1. Saoirse

Saoirse

" Y ou have five seconds to remove your hand before I relieve you of your fingers."

I tightened the grip on the knife in my hand, still dripping from the juice of the bloodberries I'd been thinly slicing. Sweet, buttery goodness tickled my nose from the tarts that were happily roasting away in the oven. It wasn't the sharpest weapon with its cracked handle and dull, serrated blade, but I was certain it would do enough damage to get my point across. A tremor teased my pinky finger, but I stifled it.

Weakness was a crutch, and Jephyr Harlow would use mine against me the first chance he got.

"Come on, Saoirse," he whined, his arm still painfully gripping my upper arm, his knuckles white against his waxy skin. He enunciated every syllable, twisting the words until they were almost unrecognizable. Sur-sha. "We have unfinished business."

Unfinished business.

His definition severely contrasted mine. The last time we'd been alone together, I'd left with a bruised neck and his flesh beneath my nails from when I'd barely managed to push him off me.

There was a special place in hell for men like Jephyr.

The tremor intensified, and I cursed my traitorous hand as it shook, hoping he couldn't see it. He hovered on my left, his hand on the small of my back which was stiff as a board against him. His bigger body cornered me against the counter, blocking me.

"I already told you to leave me alone," I spat at him, trying to scoot away from him even though I knew it was useless. I didn't want to stab him. Well, I did. I would love to stab him, but they made it clear that attacking a member of the royal guard was forbidden. Punishable by death.

My grip on the knife didn't falter.

I would rather die, strung up for all to see in the city square, then let myself be violated by Jephyr Harlow, not as long as there was breath in my lungs.

Since we were children he had plagued me, bullying me in every way he could possibly imagine. I'd had my hair pulled, knees bloodied and bruised from being pushed into the rough ground.

Jephyr's hatred was sickly sweet.

And when we'd hit puberty, he'd realized I was not just a bag that could be punched.

I was also a woman.

I'd taken great care to never be put in a position alone with him, to never let him have that advantage over me. Until one night when I'd made a wrong turn, had allowed myself to be cornered, and he'd —

Jephyr's laugh cut through my thoughts. Low and dark, curling through the air like smoke from a fire. Beady eyes bore into the side of my head but I refused to look at him, a move that would put our faces much too close for comfort. "Don't be like that. I know you had fun. "

My throat constricted, fear burning against the anger that rose within me. They warred for dominance, the urge to stab duking it out with the urge for self-preservation. A part of me hoped he was just trying to intimidate me and would leave at any moment. But history had already taught me otherwise.

When his harsh breath soured my ear, the stabbing won.

My arm darted out without hesitation, the knife flying at his chest in a move much faster than I thought my soft arm capable. Shock gripped me as his clammy hand manacled my wrist, halting the knife only inches from his chest. The rich, gilded uniform of the royal guard stared back at me. I looked up in horror and his eyes met mine, the dark, empty voids drilling into my skull.

No, no, no, no —

Starless panic burst, and I jolted against his hold. I'd made a very costly mistake. His hands heated, the beginning of his flare burning to life in his hand, like he held a little piece of the sun against my skin. A pained cry escaped me as my flesh sizzled.

"Excuse me," an impossibly deep voice drawled loudly from behind us, and Jephyr dropped my hand so fast I might have imagined it had ever been there in the first place if not for the throbbing pain. His hand went to rest at the hilt of the sword strapped to his side, and be both turned to look at the newcomer.

In a less stressful situation, I might have described him as handsome. His tall, broad-shouldered frame stood leisurely by the bakery's entrance. So focused as I was on Jephyr, I hadn't even registered the light tinkling of the welcome bells perched atop the opening.

His eyes, dark as the night sky I had only seen in paintings, darted between the two of us curiously. Despite his calm demeanor, an edge of danger trailed a shiver down my back. His stare paused on my injured arm, his jaw clenching as he met Jephyr's glare .

"I'd really love to buy this —" he looked down at his empty hands as he stepped forward, reaching down for the nearest loaf of bread I had baked just that morning. "— this bread. Smells absolutely divine, doesn't it?"

He dipped his nose to the bread to punctuate his point, his eyes never leaving Jephyr's as he pulled away, a soft mmm escaping between his full lips. His mouth twisted into a confident, easy grin that revealed perfect white teeth. For just a moment, a challenge lurked beneath his gaze, like a hunter sizing up the prey he knew he could catch.

I risked a glance, my blood freezing when I noticed the mottled red of Jephyr's cheeks, his eyes narrowed into sharpened daggers. This man had a death wish to pick a fight with a guard, even if I was grateful for his interruption.

Jephyr bent low, and I flinched as his mouth touched my ear, bile coating the back of my throat as my stomach turned to acid. "This isn't over," he promised.

A slam startled us both as the man chucked the bread on to the counter, a clear warning this time. Closer now, I took in the black turtleneck he wore under a simple tunic with fascination, his umber skin only visible on his hands and his face. The last dregs of summer had almost passed, but it was always warm in Sol.

"How much is it?" the stranger spoke again, when Jephyr had made no further move to leave. My bully slammed out of the bakery without so much as a backward glance, the door rattling in its frame with the force of his anger.

For just a moment, I allowed myself to breathe, trying to calm my racing nervous system. My heart thundered in my ears, the tips of my fingers tingling as I fought for control of my emotions.

Inhale. Hold. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

I repeated the pattern that Maeve had taught me. The old woman who owned the bakery had been a godsend, teaching me to work past the anxiety that so often policed my life, holding me hostage, like a bird trapped inside a cage.

Still, I had my moments.

Slowly, I opened my eyes, ready to return my attention to the stranger. I was too emotionally exhausted to feel embarrassed in front of the person who had just watched me stave off a complete meltdown. "Thank you."

I mumbled, not meeting his eyes, instead focusing on a spot in his hair, the long dreads framing his face perfectly. He wasn't someone I recognized, but that wasn't anything new. Lanthus was the capitol of the Sol Kingdom, and there were often strangers visiting from other cities. And on the very rare occasion, other kingdoms.

"I just really wanted some bread," he said carefully, a gentle edge to his voice that I didn't expect. Stubble dotted his jawline, tracing a sculpted pattern along his chin.

I snorted, an ungraceful sound. Not that I cared, despite what my heated cheeks had to say in the golden glow of the sunlit bakery. "You don't have to buy the bread." Wariness coated my words. "I was about to close, anyway. The Awakening and all." My shoulders sagged, darkness doing its best to creep back in and suffocate me as I tried to avoid thinking about the ceremony.

It was not every day the heir to the Sol Kingdom got her powers. The next queen of the Lightlace witches.

The stranger nodded, stretching a hand out, bread attached. "Tell you what," he offered, a mischievous glint in his eye. He exuded confidence, the relaxed set of his body putting me at ease. "I give you the bread back, and you give me that little meatball thing over there. I'm starving."

Meatball? Confused, I followed his finger as he pointed to the display case to my right, and a small smile split my face as recognition hit me .

"Meatball?" I taunted, my nose scrunching as I crinkled a look at him. " That is a dark chocolate, lavender truffle, if you must know. Calling it a meatball is just… Well, it's barbaric."

"I promise you, I would very much like to know everything about that meatball."

A laugh bubbled inside of me at the stupidity of his words, but I held it in. I moved to the case, gently taking three of the round little balls and placing them on a napkin, handing it over to the helpful stranger. He didn't hesitate, popping one into his mouth and chewing slowly. His eyes went wide as he finished his bite, staring at me with amazement.

"You made these?"

"I made everything."

"I don't think I've ever tasted anything better in my life."

"They're my favorite," I said, not comfortable with the compliment and instead deflecting the best way I knew how. My skin warmed under his praise, pressing a hand to my forehead self-consciously. That didn't happen very often. I busied myself with beginning to wipe down the counters, a crimson disaster sitting on my cutting board from the berries that lay abandoned, begging for my continued attention.

Instead of leaving the bakery like I had expected, he popped a hip against the counter, swallowing the remnants of his second truffle. "What's your name?"

"Saoirse," I answered automatically, then frowned, not sure why I'd so willingly given out that information.

"Saoirse." The name rolled off his tongue like a caress, and I straightened my spine, suddenly suspicious of the man. "It was a pleasure to meet you. Next time, aim for the face." He turned to go, his long legs carrying him in record time to the door.

"You didn't tell me yours," I called after him, not sure why I cared at all. Chances were he only here for the Awakening, and I'd likely never see him again. Even so, I waited.

He turned, one last look from his midnight gaze as he stepped halfway out of the door. "Vane Asteri," he said, and then he was gone.