CHAPTER FOUR
Kiera. What an unusual name. Even in the poor lighting, he could tell she was Graced. Her almond shaped eyes were widened, probably because he was holding her at a battle scene, and he could only guess that she wasn't use to people not screaming in fear when they saw her eyes. She seemed his age, young to be fighting in this bloodbath.
"Hello there, Kiera. I'm Luke." He smiled and let her go. She gave him a timid half smile but then started to move through the throng of people quickly. Luke knew she didn't want him to follow, but how could he not? All he wanted was adventure, and she seemed like the person to deliver it. He could plainly see her destination was the platform. He mused as for what in the world would be her purpose.
She was about to speak, her form tall and strong, above so many heads, when Luke crashed into her, making them both fall to the ground. Right after that, an arrow was shot by where Kiera's head should've been. Luke saw people starting to turn around, directing their attention at him and her, and not to the fight. It was as if they all were connecting the girl and boy on stage as enemies, possibly because one of their own stupidly tried to fight them. Villagers started to mob them, their knives and clubs held high.
The only thing Luke could do—with his fear climbing upon him—was take this strange girl's hand and start running to his horse, which was mounted safely away from the riot. He pulled her upon Ginger and threw himself on, the angry mob at their heels. They tore away from the scene, the girl holding his waist pretty tightly and her head to his back.
They had been riding for almost two hours when Luke decided they had to stop to rest. The poor girl seemed on the verge of sleep but she was fighting it persistently. He started up a fire on the side of a beaten up path, a small pitiful one, but a fire none less. Luke pulled the girl off Ginger and put her near the fire, trying to waken her senses.
"What?" She looked around drowsily. Luke laid her down gently, and gave her some bread, which she ate quite quickly for a lady. Kiera was coming to her senses, becoming more alert and awake. "Wait. Where am I? The riot? And who are you?" She got up, and stumbled a bit from being light headed, and slowly backed away from Luke. He chuckled.
"I am no one of great harm, my lady. And you are on a beaten path, borderlines of Sunder and Wester. I couldn't get us to an inn without you passing completely out first. And the riot is still on, but we had to leave. We were getting attacked by the villagers. Don't you remember?" He looked at her. She shook her head, her deadly braid swinging back and forth.
"Well, no worries there." He leaned back, admiring the stars. They always were his constant companion. Those bright burning stars, hidden by day. "Well, who are you then?" Kiera asked him. She wasn't letting him off the hook that easily.
Who was he, really? He knew he could not tell her he was a prince. That would make her even more anxious to get away from him. "I am Luke. From Lienid." A satisfactory answer. "And you are Kiera, as you've told me." When he said that, she turned white. For no reason he could muster up. Then he asked the question he has wanted to ask her ever since he caught her.
"Kiera—should I call you Kay instead? Is that more comfortable to you?—I have been wondering." He looked nonchalantly at the fire. "What is your grace?"