A Winter's Tale

Chapter 17:

Chapter 17:
EMERY'S POV:

        Alice dressed me for the dinner. It was the first time she'd been excited in days. The longest conversation we'd had where she was fully invested, where she was actually listening. She pulled out my very best dress, it was black, a fitting color. I bathed, my hair was washed, brushed, pulled back in a style, so that no unruly strand could escape. I looked very nice, but I didn't feel excitement, not like Alice, not like I thought I would.

     Dread. I felt anxious and scared. I felt like a small child going to be reprimanded by their father. Why has he agreed so easily to meet with me? Did I truly want to know the answers to the endless questions I had? Would it be better if I just accepted my ignorance, accepted the fact that I would never know the truth, like Alice and Miriam and Geoffrey? I wasn't prepared for this. Yes, I'd asked for it, but I never expected him to say yes. I wasn't ready to meet with him again, to stare into those cold, hard eyes that had seen too much. To stare at the lost soul this man was. Then, I remembered. His scar.

      I could ask him about his scar. It was an easy way to begin the conversation, something about his childhood, something mundane. Yet, something told me nothing about the Count had ever been normal. Men liked to talk about their scars, or at least, that's what Lucy told me. I'd never had much experience with men. She said they liked to tell stories of the things they'd conquered, the battles they'd fought in to gain those scars. Perhaps, the Count will as well. It may lighten the mood for the darker questions I would demand answers to. Answers I was sure he would not be ready and willing to give me.

      Alice gave me the okay after hours of primping. It was she who escorted me down to the dining room. It was a new room, one I hadn't seen before. All of us eat in the kitchen. The dining room was large, with big open windows, and a dark wood table that was long enough to seat several people. There were portraits and statues on either side of the room, and the ceiling curved upwards making the room appear even more carnivorous. I entered silently, painfully aware of the man standing with his back to me, facing the window. I didn't announce my presence, but he knew I was there. I didn't walk to the window; I didn't walk to the table. I stood there, standing right in front of the door, trying to calm my nerves. I needed to prepare myself to see him again, to study him again, to look into his cold eyes.

         For a while, neither of us moved. Neither of us talked. The crackling of the wood in the fireplace, the only sound. The food was on the table, two bowls of broth with bread. That meant no one was coming back in throughout the course of the dinner. I would be completely alone with him. Again, I told myself that I'd asked for this, that this was what I'd wanted. Swallowing my fear, I hesitantly stepped forward, coming to a stop beside my chair. I opened my mouth to say something, but for a few seconds, no sound would come out. So, I stood there, mouth open, trying to think of something to say. When I got enough courage to stutter out a good evening, he beat me to it.

           "I suppose we should eat now," he said, turning around slowly. I snapped my mouth closed quickly, taking in his appearance. He wore the same black cloak, black pants, black boots, and black shirt. It was tailored nicely, but worn, like he'd had it for a while. Something told me he didn't get new clothes often. Nodding my head, I slid into my seat, trying to ignore the heat of his gaze as he walked closer to the table. Eventually, he looked away, choosing to study his broth. I did the same. My plan on how to start this flew out of the window. I couldn't even get a coherent greeting out. I stared down at my food. I wasn't hungry; I hadn't been all day.

Alice forced me to eat a little lunch, it was light, just some bread, insisted it would help to calm me down. It hadn't. Reluctantly, I looked up at him through my lashes to find him looking sideways at the wall. I would never get my questions answers if we continued at this rate. That was the whole purpose of this dinner, to find out the things that were being kept from me. Some of them at least. I reached for my water. It wasn't cold, Miriam warmed the pitcher up over the fire to ensure that we didn't chill our insides with anything too cold. The Count waited until I put my glass back down to speak again, "you like to read." It wasn't a question, but either way, I was grateful for him starting the conversation. It broke the silence, and made it seem less tense in the room. Something so simple, a statement, that immediately made things a tiny bit better.