Write, Wrote, Written II discussion

Hi everyone! This is the first chapter of a story I'm currently working on. Let me know what you think, if you like it, have any suggestions, etc. :)

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Chapter One

It’s a beautiful day for an execution.
The sun is high overhead, glowing white-hot in an unblemished sky of periwinkle blue. As I nudge my way through the edge of the crowd, I pull my cloak tighter around me and tug the hood further down over my face. Sweat trickles down my neck and back beneath the thin brown fabric. The damp cotton clings to my skin. I resist the urge to rid myself of the ugly thing. It’s important that I be discreet, for more reasons than one.
The noise of the crowd is a rush around me, rising and falling like the vast expanse of sand dunes in the desert. The square is packed; it seems as though half the population of Sularam has turned out for today’s entertainment. I catch bits and pieces of a few people’s conversations as I pass them.
“Fire magicians….”
“…die how they lived.”
“Must have come from the desert….”
I stiffen at that last comment, but continue walking. My hand twitches, wanting to slip inside the cloak to rest on the knife concealed in my skirts, but instead I tighten my grip on the edge of the fabric.
The sound swells suddenly, and I glance over my shoulder. On the northern edge of the square, a small group of people are ascending the stairs onto the raised stone platform in front of the Council building. Two of the figures, a man and a woman, wear shackles.
I pause, rising onto my toes to get a closer look at the prisoners, a familiar sense of anticipation and dread tightening in my chest. I squint against the glaring sunlight, my gaze focusing on the woman as she climbs the steps to the stage. Her simple Nahari clothes are dirty and tattered, and her long, dark braid is tangled and messy, but her spine and shoulders are straight as she slowly turns to face the crowd.
I exhale slowly as her face comes into view, unsure, as always, whether to feel relieved or disappointed. It isn’t her. It’s been a year since I’ve seen my sister, a year of wondering whether the next time I see Eleni, it’ll be the day day she’s scheduled to die. A year of wondering whether or not I’d bother trying to save her if I did spot her among the condemned.
But today is not that day, I tell myself, taking one final look at the man and woman on the stage. In true Nahari fashion, their faces are solemn and stoic, resigned to their fates. I turn away as the prisoners are led towards the two clusters of stacked logs, wondering which will be the first to start screaming.
I continue making my way towards the southwestern corner of the square. Sunlight glares blindingly off the golden domes of the Council building to the north and the sloping marble roof of the temple to the east, reflecting in the windows of the shops and houses opposite them. Colors swirl around me, the many shades of the people’s clothing mingling in a bright jumble of fabrics and bodies. Here and there, a face catches my eye. Some look excited, a few uneasy, but most share a similar expression; a strange blend of intensity and anticipation of what they know is to come.
“People of Sularam!” The booming voice echoes out over the crowd behind me. It goes on to state the crimes of the accused. They’ve been found guilty of practicing magic, for which the only acceptable punishment is death. The crowd listens carefully, growing quiet so as not to miss a word.
I can tell the exact moment the executioner lights the fires from the ripple of sound that undulates through the crowd. Whispers, shouts, cries, all mingling together into a rush of audible emotions. And then, screams. There are some people in this square who hate that man and woman for what they are, some who might sympathize but won’t risk themselves to say so, and some who don’t care either way. But regardless of whether they believe these deaths are justified, they came. They left their homes, their businesses, their daily routines to come here and find entertainment in the killing of another human being.
Once I exit the square, I can feel the tension in my muscles start to fade. A slight breeze swirls around my bare ankles, fluttering the edges of the cloak and the silky fabric of my skirt beneath. It’s abruptly quiet, the noise of the crowd fading to a muffled roar as I turn a corner onto an empty street. My footsteps echo loudly against the high and narrow sandstone buildings, each noisy slap of my sandals against the paving stones like the jarring crack of a whip. The screams are barely audible now, like the distant whistle of a flute wavering on a high note.
People here in the city think they’re so civilized. But I’ve walked on both sides, and I know the truth. It doesn’t matter who you are, or where you come from. Everyone has a taste for blood.

*applauds*

Nice! You really pulled me into the story, and I could understand what was happening. It's interesting you chose to use present tense, I look forward to reading more!

Thank you both! I'll post the next chapter once I finish editing. :)

Here's the beginning of chapter two.
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Chapter Two

The back gate is open when I arrive, left ajar in anticipation of my visit. The scent of jasmine wafts through the iron bars, and flowering vines creep delicately over the top of the stone wall. I step carefully through the entrance, pulling off the cloak to take in my surroundings.
This is only the third time I’ve visited Nico, and I’m still struck by the beauty of this place. The private garden of his family’s home is lush and peaceful, a sharp contrast to the dry desert heat and dusty streets outside. A narrow path lined by rich, carefully manicured trees, bushes, and flowers extends before me, a red-tiled roof just visible in the distance above the greenery.
I fold the cloak neatly and use the thin fabric to wipe sweat from my brow and neck. There’s a rosebush beside the gate, a cluster of dark leaves and prickled stems dotted with soft pink blooms. I stash the cloak behind it and pluck four petals off one of the flowers. I admire them for a moment, stroking them gently with the pad of my thumb. They have a soft, silky texture, like the wings of a butterfly, and they crumple easily in my fists. I roll the crushed petals around between my palms, then use my hands to rub their scent into the skin of my arms and neck. It’s not a good idea to arrive at a clandestine meeting with a potential husband smelling of sweat.
I straighten up, noticing a small, pale blossom that dangles from a vine above my head. It’s beautiful, a perfect burst of symmetrical ivory petals. I consider plucking it, too. The flower would look nice in my hair, and it would complement the deep blue of my dress. I step closer, reaching out towards it.
But then a memory bubbles up, uninvited. Me, at ten years old, fidgeting as my mother carefully wove a purple bloom into one of my braids. Her fingers were gentle on my scalp, her voice warm and close to my ear. A cactus flower, she told me, a rare display of beauty in the desert. I jerk back from the vine suddenly, as though I’ve been stung. The echo of her remembered words shivers through my muscles, prickling my skin. My hands reach up hurriedly to pat my hair, reassuring myself that my long, dark waves are loose rather than braided. I shake my head slightly as though the movement will clear my thoughts, then start moving, heading in the direction of the house.
I walk at a leisurely pace down the dirt path, lined on either side by rows of meticulously maintained citrus trees. A bird is chirping somewhere, a high, grating sound. Although it is common for wealthy families in the city to keep large gardens, I’ve heard that Nico’s family’s is one of the largest. It’s beautiful, of course, but I can’t imagine the amount of water it must require to maintain such a property in this dry climate.
Sularam is built on a large oasis near the edge of the desert. Supposedly, it sits atop immense reservoirs that have supported its people and farms for nearly six centuries, and will continue to do so for centuries to come. It’s hard to get past the way you’re raised to think, though, and as beautiful as Nico’s garden may be, part of me cringes at how much water the roots of these flowers, trees, vines, and bushes must drain from the earth. In the desert, water was something precious, more valuable than gold or silver or jewels.
A gentle splashing sound reaches my ears, and a rueful smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. This is my world now, I remind myself. The path before me curves slightly to the right before opening up into a small, circular patio with a fountain at its center.
I stop short in surprise, my sandals skidding slightly in the dirt.
An ornate marble sculpture stands tall in the center of the fountain—a pale, blank-faced woman balancing an overflowing jug on the crown of her head. It’s a sight I’ve grown accustomed to after several visits to the gardens; the fountain is halfway between the gate and the gazebo where I’ve been meeting Nico. On the previous occasions, though, I haven’t had company.
A tall, unfamiliar figure stands there, leaning over the pool of water, her face obscured by the glittering cascade. All thoughts of water and wastefulness vanish, focusing back on the present. I wonder if she’s heard me. From the woman’s position directly behind the stream of water, I’m unable to discern whether she’s looking towards me or down into the pool. The air has gone still, the only sounds the soft trickle of the fountain and the insistent trilling of the bird.
I smooth down my hair once more, adjusting the drape of my dress to hide the slight bulge where the dagger is concealed on my upper thigh. My right arm tenses at my side, ready to pull out the knife if necessary. The woman has no visible weapon, though, and I doubt there’s any real cause for alarm. She’s most likely either a guest or a servant of the family, in which case I’ll be in a somewhat embarrassing but not very dangerous situation. Still, I was taught to remain careful, wary of uncertainty, and it’s a habit that’s hard to break. I’m wondering if I still have time to head back the way I came when she looks up. As she takes a few steps around the fountain to look at me, her face comes into view.
I take in her features curiously. She’s not as good-looking as Nico; her face is slightly longer, her mouth wider and lips thinner. The shape of her eyes is different, too. If it weren’t for the hair, I might not even have realized her identity.
Amina. Nico’s younger sister. The disgraced daughter.

This is amazing, Emma!!

Love, love, love!!

This is really amazing. I love your writing style, it flows together beautifully.

Thank you all for your kind words and for taking the time to read my work! :) Here's the rest of chapter two.

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I don’t allow the surprise to show on my face. She may only be nineteen, two years younger than Nico and a year older than myself, but if the accusations are true—and according to the ruling of the court, they are—, this girl has killed a man and spent a year in the prisons of the Sularam Council. I’d heard she was released about a month ago, and that her family had reluctantly agreed to allow her to remain in their home. Gracious, people had called them, for granting their wayward daughter a place to stay despite what she’d done. There’s been surprisingly little gossip about Amina since, though. Some speculate that prison must have beaten the insubordination out of her.
Despite my better intentions, I’m curious about this girl. But it’s best if I don’t let on that I’ve recognized her, and I’m already late for my meeting with her brother.
“Excuse me, miss,” I say to Amina. Inclining my head respectfully, I move to pass her, heading towards the opposite side of the fountain and the path that I know leads to the house.
“You’re not leaving yet.” Her voice is low and sharp, and I pause, looking over at her.
It’s doubtful she knows who I am. We’ve never met, and my engagement to her brother has yet to be finalized. But there’s a flicker of curiosity in her dark eyes that makes me hesitate.
“I apologize for intruding.” My voice is soft, polite, revealing nothing.
Amina steps closer, moving around the fountain to stand before me, blocking my path to the house. Her bare feet make no noise as they cross the dusty tiles. Up close, I notice that she’s not quite as tall as I first thought. She must be a few inches shorter than Nico, closer to my own height. She wears no makeup or jewelry, her only clothing a pair of pants and a loose shirt made from a thin, wrinkled material. Her dark hair is cropped short, only just beginning to grow out after her time in prison, and there’s a tiny scar etched into the skin at the outer corner of her right eye. The only hints of her former life are her eyes….black as a cloudy sky at night, but with the cool, imperious stare of a high-born member of Sularian society. She examines my face, my dress, my leather sandals, gauging my worth with a single, lingering stare.
“I’ve been meaning to speak to you, Marjana.”
“How do you know my name?” My muscles tense, wary of both her proximity and knowledge of my identity, but I refuse to step back. My skin prickles insistently around the sheath on my thigh. It’s been a while since I’ve used it, and there’s a part of me beginning to stir, restless for action.
“Nico is…an honorable young man,” she says. “I highly doubted he would arrange a meeting here with anyone other than the girl he intends to marry. Too much of a risk on the family reputation.”
“Of course.” I respond quickly, nodding politely. “I apologize for my rudeness, I—I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
It’s not a lie. I’m aware Nico’s sister is living on their family’s property, but it’s a large estate, and I assumed our paths would never cross. But Amina’s dark eyes flicker across my face, narrowing slightly in what appears to be curiosity.
“Then, you do know who I am.”
I remain silent, searching for an appropriate response, but she continues before I have a chance to speak.
“How well do you know my brother, Marjana?”
I resist the urge to correct her repeated use of my full name. Informing her that most know me as Mara might be interpreted as interest in continuing this conversation. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest.
“I apologize, but I don’t see how that’s your business.” Not the most polite wording, but at least my tone sounds reasonably pleasant. “If you’ll excuse me, I really need to be going.”
She’s silent for a long moment, though, continuing to watch me. I don’t move. She doesn’t look much like a murderer, I think. Perhaps she was different two years ago. But looks can often deceive in this city, I remind myself. I doubt many people I meet think I seem like a killer, either.
A breeze rushes through the air, rustling the leaves of the fruit trees that ring the small patio. I’m reminded of the rushing noise of the crowd at the execution, and the recollection pulls at something inside me, fanning the sparks of restlessness within. The air feels thick and heavy on my skin, buzzing with a strange energy.
“Well, you’re clearly doing this as some kind of money or status related arrangement,” she says at last.
An indignant noise rises in the back of my throat, and I do my best to turn it into an cough. She doesn’t seem convinced, and amusement glints in her eyes. My composure is beginning to slip; I know I should excuse myself before this conversation gets out of hand. But then she speaks again.
She’s right, of course, even if the way she phrased it is a bit rude. Couples rarely marry for love in Sularam; an arranged marriage is as much a status symbol as a large house or a jewelry collection. And I have to admit that mine and Nico’s match isn’t any different. He’s handsome, certainly, but we haven’t known each other nearly long or well enough to develop that level of affection. There’s just something about the way Amina says it, though, a blend of knowingness and contempt that grates on my nerves.
“Of course Nico and I care for each other,” I inform her with a graciously demure smile.
But Amina only smirks.
“You know, Marjana, you’re not nearly as good of a liar as you think you are.”
There’s a part of me that wants to snatch my knife from its sheath and hurl it straight into this girl’s chest. A distant but fierce sense of defiance inside me is fighting to claw its way up to the surface, threatening to crack though the strained pleasantry of my exterior in response to her arrogance. I will myself to remain calm. Concealing my true opinions and feelings isn’t a simple task for me, but in the year that I’ve lived here in the city, it’s become almost second nature. Emotions can be a liability in Sularam, and there’s a fine art to learning what to show and what to hide.
I take a step sideways to move around her, but Amina reaches out to grasp my forearm. Her palms are rough, and her long nails dig into my skin.
“What are you really doing here, Marjana?” Amina asks.
“I’m meeting your brother.”
She laughs, a jagged, harsh sound.
“That’s not what I meant. What are you doing here, in Sularam? Your mother can make all the excuses she wants for you, and maybe the rest of society listens, but I don’t believe them. I know who you are, what those eyes mean.”
We make eye contact, and she holds my gaze. with an expression of cool curiosity. I know what she sees. The murky, green-brown tint of my irises, the physical proof that I don’t fully belong here. Most people don’t look closely enough to notice, or when they do, they’re polite enough not to point it out.
“What does a desert girl like you think she’s doing in this city?”
Amina is watching me closely. She’s perceptive, just like her brother. Despite my efforts, she seems to realize how hard I’m struggling to remain composed. She sees me watching her in turn, and the smirk widens slightly. It’s a tiny shift, an infinitesimal twitch of a muscle in her cheek, but I finally give in, allowing the anger to flare up full force.
I jerk my arm back, out of her grip.
“I don’t need to listen to this.”
The words burst out before I can push them back down, quiet but forceful. Her eyes widen slightly at the intensity and weight behind them. The corners of her mouth twitch.
“No. But you should,” she says slowly, as though she’s choosing her words carefully.
When I respond, my voice is low and cold. “There’s someone I’m meant to be meeting, so I need to be on my way.” I stare at her, intent and challenging. “Are you going to try to stop me?”
She doesn’t answer right away, still watching me when she finally shrugs, a shadow of a smirk curving around her mouth. “I might.”
I am not amused.
“I will come and go as I please, and you have no right to tell me otherwise.”
She chews on her lip for a moment, looking thoughtful.
“Actually, I do. This isn’t your property.”
She has a point. Frustrated, I brush past her, but rather than going on along the path to the house, I walk over to stand at the edge of the fountain. I stare into the rippling pool of water for a long moment, willing myself to calm down. A light mist in the air condenses on the skin of my face, neck, and arms. I know that once I move back into the scorching sunlight, the tiny drops will heat up, making me appear shiny and sweaty, but I need the cool of the water to calm my heated emotions.
I sense movement to my left, and a few seconds later, Amina joins me at the fountain. I say nothing, gazing studiously into the spray of water, at the intricately-carved details of the marble woman’s dress.
“You’re an interesting one,” Amina says slowly. “Not the kind of girl I expected. But whatever you might be, take care. You’ve wandered into a cobra’s nest without realizing it.”
Her words make little sense to me, but there’s something in her voice that makes the skin along my arms prickle.
I look at her with raised eyebrows. “Be careful of Nico? Is that what you’ve been trying to tell me? That’s lovely advice, coming from you.” A trace of bitterness tightens the skin around her eyes for a few seconds, but it fades quickly, and her features are suddenly different, a mix of interest an amusement softening her expression.
“There’s fire in you,” she says. “Has my brother seen it, too? Or have you hidden it from him as you do with the rest of the world?”
I frown slightly, feeling the skin between my eyebrows crease.
“I waited here today because I meant to warn you,” she continues. “And although you’re not what I thought you’d be, I still think you should be cautious.”
I open my mouth, still not quite sure how to respond, when I hear footsteps coming down the path from the house.

Love!!

I'm seriously excited for this!! Definitely something I'd buy if I saw it at B&N's!!

^ Amen

Awww you guys ❤️
Chapter 3 will be up in a day or so!

Chapter Three

Nico.
I step back hurriedly from Amina, turning my attention to her brother. I’m about to speak, to reassure Nico that I’m alright, but at the sight of his face the words stick in my throat.
A deep frown presses into his handsome features. Sunlight draws sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the straight lines of his nose and jaw. His dark eyes are hard and narrow, fixated on his sister. She returns his glare with one of her own, crossing her arms over her chest and slouching against the fountain.
“What are you doing here?” Nico demands, staring at Amina. His voice, usually smooth and kind, is roughened by anger.
Amina’s bitter smirk is back. “I live here, brother.”
Nico doesn’t seem to take well to his sister’s brand of arrogant sarcasm.
“What are you doing with her?”
Amina’s eyes slide sideways to me, then back to her brother, tilting her head.
“I thought it was only polite to welcome her to the family.”
A muscle twitches in Nico’s jaw. “Leave.”
“Careful, brother. It’s not a good idea to antagonize someone with a history of violence.”
“Isn’t it? If you went back to prison, this family would be better for it.”
I’ve never seen Nico angry before, I think as I watch the siblings’ exchange. Of course, his feelings are understandable given the situation, but it’s still odd, and a bit unsettling. The space between them seems charged with energy, and my damp skin prickles with goosebumps despite the afternoon sunlight. I edge away from the brother and sister, putting a short distance between myself and the two of them. This isn’t a fight I want to find myself caught in the middle of.
Nico notices my movement, glancing over at me, then back to his sister.
“I could have you arrested for threatening her. It would be my word against yours.”
Amina’s smirk twists sharply into a frown. After a long, moment, she bites her lip and slowly inclines her head.
“Of course. We both know how that story goes.” She looks as though she’d like to say something more, but then thinks better of it and composes her features.
“Marjana.” She nods in my direction. Giving Nico a final, hard glance, she turns, striding back off into the gardens in the direction I came.
Once he appears certain that his sister is gone, Nico exhales a long, slow breath. When he turns back to me, his features have been smoothed over, anger replaced by the open, pleasant expression I’m accustomed to. I realize my left hand is gripping the edge of the fountain rather tightly, and I let go quickly, returning his smile with a smaller one of my own.
He walks over to me, taking my hand gently.
“I apologize for that, Mara,” he says, skimming his thumb across back of my hand. “You’ll have to forgive my sister. She was released several months ago, and although my family isn’t proud of what she’s become, she has nowhere else to go.” He runs a hand through his hair, rumpling it slightly.
I squeeze his hand in reassurance.
“It’s alright,” I tell him. “I’m alright.”
“I know.” He searches my face with the same sincere intensity I remember noticing the day we met.
Something tightens in my stomach when our eyes meet. His gaze is deep and genuine, as though he can see into the very root of who I am, under my skin and inside my head to my thoughts, emotions, desires. And while I’m aware that he can’t—not to mention shouldn’t—truly know all of that already, it gives me hope for the future, hope that in him, I might find someone with whom I can share the darker shadows of my past. I’m reminded of what Amina said earlier, about my lack of feelings for her brother. I may not love Nico yet, that much is true. But it doesn’t mean I agreed to marry him merely out of a sense of responsibility. I let my own eyes roam over his features, and a pleasant shiver runs along my arms at the thought that this boy will soon become my husband.
“Still, she shouldn’t have approached you. She should know that you’re mine, that someone like her has no right to so much as stand near you.”
Annoyance flickers momentarily at that. I am not yours, I think, slightly irritated, but I force myself to maintain a calm expression. This is the life I agreed to when I arrived in Sularam. I will marry a respectable man, and I will, by law, belong to him. In return, I’ll have wealth and status: a guarantee of a good life here. In the desert, you would have been free, a distant voice reminds me. But I blink, pushing those thoughts away. I’ve already chosen my path. Freedom is a subjective idea, I tell myself, and for me it means a secure place in Sularam society. An assurance that I can truly belong here, that there is a place in this world where I am respected and desired.
“I told you, Nico, everything is fine.” I reach out, resting a hand on his shoulder. “All she did was try to talk to me.”
Nico’s expression has been distracted since his sister left, his eyes wandering, but at that last part he stiffens. His gaze focuses on me intently.
“What did she say?” There’s an odd wariness in his tone that piques my curiosity.
“Oh, nothing that made sense,” I say slowly. “Something about not trusting you.”
Nico looks troubled at that. What are you hiding? I think. What could Amina say to me that would threaten my opinion of you?
“Mara, did she say anything about…about why she went to prison?”
I tilt my head, my eyebrows pulling together. There’s definitely something he isn’t mentioning.
“No. Why do you ask?” I look at him more closely, trying to make my expression appear innocent.
I don’t want to seem like I’m prying, but his face is unreadable, as always. As much as his eyes appear to see into others, it’s impossible to tell what Nico himself is thinking, to discern the thoughts that lie behind his easy smile. I’ve often wondered, as Amina did, whether he knows more about me than what I’ve told him, those details of my past that set me apart from the other girls he could have chosen. He hasn’t asked much about my family history, nor has he questioned me about the color of my eyes. Does he believe the complex story my mother has woven about my origins? Either way, Nico is too polite to bring up such things in conversation, in the same way that I don’t mention Amina—or at least, I hadn’t until today. We’re both entitled to our secrets.
“No reason,” Nico answers me after a brief pause. His face is relaxing, his mouth curving into a charming hint of a smile. “It’s just not something you should have to hear.” His hand stretches up to run through his hair again, smoothing down the rumpled part. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re alright.”
His voice is sincere, and I smile obligingly in response. My curiosity about the animosity between the siblings and their cryptic comments still nags at me, but I push those thoughts away for now. If I’m to be his wife, I tell myself, I’m sure I’ll learn the answers to all of my questions in time.
“Come, let’s take a walk,” Nico says suddenly. “I know we’d planned to meet in the gazebo, but it’s nicer out here. The temperature’s just starting to drop; and if there’s going to be a storm later we should enjoy the day while it lasts.” I smile softly in silent acquiescence, letting him lead the way down one of the quiet, scenic paths. As we walk, he asks me about my day, my family, and the other mundane niceties that a good suitor should be expected to remember. My responses are short and pleasant, punctuated by bursts of gentle laughter.
During a break in the conversation, I look over at him, studying his profile. He’s gorgeous, there’s no doubt of that, and charismatic, and the son of a wealthy family, still well-respected despite his sister’s fall from grace.
I try to picture what Nico and Amina must have been like as children: a boy and a girl with dark hair and darker eyes, running through these very gardens. I wonder whether they used to be friends, whether they played together, whether they grew up confiding in one another. And if so, how that relationship went so wrong.
Amina was sentenced shortly before I arrived in the city for good, but I’ve heard the story. A poor thief attempting to rob the two siblings, the younger—a troubled girl to begin with—flying into a fit of rage and attacking the man. According to the stories, she was given a lenient sentence, only a year of imprisonment, because she pled guilty in self-defense (and, I assume, because she came from a powerful family). She was disinherited, but out of a noble, generous sense of filial duty, her family permitted their disgraced child to remain on their property.
I always assumed Amina must be a harsh young woman, unstable and violent. But the person I met today, although she may have been rude and arrogant, was only a girl. Her own words come back to me, echoing through my thoughts. You’re not what I thought you’d be.
I will find out the truth about these siblings, I think. Perhaps I can help them resolve whatever it is that has come between them, and move past it. They share blood, after all; I can’t imagine one has done anything so unforgivable that it could create such a permanent divide between them. But even as the thought passes through my mind, an image of my own sister’s face materializes abruptly alongside it. No love is truly unconditional, it reminds me. No one can be trusted completely, no matter who they are. I feel my chest tighten, but I force back the rush of memories and emotions that threatens to burst out from its hiding place in the back of my head. What Amina did wasn’t quite as severe, I tell myself. Maybe it’s not too late for this family.

The rest of chapter three:
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I suddenly realize that Nico has been speaking to me, and I blink as I come out of my thoughts and back to reality.
“Mara?” He’s looking at me with a trace of concern.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s just so beautiful here—I sometimes get caught up in admiring it all.” I cast an appreciative glance around at the carefully trimmed hedges and flowering cacti that line this walkway.
Nico’s eyes flick briefly over towards the plants. I suspect he can tell I’m lying, and for a moment he seems as though he wants to ask me something further, but then decides to let it go. He must wonder where my thoughts wander during the moments I remain silent, but he’s never pushed me to discuss anything, and for that I’m grateful. He’s respectful and kind, which leads me to believe that one day, when I do decide to share the stories of my past, he will listen.
As we step into the shade of a long, tree-lined path, Nico stops walking and turns to face me.
“There’s something I need to tell you, Mara,” he says. “…and I hope you’ll be pleased to hear it.” His tone is low and sincere.
“What is it?” I ask. He steps closer, and I tilt my head up slightly to meet his eyes. He’s near enough that I could count his eyelashes if I wanted to. There’s something about the tilt of his eyebrows, though, and the way his gaze focuses on mine. He seems almost…nervous.
“I’ve spoken with my father,” he says. “He’s given his permission for us to marry.” He pauses, waiting for my reaction.
“Oh.” I feel my eyes widen in surprise. I hadn’t expected the engagement to be confirmed so quickly, but at Nico’s words, I feel a small, almost shy smile spreading across my face. My skin prickles with goosebumps despite the warmth spreading through my bones. I rest a hand on his shoulder lightly, tentatively. The material of his shirt is smooth and soft, but I can feel the warmth of his skin beneath it.
“That’s wonderful news,” I say, my eyes still fixed on his, hyperaware of how close he’s standing. His own smile widens, and he watches me for a moment longer before stepping back. I let my hand fall away from his shoulder as he moves back, but he takes hold of it before it can drop back to my side.
“I’m glad you’re happy.” He steps forward on the path, resuming our walk, and I follow close beside him. “My father will visit your family tomorrow, to discuss the arrangements,” he tells me. “I’ll be there as well. You’re certain they’ll agree?”
“Of course,” I reply.
Our parents are the ones who introduced us, after all. Nico’s and mine is a story typical of many couples in Sularam: introduced as potential matches at a social function, meeting several times afterward before asking our parents for permission to make official arrangements.
At the next turn in the pathway, I notice that we’ve wandered back into the vicinity of the gate I entered through. The sun has dropped out of sight behind the walls, and the afternoon is winding down, the shadows lengthening in anticipation of sunset. I stop, reluctantly letting of of Nico’s hand.
“It was lovely to see you again today,” I tell him. “And I’m so glad that everything’s worked out, but you’ll have to excuse me. It’s getting late, and my mother will be expecting me.”
“I understand.” He studies my face for a moment, then reaches out to touch my hair, pushing it back from where it’s fallen forward across my cheek. There’s a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, and for a brief moment I’m reminded of his brother’s twisting smirk. But Nico’s smile is genuine, open and guileless.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. I can feel the warmth of his body beside me, but it’s not uncomfortable despite the lingering heat of the day.
“Yes.” I nod. “Until then.” I turn away from him and begin making my way back towards the gate.

<3 --- Amazing!

Thank you!
Just a quick question, what are your impressions of the characters so far? It's hard for me to distance myself from all of the details I know about them that haven't been in the story yet, so I'm curious what you think of them after three chapters.

Sure!

Mara-- a bit secretive and guarded. She thinks she knows what she wants, but I don't think she really does. She seems selfless, unjudgemental, loyal to a fault, and a bit of a quick study.

Amina-- elusive, stubborn, and also a quick study. Her past seems kind of shady, but I haven't decided whether she's innocent or guilty.

Nico-- a bit on the proud side, almost like he's afraid Amina is going to say/do something that might taint his reputation. He seems a bit fishy to me, definitely secretive himself, not the average pretty boy rich fiancee. Seems like someone that can drag you down with their secrets, but he wears a good mask to conceal them.

Mara-has a secret that she'd like to forget about, sweet but with a tough streak, not quick to trust

Amina- getting the vibe she could be a possible antagonist, stubborn, dangerous

Nico-hasn't made great decisions but wants to change that, forgiving, reserved

I really love your story!! Can't wait to hear more

Thank you guys so much!!! ❤️