7 The Glow of Darkness (1/2)

The touch was soft on her cheek. The fingers warm as they brushed her hair back. ”Isilla,” the man who touched her whispered. The voice deep and familiar but her half sleep mind couldn't place it. He said her name so gently. The hand slipped from her cheek to her shoulder pushing away the heavy dressing gown. She let out a breath, opening her eyes slowly.

Arren stared down at her, a half smile on his face. She shot awake pushing herself up on the bed. The robe, loosened by his touch fell away from her shoulders, exposing the gauzy nightdress and her breasts beneath. His eyes swept over her briefly. She moved to cover herself but stopped. This is what is supposed to happen, she thought casting her gaze downwards, away from him, her face hot.

He reached out to her again, running his fingers along her collar bone and her bare shoulder before pulling the robe back to cover her, ”Not yet.”

She felt the blush deepen and turned to the window. Deep night stared back at her, no moon to speak of. It seemed far later than evening.

He followed her eyes, ”Ah,” his voice was so soft, ”You were asleep when I arrived. I thought you must be tired. We have all night, there is no rush.”

She nodded, her heart pounding.

”Are you are frightened of me,” he asked softly.

She shook her head and then showed her empty hands, shrugging. He raised his eyebrows, ”I have a gift for you. It will make this easier, I think.”

He stood, the mattress rising again without his weight. The shadows in the room followed him, dancing away from the light and pooling wispy tendrils around his feet and up his legs. She watched his back as he crossed the room to the small table, he had removed the jacket he wore earlier and was in just the white shirt as he had been in the garden. When he turned, he held a box in his hands.

He placed the box on the bed before her, reaching past her to brush his hand over the lantern next to the bed. A false flame shot up creating a small pool of light on the bed. ”All of the lamps are enchanted here. Just touch them if you need light,” he said, explaining.

How much power it must take to keep this castle running, she thought staring at the lamp for a moment.

She nodded slowly and he motioned to the small box, only slightly larger than both of her hands held side by side. She lifted it, inspecting the design of it in the additional light from the lamp. Wood, ornately carved, she traced the designs, repeating patterns of flowers and small animals, with her fingers. Undoing the small clasp, she pushed the box open.

Nestled inside were an ornate feather a small leather-bound book. She looked back at the feather. A pen! But no ink, she thought to herself holding the items.

She looked up at him, his softly smiling face, ”They are enchanted,” he said simply, ”The pen is inkless. It will write on any surface and it can never be destroyed. If you break it, it will simply repair itself. Try it.”

She looked at him and opened the book. The pen moved easily over the page leaving thick black strokes and no ink drops.She smiled sheepishly. She did not want to insult his gift but pages ran out quickly. The little book would not last long.Still, now she could speak.

What of my maids? she wrote quickly.

”They are safe, I saw to their return myself. No one will harm them.”

She nodded feeling a weight lift from her heart.

This is very thoughtful but the pages won't last long. I don't want to add the replacement of journals to the burden of my care, she wrote choosing her words carefully so as to not offend.

He read her note quickly and then taking the book from her hands, ripped half the pages out and returned the half empty cover to her, ”Open it. I told you, they're enchanted.”

She bit the inside of her lip, embarrassed as she took the book back. The tiny journal felt the same as it had before he took the pages and upon opening it, none were missing.

”The book will never run out of pages, just like the pen will never run out of ink. With this you can freely speak with anyone. Well anyone who can read,” he dropped the pages he had removed carelessly to the floor where the sparked in shadow that surrounded him and disappeared. ”Do you like them?” he asked.

He sat on the edge of the bed, surrounded by shadows, his eyes locked on her, waiting.Like this, despite the shadows that twisted around him, he didn't seem like any sort of monster. The gift was perfect.

Yes, she wrote, I like them very much. Thank you. Then, she added, No one has ever given me something like this.

He nodded, turning away from her, rubbing his hands together between his knees. ”I know that this is not what you wanted, Isilla.”

It doesn't matter. Why did you help me? The pen traveled smoothly across the page, her words clear and concise, stronger than she felt.

He read her note, ”To walk away from a land of dreams and live in nightmares was very brave,” he reached for a curl and tugged gently on it, ”You look much different than your portrait.”

I know, I am very plain, she responded.

He twisted the curl around his fingers, watching the light play on it as it slipped over his fingers before he shook his head, ”No you are not. There is not a single plain thing about you.”

He released the curl letting it bounce back with the rest.

”You must be the only person who is not afraid of me in all of the realms. What makes you so brave?” his voice had a mocking tone.

If you meant to hurt me you would have done so by now, she answered honestly, quickly.

His eyes darkened for a moment before he closed them releasing his breath. When he opened them, they were the same muddy green they had been in the garden. ”You don't know anything about me. I could still harm you,” he said softly.

I don't know anyone, anymore, she wrote sullenly, but, she added, you saved me so I thank you for that.

He brushed her hair behind her ear the contact sending shocks through her, ”I told you not to thank me. In time you may find that you would have preferred not to become my wife. I don't understand what you mean by this,” he said tapping the book sliding closer to her.

She looked at him, for a moment. I thought I knew the Prince but I was wrong and everyone else has gone away, she wrote.

”Tell me about the Prince in your letters,” he asked.

She wrinkled her nose, frowning at him. It doesn't matter it's not who he is. He didn't even read my letters, she wrote.