The incessant patter of rain against the umbrella just above my head quickened, and a precise crack of thunder echoed through the narrow valley. I tromped through tall, damp grass, the long blades whipping at my military trousers and leaving streaks of rain water in their wakes. Clenching my fist around the umbrella handle in irritation, I continued down the meandering slope of a hill and into the basin of the valley, where puddles of rainwater already began to pool.
He was standing there, chalky hair and corresponding robes clinging to his body like some poorly fitting glove. Pathetic really, yet somehow serene in a way only he could manage. His eyes didn’t divert from the anxious skies even as I approached, no doubt enraptured by the light show flickering from cloud to cloud. Shaking the mud caked to the tread of my boots, I stepped beside him and held the umbrella out over his head.
“My liege, you’ll catch the shivers if you’re out here any longer,” I said, looking him up and down. “You’re completely soaked.”
Bastian rubbed his rain-spattered fingers together. “I like it,” he said, directing his contented gaze toward me as another bolt of lightning forked across the horizon.
“M’lord,” I said, trying again, “might I suggest a drier place to observe the storm from?”
Bastian smiled. “Is that what you want, Fort?”
His spooky eyes caught mine and I averted my gaze to the ground, shifting my weight from side to side. “You’re of no use to anyone on your death bed,” I said, regretting my words as I spoke them. “I say that with no disrespect, m’lord.” I paused, gauging his reaction. His smile didn’t falter. “It’s just that you need to be more careful.”
Bastian smiled a bit wider, his unsettling stare falling to the collar of my uniform. “Did I distract you from your obligations?” he asked, touching the top button of my jacket with the tip of his forefinger.
“You are my most important obligation,” I said flatly, allowing him to do as he pleased.
He glanced back up to me, inciting a small, painless spark of electricity between his finger and the metallic button. I tensed in learned reaction to the electric shocks he often bestowed upon me, regaining composure just as fast. Bastian closed his eyes and laughed softly. “What about there?” he mused, setting his sights behind me. He removed his finger from against my chest and pointed over my shoulder to the nearest windmill nestled in the valley. Its oblique sails spun with laboring integrity as the barrage of rain pounded against them without letup.
“Yes, fine, perfect,” I muttered, content that he had made up his mind. Without hesitation Bastian slipped his cold, wet hand into mine and started to walk, leading me toward the windmill with little sense of urgency. Mud spatters and grass streaks stained the bottom of his white robe beyond all repair; the maidservants would not be pleased, yet again. The thought brought a slight smirk to my face and I clenched my hand tighter around Bastian’s. He didn’t seem to notice.
Bastian stopped under the windmill’s wooden stage and out of the elements while I moved ahead of him to test the entry door. To my surprise the doorknob turned and the small, rounded door cracked open. Bastian laughed again in delight, clawing at my arm in anticipation to step inside the dark, dusty room. Cobwebs hung in the doorway and I batted them away, allowing my lord to enter ahead of me.
Deep, reverberating hums and creaks of turning wheels and cogs echoed off the tall cylindrical walls. The wind shaft whined in ear-wrenching agony with every rotation of the sails; I made a mental note to fix that the next time I had an opportunity. I shut the door just as a drum roll of thunder rumbled the very foundation of the windmill, more felt than heard as the loud sounds of the windmill's inter-workings all but overwhelmed the outside elements.
“How long is this storm going to last?” I asked in frustration, shaking the water droplets from the umbrella before collapsing it and propping it against the wall. Bastian followed me like my own personal white shadow. His waterlogged boots sloshed and squeaked, and I could tell that it amused him greatly by the way he elongated each stride. I frowned. “My liege, please take my boots in place of yours. Mine aren’t nearly as saturated,” I said, crouching to unlace mine.
“But my feet are bigger than yours,” Bastian said with a childish lilt, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“Not by much, m’lord,” I said, loosening the laces of my boot and hauling it off.
“They’ll suffice until we get you back to your quarters and all dried off.” As I moved to untie the knot made on my right boot, Bastian bent down and took my jaw into both of his hands, tilting my head up so he could look at me. My hands froze and I leaned into his gentle grasp, clueless as to what he could possibly be thinking but without the determination to particularly care. Bastian was an enigma, a puzzle I could never solve, and for some reason it didn’t kill me to admit that I liked it that way.
He blinked once, twice, soft white eyelashes framing each unearthly eye. He stared at me for some time, and I remained perfectly still, meeting his kind, curious gaze. Bastian reached a hand further up my face to trace the shell of my ear and circle over the cogwheel shaped gauge in my earlobe; his experimental touches were growing bolder and more confident by the day. A small shudder traveled up my spine and escaped through my mouth in a half-stifled, quickened exhale; I tried to bow my head in embarrassment, but he would have none of it. Bastian knelt before me and touched his nose to mine, brushing strands of hair behind my ear. Outside, the rain was beginning to let up.
“You’re very kind, aren’t you?” Bastian said, shutting his eyes and pressing our foreheads together. I grimaced but said nothing, feeling the thorn of guilt twisting into my gut.
“Bastian,” I whispered, his given name tasting so bitter on my tongue. The name I had given him three years ago. I offered no correction for dropping the honorifics he deserved and I knew he wouldn’t object. I opened my eyes to see that Bastian was looking at me again, no longer smiling. His pale eyebrows were drawn up, the telltale sign of a question tugging at his mind. I waited for him to speak but he didn’t; he’d never been one to hesitate from asking me questions in the past—quite the contrary. An uneasy silence fell upon us.
“M’lord?” I finally asked out of concern, starting to pull away from him. Bastian’s strong hands tensed to hold me in place, and I didn’t fight him. He weaved his fingers through my hair, another tiny electric shock pricking at my skin. It was then that I realized what it was he wanted to ask me, but hadn’t. I edged forward just enough to give him a silent answer and, sure as thunder after a bolt of lightning, he closed the gap between us, brushing his lips against mine. Another pang of guilt struck me but I couldn’t will myself to stop, knowing full and well what it meant for me. For us.
I had to keep lying.
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