Page 134 of Daughter of the Serpent

Finally, he turned, droplets tracing splayed pathways down his bare chest, catching the light like tiny glinting stars. His eyes burned through the darkness, holding hers in a way that made her pulse quicken.

"Being free."

He seemed completely unphased, as if the action was completely natural.

Her breath caught.

The inevitable question hanging between them, impossible to ignore - but she froze, her mind battling itself.

Surely, he didn’t expect her to join him.

Yet the way he stood, one eyebrow raised, made it clear.

The instinct to retreat whispered its familiar tune, a quiet plea for caution. But something deeper - something primal and undeniable - rose to silence it. It wasn’t just curiosity; it was a pull, an ache, a reckless yearning she couldn’t explain. Logic urged her to step back, butevery fiber of her being begged her to follow. To be bold. To surrender to the unknown. To let herself want - just this once.

Her fingers trembled as they reached for her sandals, sliding them off one after the other. She reached for the strap of her dress next, but hesitated. She glanced up, expecting to meet his eyes, only to feel a rush of relief when she realized he had turned, offering her privacy.

Grateful that she wouldn’t have to disrobe under the weight of his gaze, she slipped the straps from her shoulders, letting the fabric pool around her feet before stepping forward.

The night caressed her bare skin, warm and inviting. Her toes touched the lake, and a soft gasp escaped her lips. It rose with each step, lapping at her calves, then her thighs, until it embraced her completely. Her eyes widened in awe as the water swirled in a blend of colors - soft golds, dusky pinks, and muted violets - shimmering like the first light of dawn kissed by midnight. The warmth was unexpected, soothing, as if the lake itself cradled her, beckoned her home. She waded deeper, her breaths coming shallow and quick, until she finally pushed off, her body gliding into the water’s silky depths. Tiny bubbles trailed in her wake, shimmering like fine glass. Droplets cascading from her skin, sparkling as they caught the light. Her hair fanned out around her, half - submerged, like threads of sun entwined with glittering stars. She tipped her head back, gazing up at the endless expanse of sky. The stars blinked above her, their silent approval was glinting in every corner of the heavens. The moon, high and full, cast its glow and she sighed at its beauty, the sound soft, as the weight of her worries dissolved with each ripple that carried her further into the night.

When she turned her head to find him watching her, his gaze fixed with something unspoken, she felt it - the tether between them pulling taut, the unrelenting draw. Something she no longer wanted to resist.

Her heart thrummed in her chest. Part of her wanted to flee, to cover herself, to drown in the shame of her boldness. But the pull - of the moment, ofhim- was stronger, anchoring her in place. Shecouldn’t name what it was, but something inside her had shifted, as if she had crossed a threshold, a barrier that had withheld her for far too long. The fear that had once held her back crumbled, replaced by a fierce, unyielding longing. For him. For this. For whatever fleeting moment they might have before the wheel of the world shifted again.

She drank him in, standing their bare chested and glorious under the silver cloak of the moon. The intricate tattoos winding across his skin glowed faintly, their runes alive with ethereal light. Her fingers twitched with the urge to trace the lines, to follow the stories etched into his flesh.

“So many,” she murmured, the words spilling from her lips unchecked as she took a step closer, her voice soft. “You’ve earned so many…”

His gaze darkened.

“They are what remains,” he said quietly. “Of my people, their legacy.”

Her throat tightened at his words. The weight of his losses was tangible in the space between them. She didn’t need to ask; she knew what the Karnikim had done.

How many lives had been lost?

How many stories had ended in blood?

Her heart ached for him, but she knew better than to voice that sorrow. Not now.

Instead, she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, “Is it true? That each tattoo must be earned in battle?”

"Yes," he murmured. "But they are not all earned by blood."

His voice was a low rumble, deep enough to settle in her bones.

"But those that are," he continued, his gaze darkening, "serve as a reminder. Life is sacred. It should not be spilled needlessly - even the life of an enemy."

Her breath caught, the weight of his words pressing against her. For him to bear so many… he must have seen more battles, more deaths, than she could begin to fathom.

“How else might one earn them?” she asked, curiosity burningthrough her hesitation as she drifted closer, closing the distance between them.

"There are many ways,” he explained. “Valor and honor, rite of passage….a gift given from the gods…”

Her gaze continued to trace the ink carved into his flesh - winding spirals, glowing runes that pulsed faintly in the dim light. His eyes gleamed as he watched her take him in, the moonlight pouring over him, dipping into every sharp angle and carved line, painting him in silver and shadow.

“Others,” he murmured, as his fingers grasped hers. “are given through the marriage bond.”

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