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Episode 3 Sneak Peek #27
🕑 Added 2023-01-04 22:50:57 +0000 UTCFor the first sneak peek of the year, we're migrating over to the Melchior branch. This is a little rough as I'm just getting back from a break and it'll take a few days before I'm back to my normal writing.
This preview assumes that the MC punched Sabien at the gala, is wearing a serithan, and slept with Melchior at the end of Episode 2.
You wake to the warmth of the sun.
Shielding your face with a hand, you crack your eyes open and squint at your surroundings. You fell asleep on a divan near the pool last night, wrapped in a fine, decorative shawl discarded haphazardly on the cushions. Now, sunlight cascades across the elegant mosaics, illuminating the lush plants and decorative arches in a soft, dewy glow. The pool sparkles, light dancing across its surface. The shadows have been chased away, fleeing in the face of a bright, cloudless morning.
You exhale a breath. Despite it being the height of the Velantian summer, the morning air is cold against your bare skin. You shiver, goosebumps trailing down your arms and legs, and you roll onto your side, pulling the blanket with you. Your clothing lies in a conspicuous pile several feet away, just out of reach. You could get up and retrieve it, but as you’re alone, the temptation to lie here for just a little longer is too strong.
It’s quiet in the courtyard, the lapping pool and your own breath the only sound in your ears. After the rowdiness of last night, you would have expected Melchior’s troupe to make a little noise, but perhaps they are all sound asleep. Their revelry went far into the night.
As did your own.
A faint, satisfied smile tugs at your lips. Recalling the events of last night sends a pleasurable shiver running down your spine. The feel of his lips against yours, the way his hands explored your body… How easily he found the right places, coaxing pleasure out of you as if this was not the first time, but the hundredth. Melchior was an intense and attentive lover, as focused on your desire as he was on his own. It was easy—so easy—to give in to him, consumed by the rush to let go and forget everything else, if only for a night. Or maybe it was simply the relief of letting someone else take charge for once. You’ve been faced with too many difficult decisions as of late. He took the weight of that away, exactly when you needed it most.
Your smile fades. Despite your grogginess, his absence is tangible.
Melchior Larkspur remains a mystery. Physical intimacy or not, you still have very little understanding of who he is. Not that you gave each other much time to talk. Afterwards, you remember drowsily nodding into his shoulders as he murmured his thanks in your ear and carried you to the divan. Then he laid you down, kissed you once, and vanished into the night.
1. Though there were no expectations between you, you can’t help but feel disappointed. Why didn’t he stay?
[CHOICE] 2. It isn’t your business. Besides, you’re not that self-centred. You don’t need a lover to stay by your side all night to feel satisfied.
3. You’d expect no less. This was one night, a casual encounter between two consenting people. It was nice while it lasted, but you aren’t likely to seek him out again.
Perhaps it’s good that he left. He has his business, you have yours. But even still… you can’t help but feel that you’re connected now in a way you don’t fully understand. You’re drawn to him in a way you can’t explain, as enthralled as you are mystified, and the desire to see him again burns deep within you. Those feelings aren’t quenched so easily.
However, you’re not a fool. With the mission to Diradan Tower looming ahead of you, you don’t know what your future in holds. You may have to leave Velantis soon after. It’s very likely the pair of you will never cross paths again.
A door creaks open.
You react on instinct. Jerking up, you pull the shawl tight and shift to the edge of the divan, muscles tensed. You scan the courtyard for the intruder, your good hand/one hand curling into a fist. A moment later, the door snaps closed and a familiar face peers around a pillar.
Kit stands on uneasy feet, her curly black hair a dishevelled halo around her head and a sallow flush creeping across her cheeks, looking like she is in desperate need of a hangover remedy. Not to let herself be undone, she steadies herself against the pillar, smooths down her rumpled tunic, and marches across the courtyard on bare feet.
“Good,” she says, making a face as she walks over cold tiles. “You’re awake.”
You exhale and let yourself relax, clutching the shawl about you. It leaves little to the imagination. “What’s wrong?”
She pushes loose coils over her shoulder. “Define wrong for me, please,” she says irritably, skidding to a halt by your pile of clothes. Her eyes flicker from them to you, and she presses her lips together, taking in the shawl. Tsking under her breath, she stoops and sweeps the serithan into her arms. “There’s a woman with a sword and a nasty temper in the suite. She says she’s looking for you. Sabriel’s stalling—do you need a way out? Just say the word and we can handle it.”
You frown. You haven’t fully escaped your grogginess. Nothing she said makes sense. “Woman? What woman?”
Kit sighs again and shoves your clothes into your hands. “Human, average height, black clothes, ashen hair,” she answers and politely turns her back. Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she saunters to the edge of the pool and dips a toe in. “Could probably kill with a look. Sabriel thinks she’s Lady Anaxas’ bodyguard.”
Shit.
You blink, clearing your head. She must mean Malsara. She was tasked with collecting you the morning of the mission and it looks like she’s found you.
“It’s fine,” you say, pulling on your clothes. “I’ll handle her.”
“Oh, so she was expected?” Kit laughs and sweeps her foot across the water, hissing at the cool temperature. She withdraws it quickly. “Could have mentioned it and saved us the scare. But I won’t pry into a Wayfarer’s affairs. I know when something is not my business.”
You adjust your serithan and fiddle with the clasps, grunting with annoyance at the finicky ties. They’re impossible to manage with only one hand.
Kit glances over her shoulder and presses her lips together. Sighing heavily, she approaches you with a businesslike haste. “Give it here,” she says, waving your hand out of the way. She hesitates as she touches you, flinching at her loss of magic, then carries on without comment. “It’s easier when you have someone to help.”
You wait, feeling her tug on the material as she does up the clasps. “You hardly seem fazed.”
“$lilac_name, darling, I’m an actor. You certainly aren’t the first person I’ve helped into their clothes. I’ve seen it all.” She pauses at the last clasp, her fingers pressed tight against it. “I knew this would happen the moment he showed up with you on his arm.”
You swallow, restless, and force yourself to stand still as Kit fiddles with the final clasp at your shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“Melchior enjoys the company of others, in more ways than one. He is intrigued by people, regardless of their personal histories, associations, or social standings. Intimacy is how he shows that interest.” She draws a breath and ties the clasp closed. “You should be aware of that. My advice? Don’t take it personally or you’ll get your heart broken. This is his way. Lyr understood it better than anyone.”
