A Silver-Haired Beauty
Lucian's eyes flickered open. Above him stretched an unfamiliar ceiling. To his left, a cold breeze slipped through a half-open window, tugging the curtain back and forth.
The night sky outside was clear, painted with stars. The moon hung bright and full, pearl-white, and it shone down on his face.
Lucian rubbed his forehead and pushed himself upright. Something bitter and herbal clung to the back of his throat.
"Where am I?"
"You passed out in the woods," came a voice, soft, elegant, like it was carried to him on clouds. "Reluctant as I was to leave you lying there, I brought you to my home."
Lucian turned toward the sound.
There she sat. Amira's silver hair shimmered under the moonlight, each strand kissed by its glow. Her crimson eyes gleamed in the dark as they searched his face, brighter than before. She lounged gracefully in a wooden chair, legs crossed, dressed in a fine black nightgown that hugged her slender frame.
Only then did Lucian notice his chest was wrapped in fresh bandages, his forehead treated as well. His body felt cleaner somehow, the weight of blood and dirt washed away. Under the smell of the poultice, his own skin smelled of soap.
"Why go so far for a stranger?" he asked quietly. "Are you not afraid of me?"
Amira rose, untying the loose bun in her hair. White strands spilled over her shoulders as she crossed the floor, her bare feet sliding against the cold wood with the grace of a cat.
"My hair," she said softly, handing him a glass of water. "Why did you call it beautiful? Do you not know what they say about a woman born with this color?"
Lucian set his feet firmly on the ground, still sitting at the edge of the bed. His grey eyes were a little less dull as he studied that angel-wing hair. "No, I'm unfamiliar with what they say. Is it important?"
Amira looked him up and down, studying him for a moment.
"A long time ago a Fallen descended on the three kingdoms, bringing a great massacre with it. Killing millions." She sighed slightly. "They say she had pure silver hair, and that anyone born with similar hair is one of her descendants. Therefore cursed, and destined to bring disaster wherever they go."
Lucian stared at her for a moment, studying her body language and her crimson irises. As a Bloodthrone, he had been taught what crimson eyes could potentially mean before he was taught to read. So he unconsciously began searching for her *mark*.
'No, Lucian. Your old grudges died with your old name. Let it go.' He told himself as he sat there in her bandages.
"I'm unaware of such baseless legends. I simply find it beautiful because I've never seen hair so pure… so alluring," he murmured. "It's like snow kissing the highest peaks. Paired with your crimson eyes and a face as delicate as porcelain… how could any man not be intrigued?"
Confidence lingered in his tone. He didn't yet know her motives, nor why she had helped him, so his guard remained high. However, he could sense a bit of brokenness from her, and an unexplainable part of him wanted to reach out and help.
Amira's cheeks colored faintly. His words seemed to twirl in her ears, leaving her momentarily speechless.
"That," she said at last, with a stuttering smile that revealed a flash of pearl-white teeth, "is why I think I helped you." She tied the ribbon previously used to hold up her hair around his wrist a well-worn black piece of cloth.
"What's this?" he asked curiously.
Amira twirled her hair slowly. "Where I'm from," she said softly, "it's a symbol of protection. So until you leave, please wear it." She said it with a practiced formality. "And to track your whereabouts, in case you get any ideas," she added quietly.
Lucian drank from the glass, then rose slowly. He bowed his head and lowered his eyes.
"Thank you. You are not only beautiful… but kind." When he lifted his face again, he attempted a smile. It was crooked and awkward, born of a man raised by war rather than warmth. "I am forever in your debt. How can I repay you?"
Standing, he was a great deal taller than she had realized, and Amira found herself looking up, and then simply looking. The hard line of his jaw. The short, messy brown hair. The way moonlight moved across his bandaged chest. Storm-grey eyes that at first seemed empty, but the longer she held them, the more she caught something underneath. Something that wanted.
And then his smile, crooked and unpracticed. It undid her. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand as she giggled.
"There's no need for repayment," she muffled through her hand. "It's rare I have visitors. Talking with you is enough." She said it more confidently this time.
"Then I hope my conversation proves fulfilling," Lucian replied as he sat back on the bed.
"Anyway… I didn't mean to disturb you. I was only curious about something," she said, moving toward the door. "When you're ready, I'll show you the way out of the forest, back to the road."
"Curious about what?" Lucian asked.
Amira's eyes lingered on him for a long moment, originally just studying his Soulflame color one last time, but her mind began to wander. Her gaze drifted over his moonlit bandaged torso, the muscles beneath, the scars. She smiled faintly instead of answering, then turned and left, shutting the door with quiet finality.
***
The next morning, Lucian woke to the sound of birdsong. Fresh clothes lay folded for him, which he donned quickly. Once again he caught a whiff of how clean he smelled.
*Did she give me a bath while I was asleep?* His face went hot, and he decided very firmly not to pursue the thought.
The house was empty. Room after room was neatly kept, paintings hung straight, simple antiques arranged with care, and not one sign that anybody but her had walked through them in years. The tidiness itself was lonely. Nothing was out of place because there was no one to displace it.
One room, however, stood apart. Clutter filled it. half-woven baskets, flowers pressed between books, jars of jam cooling on shelves. On a leather chair lay a pile of clothes with a bookmarked book resting on top.
Curious, Lucian picked it up and opened to the marked page.
*"Being unloved is the most terrible poverty. It often walks hand in hand with loneliness and solitude. I only hope to one day find someone who can be my rock."*
He set the book down carefully, with a little sigh.
From the pile of clothes, a flash of red lace peeked out. Without thinking, he lifted it, only to realize too late he was holding a delicate pair of women's panties.
Lucian's face burned. He dropped them back into the pile as if they'd scalded him.
"I'll just… pretend I didn't see that." He left the room at once.
Outside, Amira sat atop a stump, weaving a basket.
"Do you live in this house alone?" he asked.
She looked up as if startled to remember she had a guest.
"Yes. My brother built it for us when I was young. We planned to live here together, with maids and the rest of our family." Her voice faltered, sorrow flashing across her face. "But… he died many years ago."
Lucian nodded bluntly. "I'm sorry. Many of my brothers have died as well."
"Do the clothes fit alright?" she asked, sizing him up.
Lucian gave a little twist, as if testing out new armor. "They're a little tight, but they should do the job."
"That's good. Wasn't sure if they'd fit. My brother was on the smaller side, after all." She said it with a smile.
Amira brushed off her lap, stood, and bent briefly to clean up her things. Lucian's gaze, unbidden, followed the curve of her long legs. He remembered the red lace from earlier, and his imagination betrayed him. Heat crept into his face.
He'd never felt attraction like this before, not because he lacked desire, but because war had consumed every hour of his life until now. There had never been room for it. Since he was a boy he had only ever learned how to fight and how to be the next head of his house, and now, with such a beautiful woman in front of him, his mind had nowhere else to go but Amira.
Unsure what to do with this strange new feeling, he looked away quickly.
"So… it seems you're feeling well after sleeping for three days. Are you ready to go?" Amira asked as she walked toward him.
*Three days?*
"Uh… yes. Well, actually—" He turned to face her again.
Her eyes caught his, and she tilted her head slightly. A loose strand of silver hair fell against her cheek. Lucian froze, lost in the depths of her ruby gaze. He forgot what he was about to ask — that he wanted to stay one more day.
"Yes?" she prompted softly, breaking the silence.
"Sorry… it seems my thoughts have eluded me." He cleared his throat. "Let's go."
***
The woods proved a maze of twists and turns. Lucian followed Amira carefully through the dense paths.
"Three days? Really?" Lucian asked.
Amira giggled. "Yes!" She turned toward him. "You even snored at one point, shaking the whole house."
Lucian rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
"So, why live so far from everyone else?" he asked.
"That's a secret!" Amira lifted a finger to her lips in a playful shh.
"Such a craving for solitude. Are you not lonely?" Lucian asked.
She laughed lightly, but it took a second longer than it should have. "You're very blunt, aren't you? Haha, um…" She stopped walking, frowned slightly, then tapped her head with her knuckles, sticking out her tongue in a silly gesture. "I never even asked your name, did I?"
The moment made Lucian's chest feel strangely warm. Her laughter, her little expression — it disarmed him completely.
"…Lucian," he said quietly. "My name is Lucian."
"Lucian?" she repeated with a smile. "What a gentle name."
He blinked, staring down at the hands that had taken thousands of lives.
"Gentle? Thank you," he whispered to himself.
"Say," Lucian began, trying to distract himself, "how'd you carry me back to the house anyway? Wasn't I heavy?"
Amira giggled and rushed forward, seemingly avoiding the question.