“Are you sure you want to go so early? We could go later in the afternoon, if you’d prefer.”
I smoothed Chevalier’s jacket and leaned forward, biting my lower lip teasingly. Everything about him said he wanted to stay here in our room the rest of the morning. His hungry blue eyes, his mischievous smirk, his hand on the small of back; even the way he reclined against the sofa with an arm slung casually across the backrest. An open invitation for me to kiss him—as a start. It wasn’t a conversational posture.
And yet, when he’d pulled me onto his lap after breakfast, that was what he started. A conversation.
“The crowd will be at its thinnest now,” he replied. “It will be easier for your guards to keep track of you.”
It was almost as if he was playing a game with me. Throughout my explanation about Clavis’ trap for Jin and Theresa, he’d continued these little gestures, these simple touches that hinted at him wanting more. Right now, he was rubbing my back. And yet he wasn’t making a move.
Was he trying to see who would break first?
I could play this game.
I shifted slightly, adjusting my position as I straddled his lap, and dropped my gaze to his chest while I drew circles on the fabric. “Do they really need to come along?”
“This festival draws people from all across Rhodolite. Not all of them are trustworthy, and security is difficult in crowds. Additionally, while most commoners have taken the news about Leon well, there has been some unrest and discontentment with the royal family.” He caught my chin in his fingers and leaned in, giving me a light kiss. “Your guards will be out of uniform and scattered throughout the square. You won’t even see them unless you look for them.”
Well, that ruined the mood, even with the kiss.
“Do you really think there will be trouble?” I asked, searching his face.
He smiled one of those small, warm, fond smiles, the kind that could melt my heart into a contented puddle. “No, but I don’t take chances where you are concerned. We should go.” He kissed me again. “And finish this later.”
And then he smirked, and there was no mistaking the suggestion in his voice this time, nor the intention of the hand he rested on my thigh.
My heart reformed from the puddle and took off racing, but I simply kissed him back and climbed off his lap with an airy, “We’ll see about that.”
It promised to be a fun day.
Last year, I’d been sitting across from Chevalier during our carriage ride to the festival, nervous and confused about his intentions and the entire situation, but this year, I sat beside him, excited and aware. His feelings weren’t a mystery anymore, and yet his reason for taking me to the festival was basically the same then as it was now: he knew I would enjoy it.
“Relax,” he said, running his fingers through my hair and down my back.
“Oh, sorry.” I was sitting on the edge of my seat, and I slid back, tearing my gaze away from the window to smile at him. “The timing for this couldn’t have been more perfect. We all need a break after last week.”
“You would have been this enthusiastic regardless of the circumstances.” He took my hand and interlaced his fingers with mine. “Do not run off.”
“I’m not a child,” I teased, leaning toward him.
He closed the remaining distance to give me a peck on the lips. “I’m well aware of that.”
Arriving at the festival this early in the day meant the carriage almost made it to the square before the crowds forced it to stop. Chevalier alighted and offered me his hand, and as soon as my foot touched the ground, I noticed another difference. A glaring difference.
I wasn’t the unknown maid this time.
I was the commoner who had become the queen.
People knew and liked me. And I softened Chevalier’s usually intimidating presence, which meant people were making eye contact with me instead of averting their eyes from him, bowing, curtseying, greeting us by name, pressing in uncomfortably close rather than clearing a path. If it hadn’t been for Chevalier, they might have overrun me.
But he still induced enough fear to keep them at bay, and as I scanned the crowd nervously, I spotted Julius, about ten feet away from us, inconspicuous in normal clothes and gray eyes fixed on me. And there were Mark, and Byron, and the rest of my guards, scattered throughout the square, as Chevalier had said.
I was more than a little glad to see them.
And I was not letting go of Chevalier’s arm.
“Ivetta,” Chevalier prompted me.
I looked up at him. He said nothing more, but there was a steadiness in his gaze that gave me confidence. This was just like every social engagement we attended together. Nobility or commoners, I could handle this.
I smiled at the crowd. “It’s good to see all of you, but if you’ll excuse us, we’d like to enjoy the festival, too.”
And, just like that, we had more space, and I could breathe again.
I didn’t see Leon as we strolled leisurely through the square. We stopped briefly for drinks at Joe’s booth, where the barkeep greeted us with familiarity and, rather impressively, I thought, remembered our drink orders from last year, and we stopped at a booth selling various rose-themed hair accessories to buy a hair clip which would last much longer than the single red rose in my hair. I knew Chevalier was humoring me and solely interested in the bookstall, but I’d decided we’d end our outing there. Both of us would take more time browsing the offerings at that shop than we would anywhere else.
“Oh, let’s look at that one.” I tugged Chevalier toward a clothing booth where a dress with red roses on a background of white had caught my eye. The shopkeeper, a pudgy woman a bit taller than me with a vibrant red rose wreath atop her short blonde hair, beamed at us as we approached.
“You were looking at this one? Excellent choice, my queen. The fabric is sturdy enough to last a long time, but light enough to be comfortable on even the hottest days of summer.”
I fingered the dress as she continued her sales spiel, remembering Theresa’s reaction to the scars on my back this morning. The short sleeves and knee-length skirt meant this style was out of the question for me, but the same fabric would probably be comfortable in the summer in a more modest style, too.
“Does this come in long sleeves with a full skirt?”
The shopkeeper's eyes widened in surprise. “Well, no, all of these are spring and summer dresses.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.” I sighed and released the fabric.
“But it would look stunning on you,” she pressed me, trying to hold my interest.
No, it wouldn’t. Not with my scars. I could roll up my sleeves while baking in front of a select group of people, but even that made me nervous sometimes. And I couldn’t explain that to her, so I turned to go.
“We’ll take it.”
My head snapped up to look at Chevalier. “Chevalier—”
“You want it, do you not?”
I glanced at the shopkeeper and back at him, lowering my voice to a whisper. “I can’t wear that.”
“Oh, but you must!” The persistent shopkeeper pulled the dress off the rack and came around the counter to hold it up to me. “You may need a smaller size, though.”
“No, you don’t understand—”
“It’s fine, Ivetta,” Chevalier reassured me.
“Come, come, you can try it on inside.”
She took my hand and dragged me toward the building behind the stall. My heart was suddenly hammering in my chest, Theresa’s pitying words echoing in my ears, every lingering gaze on my arms during baking nights flashing through my mind.
I clutched desperately at Chevalier’s arm. “I—I really can’t—”
“Wait here.” The shopkeeper pulled me away from Chevalier and behind a curtain, too excited about a sales opportunity to notice my mounting anxiety. “Oh, this will look so wonderful on you!”
I’d just wanted to enjoy the festival. Why had I ever looked at this booth? She would see my scars, and she would know exactly why I couldn’t wear this dress, and I couldn’t breathe.
Then Chevalier pushed past the curtain and came to my side. “Go,” he ordered in a voice that bridged no objections.
I felt his hand on my upper back, and I realized from its steadiness I was shaking.
“What?” the shopkeeper asked, confused.
“Outside. Now.”
He wrapped me in a tight embrace the moment she left. I buried my face in his chest, unable to look at him or the dress, knowing how ridiculous it was for me to fall apart over something so trivial. It was just a dress. I should have been able to say ‘no’ and move on, but it felt like my world was spinning out of control.
“You’re safe, Ivetta,” he murmured, the hard edge gone from his voice. “You’re safe.”
“Why did you do that?” Even my small, whispered voice was trembling. “You know I can’t wear that. Why did you do that?”
He stroked my hair soothingly, long, rhythmic strokes down my back. “You can wear it for me. We can have it altered, or you can wear gloves and stockings. Whatever you want.”
“What I want is to not have any scars. What I want is to be able to wear a dress like that without worrying what people will think.”
He sighed, and I took a deep breath, listening to the calm, even beating of his heart. His embrace grounded me, and as he held me, my breathing slowed gradually to match his, and the shaking subsided as the panic faded.
“If you don’t want it, we don’t have to buy it,” he finally said. “But I would like to see you try it on.”
I took another deep breath. He knew. He’d seen every scar, touched each one, covered them all in kisses. They didn’t bother him. If I put on that dress, he would only see me.
Another deep breath, and I nodded.
It really was a pretty dress. The style was fitting for a woman or a girl with short, somewhat puffy sleeves, a modest neckline, a loose, breathable bodice, and a slight flare of the skirt from the waist down to the knee. Chevalier liked it. So did I.
As long as I didn’t look at my bare arms and legs.
“It wouldn’t really look right with gloves or stockings,” I said, careful to avoid them as I studied my reflection in the mirror. “And the style isn’t right for long sleeves or a floor-length skirt.”
“We can still buy it.” He stood behind me and ran his hands down my arms. “Your scars are fading.”
I bit my lip and looked away from the mirror. “That doesn’t mean they’ll ever go away completely.”
He kissed my cheek. “Then this will be for my eyes only.”
When he was being this sweet, I couldn’t say no to him.
“I… I guess we can buy it.”
He turned me to face him and gave me another kiss. “I have something I’d like to show you, and then we can go after that, if you’d like. It won’t take long.”
I nodded reluctantly. The thought of faking a smile amidst a lively festive atmosphere didn’t appeal to me, but we couldn’t go from this dressing room to the carriage without stepping outside, and I knew I was safe, so long as I was with Chevalier. His reassuring kisses and comforting touches made the prospect bearable.
I changed, and then we emerged into the sunlight, where the befuddled shopkeeper awaited us. Our drinks were still on the counter where we’d left them. I couldn’t look at the woman, so I focused on picking up my mug of apple cider while Chevalier paid. But when I brought the mug to my lips for a taste, someone grabbed it from me.
“Excuse me, Queen Ivetta,” Julius said, suddenly at my side with the mug in his hand. “I’ll get you a new one.”
He took Chevalier’s mug as well and disappeared into the crowd before I had time to react. More people had arrived at the square while Chevalier and I had been inside. I looked anxiously back at Chevalier, heart pounding all over again, and he tucked the wrapped dress under one arm and reached out to take my hand.
“He is simply taking extra precautions,” he told me, squeezing my hand.
I had a feeling he wasn’t telling me everything, but I squeezed his hand back and nodded, relieved just to feel his warmth. He led me away from the clothing booth, and I stayed close to his side, doing my best to smile and hide my inner turmoil from the other festival-goers.
“Ah, if it isn’t the royal couple themselves!”
I recognized that voice, and that shock of red hair. Chevalier had brought me to Mr. Schiesler’s book stall. It was easier to smile here.
“It took some work, but I am pleased to say I was able to fulfill your order, King Chevalier.” He motioned to a large wooden crate behind the counter. “One crate of Garnetian books.”
Anxiety vanished in the face of stunned surprise.
I stared at that crate of books, wide-eyed and tongue-tied, and when I finally looked up at Chevalier’s smiling face, I was too overwhelmed to say more than a breathy, “Chevalier!”
“Fresh apple cider and fresh ale, coming up!” Julius announced, appearing beside us again with new mugs. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, Queen Ivetta, but I don’t trust drinks left unattended.”
My tongue loosened in my mouth. My chest felt tight, but in a good way, and the smile that spread across my face was nothing less than genuine. “Thank you, Julius. Chevalier, could we get a funnel cake before we go?”
He nodded. “Have some men bring this to the palace after we leave,” he ordered Julius, tapping the crate with his foot.
“Yes, your highness.”
The apple cider was delicious. The funnel cake was delicious. And the man at my side was absolutely perfect. I cuddled up to him in the carriage as we rode back to the palace, unable to stop smiling, and when he took my hand and brought it to his mouth, I expected a chivalrous kiss.
Instead, his tongue snaked across my sugary fingers.
“Hey, that tickles!”
He smirked, mischief sparkling in his crystal blue eyes. “I couldn’t do this last year.”
“Who said you can do it this year?”
He answered with another lick. I squirmed and giggled, and the licking eventually turned to kissing, and then the kissing moved from my fingers to my lips, and when the carriage jostled to a stop in the palace courtyard, we both knew we would be returning to our room before we went to the gardens to read.
He stepped out of the carriage and held out his hand for me. I took it.
“Thank you for a wonderful day, Chevalier.”
He interlaced his fingers with mine as he led me inside. “Isn’t it a bit early to say that?”
I smiled and hugged his arm. “No, it isn’t."5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡorgp5Pw4FK
