Chevalier’s hand slipped from my back to my waist during our walk from the kitchen to my room, which told me he wasn’t interested in reading when we got there. That had me blushing well before he opened my door and exposed the mess I’d forgotten about. Theresa’s dresses abandoned in a pile, her open bureau drawer, the brushes and hairpins strewn across the vanity, my undergarments and dress still hanging over the dressing screen - and I didn’t even know what the bathroom looked like.
“Oh, I forgot,” I moaned. “Theresa was running late, so I told her to leave this for me to clean up.”
He adjusted his course to avoid stepping on clothes, but didn’t break his stride as he led me to the sofa. “It can wait.”
“But-”
“You promised me tonight before you promised to do her work for her.”
I chewed my lip anxiously. The rest I could probably ignore, but not my undergarments on display. That was too embarrassing.
“Can I just-”
“No.”
I let him pull me down to the sofa with him, but I was still uncomfortable. The click of metal and rustle of fabric told me he took his sword belt off. I wasn’t sure my cheeks could get any hotter.
“Look at me, Ivetta.”
His bare fingers pressed into my cheek and coaxed me into meeting his intense crystal blue eyes. A shiver ran through me. He’d taken his gloves off, too, and he wasn’t looking at anything except me. Suddenly, the mess didn’t matter anymore. I closed my eyes as he leaned in for a soft kiss, one that tasted of sugar and lemons and alcohol.
“That liquor tastes better this way,” I murmured. “It doesn’t burn.”
He smiled and kissed me again. “I have to agree.”
“You had two mugs of it,” I giggled. “Are you trying to tell me now that you didn’t like it?”
“No,” he said, brushing his thumb across my lips. “But I prefer the way you taste.”
I pulled back to avoid his next kiss. “Before we continue, what about my ring?”
He reached into his pocket, and I held my hand out between us. A thrill ran through me as he slid the ring onto my finger. It felt better this way, without my glove, and I almost wished I’d taken it off last night when he proposed. Almost. I hated my scars, and I didn’t want him seeing them.
His fingers touched the cuff of my sleeve. A surge of panic made me flinch and jerk my hand back.
“Chevalier-”
“You let Gilbert see last night,” he said, holding my eyes with his steady gaze.
“I didn’t let him,” I protested, flinching as his fingers touched my wrist again. “I didn’t know he was here, and-” His thumb slid under my sleeve cuff, and I squeezed my eyes shut, my heart pounding in my ears. “Please don’t,” I whispered.
“Ivetta,” he said softly. “I have to see them, eventually.”
“Not now,” I begged.
He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed each of my fingers, and then the back of my hand, and then my wrist, pushing my sleeve up just a little further with every kiss. I clenched the fingers of my other hand in my skirt and bit my lip hard, waiting for him to stop, to say Gilbert was right, that the irregular gashes marking up my arm proved I was damaged goods and not worth his time. He wouldn’t say that. I knew he wouldn’t say that. But my insecurity was feeding my anxiety, and the two spoke louder than logic, drowning the truth I knew in a sea of doubt and fear.
I don’t think there was anything he could have said at that moment to reassure me.
But he didn’t speak, and he didn’t stop.
His kisses traced every scar, his fingers were so gentle as they pushed my sleeve up a little at a time, and insecurity lost its voice. I let out a shuddering breath, hyper-aware of his breath on my skin, the softness of his lips, the tenderness of his caresses. My eyes were still closed, but the tension left them, and my teeth released my lip in another sigh. I felt the heat of his body as he leaned in, following the scars up to my shoulder, igniting a longing within me that erased all my thoughts and doubts one by one. He released my sleeve and pushed my collar aside, continuing his relentless journey across my shoulder to my neck, his kisses getting wetter and hotter as he went. A whimper slipped out when he teased my earlobe with his teeth, and then his hand was on my waist, pushing me back against the sofa as his lips finally found mine.
“Mm…Chevalier…”
His other hand cradled the back of my head as I clutched at his jacket, pulling him closer as he pressed into me. I didn’t even recognize my voice in the soft moans and sighs intermingled with his heated kisses. My head was still spinning when he paused for both of us to catch our breath.
“So,” I panted, sliding my hands up his chest to interlace my fingers behind his neck, “I’m getting the feeling they don’t bother you.”
He smirked. “Do you need more convincing?”
I bit my lip and shrugged. That was enough to get his lips back on mine, picking up where his last kiss left off. His hand slid from my waist to my back, traced up my spine, back down, around to my waist again, following the curve of my hip to the outside of my thigh and back up to rest on my hip. Another twinge of anxiety made me tense and shift closer to him and away from his hand, but it wasn’t enough for me to break the kiss. He responded immediately, moving his hand back up to my waist, allowing me to relax again. It was a moment before his other hand tugged tentatively at my hair ribbon, waiting for my reaction before he pulled it loose to let my hair fall freely over my shoulders. He combed his fingers through it to bare my neck, and I tilted my head to the side, tangling my hands in his fine blonde hair and biting my lip to hold back a moan as his kisses traveled back to my jaw and neck.
“I’m not showing you my other arm tonight,” I gasped. “Mm…”
“Good,” he breathed against my skin, teasing another moan from me with a light nip at my earlobe. “Because the more I get of you, the more I want.” He sighed, the heat of his breath preceding his lips pressing against my ear. “I want all of you, Ivetta. I want to see every scar.”
My eyes shot wide open, and I felt my entire body go rigid. Of course, that’s where this was going - where he thought it was going. But as much as I enjoyed his attention, as much as I craved his kisses, I couldn’t even handle the feel of his hand on my hip, and I’d only become comfortable with him kissing my shoulder last night. And even if my heart wasn’t beating a frantic, panicked rhythm against my chest, what about waiting? What about Mother’s insistence that I shouldn’t let him have me until we were married? She believed the church’s teachings on that subject, and I’d never questioned her or the church before, but my hesitant attempts at reading her Bible on the mornings I could muster the courage to pick it up were forcing me to decide for myself what I believed. I hadn’t gotten to this yet. I didn’t know what I believed, only what I felt, and what I felt now was fear.
He nuzzled into my neck, brushing his nose against my ear and murmuring, “When you’re ready. I can wait.”
His arms wrapped around me in a comforting embrace, and I closed my eyes, burying my face in his shoulder, reminding myself to breathe. He knew better than anybody what I could and couldn’t handle, and he wouldn’t ask me to do something I couldn’t. I knew that. When I didn’t know what to believe or who to trust, I could always trust him. I let my hands slide from the back of his neck to the fabric of his cloak, curling my fingers into it and exhaling the fear in a shaky breath.
“Thank you, Chevalier.”
He pressed a kiss to my temple. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine, it’s just - I need more time.”
“I know.”
He held me until the tension left me and my breathing had slowed to match his, and then I forced my fingers to release his cloak, and I made myself smile and tell him it was late and he should go. His kiss was sweet, his “goodnight” bitter. I smiled until the door shut and he was gone, leaving me alone with Theresa’s mess. It didn’t make for good company. I picked it up mechanically, pulled the drapes closed, changed into my nightgown, and collapsed in bed. If she wasn’t back yet, she wouldn’t be back until morning.
I hated sleeping alone, but I closed my eyes and told myself I would be fine. One night alone wouldn’t be so bad.
Until I awoke to someone shouting my name and shaking my shoulder.
I shoved the hand away and sat bolt upright, hugging the blanket tightly around me and shrinking back from the figure standing over my bed. There was another man in the doorway, just like that night. I couldn’t breathe. Not again. This couldn’t be happening again.
“Princess Ivetta?” the man standing over me asked, his voice tentative. I blew my breath out and put my face in my hands. My guards. Not unknown assailants, but my guards. It was just a nightmare.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“You were…screaming.”
I winced. Who else heard that?
“Sorry. Y-you can go now. It won’t happen again.”
“I’ll notify the king,” the guard furthest from me said, and my heart clenched.
“No!” I blurted out, looking up at my guards frantically. In the darkness, I couldn’t see their faces, and my mind was such a swirling mess that I couldn’t put names to their voices. “No,” I repeated, forcing my voice to become calm. Chevalier probably gave them orders to send for him if I had a nightmare, with or without my permission, and if I didn’t want them to bother him, I needed to come up with some sort of excuse. “That won’t be necessary. I-I think a hot bath will help me relax, a-and I don’t want anyone in here while I’m bathing.”
The guard standing over me nodded. “If you’re sure, your highness.”
“I’m sure. Please - please leave.”
I put my face back in my hands when the door closed. Of course, I would have a nightmare tonight, of all nights, when Theresa was gone. Chevalier would want to be here, but after what happened earlier, I would feel like I was torturing him the whole time. And a hot bath had helped me before. A hot bath, a cup of tea, and sitting on the balcony with Theresa, talking it out.
If the bath wasn’t enough, I could ask my guards to get me a cup of tea. Or go to the kitchens and get one myself.
I climbed out of bed, shivering. The cold sweat drenching my body had plastered my nightgown to my skin. Even if the bath didn’t relax me, it would help me feel less disgusting. I pulled the drapes open, letting moon- and starlight into the room so I could find and light a candle, but the image of my dead guards lying in a pool of blood flashed through my mind, and I bolted for the bathroom, making it just in time to vomit into the toilet. When I finished, I wiped my mouth with a shaky hand, flushed the toilet, washed my hands, and returned to the bedroom, finding and lighting the candle. Its warm, flickering light danced across my ring.
Everything happened when I was alone. I hated being alone.
I set the candle on the edge of the sink with my ring and started the bathwater, sitting on the cold porcelain and hugging my knees to my chest as the hot water pooled around my cold toes. A sob tore through me, and I tucked my face into my knees, letting the running water hide my choked sobs until I ran dry and the water reached its zenith. I fumbled with the nozzles to stop the flow, closing my eyes and curling up into a tight ball with half my face underwater and half above. Aside from the occasional snap or crackle of the candle, the room was quiet. The water in my ear was loud with that strange echoing, rushing effect. I held my breath and ducked underwater, and the effect was greater, enveloping me in this quiet, loud world where I could hear myself clearly, my heartbeat, my thoughts, the fluttering of fabric against my skin.
I forgot to take my nightgown off.
The bubbles from my exhale erupted on the surface before I did. I stood up and peeled my nightgown off, wringing it out and throwing it across the room before I collapsed back into the hot water. There was no hiding my scars anymore. The warm glow of the flickering candlelight and the cool reflection of the rippling water on the ceiling lit them up, jagged white lines all over my body. I leaned my head against the side of the tub and traced the marks on my left arm, the path Chevalier’s kisses had taken. He didn’t lie, and neither did Gilbert when he ran his finger across a scar on my right arm and asked me to dance. I still didn’t understand Gilbert, but I knew the scars weren’t enough to keep him from wanting me, whatever he said about only seeing me as a damaged possession that was rightfully his.
Was that a ploy to make me feel insecure enough to leave Chevalier?
I reached for my lilac-scented soap and scrubbed the sweat from my skin and hair. There was no way I could sleep yet. Maybe having a cup of tea and washing a load of dirty dishes would help settle my mind.
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