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I couldn’t read.
I was in Chevalier’s room, sitting on his sofa, staring at an open book I’d pulled at random from his bookcase, and trying very hard not to think about him taking a bath behind the closed bathroom door.
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but I knew I hadn’t read a single word.
It was ridiculous. He’d never closed that door the entire time I’d worked as his maid, and that had never bothered me this much. Yes, it made me uncomfortable at first, but I quickly realized that wasn’t his intention. He simply hadn’t felt the need to alter his personal habits in his private space for a servant—or anybody, really. Recognizing his generalized arrogant insensitivity had made it easier for me. Even after it became clear that we had feelings for each other, he’d kept the door open, probably to keep up the pretense that nothing had changed, and I’d kept ignoring the open door for the same reason.
So, now that he was respecting my feelings by closing the door whenever I was in here, I should feel more comfortable, not less.
I should not be thinking about the musky smell of his sweat when we walked back here, recalling the time during the gala when he’d pulled me behind a pillar in the entrance hall and that smell had wrapped around me with his surprise embrace. Or imagining what he was like after a bath, how cute his pale blonde hair was when it was damp and messy, the feel of his skin when it was cool to the touch, how much stronger the smell of roses was about him.
It was awfully hot in here for October.
How mad would he be if I left and went back to my room?
I knew he wanted to talk to me about why Licht and I returned early, but if he thought I was sitting out here, calming down while he cleaned up, he was wrong. Very wrong. It felt like my heart was pounding harder with every passing second.
A puff of warm air hit my ear.
“Chevalier!” I shrieked, leaping to my feet and spinning to face his smirking face. His hands were on my waist before I could dance out of reach, pulling me in for a kiss that smelled of roses and tasted of honey, the damp strands of his hair as cool as ice against my flushed skin. The only reason my fingers weren’t curling into his shirt was because they were clutching the book to my chest. My knuckles had to be white from how hard my fingers were digging into the leather binding.
He was too good at this.
“Do I affect you so much?” he murmured, echoing his teasing words from the gala.
He knew. How did he always know exactly what I was thinking?
“You know the answer to that,” I pouted, trying to pull free from him. His hands tightened around my waist and slid around to my back. I gave up my admittedly weak struggle and rested my cheek against his chest. He wasn’t wearing his full royal regalia; just a simple shirt. Just a strong pair of arms holding me close to a steady heartbeat.
He smelled so good. And felt so good. And tasted, and looked, and sounded—
“What happened?”
I closed my eyes and sighed. I’d rather focus on him than anything else. “Memories. It was a great afternoon until—” I sighed again and shook my head. “Just memories.”
One arm loosened long enough for him to pull the book from my hands and set it aside, and then there was nothing between us. He kissed the top of my head but said nothing. The discomfort was gone. My heart was slowing down. I wrapped my arms around his waist and breathed in his scent, content to just stay like this for a while, silent and warm and safe, listening to his heartbeat.
And then my stomach growled.
My eyes flew open. “Oh—sorry,” I said sheepishly, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping into my cheeks. His deep chuckle rumbled through my ear to my core, sending a flurry of tingles through my empty stomach that almost made me squirm. I buried my face in his chest and mumbled, “Don’t laugh at me.”
“It’s almost dinnertime. Why should I laugh?” he asked, one hand trailing sneakily down my back and around my waist to my stomach. I twisted away when I realized what he was doing, giggling and swatting his hand.
“Chevalier! That tickles!”
“That was my intention,” he said. He scooped me up before I could escape and sat on the sofa, holding me captive and continuing his relentless attack with as much determination as he’d used against Leon in their sword fight. The only real defense was an offense. I laughed and wriggled and tickled him back, rewarded by his involuntary shying away when I found a sensitive spot on his right side. I honed in on it, and he writhed under my onslaught, finally grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head with my back flat against the cushion.
His lips crashed into mine as panic exploded in my chest.
I couldn’t breathe. My heart was suddenly beating a painful staccato rhythm against my ribs. The memory of Jack’s painful grip hadn’t solidified in my mind before Chevalier’s hands left my wrists, but the past was blending with reality, and I couldn’t think. Body odor and alcohol fought with roses; rough, greasy hands battled a gentle, clean touch. I squeezed my eyes shut and clung to the reality in front of me, struggling to hear the soothing intonations of his voice over the blood roaring in my ears. Jack was gone. Dead and gone. Killed by the man who was holding me now, his weight a comfort and not a threat.
I felt him shifting off of me and dug my fingers into the back of his collar, pulling him back.
“No, don’t—don’t go,” I gasped.
I heard his response but couldn’t make out the words. I felt his hands, though, encircling me and embracing me as his weight settled on me again, and I felt the brush of his lips against my cheek. Roses were winning. Tenderness was winning. Gradually, the waking nightmare was fading away, the present driving out images and sensations I’d never forget. It always ended. Sooner or later, the terror always ended, leaving me trembling and weak—but never alone. I never had to fight this alone anymore.
“You’re safe, little dove.”
“I-I know.”
Now that I could breathe again, I gulped in the warm, humidified, fragrant air trapped between my face and his neck. He kissed my cheek again, and I felt his hair, damp and cool against my skin. I pried my fingers free from his shirt and slid one hand up the back of his neck, combing up against the grain, focusing on the feel of him that told me he was more real than anything in my mind. My other hand found its way to his jawline, tracing the contours of his face. I opened my eyes and pulled back from his neck, looking up at the concern in his crystal blue eyes, hidden behind that blonde fringe I so loved to brush out of the way when I kissed him. His heart beat slow and steady against mine. For mine. For me.
I brushed his bangs back from his face and kissed him.
His eyes widened, and I felt his quick intake of breath, but I didn’t want to think about why I was doing this. I closed my eyes and cupped his face in my hands, feeling his soft lips returning the kiss, tentatively at first, gaining in confidence when I pressed in more. He shifted his grip on me to cradle the back of my head, and he changed the angle a little, nibbling lightly on my bottom lip. I parted my lips for him and met his tongue with mine, tasting the passion he tried to restrain when we were together. I always knew it was there. And right now, when Jack was a dark stain on my past fading into distant memory, I wanted to taste more of it. Taste my new reality. No force; no fear; no pain. Just Chevalier.
“Ivetta…”
“Don’t talk?”
I didn’t really know what I wanted, or why that statement sounded more like a plea, but Chevalier seemed to know. He held me, and he kissed me, and I let myself fall into the mindless, pleasurable sensations of his affection. Hot, wet, sweet kisses; panted breaths and soft moans; warm hands, cool hair; pounding hearts; the most beautiful blue. It felt good. It felt like Chevalier and I were in our own little world.
Until my stomach growled again, bringing us crashing back to reality.
My eyes shot open. Chevalier paused his lips’ perusal of my neck to chuckle against my skin.
“Oh—um…s-sorry,” I stammered, biting my lip nervously.
He pressed one last kiss to my neck and lifted himself up on his elbows to smirk down at me. “Don’t apologize. Where would you like to eat dinner?”
“Um…”
It shouldn’t have been a difficult question. We avoided spending time in either of our bedrooms for reasons neatly illustrated by this episode, but we were already here. Then again, my heart was still pounding out of control, and his finger tracing lightly around my lips combined with that sultry look in his eyes gave the impression he’d rather skip dinner and keep going with whatever we were doing—
What were we doing?
I pushed his hand away and tried to sit up. He moved off of me immediately, although I caught the flicker of disappointment in his eyes before he hid it.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“Don’t apologize,” he repeated. “I am well aware of your limitations, and I hold no resentment toward you for something that is beyond your control. If you would prefer to join the company of others, we can eat in the round table room.”
I chewed my lip thoughtfully. “That would—oh! I still need to start the pain perdu and the échaudés so they’ll be ready in time for tomorrow. Can we eat in the kitchen? I can make something for us, too.”
He smiled and leaned in to kiss my forehead. “Yes, but there is no need for you to make a meal. I’ll have dinner sent over for us.”
He stood and went to his bureau, and I went into the bathroom to fix my hair while he finished dressing. Looking in the mirror now at the girl in the green commoner’s dress, I could almost believe I was still a commoner, a maid playing dress-up. I untied the green ribbon holding my black hair back and redid the simple ponytail I’d worn for my afternoon with the Stotts. Chevalier appeared in the doorway, wearing his knee-length black boots, his black and white jacket with its numerous gold fastenings, his sword belt, and, of course, his iconic white cloak decorated with his crest, the white tiger. He’d left his black leather gloves off.
“I hope Licht doesn’t find out,” I said, taking his hand. “He really enjoyed this afternoon. I actually heard him laughing while he was playing with the kids.”
“He and the rest of the domestic affairs faction should be cleaning up and having dinner right now,” Chevalier reassured me, holding the door open for me to walk into the hallway first.
“Oh? What were you two doing?”
I froze, face-to-face with Clavis’ golden eyes and amused smirk, warmth creeping into my cheeks. Chevalier pulled the door shut behind us and began walking without even acknowledging his brother. I followed, and so did Clavis.
“Getting in a little alone time before the party tomorrow?” he asked.
“Keep Licht and the others away from the kitchens,” Chevalier commanded him coolly.
“Please,” I added. “I need to start a few things so they’ll be ready in time, and I don’t want anything to spoil the surprise.”
“Say no more,” Clavis said enthusiastically. “I know all about the art of the surprise. I have one of my own I’ll need to work on later.”
“No traps!” I exclaimed hurriedly. “And no pranks.”
Clavis’ face fell.
I sighed and relented. “Not for Licht or Nokto, at least.”
“But it’s their birthday,” he protested.
“S-so they should get the joy of watching somebody else get pranked or trapped,” I improvised.
His mischievous grin was back. “I like the way you think. Very well. On my honor as a gentleman, I shall not prank or trap Licht or Nokto for their birthday. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
He skipped away—yes, skipped—leaving me sending a silent apology up for whomever would become his next victim.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡusJL9VOcGS
