“Chevalier! Chevalier, wake up!”
I swatted at the hands shaking me and reached for my sword, my mind still somewhere between sleeping and waking.
“Hey! No need to kill a man!”
Yves. That was Yves’ voice. What was he doing in my room? Clavis had rudely woken me up many times before, but Yves never had.
“Go away,” I mumbled, letting go of my sword hilt and burrowing deeper into the blankets.
“But it’s Ivetta-”
Suddenly, I was throwing the covers back, sitting bolt upright in bed, my heart pounding. It had been a few days since I’d seen her, and the thought that something could have happened to her-
“Hold on, she’s fine!” Yves said quickly, his deep blue eyes wide. “I mean - I guess, physically, she’s fine, she’s just-”
“She’s just what?” I demanded, getting out of bed and grabbing my boots. “Say it.”
“Well, she - I mean, I-”
I shot him a glare, and he scowled at me.
“You’re not making this easy. It’s kind of hard for me to think when your first response to being woken up unexpectedly is to kill me!”
“I’m not trying to kill you now, but if you don’t start making sense before I finish getting these boots on, I may reconsider,” I growled.
“Okay, okay. I’m kind of stressed about going to Obsidian with Gilbert after the coronation, and I was in the kitchens…you know…and she just showed up. She wouldn’t say why. She made something up about the coronation stressing her out, too, but I know that wasn’t it.”
“And you left her there?” I asked, standing up and crossing my arms over my chest as I towered over him.
“She’s not alone. Her guards are outside the door. She said she was just going to do the dishes and go back to bed, but…she seemed really shaken up. I asked Julius what was going on, and he said he had to wake her up because she…” He faltered, and then he finally said, “She was screaming.”
I didn’t need to hear anymore. She’d had a nightmare, worse than what I’d seen before, and the only reason I was hearing about it now was because she happened to run into Yves during one of his midnight stress baking sessions. I left Yves behind as I stormed out of my room into the dark hallway, not even bothering to grab my sword or my cloak. There was no physical threat, as Yves had said, but my bare hands were more than sufficient, even if there was.
If only I could throttle her nightmares.
The guards were posted outside of the small kitchen Yves usually used, as he’d said. Even in the dim lighting, I could see their faces pale as I approached.
“Why didn’t you send for me?” I demanded of Julius.
“She was adamant that I not do so, Prince Chevalier,” he replied, a slight tremor in his voice.
I sighed and shoved the door open. She was still trying to hide her problems from me, still trying to handle everything on her own. At what point would she stop being so frustratingly stubborn and just ask for help?
The room was lit by moonlight from the window over the sink, supplemented by a single candle on the central island. She was standing at the sink, her back to me, the soft splashing of water and clinking of dishes the only sounds in the stillness. Her long, black hair was clumped together in thick, damp strands, weaving a tangled path down the white dressing gown she wore. As I approached, I could see how mechanical her movements were, how obvious it was that her thoughts were far from the dishes she was removing from the soapy water, scrubbing, rinsing, setting aside to dry, reaching for the next one. Until she pulled a table knife from the water. Suddenly, she froze, audibly sucking in her breath. I stepped behind her without thinking, resting my hands on the marble countertop on either side of her, looking over her shoulder at her terrified reflection in the silver blade.
“What are you doing here, little dove?” I asked softly, realizing too late that my sudden appearance would probably startle her further. But she didn’t jump or flinch. Her wide eyes closed briefly in her reflection, and her shoulders drooped.
“I told Julius not to wake you,” she said with tired resignation, dropping the knife back into the water.
“He didn’t. Yves did,” I replied, resting my chin on her shoulder. “You haven’t answered my question.”
Her muscles were tight with tension. She reached into the water for another dish, going through the motions of scrubbing and rinsing again.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she finally confessed, setting it aside and fumbling in the water for another one.
“Nightmares?” I asked, sliding my hands along the counter and under her arms to meet in front of her.
She did flinch at that, but I suspected her response was to the word I’d spoken, not my actions.
“Yes.”
Her voice was flat, like it had been the morning I’d forced her to recount the assault. I stepped forward, pressing into her back as I wrapped my arms tightly around her waist. She was so small under the deceptively thick, amorphous dressing gown.
“They haven’t been that bad since then,” she said quietly.
Since then. So, she did remember that night in my bed. At least, parts of it.
“Just…an occasional bad dream here or there,” she continued. “Nothing like that.”
“Until tonight,” I murmured, her damp hair cool on my cheek. She must have taken a bath before she came here. The smell of lilacs was stronger than usual.
“Until tonight,” she repeated, and then she sighed heavily. “It was worse tonight than ever. And-”
She picked up the knife again, and she flinched and dropped it as if the mere touch burned her hand. It fell harmlessly back into the water with a small splash. She clutched at the edge of the sink, her knuckles white as she dug her fingers into the unforgiving marble.
“Just leave it,” I whispered, kissing her neck.
“No,” she said firmly. “I can’t just leave it. It’s just a stupid butter knife. I can’t be scared of a butter knife. It wouldn’t even bother me if-”
She was shaking all over, undoubtedly remembering the knife her torturers had used to inflict her numerous scars. Suddenly, I wanted to throw that simple butter knife out the window.
“Ivetta-”
“No!” she shouted, her body rigid. “It doesn’t even mean anything. It’s never bothered me before. It’s-”
I squeezed her tighter, willing her to feel safe, to stop being afraid, to stop trembling.
“It’s not that,” she said, her voice faltering, and then she pulled free from me, stepping several feet away before she turned back to face me. Her green eyes bore a strange mixture of fear and longing. I frowned, unsure if I should say something, if I should take her in my arms again. In the midst of my indecision, her hands went to her throat, and she started undoing the laces of her dressing gown.
Time ground to a stop.
I struggled to maintain control, but the best I could do was to keep my feet firmly planted to the floor, watching helplessly as she shrugged out of the dressing gown and threw it onto the counter. The nightgown she wore underneath wasn’t revealing; it wasn’t see through; it didn’t even have a shape, really. It was just a plain white nightgown. But it hung more closely to her than the dressing gown, and the sleeveless straps left her arms and most of her shoulders completely bare, and my heart rate was skyrocketing. I clenched my hands into fists at my sides, digging my fingernails into my palms. Not now. Now was not the time to be getting ideas.
She turned around and reached over her right shoulder with her right hand, pulling her collar down and turning a furnace on inside me.
“Do you see that?” she asked, as if I could miss the scar amidst the extra skin she’d exposed.
“Yes,” I said, trying to focus on the scar alone.
She reached around with her left hand, up under her armpit, across and up to her right shoulder blade.
“It goes like this,” she said, drawing a gash diagonally across her back to her left hip.
She may as well have thrown a bucket of cold water at my face. This was what had been done to her right in front of me when I came to rescue her. He’d cut her entire back open without a second thought, and now she was left with scars, visible and invisible, that would never go away.
“What do you think?” she asked hesitantly.
And I knew what was going on. This was the gloves all over again. Something from her nightmare had her questioning how much I was willing to take before I pushed her away.
Maybe now was the time, after all.
I walked toward her, releasing my reservations, allowing myself to be drawn into the ethereal glow of moonlight on her bare skin, the warmth of the flickering candlelight on her damp hair. She trembled at my touch as I grasped her collar and pulled it down, bending down to kiss her cool skin. Her hands dropped, unprotesting, to her sides, and I continued up to her shoulder, and then to her neck, her head tilting to the side to offer me more. My arms wrapped around her waist as I savored her distinctively sweet flavor, pulling her back against me, acutely aware that only the thin fabric of her nightgown kept me from the rest of her.
“You’re beautiful, Ivetta,” I breathed when I reached her ear. “And I want all of you - including your scars.”
She sighed, finally relaxing in my arms.
“I know that. I guess I just had to hear it again, after…”
“After what?” I asked, interrupting my kisses just long enough to say the words before I resumed my heated perusal of her flushed skin.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said softly, her arms wrapping around mine. “It was just the nightmare. It wasn’t really you.”
I spun her around to face me, keeping one arm tightly around her waist while my other hand caught her chin so she couldn’t look away.
“What happened?”
She bit her lip nervously, the simple action drawing my attention from her eyes to her lips.
“In the nightmare…you saw it and…you said you didn’t want me anymore,” she finally admitted.
That snapped my eyes back up to hers. The words had never crossed my mind, let alone my lips, and yet they were torturing her as surely as the dagger that had marked her skin.
“But I know it wasn’t you,” she said quickly. “I know it was a lie. I know-”
I cut her off with a passionate kiss, sliding my hand from her chin around to the back of her head, tangling it in her damp hair. She clutched at my shirt, melting in my arms as I tried to convey everything words couldn’t adequately describe.
“I will never say that to you,” I murmured, kissing her again before she could respond. I scooped her up, and she wrapped her arms around my neck as I carried her to the door.
“Chevalier,” she said softly, burying her face in my neck, “please don’t take me to your room.”
I didn’t respond, ignoring the guards as I carried her out into the hallway. She belonged in my room, in my bed, in my arms, even if I wasn’t permitted to make love to her the way I wanted to. But I took her to her room, laying her down on her mattress, climbing into her bed beside her. The sheets were a tangled mess. I worked them free from themselves, taking out a little pent-up frustration on them, and tucked them over her. She just watched me, unspeaking, unprotesting when I wrapped my arms around her again, the added barrier of the sheets giving me an additional reminder to behave myself. I nuzzled into her hair, and she clutched at my shirt, nuzzling into my chest.
“You should leave,” she murmured.
“I will, once you’re asleep.”
“Good.” Her voice was a soft mumble, her body already succumbing to exhaustion after the stress from the nightmare. “I’m sorry for waking you up, Chevalier, but I’m glad you came.”
“Just go to sleep, Ivetta,” I said softly. I sighed, kissing the top of her head. “And stop having nightmares,” I muttered.
She didn’t respond, already asleep. I waited a few minutes more before gently easing myself away from her. She shifted slightly and reached for the pillow next to her, hugging it to her chest as I tucked the blanket around her.
“Chevalier,” she sighed.
I stopped, but she wasn’t awake. Just whispering my name in her sleep. I smiled and kissed her forehead lightly, and then I went back into the dark hallway, where her guards were standing silently at their posts.
“Whatever she says, you will send for me next time,” I said coolly.
“Yes, your highness,” Julius said, standing at attention.
I walked away, the energy draining out of me with each step. How long had I been up? An hour? Less? It felt much longer than that. Between the adrenaline rush when Yves woke me, telling me something was wrong with her; then seeing her in so much pain; and then battling within myself to strike the right balance of passionate desire and reasonable control-
Her dressing gown was still in the kitchen.
I sighed and headed that way. For my sake, as much as hers, I hoped she didn’t have any nightmares again soon. There was only so much of her I could take. The soft, thick, white fabric smelled of her, even without me bringing it to my nose to inhale deeply. Which I’m glad I didn’t do, because I wasn’t alone.
“Didn’t think you’d be back so soon for that,” Nokto commented from a darkened corner.
I glanced over at him, irritated that I hadn’t noticed him when I entered.
“Isn’t anybody sleeping tonight?”
He hopped off the counter.
“Evie said something similar when I ran into him.” A sly grin spread across his face as he held the door open for me. “So, your little dove has nightmares, too. And you’re the cure. Isn’t that cute?”
If I were a cure, she’d stop having them.
“It’s none of your business,” I said shortly.
“I’ve always found a little company to be a helpful distraction,” he continued, ignoring me. “Unfortunately, the lady I’d planned on enjoying tonight had to cancel when her husband found out.”
“I’m not interested in providing you with a distraction,” I said coolly.
He chuckled. “Actually, I thought I could give you a little advice. You’re so tense after you’re with Ivetta. It seems to me that you're doing everything right, but you’re stopping too soon. I think if you pushed things along a little, you’d be a much happier man.”
I sighed, irritated. “I’m not having this discussion with you.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, shrugging. “But I’m more experienced in the intricacies of love than even Jin, so if you need any help-”
“You know nothing about love,” I interrupted.
That shut him up for a few seconds as he stared at me in surprise.
“The many women who have shared my bed-”
“Have never meant anything to you beyond what you could get from them,” I finished for him.
He laughed, the familiar glint back in his crimson eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the notion that love means anything? It’s nothing more than a flowery word people use as an excuse to go to bed with each other.”
“Maybe when you stop believing that your nightmares will stop. I’m done with this.”
We’d reached the turnoff toward her room, and, fortunately, he had the sense not to follow me. I paid the guards no mind as I let myself into her room again. She hadn’t moved from where I’d left her, a blissful tranquility in her relaxed face as she buried it in the pillow she hugged to her chest.
Is that what she looked like when I held her?
I sighed and folded the dressing gown, setting it on her bureau before I left. This would all be a lot easier if I didn’t love her. I’d seen Nokto operate, and I knew how easily he coaxed even the shyest of women into a state of passionate frenzy. It wasn’t that hard to do. I’d stumbled across ways to elicit similar reactions from Ivetta. But I wasn’t willing to use that against her, to take advantage of her trust in me and push her further, to risk seeing the shame and regret I knew would be on her face if I followed Nokto’s advice.
He was waiting at the turnoff where I’d left him, leaning against the wall in his pajamas, arms crossed over his chest as he scowled at nothing in particular.
“You’re not worried it’ll happen again?” he asked, falling into step beside me.
“It won’t tonight,” I replied coolly. I’d hoped I was done with him.
“And how do you know that?”
“The last time this happened was the night after her mother died. And, before you ask, yes, she was in my bed, and no, I didn’t take advantage of her.”
He yawned and rubbed his eyes. “So, what do you do when you’re in bed with a beautiful woman, if you’re not making love to her?”
I glanced over at him. “It’s not an ideal situation.”
He smirked. “I wouldn’t think so. Well, enjoy your cold bath, and I’ll try to get some sleep.”
“It helps her to talk about the nightmares,” I said quietly as he turned away. “Not that I want to hear about yours.”
He grinned ruefully. “Nobody wants to hear about mine.”
I let myself into my room without another word. He was wrong about one thing. I was too tired to have to worry about a cold bath.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
