Sixty Two

Sia tried hard not to stare at the bruises on Crinka’s neck as she slept. He had done that to her. She had begged him not to do it, but he did it anyway. The council was watching, so he had to make sure that she was punished. He risked one look at her again, taking in her slightly parted lips, the steady rise and fall of her chest, the small blush on her cheeks from the midnight cold. Her shirt had slightly risen, revealing the fading scars from Ruarc’s violent grip. Sia gritted his teeth.

“Awwn, is someone mad? That I left a mark on her body and he didn’t?”, Ruarc asked sweetly, his anger forgotten when he saw the one on Sia’s face. He breathed in, hating the scent of his brother’s room. The scents of two scents becoming one.

Sia glared at his brother, before reaching for the chamomile tea he had prepared fr himself. He liked the tea because it helped him relax, and if Ruarc wanted to leave here alive, he needed to drink it fast. Carefully, he put the cup to his lips, held his brothe