Whispers Waltz Around Our Dreams . . .

“Nyla . . . is here.” Losa murmured this softly to herself, brushing away the cobwebs of daydreams that still clung to her mind. She’d been wandering near the borders, too deep in the territory to be glimpsed from the outside but just close enough to monitor the walls, to search for lurid portals of red among the leaves or flashy rainbow pelts. The ex-princess tried to keep herself busy at all waking hours. Useful. Reliable. One might even argue . . . distracted. Ferocious protective instinct screamed constantly at her to hover over the other Arcus Irae like a mother hen settling over her chicks—to smother them in safety and remove all possible probability of danger—yet that same desperation panged her like an ugly, festering infection. Losa did not want to transform into a benevolent dictator for the sake of her charges. Ripping away their freedom with an order, coercing the Tempests to guard them closer—as her secret thoughts begged her to do—would make her no better than . . . him. All of them would have traded one jailor for another. To think she shared even a shred of that selfish bastard’s zealousness made Losa shudder every time. And still their “sacred” bond squeezed inside of her, and she choked down its pitiful pleas to listen, do what’s right, keep them safe at all costs . . .

Because Losa was already doing what she could to defend the young Arcus Irae. There was a boundary that must never be crossed, and whose crossing had ruptured the peace of their kingdom. If Duma would not respect it, then Losa would hold it precious all the more. So despite her panic, despite the ever-present anxiety gnawing her guts to gristle, she pretended to relax within the mountainous boundaries of Dierne Hrof. Played at being the smiling, wise, gentle princess to set an example for her subjects and set their minds at ease. Losa knew it didn’t fool Aindreas. It certainly didn’t fool Hurricane. And for every tear her sister shed in private, Losa wept along. But she hadn’t undergone extensive, exhaustive training to allow her façade to slip so easily. The pastel dancer dutifully put on her serene mask and marched through the woods, buried in her thoughts and musings, wondering what to do next until that little blip alerted her to Nyla’s presence.

Almost immediately, the joyous energies of Zawyne and Scamander joined the symphony—bright notes sparkling around an undertone of hope and relief. Ah—so they’d reached the poor dear first. Shaking her head to clear away the last of her distractions, Losa plunged into a graceful run, nearly flying over the pine-needle carpet to reach her destination. She sent her own happiness far ahead of her: an aura that shimmered with her presence, welcoming and kind and soothing, bundling the souls she could touch in a bodiless embrace. When at last she reached the site of the reunion, the damsel did not hesitate for a heartbeat; she pressed in around the affectionate trio, reaching over the shorter rainbows to nuzzle Nyla’s brow.

“Why, Miss Nyla—you’re filthy!” A lighthearted jab meant to rouse the gold-plaited girl’s spirit. Truthfully, Losa’s heart trembled with empathy to witness the other fae’s state; she wondered if Nyla had to resort to dirtying her pretty candy-esque coat to escape notice, or if she’d simply been too frightened and restless to properly take care of herself. That wouldn’t do at all. Abruptly the cobalt-gloved monarch stiffened her posture and stamped a fine-boned forepaw, summoning the bossiest and most regal aspect she could muster. “This is unacceptable. Suppose you meet your guardian here? You want your Ofer seeing you for the first time like this?” She stuck her tongue out, lifting her head out of the way as if escaping an offensive odor. “What kind of ‘symbol of beauty’ are you, honestly? All muddy . . . Sir Scamander! Would you be so kind as to fetch whatever flowers and herbs you can find? Basil or lavender would be preferable. Zawyne my darling? We are on clean-up duty.”

And just like that, Losa reached down to softly nip at Nyla’s scruff, tugging her the way a mother would tug her pup to get it standing. Then, tutting and fussing over the other lass, she led her over the border and into Dierne Hrof, already grooming the dirt off Nyla’s unique coat.

☽Arcus Irae Princess | Sister to Zawyne | Chained to Duma | Bound to Hurricane | xathira☾