𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄, 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

THIRTEEN.

SIENNAS POV—

MY HANDS WRAP AROUND THE WARM GLASS, STEAM swirled from the liquid in the air.

I bring the cup up to my lips cautiously and slowly, trying desperately to not spill the hot liquid all over myself.

I take a small sip of the steaming tea, which I had not ever had before today. It burns the tip of my tongue and I wince silently to myself. But I do observe that it tastes flavorful and sweet.

I sit at the desk, eating my breakfast that was dropped off by a mysterious person whom I didn't get a good enough glance at, they breezed out of the room much too quickly for my eyes to catch.

I've already eaten some of the fruit and toast that was placed neatly on the fancy plate.

I stare out of the window, looking down upon the city. The view is the same as it is everyday, the only changes being when the sky fades into a different color or when the town empties. But I still am magnetized to it. I feel as though I'll never grow tired of looking outside from this window.

I have been in the castle for a week now, I haven't seen the kings in three days or so, and something within me felt off, like I was longing to see them or something—which was exceptionally annoying, because I'd rather not feel like I was lonely and relying on someone all the time.

During the last three days, I've taken up reading, discovering that I do in fact enjoy reading words printed on a page. I have stopped using my phone since I decided to reside here, I powered it off and stuck it inside a drawer, the desire to even look at it is gone.

I place the warm cup back down onto the wooden desk, my hands feeling hot. I hear the door open and I look over my shoulder, expecting to see Heidi stroll in with some more fashion tips, but I see Alec instead.

"Oh. Alec, hi." I greet and stand up, I lean against the desk with my arms relaxing over my lap.

He dips his head down in my direction in a polite manner, "Hello, Sienna."

I smile at him. I never really noticed how young Alec looks, his features are soft, not as defined as everyone else's I've seen around. His brown hair falls over his forehead.

"How old are you?" I ask abruptly, but I don't regret asking the question. I'm curious.

His dark eyebrows pinch together, he tilts his head to the side in confusion. "Uh," he squints his eyes, "why?"

I lift my shoulders into a shrug, "You look really young and I'm curious. You don't have to answer, though."

He shakes his head, "I don't mind. I'm fifteen, or I was, when I was turned, anyways." He appraises.