ashamed of that.”
Kiara fanned her face now, unsure why the words hit her right in the heart, making her knees tremble slightly. “I... people don't like me for those reasons you've just described. So I find it a little... odd that you like them.”
“Is that so? A pity, then. You've clearly been missing out. I mean... aside from your wondrous dark locks, your smoldering brown eyes which burn like coals... those plump lips that I sometimes just want to bite... in a nice way, of course...”
“Stop! Stop!” Kiara flung her hands in front, aflame with embarrassment. “No more!”
He started laughing. “You're really not used to being complimented, are you? Compliments are good. You deserve them. And get used to it, because I'm prepared to give you a lot more.”
The embarrassment fizzled away to a little shame, because he had described her in all these words—yet she never gave him the same compliments back. “You're... nice, too,” she tried, though it was a rather lame first attempt. “I like your... chin.”
“My chin?” He jutted out his jaw slightly, puffing up from the flattery.
“Yes. It's very.... shapely.” Then, before that killed the conversation, she added, “And your lake blue eyes. And that shiny hair of yours. And you do have nice teeth, too.”
He smiled all of his pearly whites at this response and flicked back a strand of hair from his eyes. His reactions made her struggle not to laugh. “I'm better at insulting than flattering, it seems.”
He began to inch closer to her. “You know, we've been husband and wife for a few months now. Getting on quite well. I've been reading you to sleep, watching you sleep, sometimes. My parents approve of you, and you're quite the unique woman...” Now he came in a little too close for comfort again. Kiara forgot how to breathe. Her heart thumped traitorously fast, and the blood pounded in her ears, her throat, her fingers. All this time, she'd been trying to avoid this confrontation, not wanting to focus on how she really felt. Now everything began to crumble around her. Just when at one point, Kiara convinced herself to be unlovable. “This may be a little forward... but I really, really want to kiss those lips of yours right now.”
“Um.” Kiara's tongue failed her. As did most of her brain. Everything stopped. He leaned forward, reaching out a hand to perhaps cup her cheek...
And light erupted in front of her, obscuring her vision for one blinding second.
When the light cleared, allowing Kiara to see again, she saw the werewolf's lips close to hers, and a rather astonished expression upon his face. She caught the scent of something earthy, like apples upon his skin, and felt his warm breath tickling her.
Something felt different about Kiara, like she had a kind of film covering her skin. Mordred started laughing so hard that he bent over, holding his stomach.
“What? What are you laughing about?”
“You...” he wheezed out the word, struggling to sound coherent, “that's going to make sex really awkward...”
She lifted up a hand and saw that she was now glowing. She followed the hand, and realized with growing amusement that her light had now solidified into a complete body shield around her, covering her with a thin layer that left no surface of cloth or skin exposed.
“You know, you can just tell me if you don't want to be kissed. No need to overdo it.”
“I...” Kiara shook her head, marveling at her light-encased arm. Mordred recovered from his fit long enough to prod at her. The high, pure note rang from his tap. “Okay then. I can do this now. Apparently.”
“Impressive,” he said, before wiping tears from his eyes. “But you know... if that's how you're going to behave each time... we might need to have some words about you.”
Kiara grinned sheepishly at him. “Well... Dad always did tell me to use protection...”
That did it. Both of them started roaring with laughter, and her shield dissipated.
They didn't quite get around to any kissing after that.
Probably for the best.