Page 12 of Even Angels fall
If he could get away with any workout and just hide between pages, he would, but his love for pastries and the habits going with a well-toned body make him walk more than anyone I know. But he’ll walk, that’s all. No one will ever see him running or fighting ever again.
He might be the only other person in this godforsaken palace who can’t fly.
Not that it helped develop some kind of kinship.
Like I said earlier, he is a coward.
It’s the only reason he hasn’t authorized me to take a chair and sit.
Etiquette lesson would need me to sit, but he’s too scared for my father to return and see me comfortably sitting when he decided otherwise mere minutes ago.
After what feels like an eternity, Ariël finally talks. His strawberry pie is long gone, and he’s sipping at a cup of coffee, so ridiculously small in his big hand.
“Unless you want one of your father’s warriors to pack your bags, I advise you to pack anything you want to bring with you in advance, especially if you have anything that you value.”
He hasn’t raised his voice, and it’s barely a whisper above the quiet of the room.
It feels as if it was meant only for me, because I doubt the guards near the door hear any word he said.
“I also advise you to bring what is strictly necessary to your survival. May it be for the safety of your body or your mind.”
His tone of voice is still so low I’m the only one who can hear him. The cup of coffee is still in front of his mouth, and he takes painstakingly slow gulps from it without looking at me.
As if he wasn’t talking to me at all.
“Your father will be searching your bag when you leave, and he won’t let you bring something as trivial as memorabilia, but there is always a way.”
Is… Ariël telling me to go against something my father ordered? Something he will order?
I’m not completely sure, but what he just told me sounded a tiny bit like treason, and I’m starting to wonder if I didn’t judge Ariël too fast.
As if he hasn’t been talking to me until now, he turns in my direction and looks at the pie on my plate.
My muscles are still twitching and my stomach had revolted at the idea of food long before my father left the room, so the pie is still intact.
“You’re not going to eat that?” he asks before grabbing the pie from my plate.
I guess he didn’t need an answer.
For an etiquette teacher, his manners are lacking in this instant.
He’s never been like this, and I don’t know how to answer to the careless man in front of me. It’s as if, now that he knows I’m about to leave, he can finally relax and be himself.
That’s unsettling.
“Now go.” He shoos me away with a wave of his hand as he makes eyes at my strawberry pie.
We’re early. I’ve never had so much spare time in what feels like forever, and I don’t know what to do with it.
No, scratch that.
I have a bag to pack.
7
Angélique
The rest of the week passes in a blur. I still train every day, but it feels like even Anne and Ariël’s heads aren’t in it, either.
