King's Possession

age as dusk has, the wind threatening the wood boards that protect us in here. I refuse to intimidated, despite the weather, despite the time of night. I have a

e, replaced by a soothing calmness. He steps closer to me, my heart jumping into my throat. He's almost so close, I can feel his breath, before he leans past me, grabbing something, clearly not afraid of propinquity as I am. When he steps back, he's holding a glass filled with dark liquid - something he must have personally requested from the kitchen. "A drink?" he offers. I eye is carefully, unsure of what it contains. We don't offer alcohol here, but I'm not about to sit with him and drink, when I should be working. "I should really be getting back to duty," I reply uncomfortably. His eyes darken. "No one else is here. Just us." Alone. Suddenly, the blizzard whirling around outside quietens, the other guests dead silent in their room. I can feel how vulnerable, how alone I am. It hits me, that any moment, Marek could hurt me, manipulate me, or worse... Steadying myself, I remind myself of how kind and gracious he has been thus far. I had no right to delve into what is very clearly personal for him. So, almost as an apology, I take the drink from his hand, taking a sip. It's deliciously sweet and cold. "I'm curious about your abilities. About you being a Summoner," I acknowledge, my eyes unable to stray from the marking along his forehead, the faintest tint touching the skin of his arms and hands. Maybe it's how foreign he looks that has me both nervous, yet drawn to him. Where I am from, everyone has similar, rather plain features. There was no magic in my village, aside from the Beast. "You're curious about my markings," Marek breathes, noticing my gaze. "I'm not very well travelled. This is the first time I've seen anything like this outside of a book," I admit. Thinking about the places he's been, the people he has met and the sights he has seen, I feel foolish for being so young, so uneducated. He can't be more than a few years older than me, but he speaks with such calmness, such assuredness. He steps backward as I sip my drink, cradling it protectively. I watch him sit upon the edge of the bed, that movement itself suggestive, even as I curse my wandering mind. We are just two people, talking, enjoying each others company. "I don't use my magic, ever. Never really have," he admits, delving into thought for a moment. He didn't need to tell me that, I can see it in its physical form. "Why not?" "Doesn't suit me," he explains, shrugging his shoulders loosely. "Too many people use this power for bad." "So you're one of the nobles ones?" I ask, my taunting tone arising a smile from that awfully serious face of his. Then he seems to fall back into himself, eyebrows furrowing. "I hate knowing I could hurt someone. I know I could." A solemn air falls upon the room. A Summoner's power isn't created to physically attack someone, but mentally intimidate. A Summoner appears commonly as you are, or sometimes your mother, or a friend. Anyone to catch you off guard, to stun you long enough for them to make their attack. I've never had an experience with one, but I'm already traumatised by the idea of them. I feel slightly more comforted at Marek's abstinence. "Don't go killing me, Hunter," I tease, although it's half-hearted. "I know the rumour that surrounds you." "Yes, from people have never met me. They fear a unsavoury occupation," he admits, looking towards the window, where he hadn't bothered closing the curtain. Whorls of snow dance wildly against a backdrop of d