A strange sensation suddenly coursed through him, a shiver that jolted him from his stupor. A light hand brushed his face, a soft but unexpected touch, like a feather gliding across his cheek. His heart raced, and he bolted upright, the azure sheets of the canopy bed sliding around him.
"Mandarine? What?" he stammered, his eyes widening as reality pierced the fog of his mind.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, Mandarine offered him a soft smile, a mischievous gleam dancing in her deep, dark eyes, which shimmered like the sea under moonlight. Her hair, tousled from a journey he could only imagine, fell in disheveled locks over her shoulders, catching the light in obsidian reflections. Her light tunic, a slightly wrinkled gray-blue fabric, still carried the salty, woody scent of a life at sea—a mix of salt, damp wood, and sea spray that seemed to follow her like an aura. She watched him with amused malice, her fingers idly playing with a corner of the sheet, her nails short and worn from years of handling ropes and weathering storms.
"Yes, it's me," she said in a calm, almost melodic voice, tinged with a rolling accent that evoked the waves of her native island, a fluid and wild rhythm. "You seem very tired, Mero. You didn't even notice I had joined you here."
Mero blinked, still disoriented, his mind struggling to piece together the puzzle. The sensation of that hand on his cheek suddenly made sense, but one question lingered, swirling in his still-exhausted mind. How had she managed to enter without him noticing? The windows were open, letting in the breeze and the scents of the garden, but the door to his suite, locked the night before as he collapsed into bed, hadn't budged. Had she climbed the walls of the imperial school of Mor with the agility of a shadowy pirate? Had she picked the lock with one of her clever tricks? Or did she know secret passages in these old buildings, hidden paths she had discovered during her last visit? The thought almost made him smile, despite the confusion still clouding his thoughts and the weight of fatigue on his eyelids.
She tilted her head, her hair sliding over her shoulder like a dark waterfall, her gaze sparkling with amusement at his perplexed silence. But a subtle tenderness softened her features, a warm glow in her eyes that contrasted with her teasing look. "You sleep like an anchor at the bottom of the ocean, you know," she added, a light laugh punctuating her words, a joyful sound that echoed in the room like a wave crashing on the shore.
Mandarine looked away for a moment, fixing her gaze on her hands resting on her knees. Her fingers, marked by years of handling ropes and salt, were calloused and slightly cracked, with white scars running like maps across her sun-tanned skin. They betrayed her past as a pirate, a life of challenges and freedom on the tumultuous seas, but their sudden stillness revealed a deeper reflection, a rare hesitation for her. Then, she looked up again, her eyes piercing his with an intensity that pinned him in place, like a blade driven into the wood of a ship's deck. A rare vulnerability shone in her gaze, a storm held back under a clear sky, ready to burst but contained by a strength he hadn't known in her before.
"You remember, last year... during the holidays, you had fun without me," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of sadness that contrasted with her usual confident and biting tone. "It made me jealous, Mero. I knew you had your responsibilities here, your studies, your friends... but I felt left out, like I didn't matter to you. You didn't realize how much it affected me."
A heavy silence fell, broken only by the high-pitched songs of birds outside—sparrows flitting among the cypress branches—and the murmur of the warm breeze rustling the curtains, making them dance like sails on a ship. Mero felt a lump form in his throat, an uncomfortable warmth rising in his chest. The previous year, he had spent the summer in Mor, immersed in post-exam banquets with tables overflowing with rich dishes and sweet wine, and escapades with Sven on Papillon Island. He recalled the evenings under the stars, the laughter around campfires on the volcano. He had danced, momentarily forgetting the distant seas—and Mandarine. Her letters had become sporadic, a few hastily scribbled words between obligations, her thoughts consumed by the bustling life there. He hadn't measured the void this had created on her side, alone on her island or sailing on seas he no longer saw.
She still stared at him, her expressive eyes searching for a response, a trace of understanding or comfort in his still-clouded gaze. The jealousy in her voice wasn't a brutal accusation, not a raging storm as he might have expected from her, but a fragile confession, an admission she had carried alone for too long, like a buried treasure she was finally revealing. Mero felt his heart tighten, a dull guilt washing over him—how could he have been so blind, so carefree in the face of what she was feeling?
Without a word, he reached out his hands, first taking hers, rough but warm under his fingers, then sliding up to her face. He cupped her cheeks, his thumbs brushing the sun-tanned skin, and pulled her toward him with an urgency he couldn't control. Their lips met in a kiss that swept away all—the doubts that had gnawed at him, the silences that had accumulated, the distances that had separated them. A deep calm washed over him, dissipating the dark clouds that had weighed on him for months, like a wind chasing the fog out to sea. The world faded away, leaving only the warmth of that contact, the salty taste of her lips that still carried the echo of the sea, and the shared weight of their emotions, an invisible current binding them together again. When they parted, Mandarine's gaze had changed—more serene, softer, like a sea calmed after a storm, her eyes shining with a new light. A light, sincere smile played on her lips, softening the hard lines of her face.
"I missed you," she murmured, almost in a whisper, her voice trembling with contained emotion, before resting her head against his shoulder. Her hair brushed his cheek, filling his senses with its salty scent mixed with driftwood. The closeness between them seemed to have melted the last barriers, a fragile but solid bridge thrown over the abyss that had separated them, a bond renewed in the tender light of that June morning.
They spent the day together in Mero's suite, a refuge bathed in light where time seemed suspended, far from the tumult of the school and the echoes of the previous night's festivities. Sitting side by side on the canopy bed, surrounded by blue silks that draped the posts like frozen waves and marine motifs—shells, starfish, corals—embroidered in silver thread on the walls, they shared stories of their year. Their low voices mingled with the rustling of curtains stirred by the breeze and the incessant song of cicadas vibrating in the warm air outside. The room, with its dark wood furniture polished by time and its gleaming coral mosaic floor, seemed to breathe the soul of Sel, an echo of the sea that Mero carried within him and that Mandarine embodied so naturally.
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
He told her about the June exams, describing the stifling heat of the exam halls, where sweat beaded on foreheads and quills scratched frantically at parchment warped by humidity. He recounted the physical trials under the scorching sun, fencing in the courtyard where golden dust rose in clouds, and the laughter around the pool during the party, when even Hélène had let herself be carried away by the joyful chaos. His words were tinged with lingering fatigue but also a touch of pride for what he had accomplished—a balance between theory and practice that had placed him among the best.
But it was Mandarine's story that left him speechless, his eyes widening in disbelief as she spoke, a smirk playing on her lips. "My father sent me to a monastery," she said with feigned nonchalance, her eyes sparkling at his reaction. "Yes, me, a pirate, cloistered within stone walls to be educated."
Mero blinked, unable to hide his surprise. The image of Mandarine—bold, free, defying storms on her black-sailed ship, a cutlass at her belt and the wind in her hair—clashed violently with that of a figure in a sober tunic, bent over parchments in a silent cloister, surrounded by austere monks and flickering candles. "A monastery?" he repeated, an incredulous laugh escaping him. "You?"
She laughed too, a crystalline and warm sound that filled the room like a wave crashing on a beach. "I know, it's strange to imagine, isn't it? My father, the pirate lord, always believed that formal education had its place, even for us, his wild children. He sent me there to learn what a ship's deck couldn't teach: reading, history, philosophy... It was different." She paused, her fingers idly playing with a lock of black hair, her eyes lost in a memory for a moment. "At first, it was hard. The strict rules—not a word outside permitted hours, rising before dawn, frugal meals of bread and soup. The imposed silences drove me crazy, me who was used to the crash of waves and the shouts of sailors. But there was something in that calm, a peace where I could hear my own thoughts for the first time. I learned to appreciate it, to find strength in that solitude."
Mero listened, fascinated, his chin resting on his hand as he drank in her words. Before his eyes, she became even more complex—a pirate philosopher, an indomitable soul shaped by the sea and refined by months of reflection in a place that seemed the opposite of everything she was. He imagined the monastery gardens, squares of medicinal herbs bordered by white stones under a summer sky, and Mandarine, sitting under an olive tree, a book open on her lap, her fingers stained with ink instead of salt. "I suppose one can be both," she concluded with a mischievous smile, and he felt a new admiration growing within him. This quiet strength, this ability to adapt and draw unexpected wisdom from a world so far from her own, added a depth he had never fully perceived before.
They continued to talk, their low voices blending in a renewed intimacy, an exchange that oscillated between laughter and complicit silences. The sun's rays traversed the room as the hours passed, warming the dark wood of the desk still littered with his crumpled, ink-stained exam notes, and casting silver reflections on the coral mosaic floor, which seemed to shimmer like a sea under the light. Each word, each shared laugh seemed to weave a thread between their worlds—Mandarine's wild and untamed sea, with its storms and endless horizons, and the imposing walls of Mor, where order and ambition reigned. They evoked seemingly insignificant details—a storm she had faced off the coast of Kaz, an eccentric professor who had corrected his calculations while whistling—and yet, these fragments seemed precious, bridges thrown over the year that had separated them.
As evening fell, they left the suite to join the dining hall, where a joyful energy floated in the warm June air, a soft heat that enveloped the school like a blanket. The large windows were open to the gardens, letting in the golden light of dusk that painted the lawns with an orange glow and made the dewdrops on the hedges sparkle. The scent of night-blooming flowers—jasmine with delicate petals and honeysuckle in full bloom—mingled with the warm aroma of freshly baked bread and smoked meats that filled the space. The tables, cleared of the disorderly traces of the previous night's party by silent servants, now overflowed with simple but delicious dishes: golden bread, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, juicy fruits—figs, pomegranates, melons cut into gleaming quarters—and smoked meats, accompanied by carafes of freshly pressed juice and laughter that echoed under the unlit chandeliers, their crystals still catching the last rays of daylight.
Mero scanned the room, a smile forming on his lips as he took in the scene. His friends were there, gathered in a relaxed atmosphere that contrasted with the rigor of the past weeks, a moment of lightness after the exams and sleepless nights. Hélène, usually so serious and distant, was laughing loudly with a group of students near a table laden with trays, her golden hair loose and cascading over her shoulders, catching the light like a halo. She exchanged jokes with an ease rarely seen, her clear voice piercing the din, unrecognizable in this lightheartedness that seemed to free her from the weight of her imperial title. Dorian, sitting with Ki at the other end of the hall, seemed more serene, a discreet smile lighting up his tired face as he talked with her, their heads bent over a shared plate of figs, their fingers occasionally brushing in a natural gesture. Sven, true to form, dominated a corner of the table, joking loudly with comrades around a platter of aged cheese, his booming laughter filling the space like a joyful gust, his tousled brown hair gleaming in the fading light. Eléonore, a few steps away, was surrounded by friends, her face marked by a persistent sadness—an echo of the trials she had endured—but softened by the warmth of the evening, her dark eyes lighting up when a laugh escaped her.
Mandarine sat beside him, her fingers brushing his under the table in a discreet but meaningful gesture. She wore a clean tunic, a pale blue fabric that evoked the calm waters of lagoons, and her still-damp hair exuded a scent of soap mingled with salt. "It's strange, isn't it?" she murmured, a complicit smile on her lips, her low voice slipping under the ambient din. "To find ourselves here, surrounded by so many people, after all we've been through."
Mero nodded, his eyes scanning the room with newfound warmth. There was something comforting in this gathering, tangible proof that life, despite its storms and silences, always found its way to these moments of simple joy. Conversations crisscrossed like waves—exaggerated tales of exams, vacation plans in the mountains or on the beaches of Fer, light teasing about the failed dives from the party—and laughter formed a bubble of intimacy and support, a fragile but precious cocoon in the vastness of their existences. Mandarine, at his right, seemed to fit in naturally, her sharp remarks—an anecdote about a snoring nun at the monastery, a gentle jab at Sven's endurance—making Ki and Sven laugh, while Hélène cast her a curious but friendly glance, an eyebrow raised as if to gauge this newcomer who dared to joke with an imperial princess.
The evening stretched on in a soft warmth, the dishes gradually emptying under the hungry onslaught of the diners, the voices softening as night fell and the stars began to pierce the indigo sky visible through the windows. Shadows lengthened on the stone walls, and the light of the wall torches, lit by the servants, danced on the faces, accentuating the smiles and complicit glances. The doubts and tensions that had weighed on Mero dissipated, carried away by the conviviality of this shared meal, by Mandarine's presence at his side and the warmth of his friends around him. He felt a new peace wash over him, a quiet certainty that he was surrounded by those who mattered—Mandarine, with her crystalline laughter and piercing eyes, his friends, this imperfect but essential circle. Even the upheavals of the past months—the exams, the sleepless nights, the silences with her—seemed to calm in this refuge of laughter and light, a step toward a rediscovered normalcy under the starlit June sky.
