Page 17 of The Kingdom of Flames

When she turned, Encarmine was staring at her. He looked like a veteran of a thousand wars, strong— yet so very wounded within.

I am the darkness within men in a siege…

Feverish eyes stared into her. Celestine saw every portion of his body: his long and muscled legs, his straight back and wide shoulders, the lust in his eyes smoldered under a glare of complete control.

Strangest of all things in this realm, was that underneath the fear fluttering in her chest… something stirred inside her. Like an animal raising its eyes to meet the challenge of another.

Encarmine shut his eyes. “My lust drove me to you, Celestine. But I will seek your favor and your decision to wed me. Wars are not won in a single day, but some battles are. They all follow a tracing route, a route I will march and lay claim to, section by section… of your body.”

He lowered his spear and reached up to the banner. He tore it into three strips and held them to her. She took them.

“My courting will be a campaign in three parts. It will be your choice. The first touch, the first taste…”

Celestine held the broken banner in her hands. The three ribbons flapped in the warm wind.

“And the last?” she asked.

Say it. I want you to say it.

Encarmine stared at her. “Embrace.”

Celestine looked at the ribbons, then at him. This wasn’t just a declaration, she had the feeling he respected rules. Defended them. It was up to her.

“And if I refuse?”

Encarmine stared at her, the stubble on his jaw shifting under a clenching jaw as he considered.

“Then you’ll refuse.”

What does that mean?

Celestine looked down at the banner in her hands. The words of Blackdawn came back to her. That these demigods were starved of lust all year. That their own women fell to death the moment they touched them.

It would be contest, and courtship. Here a bastion of summer itself wanted to prove itself for the right to touch her. What girl did not dream of being courted by a prince of sun and fire?

To be the fixture in a smoldering gods eyes, the drumbeat that thundered in his veins? Even if it meant your ruin.

“I accept.”

The hint of a smile crept upon his lips. “Come, we head to my estate.”

They walked together; he bore his shield and sword upon his pack, the spear in his right hand. They drank from a waterskin as they walked down into the valley near the town she learned was called Rosendall, where they met the road. Many of his people saluted him, and he returned their salute. He was a respected peer, not just the scepter of dominion here. He was another soldier.

No, that wasn’t right. He was every soldier.

Encarmine asked her of gentle things. He asked of the Painted Realm. What wars did they wage? What battles? Were there contests? She spoke of what she knew, and tried to tell him of the hardship from the conflict of he and other seasons. That there was no time for contests and duels when seasons changed by the day. He did not seem to know this was the case. That the warring of the Seasons changed so much.

“Do your people become sterner because of this?” he asked.

“They die, my lord. Before they can even walk.”

He didn’t dismiss this, Encarmine considered it as they walked.

Celestine told him was wars she knew, meager as they were. Bands of starving men battling each other, like emaciated beggars knifing each other for bread.

Slowly, as they walked towards the town on the way to his keep, the fear of him diminished slightly. There was a mirth to speaking to him. To walking alongside a demigod and Lord of Calendar. Sometimes out of the corner of her eye, he seemed a thing of red and black, with a glorious crown of metal, but when she turned, his grateful eyes regarded her.

“Many died upon the battlefield, and we spent all week tending to the wounded.” Celestine said as they walked past a great mill. She was speaking of a pitch battle near her home.

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