Page 28 of The Nymph Prince
At first, I wasn’t sure why Troy was acting so weird. But then it hit me. Troy was afraid of humans. Alek was mostly human, even if he had magic running through his veins.
“I do.”
After looking at me for several heartbeats, Troy nodded. “I’m eager to meet him. He must be extraordinary to sweep Prince Lorcan off his feet.”
He said the last bit in a slightly mocking tone, and I shoved him. A small fight followed where we playfully slapped at each other. After a while, Malik cleared his throat. We stopped our slapping fight and looked at the guard. His amused expression made me smile, too.
Troy and I could be such children at times.
“Go wash up,” Troy said. “You stink.”
I went to argue, but as a stench reached my nose, I agreed. A hot bath with lavender and lemon scented soap sounded incredible. Perhaps add some rose petals. My body tingled at the thought.
“See you in the dining hall,” I said to Troy before going inside my chamber.
Malik took position outside the door. I complained about his overprotective ways, but there was a huge comfort in knowing he was there.
I’d been gone for two weeks, maybe more, but it seemed like longer since I’d seen my room. My bed was made and there wasn’t a speck of dust in sight. Everything was pristine. Perfect. Boring. The manservant had kept my chamber clean for me. Too clean.
I sighed and went over to bounce on the bed, wrinkling the comforter—because I was obviously still in a child’s mindset. I then stripped down and walked to the washing room.
The bath was just what I needed after weeks of sleeping on the hard ground and exerting myself with all the swimming and walking. I’d washed a bit in the sea and in the streams, but relaxing in the hot water and being surrounded by the fragrant soaps was incomparable.
And it was there, in my bath, that I thought of Alek.
So much had changed with us in such a short time. In reality, we’d known each other for nearly a year. When we’d kissed in the cove, something had stirred within me, a possessive need I could no longer fight.
I knew Alek was mine. That I was his. When mixed with logic, it didn’t make sense, though.
Perhaps Troy was right, and Iwasinsane.
However…the pull toward Alek wasn’t purely physical. I felt it deep inside my body, as if we were two parts of the same whole.
Soulmates.
The legends about nymphs mating with mages entered my mind again. In the stories, the nymph found their soulmate much like I’d found Alek: by following their gut. The first time I’d ever seen Alek, I’d been running from Malik—as usual—when all of a sudden, I’d stopped in the water and grabbed my chest. It’d felt like something had pierced my heart and anchored me to an unseen force.
And all I’d had to do was follow the line.
Alek had been standing at the bow of a pirate ship when I first saw him. His arms rested on the railing as he looked out over the water. The sun had sunk below the horizon, taking the light of day with it, but still I saw him. Saw the sadness in his eyes as he searched the sea for an answer to a question unasked.
Minutes had passed as I watched him from below. In all my years, I’d often felt like something was missing in my life. It was why I could never stay in Avalontis for long. Yet, as I’d stared at this unfamiliar man with dark hair and the saddest eyes, I’d finally found a place I’d wanted to stay. By his side.
The idea of soulmates had once been worthy of an eye roll from me. Not so much anymore.
After my bath, I rifled through my wardrobe. Even though the feast that evening was not an overly formal affair, it was a sort of celebration for my return home and I wished to look nice. Not that me leaving was anything new. Father used any excuse to throw a party.
My crowning ceremony had been a huge affair, and I’d had to wear a ridiculous royal uniform that made me feel itchy and out of place. My hair had been longer then and braided down my back with some of it falling against the sides of my neck. It’d been an honor to be crowned prince, of course, but I was happiest in casual attire.
Immediately after the ceremony, I’d chopped my hair off. I hated people making a fuss over me.
Since this was only a “welcome home” feast, I chose a comfortable pair of trousers and a netted shirt to go on over them. I added a decorative belt as a final touch before staring at my reflection in the looking glass.
People said I was the spitting image of my father. Our hair was the same, if not in length than in color and texture. That was where the resemblance ended in my opinion. His eyes were blue and mine were green, and where his body was strong like that of a warrior god, mine was small. Perhaps in years to come that would change.
I was nineteen, but I would look the same for years. After our eighteenth name day, our aging slowed. For every ten years that passed, we only aged one. My father was immortal and would never age another year. He’d stopped aging around thirty.
Since I shared his bloodline, I wondered if I’d stop aging, too.
