The Summons
Three days felt like an eternity when you'd tasted freedom and had it snatched away.
Nana sat in her chambers, surrounded by silk cushions and jade ornaments and all the trappings of luxury that felt more like shackles with each passing hour. Outside her window, she could hear the palace bustling with preparations for her father's birthday celebration—servants calling to one another, the rhythmic hammering of construction, the distant sound of musicians practicing their pieces.
Everyone had a purpose. Everyone was moving, doing, *living*.
Everyone except her.
She'd tried to occupy herself with embroidery, but her stitches were careless and uneven. Had attempted to read poetry, but the words blurred together into meaningless shapes. Even her usual escape—losing herself in daydreams—felt hollow now that she knew what reality could taste like when you were brave enough to steal it.
Four more days. Four more endless days until the next festival market, until she could slip away again, until she could see—
Nana's hand drifted to the small pouch she kept hidden in her sleeve, feeling the warm pulse of the fishtail beacon within. She'd been touching it constantly since he'd given it to her, reassuring herself it was real, that *he* was real, that the entire night hadn't been some elaborate dream conjured by her desperate loneliness.
*Press your thumb to the center and think of me. I'll come.*
Could she? Should she?
It seemed like such an imposition. He'd already given her so much—freedom, adventure, memories she would treasure forever. Asking for more felt greedy. Selfish.
But the palace walls were closing in, and she couldn't breathe, and four more days felt impossible to endure.
*Just to test it*, she told herself, pulling the beacon from her pouch. *Just to see if it really works.*
The coral was warm in her palm, pulsing with that steady heartbeat rhythm that both comforted and unsettled her. She held it gently, trying to remember exactly what Rafayel had said. Press the center? Or was it—no, wait, he'd said something about thinking of him while—
Nana fumbled with the beacon, her concentration scattered. Nothing happened. The coral continued its steady pulse, unchanged.
*Focus*, she commanded herself. *You can do this.*
She took a breath, steadying herself. This time she held the beacon with both hands, cradling it against her chest, right over her heart. Closed her eyes and let herself think of him—really think of him.
The purple-blue of his hair catching lamplight. The impossible depth of his eyes. The way he'd smiled at her like she was worth smiling at, not because she was a princess but because she was *her*.
"Rafayel?" she whispered, her voice barely audible even in the quiet of her chambers. Soft as silk moving through ocean water. "Can you come visit me in my chamber?"
The beacon warmed beneath her hands, the pulse quickening to match her own heartbeat.
She tried again, pouring more intention into the words. "Please. I just... I need..."
*To see you. To feel like I can breathe again. To remember what freedom tastes like.*
The beacon flared suddenly, deep purple light bleeding between her fingers—so bright she gasped and nearly dropped it. The glow intensified, filling her chambers with twilight radiance, and then—
And then he was there.
Rafayel materialized like he was made of light itself, his form solidifying from luminescence into flesh and bone and those eyes that seemed to see straight through her. He stood in the center of her room, completely at ease despite the impossibility of his arrival, dressed in the same dark robes that made him look like something from a dream.
Or a nightmare, if you were his enemy.
But Nana wasn't his enemy. She was just a lonely girl who looked at him like he'd hung the moon and all the stars besides.
"You came," she breathed, wonder and relief warring in her voice. "It worked. You actually came."
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🐚🐚🐚
The Weakness He Couldn't Afford
Rafayel had been in the middle of reconnaissance—mapping the palace guard rotations from his perch three buildings away—when the summons hit him like a fist to the sternum. The beacon's call was impossible to ignore, a hook in his chest that *pulled*, demanding he answer.
He'd materialized in her chambers before conscious thought could override instinct, and the moment he solidified, he knew it was a mistake.
She was looking at him with such pure, unguarded joy that something cracked in the careful armor he'd spent three days reconstructing. Her face was lit from within, her smile bright enough to rival the beacon's glow, and there was no calculation in her expression. No manipulation. Just genuine happiness that he had come when she called.
*Stop*, he commanded himself even as he returned her smile. *Don't let this mean anything. She's bored, you're entertainment, this is part of the plan—*
But the bond mark burned hot against his chest, calling him a liar.
"Of course I came," he said smoothly, keeping his tone light. Friendly. Perfectly calibrated to seem caring without being too intimate. "I promised, didn't I? Anywhere, anytime."
"I wasn't sure it would work," Nana admitted, still clutching the beacon like she was afraid it might vanish if she let go. "I thought maybe I'd done it wrong the first time, or maybe it only worked for emergencies, or—" She cut herself off with a self-conscious laugh.
"I'm babbling. Sorry. I've just been so bored, and it's only been three days, and I kept thinking about the festival and the lanterns and—"
She stopped abruptly, biting her lip. "This is silly. You're probably busy. I shouldn't have called you just because I'm bored. I'm sorry, I—"
"Stop apologizing," Rafayel said, and his voice was gentler than he'd intended. "You're not bothering me. I'm glad you called."
*Liar*, his conscience whispered. *You should be annoyed. You should be cold. You should be maintaining distance, not encouraging this.*
But the words were already out, and the way her face brightened at them was simultaneously his reward and his punishment.
"Really?" She asked it like she genuinely couldn't believe someone would want her company. Like being a princess had taught her that her value lay in her title rather than herself.
It made him want to find whoever had made her feel that way and introduce them to the sharp end of his blade.
"Really," he confirmed. Then, because he needed to redirect this before the softness growing in his chest could take root, "What did you have in mind? I assume you didn't summon me just to stare at your bedroom walls."
Nana's eyes lit up with sudden excitement. "The gerbils!" she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "You mentioned them at the market, and I keep thinking about them, and I've never actually seen one up close, and I thought maybe—if you're not too busy—we could go see them? Maybe even catch one?"
She looked at him with such hopeful eagerness that Rafayel felt his carefully constructed plans shift and reform around this new variable.
Taking her to catch gerbils wasn't part of the schedule. He'd planned to space out their meetings, to make each one precious and rare, to build anticipation rather than satiate it.
But she was looking at him like he held the key to her happiness, and the bond mark was burning, and his resolve was already crumbling around the edges.
*This is good*, he told himself. *More time with her means faster progress. It's strategic.*
*It's weakness*, his conscience corrected. *And you know it.*
"As your highness commands," Rafayel said with a slight bow, his tone smooth as silk over steel.
He stepped closer, closing the distance between them with the fluid grace of someone who'd spent a lifetime moving through water. When he reached her, he did something he knew he shouldn't—he slipped one arm around her back, drawing her close against his chest.
The contact sent electricity racing through his veins. She fit against him perfectly, like she always had, like she always would. Small and warm and trusting in his arms. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, rabbit-quick with excitement and nerves and something else he didn't want to name.
*I could end this right now*, a dark voice whispered in his mind. *Take her to the altar. Perform the ritual before this goes any further. Save yourself the complications.*
The thought should have been tempting. Instead, it made something in his chest constrict painfully.
Nana looked up at him, her eyes wide. "What are you—"
"Hold tight," he murmured, and launched them both through the window.
The world became a blur of rooftops and sky and speed. Rafayel moved with inhuman grace, his feet barely touching the tiles before he was airborne again, carrying them across the palace district in great, arcing leaps that should have been impossible.
But he was Lemurian. Sea God. Assassin. And the elements bent to his will whether he was in water or air.
Nana made a small sound of surprise that transformed into breathless laughter, her arms wrapping around his neck as he carried her across the city. The wind whipped her hair back from her face, and when he glanced down, he saw pure exhilaration written across her features.
She looked alive. More alive than he'd ever seen her in the palace, more alive even than at the festival. This was different—this was *flight*, the ultimate freedom, and she was experiencing it for the first time.
"You're amazing," she breathed against his ear, and the words sent an unwanted warmth flooding through him. "Like something from a fairy tale. Like a prince from one of the old stories."
*Not a prince*, he thought but didn't say. *A monster wearing a prince's face. The monster pretending to be the hero.*
But he couldn't bring himself to correct her. Not when she was looking at him like that. Not when she felt so right in his arms, like this was where she'd always been meant to be.
His jaw clenched with the effort of maintaining his mask, of keeping the smile in place even as his mind screamed warnings. This was getting too complicated. Too real. He was supposed to be in control, supposed to be the one manipulating the situation.
But with her pressed against his chest, with her laughter in his ear and her trust wrapped around him like a second skin, he wasn't sure who was caught in whose trap anymore.
They left the city behind, trading cobblestones for grass, buildings for trees. The forest spread before them—a sea of green that reminded him achingly of the kelp forests back home, before the water had started to recede, before everything had started dying.
Rafayel landed in a small clearing, setting Nana down gently. She was still holding onto him, her hands fisted in his robes, her eyes bright with the thrill of flight.
"That was incredible," she said, finally releasing him though she seemed reluctant to do so. "I felt like I was flying. Like I could go anywhere, do anything." She spun in a circle, arms outstretched, face turned toward the canopy above. "Is this what freedom feels like for you? Being able to just... go?"
"Something like that," Rafayel said, and it wasn't entirely a lie. He could go anywhere. But freedom implied choice, and he'd lost that the moment he'd been born into a dying kingdom that needed a god willing to sacrifice everything—including his own heart—to survive.
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🐚🐚🐚
To be continued __