Young Writers Society

Jerica and Akeno made their way across the dark courtyard, into the Palace, and – by no small miracle and lots of assistance from Akeno – up to the third floor where Jerica’s bedroom was. Her room was on the East Wing on an entirely abandoned, barren hall that was used only to punish visiting dignitaries by forcing them to be near her.

That suited her just fine. It meant it was quiet and more-or-less private. She staggered into her room, cringing as she cracked her back. She did a quick scan around the room to be sure her attendants weren’t present.

Bed off to the left. Dresser and mirror to the right. Windows and chair straight ahead. But no attendants.

“Dar’shaya? Harlyn?” she called half-heartedly, glancing towards the door off to her right that led to her anteroom that she used for bathing. She didn’t expect them to be in there. And, sure enough, there was no response. She grunted and strode further into her room, glancing at the mirror absently.

She stopped short when she saw her appearance.

Her shoulder-length black hair that she usually kept pulled back into a tight bun was mostly ripped free of its confines and was in a wild knot sticking out in all directions from her head. But her gaze gravitated towards the huge bruise forming across her left eye and cheek from the blow that the man landed on her. The skin was swollen and tender and already a dark purple, contrasting sharply against her pale skin. The white of her eye was now completely bloodshot, the red making her green eyes look muddy and ugly.

Akeno walked up behind her and began massaging her shoulders soothingly.

She closed her eyes and sighed, leaning into it as the pressure from his hands released some of the tension from her body. “Think Derik will notice?”

Akeno snorted. Jerica cracked an eye open and looked at him in the mirror. He was smirking and shook his head slightly. She did, as well, closing her eyes once more; satisfied that her joke had landed well. Akeno’s words were dry when he responded, “hard to say, honestly. You know how much he usually misses.”

Jerica chuckled and leaned back against Akeno’s chest, letting him support some of her weight. Derik Ainsley was War Lord of the King’s Imperial Army of Atraya, and, of equal note, the overprotective uncle who had raised her from infancy. She could scarcely grimace without him noticing and asking what was wrong. He was going to be upset with her when he saw her in the morning – she was sure the bruise would be even worse by then. With any luck, Rek would get to the dining room first and warn his father about the fight. But. Well. It was always a gamble, seeing as she had no way of knowing where he was, without going looking.

“Seriously, though, how are you doing?” Akeno asked, wrapping her in a hug from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she sighed, cracking her eyes open and glancing at him in the mirror. Then she turned towards him, happy he kept his arms wrapped around her as she did. She remembered she had his shirt on and plucked it away from her chest. “Want this back?”

“Eventually.”

She began unbuttoning it. She wasn’t about to sleep in that dirty, smelly thing. “I mean… or neither of us could wear it.” She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips.

Akeno chuckled, then stepped back and shook his head. “Not tonight.”

Jerica wrinkled her nose and shrugged off the shirt, setting it on the back of the chair as she moved towards her dresser to retrieve her night clothes. “Why not? We can blow out the lamps if you just don’t wanna see my ugly face.”

She could feel herself slurring her words but she couldn’t seem to find the energy to stop. She opened a drawer and pulled out her pajamas, then turned and glanced at Akeno.

He snorted, looking at her flatly. “You’re not ugly. And it’s not that.”

“What is it, then?” she shimmied out of her trousers and began pulling on her night pants, trying not to fall over. She was drunk enough to pry, but no meant no, so she wasn’t going to pressure him for a yes.

“You’re too drunk,” he said gently, walking to her closet and retrieving the pajamas they’d stashed for him in the back corner. “You can’t consent.”

“Am not,” Jerica scoffed, turning towards him with a frown. “Can too. It was my idea.”

“Your drunken idea,” he pointed out.

“I’d want to even if I was sober.”

“And if you were sober, I’d want to, too. But you’re not. And I’m not. And I don’t ever want to have to worry about whether something I did to you was okay or not. You matter too much to me for that.”

Jerica scoffed again, but didn’t have a coherent comeback. She was silent for a long moment as she pulled on her shirt then shuffled over to the bed and pulled back the covers. “Why do you gotta be so… so…”

Akeno raised an eyebrow, also changing into his pajamas and striding over to her. “So…?”

“… thoroughly decent,” she decided at last, making sure to pout like she’d just said a bad thing.

He smirked a little. “Thanks? I think.”

“Mm,” she grunted, then glanced at the bed, and back at Akeno. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” he confirmed with a nod.

“… Can I at least have snuggles?”

“You can have all the snuggles,” Akeno laughed, following Jerica onto the bed as she crawled under the covers and scooted over to make room for him. He blew the lamp out and then laid down.

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” Akeno opened his arms to her, inviting her in to snuggle against his chest.

“You better not die,” Jerica murmured, voice fading as her energy slipped away rapidly. “I’ll… follow you to… the afterlife… and kick your butt… if…if…” She was asleep before she knew how she was going to finish that sentence.