My body felt light, and though I was conscious, it seemed as if my soul was not fully present, floating above my body. It visited another memory.
*I walked through the darkest part of the palace, the stone corridors where servants often forgot to light torches. But Shasha, the middle-aged woman who raised me after my mother left, always made sure there was enough light. I opened the door to my chambers and met the big, wary brown eyes of Shasha.
"Your Highness! I was sick. Where were you?" She hurriedly reached for a drying cloth.
"It's the middle of the night, Shasha. You should have been asleep," I said as she tried to dry my hair from the rainstorm outside.
But I took the cloth from her, thanking her. She ignored my reluctance to be touched and practiced her caring by turning to close the window that was flapping in the wind.
The thunder struck again, and Shasha shivered. "It's madness out there. I have informed the king that you were not in the palace. He was about to send the guards."
I gave a humorless smile. "Really?" I played along. She always tried to make it seem like everyone worried about me, but the truth was that no one did except her. I suppose it became a habit after comforting me so many times when I was little. My father would never have sent any guards. I had been away for two days.
I had always been grateful for Shasha's care. "You should go, Shasha. I am alright."
After a few more insistent attempts, she finally listened to me and left. It felt like everything was hazy as I walked through my life. Nothing was distinct or memorable, except for the times I felt a spark of life when I fought against my father's attempts to break me or my stepmother's countless attempts on my life.
"Shasha used to worry about you and taste every food that was served to you," the head cook said as I stood there. My eyes slipped to see them taking away her lifeless body, her lips blue, and the bowl of soup I had asked for splattered on the floor. I couldn't do anything but watch where her lifeless body had fallen, my heart numb and my body feeling cold. That coldness remained with me, never dissipating.*
Suddenly, I felt pulled into a warm embrace. "Rose," Xen's soothing voice pulled me out of my dream. He cradled me in his arms, and I could smell the fresh herbs on him along with the distinct scent of the woods.
"Xen!" I sniffled. My eyelids felt heavy, and I realized the aching sensation in my chest and the lump in my throat. I shivered.
"Rose, my love, open your eyes. It's alright, you are safe." His hands cupped my cheeks, wiping away my tears as I finally managed to open my eyes and see his comforting gaze.
"I couldn't tell her," I silently sobbed in his arms.
"Who?" he asked.
"Shasha. I never told her how lovely she was. I loved her like a mother. I never told her that I loved her, that she was the best person I had ever known."
"I'm sure she knows," he reassured me.
"She doesn't. I never told her. I couldn't. I didn't know how to, and... and she died!" I sobbed, realizing the pain of loving someone so deeply. "She died because of me. She died instead of me. Why does it hurt so much?"
"It's going to be fine, Rose," he comforted.
I sank into his embrace, and he tightened his arms around me, his soothing words calming me down.
"Why does it hurt so much? I've never hurt this much." My voice trailed off.
"It stops hurting eventually, love," he said.
"It will?"
"Yes, she must have loved you, and she knew you loved her too."
"How? I never told her."
"Because she does. You can't hide love."
"I hope she does," I whispered.
"She does, just like I do."
I could hear what he was saying, but I couldn't fully understand its meaning before I fell into another slumber.
When I woke up again, I found myself with my arms around Xen's torso, resting my head on his chest. When I tilted my head, I saw that he was sitting up, holding a book, and reading silently. I shook my head, trying to remember how I had come back here and when he had returned. Then the dream came back to me—the memory. I shivered.
"You're awake." His hand slipped into my hair as he brushed it away. I tried to sit up, but he pulled me against him, resting my head on his shoulder. He put the book aside, and I looked at him.
"You were restless all night. Are you sure you don't want to rest more?" He asked softly, his voice soothing. His arm secured me in his embrace, and his calmness became my anchor, easing the lump in my throat. I wanted to tell him that he shouldn't be so good to me, to ask him to stop the care, tenderness, and softness with which he held me. It hurt. I remembered that I had to go; I remembered my promise to myself when I left the palace that was my prison. I had to find my mother. But I didn't have the courage to tell him any of that.
"I'm fine," I said, rubbing my throbbing temple. I turned to rest my head more comfortably on his shoulder, and he kissed my forehead.
"Headaches?"
"More like someone splitting my head in two, but it will pass," I said. "That's how it is when I..." I stopped myself.
"Recollect your memories," he said, giving me a knowing look. I tried to speak, to say something, anything, but the words didn't come. Then I noticed the book he had placed on the nightstand, and it gave me a chance to distract him.
"That's the book I borrowed from Elder Hilda. Is there something useful in there?" I tried to reach for it.
"It's basic," he answered, sliding it out of my reach. "If you want to know about this island, you can ask me, or I brought a lot of books." He looked at me, his tone becoming slightly commanding, and I met his eyes.
I silently nodded.
"Now, are you going to tell me what you saw last night?"
"I told you, I'm fine. Don't you have to leave?" I tried to move away, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me back.
"I need to know," he insisted.
"Why?" I asked helplessly.
"Why? You're hurting, and I can't heal you."
"You weren't supposed to heal me," I said, looking away.
"No, but I was supposed to help you through this."
I closed my eyes. I couldn't leave, and I had no strength to see the concern in his eyes.
"Stop worrying," I said firmly, turning towards him and frowning. He sighed sharply, his patience wearing thin.
"I will always worry about you." He let go of my hand, slipped off the bed, and came around to my side. My eyes followed his movements as he approached. He was dressed in a simple shirt and breeches.
"If you still insist on this, I have to take precautions."
"Precautions?"
"There are some things that trigger your memories. Without knowing what memory, when, and how, I don't know what harm may come to you," he said, his lips pressed in a thin line, his hand resting on his hip.
"What do you mean?"
"You need to rest; you need to stay inside," he said.
"You can't." I shook my head in disbelief. "You can't lock me in here."
"I'm not," he said, looking at me gravely. "But you're not helping me here. Every moment I'm outside, I'm afraid of you being alone, and I can't... I want to stay with you every second," he said, grinding his teeth.
"You can't," I said. The notion was ridiculous. "You don't have..."
"I have no notion of what's happening in this village, and my powers are weakening," he interrupted.
"I don't understand," I said. I thought we knew what was happening. The Vampire King's letter said so.
"I came back, and you were crying!" He almost yelled, as if the thought were physically painful. I swallowed, but it was also comforting to see him like this. I didn't know why.
"I can see that. I can't see you crying if you refuse to tell me what is hurting you."
I just stood there dumbfounded, having no idea how to respond to him. I never knew how to respond to him.
"You're not answering." He scoffed and turned away. I stepped forward. This was unreasonable. He couldn't be so upset over my crying. Why would he be? I took a deep breath and met his eyes squarely.
"That's settled then. You're going to heal and stay here. I will prepare your medicine," he said, abruptly opening the door and leaving.
"Unreasonable!" I huffed.