by Simon Archer
“Care to go for a stroll?” I finally got out.
His smile grew even wider at that, and I couldn’t help but smile back. “I’d love to.”
I planned to take him outside at first, but on our way down the stairs, I paused outside the door that led to the fourth floor. When I looked up at him, I found him looking at me curiously. A crooked smile formed on my lips, and I reached out to push the door open. As we walked down the hallway, I saw that Lauren and Lorelia were standing guard outside of the gallery in their usual positions. They bowed to me as we approached while eyeing Christoff at my side. It brought me back to the first day he’d arrived here.
That day felt like it had happened years ago when, in reality, it had only been months. Christoff glanced at me curiously before pasting an arrogant smile on his face.
“Aww, if it isn’t my two favorite guard-goyles. Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum, was it?” he teased.
Though his tone was mocking, his eyes didn’t hold the edge that it usually did when he truly aimed to piss someone off. This was a half-hearted tease.
The gargoyle twins gave each other a meaningful look. Though I assumed they knew of Christoff’s positive influence throughout the past few weeks, they likely hadn’t witnessed it first hand like I had. As they stood before the doors, seeming to be unsure of how to react to the boy they’d known first as a thief, I stepped forward, drawing their attention back to me.
“We would like to stroll through the gallery,” I said, and though the words weren’t demanding, the authority in my voice made it a clear command. The two guards stepped aside, but not without shooting me a doubtful glance.
“Are you sure, Your Highness?” Lorelia asked, her suspicious gaze sliding to the feisty man to my right. “What if he attempts to steal from you again?”
I looked up at the slight crook in his nose that hinted at it being broken once or twice, at the long dark lashes that fluttered so slightly when he caught me looking at him, and finally at his eyes, which were now staring down at me in amusement.
I didn’t break eye contact with him as I said, “He doesn’t have to. The lord will have what he wants as long as this kingdom is under my rule.”
It was the least I could do after all he’d done for me. For Constanta. The amusement in his eyes turned to surprise, then gratitude, then wonder, and then transformed into something… else. Something searing and vulnerable and new.
Without another word of protest, the two guards stepped aside and opened the extravagantly painted door for us to enter. I had that door specifically made to represent the Old and New Worlds, a timeline of sorts as a reminder of how fragile our life systems really are.
Nothing lasts forever, and those who were once on top could do nothing to prevent their fall. The cycle of power and dominance rarely goes stagnant, and when it does, when too much power ends up in the hands of one species to use as they pleased, the entire system would crumble and fall, taking those in power with it.
Once I entered the dark gallery, I grabbed a match from my pocket, lighting it to ignite the first lantern inside the gallery to the right of the door. I held my breath in anticipation as it sparked to life. Not even a full second went by before the tang of magic hit my tongue, and the lanterns on the wall and the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling came alive with fire from an invisible source.
This was my favorite room in the entire castle. Perhaps in the entire world. It held the last surviving bits of the Old World that we had left. When Christoff’s eyes met mine, they were full of wonder, and I let the smile that had been playing on my lips stretch all the way across my face.
“It’s enchanted,” I said by way of explanation. “I had Sahar put a spell on the lights so that lighting only one would cause the same reaction in all the others.”
Wonder gave way to curiosity as he stood hovering near the entrance. “Why didn’t you have her enchant the whole castle? It would be a lot less work than having to light each lantern individually,” he said thoughtfully.
I shrugged. “Just because something is easier does not mean that it is better. It was like that in the Old World, before the virus destroyed old technology. Humans had invented all kinds of gadgets that made their lives easier, giving them more time to use other things, until eventually, they were completely reliant on those inventions to survive.”
My now somber eyes met his, and I wondered what his life would have been like had he not been born in this era. Before the virus, the war, and before the human population was decimated and dropped to the middle of the food chain. Now, supernaturals around the world crawled out from the shadows and into the light.
“Try not to look so drab.” His mouth quirked up in a half-smile, and his gaze turned teasing. “It’s killing the mood.”
Then it was my turn to smile, all thoughts of impossible things fleeing my mind until it was just Christoff and me.
I was used to men fawning over me. I was used to them puffing their chests and brushing my arm casually with their own. I was used to men gazing at me hungrily and enduring their fantasy-laden eyes.
I was not used to being teased, and I was not used to sharing laughter with anyone other than my council.
“My apologies, my lord.” My gaze lingered on him a moment longer before I reluctantly dragged my eyes to the artwork displayed throughout the room. I extended my arm, sweeping it out in front of me. “As you already know, this is my gallery. It is where I hold all of the lost treasure of the Old World, so we may not forget.”
“Forget what?” he asked, taking in the expansive room of displays before him.
“Our past mistakes.”
His eyes swung around to meet mine, and understanding flickered in them. “You must know a lot about history.”
“I would hope so. I lived it.”
Christoff turned to face me fully then, his lips curled up in a gentle smile. “Will you tell me about it?”
“Tell you about what?” My head cocked to the side, confusion pulling at my furrowed brows.
He shrugged, gesturing vaguely to the contents of the gallery. “About the Old World. About your life before the virus, before the apocalypse and the Great Purge and the zombies. Before you were the crowned Queen of Constanta.”
When he finished, he turned to face the room once more, his eyes settling on a faded Italian Renaissance oil painting that was one of the Old World’s most valued relics. It was a masterful portrait of a beautiful brunette, an Italian noblewoman whose eyes seemed to follow you no matter where you moved around the room. It was the oldest piece of surviving artwork in this castle, certainly far older than even me. Little did Christoff know that he was staring into the ever-fading gaze of the Mona Lisa.
I contemplated his request in silence, unsure where to begin, and my eyes drifted towards the old painting Christoff had seemed to take an interest in. I supposed the oldest thing in the room was as sufficient a place to start in describing the Old World as any. In fact, it felt poetic to honor and pay respect to the oldest remaining piece that represented the world which ours was built from.
I walked up from behind Christoff, and as I always did with the relic, I took my time soaking in the fading planes of Mona Lisa’s face, the downward curve of her nose, the lifelike texture of the material of her dress. I thought back on a time when there wasn’t a single soul in the world who didn’t know of her beauty. Something in my chest cracked at the wonder and strange familiarity as if encountering deja vu, and for the first time since becoming the ruler of Constanta, I questioned my decision to keep these artifacts in the castle instead of a location that was more accessible to the public. This kind of history should be shared with the world, for everyone to remember and celebrate. I blinked, suddenly feeling a sense of clarity.
“There once was an artist, an incredibly gifted inventor, who changed the world with his work for the better. His name was Leonardo da Vinci.”
Christoff and I spent all night in the gallery. I talked for hours and hours u
ntil the sun began to peek above the horizon. He listened intently all the while, engrossed in my tales of the past.
I told him about famous old artists that I loved before I transitioned and still loved to that day. I told him of big, box-like machines that could take you anywhere as long as there was land and of giant flying tubes with wings that could take you overseas in mere hours. Of little portable blocks that allowed one to communicate with people who were thousands of miles away and boxes that could answer any of your questions if you just typed them out on a keyboard.
I spoke to him of all of the incredible things that humans had achieved and technology they had invented to make the lives of those after them a little bit easier. Then, I told him of the consequences of such convenience, of how everything had a price.
He listened as I recalled how the cars and the planes could only run by being powered by copious amounts of oil, drudged up from the depths of the earth. Of how humans had drilled and drilled into the land, desperate for more. How they waged wars on each other with deadly weapons that could put a piece of metal through your heart in a fraction of a second, and all for resources and profit. I told him of how the storms grew stronger and more frequent with every year and how overfishing and pollution stripped the oceans of life. I told him of the fires that raged through the forests, killing billions of animals every year.
While the virus was the catalyst that led to the downfall of the human population, I knew that if the apocalypse never happened, it would have only been a matter of time before they destroyed themselves and took everyone and everything else down with them.
At some point during the tragic history lesson, I began to cry, and Christoff moved us to a loveseat up against the wall between art pieces. He held me in his arms as I cried. I had never let anyone see me this vulnerable before. I always put on a tough face in front of others, unwilling to let them see an ounce of vulnerability in me, but here in his arms, I didn’t have to. Not anymore.
When I finally collected myself and wiped the last of the tears from my face, I pulled back to look up at Chris with red-rimmed, puffy eyes, my lips most likely red and swollen from chewing on them to muffle my sobbing.
“Why don’t they teach that in the education system? How are we supposed to learn from our mistakes if we don’t learn about them and talk about them?” he asked, enraged, and rightfully so.
I shrugged, feeling the heaviness of my failure once more. “It is a requirement in the education system… but we do not enforce it in the West Village. Partly because of the obvious lack of resources in the area, but also because the West Village holds the largest population of humans in the kingdom, and humans don’t particularly care to dwell on their past mistakes, even if it is necessary to prevent it from happening again.”
I recalled the many human events, no, the tragedies that could have been prevented had they simply compared their actions to those of their predecessors.
Christoff sniffed, his nose wrinkling in the most adorable way. Suddenly, I noticed the feel of my waist beneath his hands, the weight of his hand on my thigh, and that damned scent of his. It was all so overwhelmingly intoxicating, and I found it hard to resist closing the distance between us and finally getting a taste of his firm lips. Instead, my hand came up of its own accord and brushed a strand of golden hair away from his eyes.
His eyes closed contentedly at the contact before the skin between his eyebrows puckered, whether from confusion or sadness, I could not be sure. My question was answered when he finally opened his eyes, and they were curious and helpless all at once. They searched my features as he spoke.
“You make it so hard for me to hate you sometimes.”
That drew a chuckle out of me, and we both shook from the movement, me against his chest.
“I could say the same about you. You are the thief who rightfully stole from me and opened my eyes to my own blindness.” My expression sobered, and all I saw were golden flecks exploding into a green chasm. When I spoke again, my voice was nothing more than a whisper, a prayer. “You have changed me for the better, both as a woman and as a ruler.”
One corner of his mouth quirked up in a challenging smile. “Don’t you mean as a vampire?”
I rolled my eyes and laughed, but to my utter surprise, his hand came up to cup my cheek. His palm was warm and smooth, and my own eyes closed at the rush of emotions that coursed through me. When I opened them again, he was still looking at me, all traces of humor and sarcasm gone. It was just me, Christoff, and this attraction we had to each other.
“You are an amazing ruler, Rozmarin.” My breath hitched at the sound of my name on his lips, like sugar and honey. “You are selfless and kind and merciful. Hell, you even admit to your own mistakes and then fix them. Do you have any idea how rare that is? After everything you’ve told me tonight, I would say that you are leaps ahead of most humans, men or women.”
His words touched me more than he knew. Every day, I worked to become a better ruler, to create a safe and comfortable space for my people. The result of seeing my people happy and safe was more than enough to keep me moving forward, but lately, with the weight of everything going on outside of our borders, I had questioned my right to be on the throne.
My hand came up to cup his cheek as well, and I leaned my forehead against his, enjoying the surge of light that emanated from his skin at my touch. The corner of my mouth kicked up.
“It gives me immense pleasure that you glow brighter at my touch.”
His own smile grew, and heat entered his gaze as his face inched closer to mine. Then, he leaned forward and closed the distance between our lips.
27
Christoff
After kissing Rozmarin, she pulled away after only a few seconds. She walked me up to my room after offering me one last lingering kiss before she reluctantly pulled away once more.
“We both have busy days tomorrow.” Her voice was weak and tired, and with a heavy sigh, she turned and left, disappearing down the hall without a trace.
I blinked, returning to the bathing room and the mirror in front of me. I didn’t recognize the boy who stared back at me. The soft, golden glow around my skin had become more and more noticeable the longer I seemed to stay here, working with Rozmarin. Everything about me was… brighter, livelier. My eyes shone in the candlelight, and a light blush still graced my cheeks, making me look younger even than my twenty-two years.
The sun was well above the horizon now, and though I had stayed up all night, I was too amped to sleep, so I climbed into bed and grabbed the book that sat on my nightstand that I had borrowed from Rozmarin’s study. I had always enjoyed reading. It gave me a much-needed escape from the harsh realities of the life I had lived in the West Village. Since I had come here, though, I had been too busy to get much reading in.
At some point, while I was reading, I finally fell into a dreamless sleep. When I awoke again, it was the late afternoon or early evening. Startled that I had managed to sleep so late into the day, I bathed and dressed quickly before making my way down to the courtyard to join the troops for their afternoon training.
Of course, the captain and the other troops in my squadron reamed me for my tardiness, and because I would have rather died a slow and painful death before admitting the true reason I was late, my punishment was to run twenty laps around the giant courtyard… in a full suit of metal armor.
I had only just started adding on chunks of metal armor during my training as I got stronger and stronger, but I hadn’t worked my way up to training in a full suit yet, let alone running in it for miles and miles. By the time I finished, I had yanked my helmet off twice to spew vomit across the grassy field.
When I finally hobbled my way back to my training group, they were already finishing up for the day. The sun hung low in the sky behind them. Sawyer, my panther-faced gargoyle companion, clapped a hand on my shoulder as I approached, and it took every ounce of willpower I had in me to keep my legs from collapsing beneath me. When I cringe
d, the gargoyle drew his hand back with a grimace.
“Sorry,” he said with a slight lisp thanks to his feline fangs. “Welcome to the club!” The surrounding soldiers chuckled, eyeing me respectfully.
Holding my helmet under my arm, I swiped at my face to clear the hair that stuck around my eyes.
“What club?” I asked grumpily.
“The tardy club,” Sawyer said as if it were obvious. “Almost all of us have been tardy once… and only once.”
“I can't imagine why,” I replied dryly.
“Although, we normally only have to do ten laps if we cooperate…” his voice trailed off, leaving his unspoken question hanging in the air between us.
Unwilling to take the bait, I straightened up and backed away.
“Well, would you look at the time? I really should be going. The sun will set soon,” I said innocently before turning around and walking briskly back towards the castle.
Before I could make it more than a few feet, a flash of black leathery skin and midnight blue material flashed in my vision, and suddenly, Rozmarin was standing mere feet in front of me. I couldn’t help the smile that stretched across my face at the sight of her. She wore her usual midnight blue dress with silver stitching, and her smile matched my own when she first landed. Then, as she took in my appearance, her smile faded, and a concerned frown replaced it. She sniffed, and her nose wrinkled, likely at the smell of the rancid vomit on my breath.
“Are you unwell?” she asked, concerned, as she took a step towards me.
“I’m fine.” I shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of my punishment, especially in front of the other troops. I had chosen it, after all. “Just a rough training day is all.”
She narrowed her eyes as she looked to the rest of the soldiers unconvinced. “They do not look so sick.” Then, her eyes finally registered that I was wearing a full suit of metal armor, surprise flickering in her gaze. Then, understanding. Apparently, the punishment for being tardy wasn’t much of a secret.