Shadow Touched (Editing)

27. GREY

Confined to my room by my father, there's nothing much for me to do beyond contemplating the little time I have left. No one will say it— not my father, not Finch, not even that absolute bore Lorris Welland—but we all know my death is imminent.

Shadow Touched, but somehow still mostly in control of myself. What power is this that Solditch wields? Different from all Sources in history, or at least as far as we know. Finch said Solditch's ability to control how much the Gloaming affects me means his power has grown exponentially.

Dark as my thoughts are, they are punctuated by tiny bursts of one singular thing—Naima. Only moments ago, I could have sworn I felt her presence. It's like there was a shift in the air, a force beyond anything I've ever known, so strong and so pure.

My mind conjures an image of her, slender and curvaceous, her hair straightened and slicked back, cascading down her back, her shoulders.

"...let go." The sound of her voice pierces my heart.

A moment passes before my thoughts bring me back to my room, where I hear the distinctive sound of tussling bodies against the plush carpet and the wood-panelled walls. Then, the telltale sound of Finch sighing. Finally, a soft, seductive laugh that sounds like bells.

Gods.

I scramble out of bed. The sudden rush of blood to my head leaves me dizzy, but I—weakly—shake it off as I shuffle to my door. There's no guard, but that doesn't mean I'm not protected. A magical shield shimmers along the door, probably designed to alert Finch and my father should it be disturbed.

"Get fu—"

Damn, the shield. I whip the door open. Or at least I think I do. The cold sleep has left me lethargic—I feel like I'm walking through molasses. The door opens on more of a creak. It doesn't matter because there she is. Naima. Fighting with Finch. Her urimu is out, her body tense with anger. Finch's face is livid. His normally bronzed skin is pale from rage but for the smallest red dot under his ear. It's his one tell, hard to notice unless you've known him for most of your life.

On a normal day, at a normal time, when my body wasn't being corrupted by some strange, magical poison and I was just Prince Greyling, I would find the scene before me hilarious. This is not a normal day. I am not my normal self. And I breathe the same air as her for the first time in five years.

"Naima." Her name is barely a whisper, but it's enough to grab their attention.

~*~

Despite Finch's protests and after what felt like an eternity of holding her against me, I usher Naima into my room, Finch following closely behind.

I scowl at him. He either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore me. Probably the latter.

I hold Naima's hand as I pull her into the sitting room. I don't want to let go, but I do, as I gesture for her to sit on the plush settee that dominates the space. I sit as soon as she's down, leaving only an arm's length between us.

Finch, annoyingly, continues to stand there, hovering over us like a big, miserable wolf. I ignore him and instead stare into her eyes, roving across her beautiful face, noting the small pale scar that slashes along her bottom lip. The three small freckles that circle her right eye are like a constellation. Her skin, darker because of the warm weather, is smooth and iridescent like a pearl. She's smiling at me, but the smile fades when I look deeper into her eyes. She's scared. Scared for me. Where I see the same woman I've loved for five years, she sees a pale imitation of the man she once offered to run away with.

She reaches up, her small, soft hand gently sliding along my cheek. Her index finger reaches out and lovingly strokes my lip.

"Grey." My name tumbles from her full lips on an exhale.