The night enshrouded the castle in a mantle of velvet darkness, rendering the world beyond its towering walls a forgotten whisper. Within the grand chamber, bathed in the gentle luminescence of moonbeams pouring through lofty windows, the air was laden with potential, each sigh of the wind a harbinger of adventure or a reverberation of a long-lost amour. Time decelerated, granting moments the grace to unfurl and sentiments the space to deepen. There, in the king's presence, the severity in his gaze yielded, the rigid contours of his visage eased. I witnessed the instant he relinquished his ire, opting for empathy over vexation. As he drew nearer, a spark of hope ignited within me. His hand grazed mine, and in place of the anticipated command, his words came forth tenderly. "I'm sorry," he uttered, his voice resonant with earnestness. Gazing upward, I met the kindness in his eyes. In that instant, the chasm between us seemed to vanish, and with the dawn of understanding, my voice found its way back.
"Why?" I whisper, barely audible. Why would he apologize for merely asking a question that I had no doubt he would ask?
"Because it must have been a personal subject you wished not to disclose," he says, tucking my front hair behind my ear and twirling some strands around his fingers. "You need to rest; you must be tired," he insists. I immediately distance myself from him, turning to leave after adjusting my gown, but he catches my hand. I turn back to meet his frowning gaze. "Surely you did not have the thought I brought you here just to talk," he suggests, tapping on the bed. At that moment, the door swings open and two maids enter, bowing to us. "Did you do as I asked?" he inquires, and they nod before responding.
"Yes, Your Majesty, but we need the lady to tell us where to place her books," one of them say while blushing, and the king turns to me as though waiting for me to answer. His gaze intensifies to the extent that I have to look at the ground, feeling guilty of something I didn't do, nor do I know of.
"Miss Manta told us to leave it in Her Highness' room, for she will be the one to pack it, but apart from that, everything is all right," the other answers, her voice quivering as if she is scared, I will do something. "If His Highness wishes, we can assist the lady by showing her where her belongings are."
"If there's nothing else, you may take some rest; I will be doing the same," he says, dismissing them. They depart immediately, and as the door closes behind them, faint squeals and giggles recede with each step. "Show her around," I hear them say, but haven't I already seen the most important parts of the palace? Why would he offer to show me around again when he should have done so the day I arrived, yet he chose to continue with his mistresses? I step back, pulling my hand from his grasp abruptly, leaving him confused.
"No, thank you. I don't require your highness to trouble himself with showing me around, and with all due respect, it's already too late for that; others have shown me," I whisper, clutching the hem of my gown so tightly I know my fingers might ache if I release them abruptly. He steps closer, and I retreat with each of his painfully slow advances. We continue this dance of approach and withdrawal until my back meets the door handle. I attempt to turn the knob and leave, but he halts me, saying,
"Do not test my resolve to enjoy a good cat and favorite toy chase, because you may not appreciate what a cat does with his cherished possessions," he snarls, his tone dangerous as if what I was about to do was unforgivable yet thrilling, an intriguing provocation he seemed eager to embrace. Finally, he reaches me, looming as though I were the very object or plaything he had just alluded to.
"I... I am not... not anyone's toy, Your Highness," why does it ring false to my ears? Is it because of how toy-like I was treated back in the mansion? That earing it now makes it seem like I do am an object as though I do belong to him. and I know somehow, I am...
"Of course you aren't," he says in a matter-of-fact tone, adding a new rule to his pile of others. He curls his finger under my chin to lift my face, but I close my eyes—not due to pain, but to avoid those twin brown eyes of his. "Why would you be anyone's toy when you are already mine? Or do you belong to someone else?" His words sound sinfully sweet to my ears. I open my eyes to stare at him, but a shiver runs down my spine. I reach to touch it, and my fingers meet his, which are firmly pressing into my back through my corset. "Do you belong to someone else?" he asks again, this time without a trace of softness or tenderness, but... jealousy? Why? why would he care? I stare at him, forgetting the pain in my back, and strangely find the courage to say something I have never dared before, nor even considered.
"And what if... if... what if I do, why... what?" I attempt to speak but fear silences me. His eyes darken to such an extent that his face becomes obscured by the shadows, yet I persist in rephrasing my words, aware that it might be fatal to me by morning. "Why would you care if I... if I belonged to another..." He interrupts me, pushing me towards the door with such force, yet strangely, there's no pain. I dismiss it quickly, trying to assess the damage I've just caused.
"Saltanat, late Duchess of Vinsmug, Queen of Perish, wife of Caeruleus de Dion, and Princess of Stuttering and Fear, you dare to stand before me and offer a challenge?" he pressed me against the door, and suddenly his hands were on my back, my laces entwined around his hand while my corset struggled to stay in place. "And here I thought you were one to let go and submit; it seems you have something you've successfully hidden."
"I do not engage in such activities, and..."
"And what about loyalty, Saltanat? You are married to me; I am your husband, and yet you speak of possibly belonging to someone else," He whisper with dangerous calmness, his hand tracing a path up my back to my nape, gripping so tightly I'm certain it will leave marks. Loyalty? he is asking about loyalty after what he did. "Who?" he demands, and as I look up into his eyes, I notice a subtle shift in his right eye, transforming into a star-like pattern, yet it holds the color of the moon. when I fail to answer him, he lifts his hand higher in my hair pressing it hard making me flinch at the pain. "I ask you who was it" he repeat this time a little louder but all I do is try to remove the hold he has on me, but he pins it on the door with my elbow facing him
"ahh" I cry in pain much to his satisfaction as he increases his strength still asking to tell him who the person was, and for some reason, I feel so sad—not for the pain in the back of my head, but for something else which I can't quite grasp it; perhaps it's because I tried to heed Bluebell's advice earlier, and now I'm just feeling disappointed. "Why... are you doing this?" I asked, as the tears I had been trying to hide began to fall. 'What have I... What have I ever done to people... for them to treat me like this?' I know this is not the first time I've asked this question. How many times will it be? Three, four? But I know the answer to that question, and it will always be...
"I am sorry," a faint voice said from above me. Hesitant, I slowly raised my head to meet his gaze. The sternness had vanished, now replaced by genuine concern. His eyes, once so cold, were warm and inquiring, silently posing questions, he dared not voice. As he stepped back, giving me space, his grip on me eased. I attempted to adjust my corset, but he was quicker, gently turning me to fasten it while I hastily wiped my tears. "Why do you always cry and never act to lessen the pain? Push me away or shout; it does help," he said. I wanted to scream as he suggested but I would be punished, and who would desire a wife marred by blood or nightmares?
"I can't," was all I could muster.
"Why?" He asks.
"Because you are always right, and as my king, I must abide by everything you say, for your words dictate what will happen," I tell him, struggling with all my might not to echo the words my mother spoke before I left. Those words haunt me to this day, refusing to be tamed, and the only way for me to escape them is to avoid speaking of them.
"What is marriage, Saltanat?" The sudden question caught me off guard, yanking me from my reverie. My breath hitched as his words lingered in the air. But as I looked up, his serene gaze met mine. It was steady and reassuring, devoid of any impatience. His eyes conveyed a silent strength, encouraging me to take my time, to breathe. The intensity that I had dreaded was mitigated by his steadfast patience, and a wave of relief swept over me. His tranquility bestowed upon me the courage I needed to find my voice and respond with the clarity I had been seeking.
"It is often associated with love, companionship, and the sharing of responsibilities, overcoming obstacles that test love, loyalty, and courage," I recall everything my brother once said to a village girl he used to court when we were in the east of Vinsmug. I noticed that the girls usually smiled at his charming poems, so out of curiosity, I stared at him, He appeared stunned for a moment, as if I had uttered something outrageous. He regarded me with a blend of disbelief and skepticism, his brows furrowing as though I had proclaimed something utterly implausible or a flagrant falsehood. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing my face for any hint of dishonesty, attempting to decipher the words that had just spilled from my mouth. The silence between us became oppressive, his intense stare seeking an explanation for a claim that seemed too extraordinary to believe.
"Do you not understand what marriage entails?" he inquires, stepping back to allow me to turn and face him after finishing tying my corset laces. I'm taken aback by his knowledge of my ignorance regarding marriage, especially since this isn't the first time he's demonstrated such insight. Could he be a witch, with that penetrating gaze of his and his cousin's peculiar behavior? As I turn to question him, I inadvertently bump into his chest, and he profits by robing my back. "What have you been learning all your life?" he asks, leading me to his bed to sit, while he squats before me. "Did you receive any education before marriage?" His question prompts a shy shake of head from me, and he mutters something inaudible before stating, "I will address this once we return home, but for now, let's focus on what's essential."
"Alright," I manage to say.
"I know there's no time for a tour, so we'll just change and sleep for now," he says as he begins to remove his cloak. The rich fabric slips from his shoulders, pooling on the floor. His movements are deliberate, almost methodical, as he unfastens the intricate clasps of his royal attire. One by one, the layers of regal clothing are shed, revealing the man beneath the crown. There's a quiet intensity in his actions, as if he's stripping away more than just the trappings of his rank—revealing his vulnerability, his humanity.
"I will... I will then take my leave, Your Highness. Have a good rest," I exclaim, clearly affected by what he was shamelessly displaying. Now his lack of modesty is evident. There's no hint of hesitation in his actions, and I certainly do not wish to be part of such things.
"Where are you going?" His voice booms behind me, and I stop myself from standing.
"To my quarters," I respond. He takes a moment before answering me.
"You don't have to. From now on, you'll sleep here," he said. Puzzled, I wondered what he meant. He clarified, "I mean that you'll be sleeping with me from now on. There are no separate quarters for you, as everything here belongs to us, and we are married, aren't we?" But I was told they were mine. "Disregard that," he says, his annoyance evident in his tone. He walks into another room and, after some time, comes back out wearing only black pants. With his torso open to the room, I found myself standing in the center of his chamber, uncertain of where to position myself, He opens a drawer, takes out something, and hands it to me—it's a white silk fabric. "You can wear this; you can't sleep in those," he suggests.
"Right," I say, pushing myself into what I assume is the changing room to don the oversized gown. When I emerge, he's already lying on the bed. I walk to the open side and lie down beside him. As soon as I relax, his arms reach out, pulling me closer. His movements are firm yet gentle, a blend of assertiveness and tenderness. His body's warmth envelops me, eliminating any space between us. His touch is constant, drawing me into the security of his embrace, intent on closing any remaining gap. The tension that once filled the room dissipates, replaced by an intimate closeness that is both comforting and feels utterly natural. Just as I was about to inquire about his actions, he preempted me.
"Do not ask what I am doing; just sleep, tomorrow is another day," he said. His voice was soft and soothing, whispering for me to rest. The question that lingered on my lips dissipated as he gently urged me to sleep, his heart beat a lullaby filled with warmth and reassurance. His touch, tender and calming, made resistance futile, and the tension within me gradually subsided. The world around me started to fade, his presence the last sensation I felt as I surrendered to a peaceful slumber, cradled in the quiet comfort of his embrace.
...
I awoke to a slight headache, its dull throb coaxing me out of sleep. The room was silent, with soft light seeping through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the walls. I blinked several times, attempting to dispel the remaining haze in my mind. The ache behind my eyes served as a reminder of the previous night's tension, a subtle yet persistent force that demanded attention. What had come over the king that he behaved so oddly, as if he had suddenly developed some passionate feelings toward me? Did he desire something from me? and that was the reason for this crazy attitude I glanced at his side of the bed and, much to my relief, he was not there. with his strange abilities of mind-reading that I did not wish for him to use on me at that moment. with his strange abilities of mind-reading, I do not wish for him to use on me at that moment for I know troubles may come my way if he ever learns it. The sheets were a bit wrinkled, retaining the warmth of his presence, I attempted to step onto the floor, but before my foot could make contact, the door burst open, and three maids rushed in. Their abrupt arrival caught me off guard, causing me to halt mid-step, my hand subconsciously clutching the bed's edge. They proceeded with skilled swiftness, their gazes demurely cast down, as a soft buzz of activity enveloped the room while they set about their tasks. I recognized one of them; she bowed so deeply I thought she was aiming for the floor. She then quickly entered through the same door I had used the day before. After what seemed like an eternity, they finally emerged, and as the girl I was slightly acquainted with attempted to speak, another interrupted her.
"Your Highness, your bath is ready," she announced, bowing with a blush on her face. I turned to the young girl I had met on my first day here. She appeared paler and thinner than I remembered. The room's lighting highlighted the hollowness of her cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes. It was as though all life had been siphoned from her, leaving a delicate shell behind. The vibrant energy that once characterized her seemed to have dissipated, replaced by a silent, eerie weakness. The transformation was jarring, and I felt a surge of concern as I observed her, wondering what had led to such a drastic change.
"Thank you," I whisper, not breaking eye contact with the girl.
"Will Her Highness require assistance, or will you wait before taking your bath?" another one asks. With that, I turn my gaze to the two other girls. In stark contrast, they were well-shaped and healthy, their brown and dark skin radiant with vitality. Their robust figures were accentuated by the crisp uniforms they wore, their cheeks flushed with health, and their eyes sparkling with life. I turn back to the first girl, feeling no desire for introductions today, and for reasons unknown, a pang of jealousy on behalf of my acquaintance intensifies.
"No, thank you," I reply, and they all tense up as if what she said was not a request. "Do you know where the king is?" I decide to change the subject, though I know it won't last long.
"His Majesty is selecting the horses you will be traveling with," the first one answers, and the other girl nods vigorously, while the third girl just stands there with her head bowed to its lowest point. I try so hard to remember her name when something flashes in my mind.
"Are you Hydrus' sister?" I ask. While the others seem confused, I finally grasp her attention as she lifts her head in shock. Was it a secret?
"Yes, Your Majesty," she whispered, her voice so soft it was almost imperceptible.
"Thank you for your help. I will have you," I said, pointing at Hydrus' sister, "take care of me. I need you to tell me more about your brother's magic," I lied.