Caelix Serpienne's Arc

Chapter 2 of 10

The rain thinned by the time Caelix reached the grove district. He found the bookshop tucked among trees, its marble front laced with pink flowers. A snake carved above the door watched him enter. He did not knock. Kings did not knock. He pushed the door open and let it strike the wall. Inside, a woman sat at a wooden desk built into a soft pink chair. Pink hair fell over a blue top. Her pink tail curled beneath her. This was the author. This was the woman he had crossed the city to claim. She looked up, and her pink eyes went wide. Caelix drew himself tall. His blue tail spread across her floor. "You are the one who wrote the book," he said. His voice was flat and hard, the voice that made courts fall silent. "I have chosen you. You will be my mate." She stood. Her chair rocked. She did not smile or bow. She reached for a heavy book and held it like a shield. "Get out," she said. He blinked. No one told him get out. "You misunderstand," he said, and slid closer. "I offer you a throne." "I understand fine." Her hand shook, but her voice did not. "A stranger breaks my door. Gives orders. Calls it a gift." She pointed at the exit. "Leave. Or I scream, and the grove folk outside will fill you with roots." Caelix stopped. He looked at her shaking hand, then at her steady eyes. He had ruled by fear his whole life. Now fear was pushing her away. Slit's warning came back to him. Not everyone bends the way your subjects do. He lowered his tail. He let it lie flat and small. He stepped back until the desk sat between them. That felt strange, giving ground. He did it anyway. "You're right," he said. The words came slow. "I did this wrong." He looked at the desk. A page sat there, half filled with ink. "I read your book ten times. I couldn't put it down." That part was true, and true was easier than commands. "I don't know how to ask for anything. I only know how to take. But I don't want to take you." Her grip on the book loosened. She studied him the way she might study a hard sentence. "That," she said, "is the first honest thing you've said." "I'm Caelix." "I know who you are." She set the book down. "Everyone knows." She did not sit. But she did not scream. "You can stay two minutes. Talk like a person, not a king." Caelix breathed out. He had not shut her out for good. The door stayed open, barely, held by two thin minutes. But now she wanted honesty, and honesty was the one weapon he had never learned to wield.