Page 39 of Kingdom of Lies

"Appropriate," she muses with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. The irony isn’t lost on me—the word mirrors my own existence, a testament to surviving against relentless tides of prejudice and conflict.

"Very," I acknowledge, my gaze lingering on her face, absorbing the subtle expressions that dance across her features.

"Draknir," she chides, catching me staring, "you're supposed to be helping, not just watching."

"Am I now?" My retort is more gruff than intended, a defense mechanism against the softening of my edges. "I find your determination... intriguing."

"Is that so? Or are you simply bored without your sword in hand?"

"Perhaps a bit of both," I admit, the words coming out sharper than they feel. But there's truth in them—I am a soldier, born and bred for combat, not idle repose.

"Then let me make it interesting." Kathleen challenges me, her eyes sparkling with defiance. "Teach me something only a warrior would know."

"Like what?” I scoff, the notion absurd. “How to wield a blade? You're more likely to cut yourself."

"Maybe," she fires back, undeterred. "But I'm not afraid to learn."

"Bravery or foolishness?" I quip, but there's no heat behind it. We spar with words, a duel of wits rather than steel.

"Both," she says with a smirk. "Isn't that what being a soldier is about?"

"Careful, Kathleen," I warn, though the corners of my mouth betray me, turning upward ever so slightly. "You might start to sound like one of us."

"Would that be so terrible?" she asks, and for a moment the question hangs between us, heavy as a warhammer.

"Perhaps not," I concede, my defenses crumbling like the walls of an ancient fortress long-sieged. The realization strikes—a month away from duty, a respite from the blood and battle cries, and here I am, still fighting. Only this time, it's not against an enemy—it's against the unexpected joy found in simple moments like these, teaching her, watching her.

"Good," Kathleen beams, returning her attention to the book. "Now, what's this symbol?"

"Hope," I answer, and the word feels foreign on my tongue, though not unwelcome. "In our language, it's 'Tal'ren'."

"Hope," she repeats, savoring the syllables. "I like that."

"Me too," I confess, and in that admission, I find a shard of peace amidst the turmoil of duty and longing, a fleeting truce in a lifelong war.

During our honeymoon period, Kathleen also tends to her grandmother.

"Let me help you," I say, sliding my hands around her grandmother's frail body.

"It's really okay," she protests with a smile.

"I just want to help you," I smile back, taking in her delicate form. She's not weak by any means, I just feel compelled to do things for her to lessen her load.

We spend our days calmly enjoying the harmony that has been building between us. The days are not devoid of embrace. I find myself looking for excuses to touch her; sometimes it’s to brush a stray hair from her face, other times, it’s a guiding hand on her lower back. At night I explore every contour of her supple form.

As we delve deeper into the ancient dark elf language together, I can't help but marvel at Kathleen. She may be human, but she’s unyielding. Her brow furrows with concentration as she studies the intricate symbols, a soft hum escaping her lips each time she pronounces unfamiliar words. Occasionally, she'll pause to ask me questions, and I find myself savoring these moments like rare nectar. Our voices flow together, our minds entwined in a dance only the two of us understand.

After lunch, when we finish studying, we head over to take care of her grandmother. Kathleen takes her hand gently. Her skin is like worn parchment, creased with age and wisdom. With meticulous care, we help bathe her and open her windows facing the garden where the sunlight is warm on our skin. The scent of lavender fills the air as the breeze rolls in.

I enjoy the solace of night the most. We sleep together, spending each night exploring each other's bodies. A feeling has begun to hang over me, the overwhelming sensations of which threaten to explode from my chest in words I don’t know how to conjure.

As the night falls softly around us, Kathleen tucked neatly into the crook my arm, our skin glistens with a sheen of sweat from the passionate lovemaking that's left my body craving hers. I feel a pang of longing deep within my chest. I know I should say something about my feelings, but the words won't come out; they're lost in a sea of need and desire that seems to overtake me every time she's near.

I rationalize that it's okay if I don't speak up just yet, we are bound together forever, surely it's okay if I hold off for a bit.

One morning, two weeks later, changes everything. My butler comes rushing into my study with wide eyes and a trembling voice. "The patient, she has awoken," he exclaims breathlessly. I nod curtly and rush past him towards Kathleen's grandmother's chambers.

As I round the corner, I can hear muffled sounds coming from inside. The conversation sounds tense, and there is a commotion rumbling from behind the closed door. I quickly rush over and push it open.

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