And that tiny movement, that almost-smile, was somehow more terrifying than anything else. Because it meant he could probably hear every single thought ricocheting around my skull like peas in a rattle.
Oh gods, what if he can read minds?
I was going to die. I was going to die on this mountain, and the elders would tell stories about the foolish girl who climbed too high and got herself eaten by a beauty-thieving vampire. They would use me as a warning to other curious maidens for generations. "Remember young Giana," they'd say, "who thought she could outsmart a Valok. Now she's just a cautionary tale and a very wrinkled corpse."
Hey! But at least I'd be famous.
I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and prepared to meet my fate with what little dignity I had left.
But still. I had definitely looked too long. He had definitely waited long enough. And I was definitely a young maiden—technically, if you counted the technicality of having never been married and, well, you know.
I could feel the heat spreading across my cheeks, part embarrassment, part terror, part utter mortification at the direction of my own thoughts. Here I was, standing before a being who might actually be a divine king, and my brain again had decided to devote its energy to panicking about vampire stories and my virginity.
I opened my mouth again, determined to salvage something—anything—from this disaster.
And then he smiled.
It was slow, that smile—devastatingly beautiful, spreading across his features. It was the first time I had ever seen him smile, truly smile, and it felt like the sun rising after a lifetime of darkness. The weight of centuries seemed to lift from his shoulders, just for a moment.
"And you," he said, his voice softer now, wonder threading through the ancient authority, "are the first mortal in a thousand years to see me. Not the healer. Not the stranger. Not the myth. Me."