Prickly thorns, tender roses

Beginnings

Cold. A breezy flutter of draperies and sunlight. Ravenna clutched sleepily at the covers, her hand reaching of its own accord across the cool sheets to feel—

The space beside her was empty. Her eyes opened, and in a messy tangle of black hair Ravenna rose, propped on her arms. The air in the room was chilly with the open window after the nightly rains, but still laced with the spice of wild pine and fresh dew and summer. And there was another scent, lingering on the sheets, in her hair, on her skin. Her lips curved upward. Looking about herself, Ravenna was briefly disappointed that she'd not awoken to gleaming eyes of gold and a sharp smile to kiss.

She reclined back on the bed, drawing the sheets over her bare form. Memories of the night came to the fore, each more vivid and wonderfully teasing than the last. Ravenna recalled his hands on her, her hands on him, the details of him burned into her spirit and etched onto her body. Her restraint, fallen to pieces the deeper she kissed him, the desperation of longing leading down an unending spiral of feeling, tumult and possession. She recalled the scars, his plea to forget; his attempt to bury himself into her as though she were his talisman and his need of her, manifest into burning lips on her body, showing her the heights one could fall from.

And then his tickling whisper against her ear before rest took her, and the things he had said.

Ravenna turned on her side. After their turbulent night together, she hurt in a way that riled her, and only made her desire more of it. She still felt his taste in her mouth. Sleepily, Ravenna rose to sit in bed again, clutching the blanket at her chest, wondering where Adrian had gone. Her mind awake, new thoughts sifted through the fabric of her conscious. It was as though all her struggles and learning and years spent in service of another purpose had somehow brought her here. And though Ravenna knew her goal could not be abandoned, the notion of leaving was rolling thunder and shadow on a bright day. They would need to speak of it, but what would she say? That she loved him, she enjoyed having him and was happy he appeared to fare better, but eventually she'd need to depart? To leave him? What of her promise to never allow any harm to come to him again?

Ravenna paused.

She loved him? A concept unfamiliar to her, but for swirls of forgotten languages on veal pages during candlelit nights. Odes, odysseys, and hymns, all dedicated to its myriad of forms and outcomes. All praising its delights and despairing over its iniquities.

Was this it? Was it that which the ancients favored and relished to explore, which now monotheistic creed diminished and condemned in its earthly form?

Ravenna rose to her feet, wobbling slightly, one hand propped against the wooden bedpost. The past night had been more demanding than she thought. She considered this with half a smile: his strength, though controlled and reined, still slipped in certain moments and a light bruise or two had made an appearance on her hip, her rear. Not that she'd been gentler.

Ravenna reached for her nightgown, then crossed the empty chamber on bare feet, searching for her discarded slippers, then donned her robe. She left and carried through the corridors, listening for any sign of where Adrian might be. Torn between the green meadows of her growing affection and the stalwart chains of duty, she wavered back and forth, both dreading and needing to see him, to hold him. To tell him.

He was not in the kitchen, though she noticed the table was laden with bowls of forest fruit and nuts. There were pitchers of cold water there as well. She helped herself to some of the fare before resuming her search. Ravenna stepped through the main reception hall, and after a few more failed attempts, she had one last place to search. An unlikely option, but beyond it lay worry. And so she went.