My heart raced as I watched Samara, eyes wide with revelation. It was her, the woman I'd been searching for all these years. How could I have had any doubt it was her?The physician's words echoed in my ears, telling me that she just needed to rest, but I couldn't tear my gaze away from her. Pascal and the doctor left the room, leaving us alone.
"Your Grace," Samara said, a small smile playing on her lips, "the physician said I'm alright. There's no need to worry."
That smile, so small yet so significant, sent my heart fluttering like a butterfly caught in a storm. I needed confirmation, though; after fifteen long years, I had to be certain. "Your name is Samara, then?" I asked, my voice betraying the hope that swelled within me.
Understanding flashed across her eyes, followed by what looked like guilt. "Yes, Samara is my name, but I've always gone by Mara."
No, you used to go by Sammy. When did that change?
"Then, what is your full name, Samara?" I felt a lump in my throat as I awaited her answer. I needed to be sure.
She hesitated, her gaze shifting away from me before she turned back, looking like she'd made up her mind. "My name is Samara Romero Montez."
My heart thundered in my chest, feeling as though it would burst through my ribcage at any moment. The world around me seemed to spin out of control, yet I dared not move, fearing that the slightest motion would shatter this fragile reality and send me tumbling back into the abyss of my dreams.
"Samara," I whispered, taking a step closer to her, "It is a beautiful name," I managed to say, though how I found the strength to speak without running to her and taking her in my arms was a mystery even to me.
Silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken questions and veiled emotions. Her eyes held no trace of recognition as if I were nothing more than a stranger who had stumbled into her life by chance. It gnawed at my heart, leaving me with a bitter taste in my mouth. How could she have forgotten me? Was she pretending, and if so, why?
"I hope the saintess is doing well," Samara said, her words slicing through my tangled thoughts like a knife. The mere mention of the saintess ignited a blaze of anger within me, fanned by memories of their recent visit and the high priest's not-so-subtle attempts to present her as a potential bride. To make matters worse, it was the second time Samara had been harmed by the saintess's so-called 'blessing.'
"I'm sure she's fine," I replied casually, struggling to keep my temper in check. "Her and the priest possess divine power, after all. I'm only worried about you, Samara."
"Maybe I'm allergic to the saintess," she joked, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes. "This is now the second time her blessing has had a negative effect on me."
I forced a smile, but inwardly, her words struck a chord of unease. I, too, had felt the searing pain when Celeste bestowed her blessing upon me, a torment shared by countless generations of the Aster bloodline. It was a terrible secret we bore in silence, for if it were to be known that the kingdom's goddess inflicted harm upon us, suspicion would surely follow.
A muffled sigh escaped my lips as I pondered Samara's words, the memory of the pain from the blessing still fresh in my mind. That same agony had wracked her body twice now, and each time, it cut me deeper than any physical wound ever could.
"What did it feel like?" I found myself asking, the need for understanding driving me to breach the topic.
Samara glanced up at me, her expressive eyes clouded with uncertainty. "What did what feel like, your grace?"
"Please, call me Mikhail," I insisted, a pang of disappointment resonating in my chest. "And the pain that you felt, was it the same pain today as that from the blessing the Saintess gave a few days ago in the village?"
"No, it wasn't," she admitted, her gaze downcast. "It was far more painful this time. But I suppose it was because she gave a more powerful blessing."
"More powerful?" I inquired, my heart tightening.
"Yes," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "The blessing she gave in the village was that she just extended her arms, and golden sparks of light floated down from the air. But this time, when she gave you her blessing, she glowed completely, and then you glowed as well. And the pain...it felt like my head was being split into two and like my heart was being gripped from inside my chest."
Her description sent shivers down my spine, for it mirrored the unbearable sensation that I, too, had endured.
"I am sorry you had to go through that, Samara," I confessed, my voice raw with sincerity.
"There's no need to apologize, Mikhail," she stammered, her eyes meeting mine for the briefest of moments. "It wasn't your fault. It was just an unfortunate occurrence."
Our conversation was interrupted by a sharp knock at the bedroom door, and Theo slipped in with urgency etched on his face. "The Saintess is doing better, but the High Priest fears the journey back to the temple would further aggravate her condition. They've requested to stay the night at the castle."
My icy gaze returned as I contemplated the thought of those two – and their knights – remaining within my land any longer than necessary. Yet, a part of me wondered if this might present an opportunity to extract information from them.
"Fine," I conceded, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "If she's not fit to travel back, they may stay. Tell Pascal to prepare a guest room for Silas and staff rooms for the knights. Hopefully, our accommodations will meet their lofty standards."
Theo nodded and exited just as quickly as he had entered, leaving Samara and me alone once more. The air between us buzzed with unspoken emotions, a storm of secrets swirling beneath the surface.
Together, we faced an uncertain future, but one thing was clear: whatever trials lay ahead, we would confront them side by side.
A sly smile curled on Samara's lips as she studied my reaction to the saintess and her entourage. "Not a big devotee?" she asked her question coaxing a small chuckle from me. The sound of laughter felt foreign, like an unexpected yet not unwelcome visitor.
"No, we aren't," I admitted, a hint of mischief in my voice. "Has it been that obvious?"
"Only if you have eyes," she joked, and I couldn't help but release a hearty chuckle. It felt good to share this moment with her despite the weight of secrets between us. "Well, I won't judge you for not liking them," Samara continued. "Those two don't seem like the most welcoming and hospitable, and that is saying a lot, considering that I've also run into Count Houndly."
Her comparison between the three nuisances of my recent events lifted some of the heaviness from my shoulders. "Had I known they were in the library, I would have made sure to stay away until they departed."
Determined to put her at ease, I strode over to her bed and took her hand in mine, feeling the warmth of our connection. "No, Samara," I said firmly. "Do not feel like anyone can tell you where you can and can't go in this castle. You are free to explore any room you wish."
My words seemed to catch her off guard, and I wondered if I had been too forward. But she didn't pull her hand away, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw a glimmer of recognition in those beautiful, intelligent eyes. Was it possible that she remembered something – anything – of our shared past? Or was it merely a trick of the light?
The glimmer faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving me to wonder if it had just been my imagination. But even the fleeting hope that she might remember our history sent my heart racing."Thank you, Mikhail," Samara said softly. "I appreciate you welcoming me so warmly into your home, even though you know so little about me."
I studied her face, aching to tell her how deeply intertwined our pasts were. But the time was not right, not yet.
"You being here feels...right," I admitted. "Like you belong."
A crease formed between her brows.
"Rest now," I said, gently squeezing her hand before letting go. I'll have the kitchen prepare something light for dinner and bring it to your room. You need to regain your strength."
Samara nodded, a look of gratitude crossing her delicate features. "Thank you, Mikhail. Truly, but I think I feel better now to eat in the dining hall with you again tonight if that's okay?"
"Of course." I heard myself say, quicker than I expected.
I inclined my head in reply, then slipped out the door, my mind swirling. The High Priest's unexpected extended stay was troubling, though it did present a chance to uncover his agenda. And if he dared try anything to harm Samara, he would face the full fury of my wrath.
As I strode down the hall, my boots clicking sharply on the polished floor, I spied Theo speaking in hushed tones with one of the temple knights. Their conversation ceased abruptly as I approached, both men snapping to attention.
"Your Grace," Theo addressed me formally, though his eyes held a silent question.
I nodded almost imperceptibly to indicate things were under control for now. We would confer in private later.
"Please inform the kitchen staff to bring dinner for our guests to the smaller dining hall in one hour," I instructed.
I nodded to Theo and the knight, leaving them to their covert conversation as I continued down the hall. Despite the day's troubling events, I felt a slight sense of optimism about having Samara here with me. Her resilience and good humor in the face of adversity reminded me of the fierce yet compassionate girl I once knew so many years ago.