It's been years since he was the prince of Sophara, and she probably doesn't even remember him. But he's never forgotten her.
She's not the little girl who captured his heart all those years ago, she's taller and stronger now, with sharp eyes and the distinctive aura of the crusader Odo surrounding her.
She's as beautiful as ever, and unfortunately he's not the only one who thinks so.
Lex of Dozel is a rebellious runaway prince, much like Holin himself. Loud, reckless, carefree, speaks much too casually for a noble. He's the kind of guy Holin could get to like. But instead, all he feels is resentment whenever he crosses paths with the axe knight.
It wouldn't be so bad if Lex was simply attracted to Ayra the way the other men were. Attraction was a base, static emotion, you felt it and that was that. Hell, even him liking her wouldn't be such a bad thing.
What really hurts is the fact that she seems to like him back. Even as she chastises him for being cocky and isn't hesitant to cut him down to size, he can tell she does. The way she'll brush her hair out of her eyes, the subtle sway of her hips as she walks away from a spar victorious as always, her laughter as he declares he'll win to her one of these days. But most of all, it's her eyes that give her away. When she speaks to him, there's a softness to them, not the protective softness as in her interactions with young Prince Shanan, but a calm sort of serenity.
His arm is around her now, and despite her look of annoyance she makes no move to push him away. Holin's chest tightens in anger, he grips the hilt of his broadsword until his knuckles are white and painful. He has no right, he thinks resentfully, I knew her first. I took a vow to protect her for as long as we lived.
That was when you were children, though, a small voice says. She's not a child anymore, and neither are you.
But that doesn't matter! I don't care whether or not she needs me, I still love her.
Or do you love the idea of her?
Shut up! he silently screams; Ayra is leaning in towards Lex now and Holin rips his gaze from them, turning his back on Herhein and running aimlessly towards the beaches. The sand is soft and gritty under his feet, the waves languish in the sunlight.
"She is mine." His despair deepens when he realizes how hollow the assertion sounds.
He glances towards the sea, and his watery reflection is the mirror of unshed tears.