Rosalind - Amby Awards 2023 TOP PICK

49- Only Devils Remained

Rosalind stood with her forehead against the door. She had bathed. She had dressed. She had sent Agnes away before the maid could tell her for a second time to wear something else. Though, as soon as Agnes had left, Rosalind hastily slipped out of the red gown she had fought to wear, and into one of her own. Lifting her palms, she pushed herself away from the door and raised her hands to her head. An hour ago, Agnes had brushed and set Rosalind's hair into a bun. Now frantic fingers pulled the bun out and tossed every little pearl-tipped clip on her dressing table. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, Rosalind saw her dark hair fall down her shoulders. Her gaze shifted to her dress, at the pale cornsilk yellow material which floated to the floor. A dress for dancing in the sun, she thought, not for loitering in the shadows.

Rosalind grit her teeth and headed to the door. She reached for the handle and flung it open. The cold came to greet her at the top of the stairs and accompany her to the dinner table. Having taken no shawl to drape over her short sleeves, goosebumps dotted the length of her arms.

When she entered the dining area, the warmth of the candles smoothed her goosebumps away. The table was set with all its finery. A pheasant adorned the middle, around it were platters of different fruit and vegetables. When Rosalind saw the familiar bowl of black candies, she took one and touched it to her lips. The sweetest strawberry taste coated her tongue. Rosalind had eaten a strawberry once and recalled how she loved its flavour. But just as she was savoring the candy, its sweetness turned into bitterness, something between an old orange and medicine. She flicked the candy onto her plate and covered her mouth in disgust. The little candy shimmered unnaturally bright under the glow of the candle. Rosalind used her napkin to pick it up and hide it under the edge of her dish.

Sitting down, she noticed her goblet had already been filled. When she arched over to take a look at the lord's, she saw it had been filled as well.

For the whole day, she had tried to not think about the lord's gift. Bellua lay where she had flung it. Rosalind had even pondered hurling it into the fireplace. But the poems whispered from beyond, clinging onto some dark seed in her which Caspian had planted the moment he had taken her into his home. Now, sitting with her back against the chair, her mind drifted to the words and the utopian darkness they possessed. "I bleed epigraphs as I think of you," she uttered to herself. Rosalind balled her hands into fists knowing that his words had brought on that wretched dream, that horrid, scandalous dream she should never have had.

"Tell me you desire me." Caspian's words echoed in her brain. "That you want me inside you, writhing and worshiping you." She felt her nails tearing into her flesh and she welcomed the pain. As she closed her eyes tight, she saw the image of him nearing her, his arms grabbing her and pulling her close, holding tight as though letting her go meant his demise. Her heart thudded in her ears, drowning out his words. But the longing remained, even after she relaxed her fingers and saw crescent moons of red bleeding on her palms.

"My lady," Caspian's voice broke the otherwise silence.

Looking up startled, Rosalind saw him bow before slipping fluidly into his seat. "My...lord," she heard her voice crack. She paused, breathed in deeply then cleared her throat. "Good evening."

His eyes were flames pulling her to him. Every bit of animalistic hunger inside her surged. She wanted to crawl upon the table and make her way to him where she would permit him to do grim things to her.

"Are you unwell?" Caspian asked, breaking her train of thought.

"I...why do you ask, my lord?" she whispered.

Rising slowly, Caspian made his way over to her side. Every step he took made her unsure if she should allow him to come closer. Run off, tell him you are ill. Go to your room and get Agnes to bring you a tray.

Kneeling by her, Caspian took Rosalind's hands in his and turned the palms up. "I smelt blood." The tiny crescents had stopped bleeding, all but one which had made a small pool of vermillion. "Do you see how it continues to bleed?"

"Y...yes, my lord." She felt it pulse every time her heart beat.

"Are you scared, my lady?" he asked and lifted his gaze to hers.

"I," she paused as words failed her. She was scared but it was not of him hurting her but of her unGodly desire for him. "I am my lo –"

"Caspian," he corrected her. "If only for tonight, call me by my given name and allow me to use yours."

She looked at him as though he were mad. "I find it unwise," she whispered so softly, she barely heard it herself.

"Then when you are ready and desire it, I would like you to say it as you had once before." He ran the ball of his index over her bloody palm. "When you say my name it feels like the monster in me no longer exists."

Rosalind recalled the night she had called him by his name and not Lord Caspian. The night she had taken a hit from his dragon when all her emotions nearly burst forth. The closeness. The neediness. It was unlike the desire she felt with Troy which was like a soothing flame. Desiring Caspian was a whole inferno. She felt as she had just drunk a jug of wine. "I –"

Caspian cut her off, "Will you allow me to heal your wounds?" His finger created a maze upon her skin, a forbidden mile she knew she should not follow.

"Yes," she replied foolishly when her heart knew she should have said no.

"I will not use any traditional method," he said and raised a brow.

There was a pure silence beyond the walls, no maid cooking, no wolf howling. Rosalind nodded, "Very well."

Caspian brought Rosalind's hand to his lips. He moved her fingers gently back to expose her bleeding skin to him. Ever so lightly, the lord pressed his tongue on her palm and licked from where her thumb ended to just under the base of her fingers. She had expected his touch to be cold, yet it was warm against her flesh. When she trembled and cried out, he paused yet did not let go. "Shall I stop?"

"No. No! Do not stop," she blurted. At that moment, she knew that Troy had been right. There was no God here, only Devils remained.

Caspian brought his face into her hand once more. She felt his breath cool the spot he had just touched. Yet his tongue was electric, sending explosions through her.

"My lord," she groaned. "This is..." So good, she wanted to say.

Pulling back, Caspian brought her hands to his chest. Underneath the thin material of his silken top, she felt his feral heart beat.

"Do you feel that?" he said gruffly and moved her hands over his heart.

"Yes..." A single word floated before her, saying so much. Yes, I feel it. I feel you.

"My heart...it hungers."

Rosalind bit her lip. Out of a darkened corner, anxiety spread its wings and flew to her. "I cannot satisfy your hunger, my lord."

"You can...somewhat." Caspian's lips curled into a devilish smile. "Tell me you enjoyed my gift."

Without realizing it, the corners of Rosalind's lips curled into a faint smile. "Bellua," she said.

The lord nodded.

"My lord, the poetry was," she paused and looked at her hands resting on his chest, "exquisite."

"I am glad you think so." He squeezed her hands lightly. "There is a way for you to quench a part of this hunger. May I ask you for something?"

Rosalind bowed her head and nodded, "Yes."

"Fetch the book and meet me in the study." Releasing his hold on her, Caspian rose. "You know which study I am referring to," he said with a flicker of a smile.

Rosalind's lips part. The smoke, the shadows, the Dragon's Tongue. There would be no escaping that room. "Yes, I know."

"Then you will join me there?" he asked with caution.

"Yes, my lord," she replied as anxiety opened its mouth and silently screamed. "I will." 

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