Page 15 of The Princess of Nothing
“Some do, but I’m pretty sure it’s you sorcerers who use the term mostly. Although on occasion we use the terms too, mostly to differentiate us to them when talking about them so others understand who we are referring to.” His eyebrows raised. “It’s like how you call yourselves lunas and sorcerers here call themselves solises. There are no real difference asides from the magic you practice and the kingdom you live in. It’s a term simply to differentiate.”
“I’ve been called a luna so long it would be strange to not use it anymore.”
“Naturally.”
Darkness swallowed the leaves as night fell. The farther we walked, the deadlier the forest became. My eyes widened as blackness consumed us. Something moved above our heads, perhaps a monkey swinging between the trees or something more sinister. I ducked down and pulled Cedric to my left. “I can’t believe I fell asleep here on my own once. It’s far scarier than I remembered.”
He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me in closer. His fingers gripped into my side. I could barely make out the contours of his face as night stole the sun. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said with promise.
I jolted when something touched the back of my neck.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s just a twig.”
“There are black-spotted lizards. They’re deadly,” I cautioned. “They come out at night. I hadn’t thought this through. I suppose I could attack one with my staff, but I don’t know any killing spells I can muster to use in unison if there are more than one.”
“We won’t need to kill anything tonight. I’m sure of it.” He walked me toward a small clearing and dropped his bag on the ground. “We can’t go any further tonight, not in the dark. We’ll need to set up camp.”
He flickered his hands and sparks and embers danced downward, hovering just above the ground. A fire suspended midair. I watched, mesmerized. Fae magic was so beautiful. He clicked his fingers, distracting me, and the trees and branches around me melted away, replaced by an illusion of a log cabin. We were sitting on an ornate rug, and next to us was a sofa. It was probably a log or something, I knew what glamour was, but I appreciated it all the same.
“Thank you.”
“I do what I can.” He smiled and rummaged through his bag. He pulled out a tent. “We may be in an illusory ‘log cabin.’” He made quote marks with his fingers. “But technically, we’re far too out in the open. I’m going to set this up.”
I brought my knees to my chest, then rocked a little back and forth. “Why go through all this hassle to help me?”
His eyebrows shot up as he fumbled for tent poles. “Oh, I guess I just go wherever I feel destiny is pulling me.”
My cheeks balled up. “That’s a freeing way to live. I sometimes wish I could.”
“You can. Don’t let your duty destroy your happiness.”
I laughed. “I’m a monarch. We don’t get to be happy.”
He pressed his lips together. “It’s truly sad you believe that. I know, for a fact, it’s not true. You can put country above everything, but never your heart.”
“It’s a burden I’m honored to carry.”
“Right.” He waved his hand in the air. “I forgot. Your family was anointed by your ancestors.”
I didn’t appreciate his dismissive tone. “Yes, and it is a privilege to be chosen as queen. I am the highest public servant to the kingdom. My heart lies with them. It must, for someone has to step forward and take the responsibility as their own.”
“Then...” He pulled the poles together, and the tent popped up. “You’re perhaps much stronger than I first realized.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“You only get one.”
I yawned. “Thanks,” I said, breathing slower than before. My anxiety had dissipated, and I knew I had him to thank for distracting me. “Let’s get inside. I’m exhausted.”
He climbed in after me. It was hot, small, but covered. I gripped my staff in one hand, ready to attack any animals who would try to eat us, and tucked the other behind my head. We lay down, staring up at the blue stretched fabric. Buzzing, chirping, and hissing accompanied my slumber as I was dragged into dreams I feared I wouldn’t awaken from.
