A month prior to the divorce request, a tense silence stretched between them. Kirine stood by the window, lost in quiet contemplation. A sharp voice shattered the stillness.
“What are you staring at?” Ares demanded, his tone laced with icy disapproval.
Kirine turned her head slightly to meet his icy glare. “You must be quite self-conscious,” she replied, her voice laced with a cool disdain. “I was looking out the window, not at you.”
One might expect a flicker of shame from such a barb, but Ares merely tilted his chin a notch higher. “Then keep your gaze averted. It feels like you’re scrutinizing me, and frankly, it’s bothersome.”
Kirine’s smile faltered, a flicker of irritation replacing it. ‘Honestly,’ she thought, her jaw clenching, ‘it would be far more satisfying to tear him apart right now.’
Despite the murderous urge boiling within her, Kirine forced a sigh, pushing down the venomous retort.
Ares Arensis, the Imperial Knight, was a walking paradox. Admired for his prowess, he was equally notorious for his misanthropic tendencies. Yet, despite his personality, his undeniable handsomeness drew a constant crowd.
Blessed with features sculpted by the gods themselves, Ares possessed a sharp, arresting gaze. His face, while undeniably handsome, held a hint of delicate beauty that stood in stark contrast to his tall, broad-shouldered physique. He was an imposing figure, his presence commanding respect.
But it was his hair, shimmering silver like starlight, and his piercing blue eyes that truly stole the show. They seemed almost too perfect, crafted with an almost unnatural precision.
He’s arrogant, Kirine thought with a grimace. As much as she hated to admit it, the man was undeniably attractive. But his looks were where his merits ended.
What fueled his self-assurance was beyond her. His sole redeeming quality, in her eyes, was that face. How much longer must I endure sharing a room with this infuriating man? Ten days. It had been ten days since she’d been forced to share a hospital room with her nemesis.
Disgruntled, Kirine shoved her raven hair back, her mind snagging on the memory of waking up in the hospital ten days prior. It was a typical day, ending with her usual foray into concocting magical potions and then drifting off to sleep. But when she opened her eyes, she found herself staring up at a sterile white ceiling, surrounded by fellow mages whose faces were etched with worry and a stern-faced healing priest standing vigil.
A dull ache throbbed in her head, prompting her to reach up and rub her forehead. Had she simply overslept?
“You were out for ten whole days, you know?” a mage choked out, their voice thick with relief.
“We were so worried!” another chimed in.
“Thank the heavens you’re awake,” a third mumbled, their features haggard.
Kirine tilted her head, studying their worried faces intently. Why do they look so aged? Surely, they couldn’t have aged that much in a single day? Was this some sort of bizarre aftereffect of her potion experiments? Just as she was about to ask if they’d also been pulling an all-nighter, the priest cleared his throat, ushering the other mages out to give her space to rest.
Once alone with the priest, Kirine reiterated the question, a hint of disbelief coloring her voice. “Was I truly unconscious for ten days?” Despite their claims, she felt surprisingly well. Exhausted from a night of brewing, maybe?
Before she could delve deeper into the notion of her supposed frailty, the priest spoke, his voice grave. “Indeed. Your carriage overturned in an accident, leaving you unconscious for nearly ten days. Thankfully, you sustained no major injuries, but everyone feared the worst.”
Kirine blinked, her crimson eyes widening. A carriage accident? What in the world is he talking about?
A disquieting feeling gnawed at Kirine. Despite the priest’s genuine concern etched on his face, his words sparked confusion.
“Are you experiencing any discomfort?” he inquired, his brow furrowed.
“No, I’m fine,” she stammered, “but… a carriage accident? Me?”
The memory of her last act – experimenting with magic potions – was crystal clear. Now, however, they were claiming she’d been unconscious due to a carriage mishap.
“Do you have any recollection of the incident?” the priest pressed.
“Only falling asleep in the magic lab while researching,” she replied.
“Can you elaborate on the specifics of your research?”
Kirine hesitated. “Well, it was not long after I became an Imperial Mage, so…”
The priest’s expression hardened at her response. “Lady Rosentian,” he began cautiously, “how old would you say you are?”
“Twenty, this year.”
A heavy silence descended upon the room. Kirine’s brow furrowed in response to the priest’s unsettling silence.
Finally, after a long pause, he spoke, his voice laced with trepidation, “Lady Rosentian, you are actually twenty-eight years old.”
Kirine’s jaw slackened. “What?” she gasped.
“The current year is 354 in the Artium Empire,” the priest confirmed, his face devoid of amusement.
Kirine’s breath hitched. It felt like a cruel joke, a surreal nightmare. But the priest’s solemnity shattered any illusions.
“So… you’re saying eight years have vanished?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The priest offered a solemn nod, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Dazed, Kirine struggled to comprehend the situation. A carriage accident and amnesia? It felt impossible to swallow. A low sigh escaped her lips as she registered a faint sound near her ear.
Twisting her head towards the source of the sound, Kirine’s eyes widened. There, occupying the bed beside her, was…
“Why is that… I mean, why is he here?” she stammered, gesturing weakly towards Ares. The priest’s face darkened considerably.
“Ah,” he cleared his throat, “you were both in the carriage accident.”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Kirine pressed, frustration creeping into her voice. “Why is he here, in this room, with me?”
The priest’s hesitation was a clear answer. “It seems… you don’t recall that either. Perhaps it’s because your memories only stretch back eight years, before the accident.”
Kirine’s jaw clenched, her gaze hardening. The priest’s words were a bombshell – not only had eight years vanished from her mind, but apparently, so had something involving her and the infuriating man beside her.
“Do you really remember nothing?” Ares’ voice cut through the tense silence. He leaned back against the headboard, his tone laced with a hint of disbelief.
Kirine mirrored his sharpness. “As I’ve said several times,” she retorted, “I remember nothing. And you yourself admitted you don’t remember either.”