Page 85 of The Princess and the Demon

A few castle guards sat on horseback a ways up, giving me space but still within earshot should something go wrong.

I had insisted on coming here today.

Everyone had protested, Olam, most of all.

He had offered to come with me, but I had refused, so he had ordered a handful of guards to accompany me.

Now I stood, staring at the space I had stood not four months prior, face to face with a demon. Even now the pull was strong, and the ground seemingly pulsed beneath my feet.

Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back a little, letting the breeze wash over me.

Inhaling deeply, I envision Amon in all his glory. His horns, his hands, the way his amber eyes turned black as night when he touched me.

Exhaling, I let it all go.

The grief didn’t feel as strong, and although I knew that it would never fully go away, parts of me were healing.

My heart would never be the same, I knew that.

I didn’t want it to be.

I regretted none of it and would do it again.

For more reasons than one.

“Goodbye, Amon.” I whisper, taking one last long look at the patch of dirt before me. Turning, I walk to Jericho, patting him on the neck before mounting him fluidly.

I turn him back towards the castle, spurring him forward.

I had begun to make time to see my nephew, whom Olam and Ziterra had named Shemesh. He was a bouncing ball of golden hair and chubby cheeks, and I fell in love with him instantly. When I wasn’t riding the valleys or practicing with my bow, I was here.

Ziterra rocked Shemesh in her arms as she hummed a lullaby softly. The babe curled his fingers into his mother’s hair, his eyes closing lazily as he drifted off.

I look up from the arrow I was working on, smiling.

“Why don’t you lay him down? Go get some rest. I can watch him.”

Ziterra regards me quietly, a gentle expression on her face. I avoid her beckoning gaze, instead squinting to focus on the cresting as I wrap it slowly.

“You know,” she begins. “I never got the chance to thank you.”

It’s quiet save for the sound of the wood creaking as Ziterra rocked Shemesh.

“There’s nothing to thank me for.” I whisper, glancing up at her.

“I would do it again.”

The silence draws out between us once more, and Shemesh finally stops fiddling in his mother’s arms.

“I think I will take you up on that offer.” She says, standing to place the babe in his cradle.

He sighs deeply, his curly golden hair catching the sun.

“Of course,” I say, smiling softly. “Rest well, sister.”

Ziterra turns and walks from the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Returning my attention to the arrow in my hand, my mind goes to Amon. My initial reaction is to dash the thought away, but when my heart doesn’t constrict at the first thought of him, I relax.

Memories of amber eyes assault me, and I look up at Shemesh, who is still sleeping soundly. His breaths are shallow, his little face relaxed in sleep.

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