Page 5 of A Dance of Water

She knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of such a look, and she knew that looks were deceiving. Eyes might speak of care and affection, but actions speak louder.

So, she watched the pair of lovers.

Caliban wrapped an arm around Enora’s shoulder. The top of her head brushed his chin, and they stared out at the lake together. Neither of them looked Luella’s way. She was beyond the point of asking why, so she walked closer, standing on the outskirts.

"It feels so nice to get away," Enora said, her eyes falling closed as she rested her head on Caliban’s shoulder.

Caliban knocked his hip against hers playfully, pulling her into his side with a strong arm. "I thought we would never be able to steal away. We don’t have long. Until dusk, maybe? My father will be expecting me." He grew saddened, lips turning down at the corners as his happy expression flickered like the dying embers of a fire.

The air grew somber between the pair, and Luella cocked her head.

Enora sighed, the sound seemed so heavy for such happiness they displayed. "Live in the here and now, Caliban. With me." She turned and grabbed his hands, holding them so tightly that Luella could see her knuckles grow white. "Your father does not own you. I do. You’re mine, and I am yours. Because you let me, and I let you. The only way he can have any control over you is if youlethim. So don’t." Enora’s tone turned sharp at the end—angry, but not with the male before her, Luella knew, but with his… father?

Caliban’s contemplative, saddened smile turned to a thing of softly adoring melancholy. Luella knew, then, that he cared for this female, Enora, and his eyes were not lying.

Some of the bitterness within her softened at the revelation.

"Okay, Nor."

Luella softened further at the sobriquet.

It seemed Enora did, too, for a blush warmed her pale cheeks.

Luella studied the female closely. Her eyes were brown, her skin was pale, and her hair was brown, but Luella did not see anythingelse of note. Nothing to help her determine what nature of female she was.

Caliban pulled his hands away from hers and reached up to tuck a silky tendril of her hair behind her ear. She did not have the arched ears of the fae, and her body did not hold the preternatural aura that most shifters had.

Was she…

Luella’s blue eyes grew wide as she regarded the pair.

Was this female ahuman?

A human and fae relationship—it was unheard of.

The fae were pious and detested humans, even though they, themselves, weren’t much different than the humans. Save for their lifespans, slightly enhanced senses, and magical prowess with their born element.

Enora’s grin grew impish, and she reached up to tug on the strand of hair that fell in Caliban’s eyes. He hissed at the sharp pull, but an elated smile gave away his false anger.

Quick as a flash, the female bolted out of his embrace, her skirts fluttering behind her as she ran straight for the lake. Her feet splashed as she entered, and she went up to her knees, gathering her skirts in a hand to keep them as dry as she was able.

Enora did not look over her shoulder as she called, "Caliban, the water’s not too cold! Come!"

Luella turned her attention back to the male, watching as his green eyes sparkled with mirth. He shook his head, an amused, soft puff of air falling from between his lips as he watched Enora, never knowing that he was being watched, too.

Was this a dream? A vivid tale spun by Luella’s story-filled imagination? Or something else… Something more.

A memory? A piece of the past? History?

She did not know. She could only be entranced by what it was she saw.

Caliban tilted his head back, black hair tumbling to his shoulders, unruly and wild and free. He was soopenfor a fae. She watched as he let out a loud, barking laugh. It rang throughout the forest and bounced off the lake, a singular moment of joy amidst a curtain of quiet.

His hands reached for the hem of his tunic—it was then that Luella took note of what he was wearing. Fine silk, spun with threads of gold. His pants were leather, and his boots were impeccable, with the faintest hint of mud on the soles: an errant adventurer—the son of a noble or someone of importance by the make of his clothing.

She found a soft smile forcing her lips to stretch as she stared at him. He was similar to her, rebelling against the mold he should fit into.

Caliban pulled his silken tunic over his head, throwing it haphazardly onto the ground as he tore toward the water. Like being thrust into a frigid bath, Luella’s elation at watching the lovers was quelled.

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