Memo

The sun was already high in the sky as you finally left Sariel's office. His lessons were as interesting and helpful as exhausting, and a whip on his hip was a special spice for making you tense with anxiety to feel even more tired. So stepping outside Sariel's door you felt both satisfied and fatigued, a strange combination of conflicting emotions which were fuel for you for the rest of the day. And the day was far from an end. But before you could face another challenge of your life as Belle — life full of court intrigues and complicated schemes — you need a rest. A rest from him.

Since the first day of Prince’s von Obsidian arrival he stuck to you as glued. You had breakfasts together, you walked together, you learnt to dance with him, you had lunch together, he followed you when you headed for work, he was with you even after you became free and wanted to read a book in the privacy of Chevalier’s library. Gilbert von Obsidian was simply at the tail of you and made no attempt to hide it. But this day seemed like your lucky day because after breakfast Gilbert, with an apologetic smile and strange pitiful hue in his eye, left you due to some business he had to attend. He indeed seemed sorry about that, and even your own heart gave a strange ache for some reason which you preferred to ignore. But you at least felt a little bit revealed. Because just as you hoped your lesson finished earlier this day which meant you could rest a little in solitude.

So you went outside with your favourite novel in your hand. Of course it’d be wiser of you to knock yourself in your room but the weather today was just too perfect to spend the afternoon in four walls, so you headed to the farthest part of the garden.

A sitting corner with a soft settee right under a huge tree of an oak was a perfect spot for your little hide-out. Here the wind softly brushed your hair as the sun gleamed archly through the green canopy. You took a seat in the corner of the settee and even let yourself be a little seditious by stretching your legs on the seat. Usually you wouldn't do so as you knew it was against the etiquette, rules of which were drummed into your head each day, but… no witnesses, no crime.

The rustle of the leaves above your head was soothering, and the sun was so warm and calming… It’d been long since you felt such comfort. And you hadn't noticed when the words of the book you read began to blur, and when the book itself fell on your chest as you gently and softly fell into the embrace of slumber.

Prince von Obsidian followed through the royal garden, across a bridge laid above a sonorous streamlet, he dodged a few hidden pit traps, and finally he discerned the sight of you making yourself comfortable in a farthest nook of the palace gardens. What a stubborn little rabbit you were! Didn't he promised you that since you were friends he was to spend every day and each minute by your side? He had finished his business quickly and headed to the office of the Palace’s devil with the intention to still find you there, but the only thing he witnessed was you stealthily slinking through the corridors as if being afraid to be noticed and then flash-likely hiding in the garden. He wasted no time following you, but he couldn't miss how it seemed like his little rabbit was purposely avoiding him actually. And though she had every right to do so… the problem was that Gilbert didn't really like it. So he decided to remind you how it was in fact thrilling to spend time with him.

He approached you noiselessly, from behind, just like a beast he was. But as he opened his mouth to say hello and chide you, he froze. You peacefully lay in the settee; the sun and the shadows of the tree above drew a chequered pattern on your silhouette, giving something fairy to the picture before his eyes. You threw your head back, exposing your bare delicate neck, one arm was on a book lying on your chest, the other hand lay on the silk fabric of the seat. So, Gilbert thought to himself, you were so tired you dropped off while reading.

Suddenly you moved and slightly bent your knees, and there appeared a little space next to you. He didn't waste a second. Gilbert came even closer and carefully sat down next to you. He put his one hand on the back of the settee and the other — on the armrest, so you appeared trapped by him and — what was most delightfully — oblivious to this fact. Gilbert fixed his eye on you. You seemed so calm, you’d never been so calm near him before, and Gilbert watched as your chest rose when you deeply breathed in and out. He leaned lower, and the sun was no longer shining over you. The gaze of his crimson eye examined your calm expression and trailed lower to your bare neck. So exposed, so vulnerable. He leaned closer until his cold lips touched your soft warmed with the sun skin. It was a modest touch lingering only for a second before a retreat. But a strange prick of greed grew within his chest with warmth, and right away Gilbert mouthed your neck once more, yet with the same gentleness. He kissed the place where you carotid was and suddenly felt how your pulse became quicker between his lips. Were you not asleep..?

He straightened himself, cast an eye on you. You remained all the same, though he could not miss the way your eyelids were closed tightly, more tightly than before. It could be unperceptible if only he hadn't engraved your sleeping face on his memory. Gilbert smirked to himself and leaned down to your throat again, blowing out a puff of air on your skin, and he suppressed his laughter as you slightly shivered under him. Just as he thought, you gave too much of a reaction for somebody who was supposed to be deeply asleep. But he couldn't help feeling mildness towards you. You were so cute and stubborn in your stupid attempt to ignore him pretending to be asleep. Did you really think it could stop him? That he would leave you alone?

He slightly parted his lips and leaned closer. Your carotid was right between his cold lips again, and he could feel your every pulse against him and how it madly became quicker. His tongue gently poked at your tender skin and he did two tiny licks, smiling with satisfaction at your light shiver and a little gasp falling from your lips. He retreated from you again but you still kept your eyes closed, still pretending that nothing had happened, still wishing to get rid of him and to be alone, although now you were blushing as bright as your favourite roses and there was no way for you to hide it. Just how far will you let him go?

If your eyes were opened now you could see the dark gleam in Gilbert’s red eye, that mischievous and vicious smile of him as he leaned down once again, his gaze chained to your face, sliding lower to your tightly pressed lips. You couldn't see any of it, but you felt something. As if the sun faded away and the night itself cast its shadow over you. It seemed the trees stopped to rustle their leaves on the wind. You dare not to move, frozen with sweet anticipation and dread, until you felt his hair tickling your skin and his breath on your face. And that was when you opened your eyes with a yelp, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of the handsome face so dangerously close to you. But you were not fast enough to move further as Gilbert put his palm on your forehead, forcing you to stay where you were. His touch was confident yet careful. But before you could really comprehend the situation you were in, you felt something soft on your cheek. The kiss lingered not for longer than for two seconds but it was enough to leave you speechless and motionless. Only your heart raced wildly.

“It's rude to take advantage of a girl while she’s asleep.” You finally pronounced with a hoarse voice as Gilbert straightened himself but remained sitting next to you, gazing down at you with a truly triumphant smile.

“Heehee, but you were not asleep, were you?”

You opened your mouth to protest but held back, remembering Gilbert hated lies. And how long had you been not sleeping? You remembered at least three touches to your neck, but you also remembered the sound of his cloak fluttering by the wind as he was approaching you. So you never were truly asleep. And that meant you’d been lying to him all along. You didn't really like the sound of it, and it seemed that Gilbert knew it too. Maybe all of this was just his punishment? Like when he grabbed your hand every time you insisted on not enjoying spending time with him. And maybe he tormented you enough already to forgive you?

You pursed your lips avoiding his gaze and heard his laughter.

“By the cute faces you were making I can conclude you did enjoy my kisses,” Gilbert said with a smile, “so no need to be so sulky now.” He narrowed his eye at you, “Unless you’d like to continue..?”

You rose on your seat, appearing now face to face with the grinning prince. You felt that you were blushing brightly, though you couldn't tell it was only because of anger.

“I-I have to go!” You said, grabbing your book and jumping off the settee.

But Prince von Obsidian appeared right next to you,

“I’m going with you.” He stated.

“What? Why?” You still felt nervous and were sure you couldn't meet his teasing look for the rest of the day.

“Did you forget, little rabbit?”

But you felt his eye on you and as if by some silent command you met his gaze. The sun brought fresh, rose red hue to the colour of his eye, and your heart skipped a beat.

“I promised not to leave you alone.”

Your heart raced again at his dazzling smile.

Darkness has almost completely taken over. Only the palest shafts of dusk filter through the gaps in the trees. Strong hands reach up, pulling you down from the exhausted horse. Despite the heavy pace of the ride, Chevalier’s grip feels solid, a strength you lean into, wishing it would somehow seep from him into you and grant your shaking limbs calm, your burning lungs cool steadiness.

He waits a moment, still as the tree trunks, but you can see the way his eyes roam the gloom, searching. 

A decision is reached.

“Can you stand?” His voice is low, quiet, hushed with alertness.

“Yes,” you manage, surprised at how raw your own throat is, how the words have to be forced out like sandpaper against rough wood.

He releases you and your back curls like a question mark, your hands sliding down to your knees where you hold yourself, focusing on breathing. Your shoulder burns, a lick of fire that feels oddly wet when you reach up to touch it. 

You hear him murmuring to his horse, patting the loyal animal’s neck, speaking in a tone that is both gentle and soothing. Who would have thought the brutal beast capable of such softness? And then, having removed his bedroll and saddlebags from the animal, he reaches back and with a crack across the steed’s rear, sends it rushing away into the yawning darkness with a soft whinny.

What….? The horse is your only way back….how…. why…..

He may not be able to see your face clearly but somehow he can still read your thoughts. “It is familiar with these woods and will find its way back to the palace. We cannot risk having it close by.” 

Suddenly his hand is grabbing yours and he’s moving, pulling you along with him over the uneven forest floor. “Come.”

You trust him to lead you, even if you cannot make out a path. He pushes his way through branches and brambles and bushes and you very quickly lose hope of ever figuring out what direction you are moving in. Just when your legs begin to cry for mercy, he pushes aside several low hanging branches to reveal the destination he has been heading for: The mouth of a small cave underneath an overhang of uneven rocks and scraggy bushes. It is here he takes you, into the maw of darkness.

You’re hit immediately with the strong, dank scent of rock and earth. Chevalier has to duck, the cave not high enough to accommodate his full height. How does he know where he is going? It’s nearly pitch black. You don’t have the energy to voice your concerns or questions. The aftermath of fear and flight has left you compliant, wordlessly trusting this man to lead you somewhere safe.

The mouth of the cave is almost out of sight when he stops, dropping to his knees in the darkness. You hear him lift the flap of the leather saddle bag, rummaging around until he finds what he is looking for. There’s a quiet snapping sound and suddenly the small area is illuminated with soft blue light, a sight so unexpected and beautiful that you gasp.

You’re at the back of the cave, surrounded on all sides by smooth stone. Chevalier is holding what looks like a vial of some kind, filled with glowing blue liquid. You’re so enchanted that you momentarily forget the terror of just an hour or so earlier, of the masked soldiers who ambushed you while on a sunset ride with the prince, the hiss of the arrows they fired at you, the cry of your horse as it stumbled to the ground and the way Chevalier swept you up in one fluid movement, anchoring you behind him even as he carried you away from the violent chaos, deep into the safety of the dark forest.

“What is this?” You touch the glowing tube even as Chevalier pulls out another, bending it until it emits a small cracking sound and more blue light, pale as the underside of the ocean, fills the cave.

“My brother may be a fool but he has his moments.” He sets the glowing vial down, turning to reach for the bedroll.

Clavis. Of course. He’s always working in his room, tinkering, inventing. That he was the one to come up with such a clever invention doesn’t surprise you. As Chevalier lays out the bedroll, you continue to look at the glowing tube. The gentle blue light almost feels like it’s wrapping itself around you, gentle waves guiding your lungs into a steady rhythm, your heart lowering its guard as you feel a sense of cautious safety begin to settle over you. 

“Come here.” You look up to see Chevalier pointing to the bedroll. He’s kneeling beside it, pulling off his dark gloves one finger at a time, a small brown jar on the ground beside him. Before you can ask, annoyance flickers across his face. “You’re injured. This will help keep the wound from becoming infected.”

Injured? Where are you–

“Your shoulder. Now come here.” His words are crisp, edged with impatience. 

You glance down, pushing aside your cloak and are stunned by the darkness that stains the sleeve of your white blouse. 

When did that happen? In the blur of escape you didn’t even notice…..

Carefully you settle yourself in front of Chevalier. In the cool light, he leans close to you, shifting the torn fabric to try and examine the injury. He’s so close you notice just how long his lashes are, how the wild ride through the dusky woods tangled his pale hair. A slender red line mars the perfection of his face, a scratch that cuts a slanted line right beneath his cheekbone.

“It’s no good. I need more access.” He leans back as his eyes, so impossibly blue in the chemical light, flick up to yours. It takes a deep breath to keep you from free falling into those oceanic depths. Forcing a quick nod, you cast modesty aside, grateful for motion as it will keep you busy. Your cloak is tossed aside. One by one, you undo the buttons of your blouse until you can slide the material off your shoulder completely. The cool air of the cave brushes over your newly exposed skin and you shiver. 

“It’s not deep. You should heal without issue.” He uncovers the jar and reaches inside with one finger, scooping up a generous portion of the milky salve. With a practiced hand, he begins applying it over the torn skin of your shoulder. Another shiver runs through you, something bright and restless that has nothing to do with the cold.

Hands that have rained down death and destruction are shockingly gentle as he touches you, spreading the salve evenly across your injury. You watch the passage of his finger across your skin, unable to look away even if you wanted to. Have you ever noticed how beautiful his hands actually are? He glances up and finds you staring at him. Whatever he sees in your eyes seems to unsettle him. He jerks his upper body back, hastily pulling his hand away and reaches back into the saddle bag for a strip of cloth which he ties around your upper arm. His fingers now expertly avoid touching your skin. 

“That should suffice for the night.” He reaches for the jar, about to close it again.

“Wait!” You pull it from his grasp as surprise flashes across his face. Clearing your throat, you gesture with the small clay jar in your hand towards him. “You have a scratch yourself.”

His shoulder lifts in a gesture of indifference. “It’s nothing.”

You shift your body, turning to face him directly. Your blouse is still partially undone and he finds himself noticing the wash of pale blue light across the exposed skin of your shoulder, the way it highlights the line of your collarbone and the intimate divulgence of the skin beneath it. 

“Please, let me.” Your voice carries a note of something tremulous in it, pulling his gaze back to your face, the parting of your lips, the soft supplication in your eyes. He finds himself acquiescing, his powerful upper body leaning ever so slightly towards you. 

“If you must.”

The salve is cool to the touch and you apply a much smaller amount to the tip of your index finger, leaning towards him. Your other hand moves automatically, reaching up to catch his chin in order to hold him steady. He blinks, but otherwise does not move. You press your finger to the thin scratch on his face and slowly, carefully follow the red line. You’ve never been this close to him before. He carries the scent of roses and sweat, even after your hard ride. Your finger comes to the end of the scratch and it is with a surprising reluctance you let your hand drop from his face.

His chest rises with one breath, two. And then he tears his gaze away from the mesmerism of your face, leaning back to close the jar and return it carefully the saddle bag. He glances towards the cave’s entrance, shaking off the moment that still has your heart clenching with emotion.

“We cannot risk leaving now. We’ll stay the night and make our way back by the light of day tomorrow.” He gestures towards the bedroll. “It’s cold. Get in.”

“And what about you?” You don’t even realize you’ve crossed your arms, frowning. 

He shakes his head once. “You’ll freeze before I do.”

“We can share it.” The words are out of your mouth without thinking. And they continue. “It’ll be snug but we can both fit. You need warmth just as much as I do. And you can’t protect me if you’re freezing to death.”

You’ve surprised him. He draws in a breath and then exhales. With every passing minute, as darkness becomes thicker outside the distant mouth of the cave, the temperature is indeed dropping. 

Wordlessly, he leans forward, pulling off his dark, mud-splattered boots. The sight is somehow so intimate, so personal you find yourself watching, both fascinated and flustered. He removes his cape, folding it into a makeshift pillow and then pulls back the corner of the bedroll. It’s made of thick brown leather and lined with the softest looking white fur you’ve ever seen. He slides his long body inside and then jerks his head.

“Come then.”

You kick off your own riding boots close to where your cloak is lying, abandoned on the hard stone floor, and then with the roaring sound of your own heartbeat in your ears, you wiggle your way down into the bedroll beside him.

And immediately you realize you were wrong.

While the bedroll is large, it is not really made for two people. The only way you can remain covered by the top part is to press yourself as close to Chevalier as possible. He grunts as you hook your leg over him, nudging your hip against his. Your arm automatically reaches across his middle as you settle your head on his shoulder. 

Now the bedroll flap closes, enveloping the both of you.

And Chevalier has not moved. He’s barely even breathing. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your face burning as you begin to slowly scoot away. This was too much, too fast. You literally just touched his cheek for the first time ever and now you’re laying across him as if he's a pillow. “Maybe I…I can wrap the cloaks around me and–”

Your words are cut off as he pulls you back to him, his arm holding your body firmly against his. It’s a rough gesture, a jerky movement so unlike his usual feline gracefulness. 

“You’ll stay here.” His voice is low, a soft growling sound that you feel as much as hear with your ear pressed against his chest, the vibration of it slowly winding its way through you. Heat blossoms within your stomach and your veins pulse with the sudden awareness of just how it feels to be held by Chevalier Michel, how every hard plane of his body fits perfectly against your own softness.

You blink as if you have been shocked awake, as if someone has ripped the curtains away from a window full of glaring sunlight. 

Have you always felt this….desire? Has it been hiding itself within the shadows of your heart only to be dramatically exposed by your closeness to him?

Chevalier shifts ever so slightly, pulling you even closer as he tilts his chin down to look at you. Your own face lifts to meet his gaze. Clavis’s soft blue light illuminates the planes of his face, the pale white of his hair. 

He is so breathtakingly beautiful. 

For the second time tonight, you reach up and touch his face with your hand, this time cupping the strong line of his jaw. His lips part as if to speak but nothing comes. Ignoring the spark of pain in your shoulder, you stretch yourself upwards and press a kiss, soft as silk, warm as dawn, to his injured cheek. Beneath you, his chest stills with a breath held.

“Thank you, Chevalier.”

And you sink back down, your eyes closing as you allow yourself the peace of falling asleep, cocooned in the safety of his arms, welcoming the strange, new tide of yearning for him that has astoundingly, readily rolled into your heart and mind.

As for Chevalier himself? 

He holds you through the night, each passing minute you are in his embrace more and more startling because despite the enemies at the gate, despite the cold of the cavern, despite all that has transpired, it has him wishing that dawn will never come and take you from his side.

The ballroom buzzed, idle gossip and the talk of daring ventures both swarming low above the heads of lords and ladies in attendance. A thousand candles kept the golden chandelier aglow, each flame burning twice – once, over the wick, and then voraciously through its resplendent reflection. Molten wax flowed down their sides, few stray drops tainting the marble floor. Heels plinked like glass. The crowd split as conversations prematurely met their end, noble hands latching onto equally noble arms to be escorted away.

One thing, however, remained unchanged.

“Your appeal has been rejected. If that is all you had to say, clear out.” Chevalier’s voice shattered any frozen hope still present in the inquiring stares, the last of ice being crushed to none under the weight of his words. His eyes turned chilling, frost advanced to claim any grounds for objections before they had as much as managed to sprout. Wayward snowdrops still flourished under the nourishment of youthful ignorance, however. The nobleman suppressed a shudder, his fist clenched.

“Your Highness, excuse my impertinence, but I implore you reconsider the —”

“The decision is definite.”

The man withered at once, the initial flush over his cheeks fading rapidly on behalf of a ghastly white, promptly progressing into bloodlessness. Caught unprepared in an imaginary blizzard, he stood, lips trembling helplessly, icy fear of his own creation shackling him to the floor. Chevalier turned his face away, a whisper of a sigh nestling in his throat.

Voices began to die down, hushed themselves and huddled closer to the walls. Violins, cellos, flutes, clarinets, oboes, and any other instruments that felt courageous enough – at first quietly, politely, they merely swept the floor with their sound, slowly growing more brazen with each released note. Another type of excitement entered the air. A woman approached Chevalier, the troubled smile on her face easing some of his frost.

“Are you done now?” he asked, faintest traces of weariness lingering in the crease between his brows.

Esther nodded. “Thank you for waiting for me… And may that be the son of count de la Roche?”

“I — Yes, my l-lady,” the nobleman stuttered, and stuttered only harder once Chevalier put his arm around her waist. Esther let her gaze drift from her fiance, to the stunned nobleman… to one of the ladies stationed by the wall, whose gaze seemed to pierce her. Whatever she could observe over the face half-hidden behind a folding fan, Esther didn’t dwell on it much. She clasped her hands.

“I think I may owe you an apology, Sir.” With practised honeyed sweetness, Esther enveloped the scene in the warmest of her smiles, thwarting the blizzard to announce a spring thaw. “I’m afraid I’m not as competent as my fiance or any of his brothers. I hope the list of missing documents I’ve prepared did not cause any confusion? I’m certain the petition will be reconsidered once those are submitted, although I cannot speak to the result of that.”

“F-fiance? I was unaware.”

Esther clung to the composure hinging on the upturned corners of her mouth. “Yes. We got officially engaged five months ago.”

“I see. M-my congratulations, Your Highness —”

Chevalier’s grip at her waist tightened, the nobleman and the noblewoman fading away as she searched his face for the answers. Her eyes widened as they often did, eternally awestruck with the most mundane of mysteries hidden in any of his mannerisms, studiously examining the surface of his indifference. Esther watched him, and in turn, he watched over her; Chevalier measured any wrinkles in her features, took in the shade of her complexion, made it a point to pay attention to the state of the whites of her eyes…

Esther leaned into her love’s warmth, some of her worries getting tangled in the periwinkle tulle flowing down the length of her legs. She let them go, however, one steady breath interlaced with one barbed murmur at a time. The music grew louder, although never loud enough for the buzz to be snuffed out. The dance began.

***

A thousand flames shrunk to one, a stud of a wick submerged in tallow sitting proudly in the cresset. Thin light licked along the walls, its feathery tongues just barely swiping the winding staircase, lacquered wood of the old bannister sighing heavily under the faintest touch. Impatient footfall rushed ahead, climbed its way up to the very ceiling in a whispered orchestra of ricochets.

“Mind your step. The servants’ passages are rarely maintained past the base point of usability.”

“Thank —”

Chevalier caught Esther by the waist, her foot slipping as if on command. The flame trembled on behalf of her smile, a weary sigh crawling out of her lungs. “I’m sorry.”

“Just be more careful.”

“You know this is not what I’m sorry about.”

“Do I.” Chevalier’s voice echoed up the staircase. The carrier of light, he had Esther walk in front of himself, her hand clutching the bannister as she stepped just at the edge of darkness. It was fine, however; it was not the climb that bothered her.

… wench…

Have you heard of the uprising in Obsidian?

They say peasants slaughtered their own nobility… From Amber… a single golden coin a head…

She’s got to like the smell of blood.

… so that’s what we have for a Queen?

I bet they can’t even read, not to mention write…

… perhaps the king has other uses for her…

That twin? Do you think they switch them sometimes? Surely, they wouldn’t mind.

… That beast, probably no other would touch him.

The walls buzzed, each brick a hive saturated with syrup brewed on waspish remarks. Esther stared ahead, lifted her skirts, disregarded the throbbing in her feet and pressed onwards, scolding herself all the while. She knew things wouldn’t be easy. So… Why?

Why?

The mouth of the staircase spilled into a – narrowly avoiding a title of narrow – corridor, crisp evening air seeping inside through the small windows, a thin coat of rust coating the iron hinges on the frames. The space smelled of musty disuse, moist stench of mould wafting from the old wallpaper. Chevalier scrunched up his nose. Their fingers interlaced, he pulled on Esther’s hand, although to no effect; Esther stood anchored, those mellow eyes of hers widening yet once again, cautious of the oval imprints in the thick layer of velvety dust padding the sills. She ran her fingers through it.

“Esther.”

“Aside from the anti-monarchy faction…” She shook her head, a single wayward curl falling over her forehead. “Do you think they’re connected to Lady Lavigne?”

Chevalier did not reply. The flame painted his face in shadows; hardly brighter than dark starshine sieved in through dirt-covered windows, what little was there of its lustre sinking at the bottom of his eyes. Esther stared at him, intensely enough to evaporate any doubts or uncertainty.

“De la Roche outlines many particulars regarding Lavigne’s imprisonment that shouldn’t be known to the public eye. His petition is likely to be written off as an act of philanthropy, however, it is highly dubious he has no agenda of his own,” Chevalier recounted. He pulled on her hand again and they resumed walking, the floor creaking as they did.

“That would explain Gilbert’s visit.”

“He certainly isn’t here to hear about the working conditions of his spies.” With a scornful snort, Chevalier turned the old bronze knob, the door giving in to reveal the furthest corner of the residential wing of the palace. Esther breathed the clear air with relief, the old passage – purposefully left unattended, as she surmised – closing behind them as if it had been but a nightmare to begin with.

All that remained was, in comparison, just a short walk, just a few carpeted staircases and safe brightly lit corridors, a few moments she would later be hardly able to recall. For Esther, it happened in less than a snap of fingers; one second his warmth was there, clinging to her skin, and then it ceased, disappeared. It slipped away. The knob turned again and with it, they revisited the dark, their very own bedroom appearing rather desolate when devoid of light. Something scratched the wall. Chevalier marched onwards.

“Bambi,” he called. The shuffling stopped on behalf of a content whimper, a newly alight candle enveloping the beast in its glow. The dog wagged his tail before lying his head down again, the bedding underneath him having moved from its original place by the bed up to the very door. Esther crouched down to tug at his ears.

“Sorry, Bambi. We can’t have you bite any nobles now, even if they are mean,” she whispered and offered him some pets, more whimpers following… But her eyes were elsewhere.

Esther watched as Chevalier stood by the desk, shoulders tense and frame rigid. He was the weary sort of stern, gaze gliding over the documents delivered in his absence as his brow bravely resisted furrowing. The information, however, must have been like a spring shower to a dirt road – for the ground to split was inevitable, very much as it was impossible for Esther to stay there and merely watch. She approached him, the soldier, the knight, the commander, the diplomat, the prince… The man smothered underneath all those layers of titles, stunned by her undoing the clasps of his cloak and taking its weight onto herself.

“That’s been enough work for today,” Esther wished in a whisper, eyes cast down. Almost apologetically, her palm pressed against his heart. “Let it go until morning.”

His fingers hooked below her chin. Chevalier forced her to look at him.

“Will you?”

Something flickered over her face, tied her lips shut and had her avert her gaze. Esther stared at the collar of his shirt, at his neck, his Adam’s apple, dared to venture up to the corner of his jaw. But no further. Chevalier let his hand fall by his side.

“Will you help me out of my dress?” Esther asked.

Metal clinked against the wood as the candleholder came to rest atop the vanity. “Then sit.”

“It’d be more comfortable if —”

“Do not think I have not realised that your feet hurt.”

The mirror seemed to have harnessed the flame, diffused glow softly enveloping their reflections. Esther sat, her back straight and hands folded in her lap, face unusually – although openly – troubled. She sneaked a glimpse at herself, or whoever was wearing that disguise. Gloves fell on the table in front of her, goosebumps raising over her skin as decisive hands swept her hair aside. Blonde locks tumbled over her shoulder, rough fingers brushing against the nape of her neck, spilling lightning down the length of her spine… and so he began working on the lacing at her back, dexterous hands pulling and tugging at the silken ribbon, the complexities of various knots falling apart. Esther plucked the decorative pins out of her half updo, wayward curls rushing into her face. The jewels and precious metals she had worn returned to their casket. And he had done nothing to upset her. He had done nothing to betray her trust. He had not even said a word she could doubt… Chevalier merely dragged the fabric down, yanked at it so hard Esther could almost hear the seams groan. She looked up.

Esther could not resist the mirror anymore, and into the mirror she did fall, to be completely captured by her lover’s gaze. His thumb stroked her cheek, powder falling off to reveal faint freckles. Chevalier did not seem to want anything more, his touch fading too soon yet again, cold rushing in as if winter itself sharpened its icy teeth to sink them into her flesh and —

“Would you help me out of my corset too?”

Chevalier nodded. Slowly, like a tiger stalking his prey, he leaned down further. His breath spilled over her skin, so hot it melted away any frost. Esther sucked the air in sharply. He merely watched, the laces needing little prompting.

“If there’s something you want to say, say it,” Chevalier demanded from over her shoulder and her lips pursed in response. Esther stared as he smoothed her hair down with a gentle sort of awkwardness, usually reserved for terrified animals.

“I —” she hesitated. He just watched. As still as a statue, his eyes never once moved away from her reflection. Esther searched for the right words, articulated them as if tasting each for poison, “If… If people did not approach you with fear… would you still choose me, even knowing what trouble it would cause?”

Chevalier seized her by the chin, just short of causing her pain. He forced her to look at him, at him in the flesh and bones, and blood that had turned cold to then boil in his veins, rampant bewilderment leaving behind only scorched thoughts. His lips remained firmly sealed, yet… his grip loosened, apologetically. Esther put her hand over his.

“That’s a pointless hypothetical.” You know the answer.

“Is it?” She brought his hand away from her face, absent-mindedly tracing the lines over his palm with her thumb, soothing his callouses. She did not dare look away, did not dare weigh her words lightly and let go of the flicker moving over his face, the slither of truth she so needed for herself. “I can’t read minds the way you do, Chevalier.”

Esther did not shy from him, but he could not bear being seen. Certainty interlaced with hesitation, all his talents, his strength, knowledge and accomplishments fading away at one meagre question. Chevalier leaned down, touched his forehead to hers so that her eyes would close and his heart could pretend it was not exposed.

“Your fearlessness is not what makes you precious to me.”

Esther held back her breath.

“I do not require for your presence to be favourable to the state. To keep you by my side is just my selfish wish.”

She put her arms around his neck – and he hoisted her up, out of her gown and the riches, bared down just to the thin linen chemise and her freckled face. She was the trill of nightingales, the hard thudding of her heart chirping him a promise, assuring him that she’d stay.

“And you too are my beloved,” Esther whispered against his lips before claiming them as hers, the foreign lilt being replaced by another kind of melody.

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when he revealed himself as an emperor, i did expect him to be one even before i went into this chapter, but the way he sat on the throne had me 🛐🛐 i would bow down to him if i could.

the deets on the description tho, cybird knows what they’re doing 👀

OK BUT THIS SCENE WAS SO FUNNY. like what is he even doing out there 😂

emma’s expectation vs reality LOL

honestly i don’t have a single romantic bone in my body but if it’s gilbert, i’ll gladly teach him what love really is.