Page 30 of The Immortal's Trick
My marriage to Lome, if nothing else, will give me the power to change her fate.
A soft gasp floats into the luxurious room.
I glance over my shoulder in time to see Nebet nearly collide with the servant escorting her, too busy gawking at the vaulted, painted ceiling above us to pay attention to where she’s walking.
Her awe mirrors my own from yesterday. Lome had insisted I arrive early to settle in before the wedding, but no amount of time could prepare me for this place.
The air here smells faintly of jasmine and crushed citrus, drifting in from the breezy courtyard beyond the arched windows. Sunlight pools through the lattice screens and dances across polished marble floors. Every corner gleams with foreign elegance—brushed gold fixtures, patterned cushions, towering plants I don’t recognize.
“It’s so beautiful,” Nebet whispers, breathless. Her eyes find mine, and in an instant, her expression shifts. She crosses the room quickly and sits beside me on the velvet-cushioned bench, her skirt rustling like papyrus leaves in the wind.
Her fingers close around my cold hands. “What is wrong?”
Words clog in my throat. I glance down at our joined hands, comforted by her warmth but unable to confess the storm swirling inside me.
“Are you... nervous?”
That’s only one thread in the tangled knot of my chest. I nod, and she squeezes tighter.
“It is normal to be nervous,” she says gently. “But Lome is a good man. He will make a good husband.”
My throat tightens at her words. They always do when someone speaks of him that way, like he’s just a man, ordinary and understandable.
Would they still say that if they knew the truth?
Some days, I imagine telling Nebet everything. About Lome’s immortality. About the pull between us that he calls fate. I long for someone to understand why I hesitate—why I both ache for and fear the future closing around me.
But I never say a word. The risk is too great, the consequences unknowable.
Silence stretches between us, weighty as stone. Nebet watches me closely, lines of worry softening her otherwise luminous face.
“Is he unkind,” she murmurs, “when no one is around?”
“No!” I say too quickly, ashamed that my behavior made her wonder such a thing. “Lome treats me very well.”
In truth, he treats me reverently. As if I am a rare artifact he once lost and finally recovered. Every time his eyes meet mine, I feel that invisible thread pull taut between us. Unseen, unbreakable.
And yet… how can someone care for me so deeply withoutreallyknowing me?
Since Lome’s proposal, we’ve spent nearly every day together. He walks at my side, listens with such patience, and answers every question I dare to ask. And when he speaks of his past, the centuries of travel, conquest, and learning, it doesn’t feel like stories. It feels like a memory. Like something familiar buried deep beneath my skin.
My soul knows Lome, even if my mind does not. The calm in his voice. The way he stands still while the world rushes around him. The quiet power that hums under his skin.
But on other days, I shrink beneath the weight of what he is… not just a man, but an immortal. A being older than nations, promising me forever, calling me hisOne.
I once called him a god. “We’re not gods,” he corrected me gently. “Only immortals. Gifted in ways we did not choose.”
I didn’t ask what those gifts were. I still haven’t. I’m not sure I want to know.
Nebet breaks the silence. “Then what is the problem? Are you regretting your decision?”
I tilt my head back and stare at the bright sky in the distance.
That very question kept me awake last night beneath the ornate canopy of my too-large bed, staring at gilded beams and wondering whether love can bloom from Fate alone.
Lome has been patient. Gentle. Since that stolen kiss by the creek, his lips haven't so much as brushed my cheek.
And still, the connection hums between us, quiet and constant. I feel it in my bones. But is it enough?
