Page 4 of Antiletum
At the alcove of the entrance, the quaint wooden door lurches open, nearly slamming me in the face. I lean backwards out of the way just in time to see the menace herself.
My wife: Delaney.
She’s waltzing outside, grinning, still emitting that same joyfulness that taunted me upon my approach. Her glee dies instantly as she sees me.
Apparently I don’t deserve her joy.
Besides that, my presence must be a shock. No doubt she thought I had no idea what she’s been up to. I didn’t confront her about her last bout of damning willfulness in thespirlinary, instead letting Mallin handle the situation when he guiltily came to me, telling me he barely caught her in time to stop her using magic without me—outside of ourvinculumbond—even after promising Delaney he wouldn’t.
A poor decision on my end, as the situation was clearly not handled at all.
Arms crossed over my chest, the seams of my black tunic, embroidered with silver spread wings of a barn owl, creak as my muscles flex. My own brand new colors and symbol announcing my unexpected station in the hierarchy ofNoctua.
My stare bounces behind my frozen wife’s head into the sanctuary, ebbing wafts of magic drifting towards me: a familiar scent. Delaney watches my nostrils flare, scenting her magic and blood and flesh. She barely flicks her head over her shoulder, towards the evidence within.
Tabitha, Delaney’s horrible cousin, scurries as she catches my eye. My wife swings back to me with momentary guilt, pupils blossoming with a hint of fear that brings a sudden ache to my ribs, wanting to soothe it away, knowing exactly who instilled that fear and why.
She dissolves the expression quickly.
“Delaney,” I address her, my tone noting both question and accusation.
Hazel eyes narrow at me, suspicious pupils drawing back in to reveal more of that captivating blue speckled within brown.
It’s as if someone took a sample of azure straight from the ocean and used a dropper to perfectly place it within her irises.
“What are you doing here?” she demands.
I swallow. “I could ask you the same thing,ocellus.” Using the nickname with that seductive tone seems to amp up her panic before it morphs into rage. Worse than when I use her name. I suppose she thinks I shouldn’t refer to her at all.
How terribly tragic for her.
Whether she likes it or not, she can’t escape me. Thevinculumwedding rings adorning both of our left hands are proof of that. Mine forever. And I’m hers just the same.
Invading her space, I swiftly back her into the wall of the alcove, pinning her with my arms.
Delaney’s small fists bunch into the cream fabric of her skirts.
Most would expect her to wear the same black and silver I boast, balancing each other, as most noble married couples assigned by Parliament do. The official governing body ofNoctua. Though one could argue that their reach extends far beyond our borders.
There’s always someone to answer to.Deos.Government.
Pairings are symbolized with clothing as much as the silvervinculumbands placed upon each other’s fingers, never to be removed, not even when our bodies rot in the ground. My own flashes from my tensed knuckles against stone. Delaney’s ring is lost in her skirts, bringing attention to her attire again.
The garb of wedded pairs is more out of tradition than requirement. Most are happy to adhere, as not onlydo we honor tradition deeply within theNoctuafaction, but most fucking people love their spouse and are proud to so boldly and loudly claim each other.
Or at least that’s what I like to tell myself in moments such as this, when I’m vexingly enraged by a color.
Delaney’s outfits are further infuriating in how soft and innocent looking they are, trying to tell me from afar that she may be simpering and sweet. And she is. With everyone but me.
The little liar.
Instead of cowering at my imposing confrontation, her spine straightens, full lips pressing into an indignant line. “I thought you might be happy to find me more at thespirlinary.It was you who encouraged me to spend time here. You didn’t specify how.”
I barely manage to stifle the low growl rolling from my chest. She isn’t wrong.
Smugness tilts that pouty little mouth from its purse.
“You know thatthisis not what I meant.”
