Copyright © 2016. All Rights Reserved.
IMMORTAL CHRONICLES : BOOK ONE : cirian wiltshire
. . .
"You are making a terrible mistake, Cirian." Lord General Ambrose's voice was cold, rivaling against Cirian's blisteringly chilled hands. He clenched them, wondering if his father could feel the frost radiating from him. "I cannot let you go through with this."
"If you tell me why, then maybe I will consider dropping the case," he retorted, aware that the veins in his father's neck were pulsing. He'd never once seen his father so angry this close up—his eyes were as sharp as the metal on the pistol he carried at his hip. His neck grew red as he seethed at Cirian.
"You cannot drop your responsibilities in Anjour like this! Damn finding the sonuvabitch you call a father—you could be gone for weeks, Cirian. Is this truly worth abandoning your post? In a time of war? Your inferiors are not fit to make decisions if things go south!" he snapped, grabbing Cirian by the arm when he turned to pace away. As he pulled his son closer, a look of disgust was on Cirian's visage.
He yanked his arm away from the Lord General and took a step back. "We aren't apart of the war—not that far north! It's the southern border you should be worrying about. They haven't been causing us trouble, nor should they!" he retorted. "The only reason you're worrying about it is because you're paranoid! The fighting is in Matalivens, not here."
"That does not mean it won't be," he said, his voice dangerously low. "The only way the North would be capable of winning the war would mean possessing weaponry only we have. If they gained ownership of explosives, of our machinery, they could wipe out the entirety of the Great Forest."
"Anjour doesn't hold any of Res'rustica's military equipment," Cirian said.
"No, but you have people to protect nonetheless. You cannot make decisions for them from Damunt." They stared at each other long and hard before the Lord General spoke up again, his voice tired. "You had your entire adolescence to be asinine. Now is not the time to be defiant and rebellious, son."
Cirian stared at the Lord General, realizing that now was not the time to correct him. He turned to the side, tightening his jaw as he saw the sunlight peak over the trees on the horizon. He twisted around to look at his carriage, the driver posted on the front bench by the wheel, and his wife sitting in the back, pretending she wasn't eavesdropping. With a heartfelt sigh, he glanced back at the man who was supposed to be his father, and yet, never acknowledged that he wasn't.
"I'm sorry. I can't let this sit and fester like everything else," Cirian said. Despite the fury still present on the Lord General's face, he did nothing to prevent Cirian from resting a hand on his shoulder. "I will write to you soon," he said.
The Lord General gave a gruff sound of agreement as he stepped back from Cirian. He took it as a sign to leave then, and leave his relationship with his supposed father tense until the next time they were able to clear the air. Cirian wasn't sure how long it would be until then.
Cirian collapsed in the passenger coach against the cushioned seats and the smell of fresh wood tinted with the mixture of Renée's perfume. He sat close to the window, providing space between them for the sword she rested against the seat. She was watching him as the carriage rumbled to a start, and navigated them out of the palace grounds. She seemed to gather her bearings again once calling out the window to the guards on watch at the gates. They all waved to her, and when she playfully tossed them a handkerchief, they fought to see who could catch it first.
There wasn't even a sliver of annoyance at the act now that Cirian understood Renée perfectly. She even turned to him expectantly, as if waiting for him to give her "that look" and she'd get to scoff and say, "Don't give me that look, Cirian. You know I always have to say goodbye to the guards."
She settled back into her seat with a sigh before rousing to fetch a book from her travel bag. "So your father convinced you to go back to Anjour?" she said, a bit accusingly. When she looked up from her book to assess his silence, he was staring at her in shock. "What is it?"
"No, he did not. That would be the smart idea, certainly, but I can't exactly call myself exceedingly brilliant at the moment," he said. "Besides, your friends are already expecting you. We can't keep them waiting. Now hand me my book—I might as well finish King Baldwin II's biography before we get there."
She let out a startled laugh that turned into jubilant giggling. She playfully pushed his arm as she handed him the novel, saying he best finish it soon so she could have a look at it afterward. A smile spread across his lips, mirroring the giddy joy she felt then. After a moment of silence, she pulled her sword closer to her side so it wouldn't fall when she leaned over and met him halfway in a chaste kiss. "To finding your father," she said.
"To finding my father."
. . .
Damunt's capital, Regnum, was a long haul from Everfall. It sat on the western coast of the continent, a short ship-ride away from Procella. Cirian estimated a journey to amount to nothing shorter than a week, nonstop except for the periods when Cirian insisted with their coachmen to switch places once in a while. Renée joined Cirian at the wheel, proclaiming that she wanted to "feel the sunlight" on her skin. For the most part, she read and fiddled with the pommel of her sword.
Her eyes flitted here and there and often landed on him throughout their journey. He'd catch her looking at him from over the pages of her novel, and she'd grown bold enough to lean against him even when she wasn't exhausted. When the sun dipped below the horizon, they would stop at the nearest town or city and stay the night in hostels that had vacancies. More often than not Renée slept in her traveling gear, whether it be a loose floor-length dress or riding pants and a uniform shirt. Many times she never said a word after eating, because she plummeted into the bed and slept, snoring softly through the night. Cirian found it to be both endearing and irritating. Half the time she looked at him in the carriage, he mistook it as that mischievous minx who flirted with the guards or flounced her way around the palace.
On the fourth night, they paused a little more than halfway through their journey to lay a picnic out on the countryside. The air was cool and sweet, with the remaining sprinkles of honeysuckle in the air. Their coachmen, Markus, laid out a padded blanket from the back of the carriage as Renée stood alongside him, her shawl tugged around the vest covering her pinched torso.
"Markus," she started, catching his attention as he rose from straightening the blanket out. "Do you ever wonder why it's so warm up here this late in the year?"
He squinted at her before turning his eyes upward. Cirian watched from afar, his hand reaching for the picnic supplies in the carriage. The man ran a hand through his long blonde hair and at last said, "Seems to be the sun, m'lady."
"Seems so," she commented. "I always wondered if it was location. The south is so cold in the fall."
"That too, m'lady."
"Oh, don't call me that, Markus. You know me well enough," she chastised, playfully flicking him with the tassels of her shawl. He grinned, nearing laughter as Cirian strode up with the basket in hand. The coachmen cleared his throat and smothered his smile, which only seemed to make Renée laugh.
"I wonder how Reid is," Cirian admitted, sighing at the thought of his valet back in Anjour. "I imagine life must be awfully dull for him now—paid vacation."
"Hush up," Renée chided. "The man has more to do than wait on you. I'm sure he has a family and is happy to spend time with them a bit longer."
"Reid has no family, m—" Markus hesitated in finishing the title because of the sharp look she gave him.
"Most valets don't," Cirian added, taking Renée's hand and helping her lower herself to the ground. She sat with her legs tucked beside her, and another hand keeping her propped upright. Cirian took that side, knowing that Renée couldn't help leaning closer to him to keep her balance. "Though the bachelor life isn't all that terrible." She turned and glared at him, about to pinch him just as Markus opened the basket to disperse the meal.
"Are you a bachelor, Markus?" she asked the man, who spared a look at Cirian before responding.
"Yes. I'm only twenty, though," he said, going pink at the cheeks at the mention of it. I was married by then, Cirian thought in shock, looking back at Renée who seemed to be thinking the same thing.
"Plenty of time," Cirian said to fill the brief void the information caused. "My guess is that Renée will set you up with someone in Regnum a day into our stay."
"Cirian!"
"What? It's true!" he exclaimed, and as he laughed at her irritation, Markus cracked a smile, observing the two of them with those doe-eyes and young features.
Midway through the meal, Markus pointed to the shining handle peaking out from behind Renée's boots. She looked down to it as she swallowed down a mouthful of pasta. "Oh! This is my sword," she explained, holding it up in her hands. She unsheathed a portion of it, exposing the piercing shine of sleek, finely honed metal that cost Cirian a pretty penny. Markus stared at it, then Renée, going red as he looked at Cirian. He'd almost forgotten that the man wasn't as well-traveled as the both of them.
"Women have just as much of a right to their own protection as we do," Cirian explained, swallowing back a bite of tomato. "And also Renée begged me for sword fighting lessons."
"Did not! I simply inquired about it and you forced Demarcus to teach me," she said, and added in a sarcastic tone, "He seemed right thrilled about it, too."
Cirian rolled his eyes, which caused Renée to fiercely slam the blade back into its cover. Markus seemed alarmed by her zest, and equally stunned by Cirian's acceptance of it. No doubt the man's mother was as soft-spoken as a kitten and his sisters tame as could be. After all of the Coming of Age ceremonies he attended in Res'rustica for the royal family, Cirian was forced into a world of the opposite sex and all their capabilities, strengths, and weaknesses. However, court etiquette diluted most of their plucky behaviors. That much was true about Renée, anyway.
Renée sat up front with Markus when the trio next took off on the road. Through the narrow window, Cirian could see her animatedly waving her hands, and holding Markus' shoulder when he made her laugh. Sometimes Renée would unlatch the window and slide it aside to peer in at Cirian, finishing the final volume of A Brief Biography on King Baldwin II of Damunt. "I've just discovered something brilliant!" she declared. "Nicholas is a genius! See here, Cirian. If you undo this latch and flip it up- look at that! They're cupholders!"
Sometime nearing the evening, Renée finished her book up on the front bench and lowered it inside via the window. Cirian caught it and placed it in her travel bag, which was filled with volumes of novels from their library. He began to wonder if she prepared for this trip.
Just as he was debating whether or not Renée plotted this entire ordeal, he bolted up at the sound of Markus calling loudly to Renée. He looked through the window just in time to see her boot disappear upwards. On top of the carriage.
"Renée!" he cried, quickly lowering the window in the carriage and craning his neck out, struggling to see her clearly. He saw her fist grabbing tightly to his edge of the carriage, crouched low against the flat top. "Markus, stop the carriage!"
"No, no, keep going! Don't slow down!" she shouted. Conflicted, Markus neither stopped the carriage nor sped up. Cirian turned himself fulling around, linking to the top edge of the carriage as Renée released her grasp and started to rise to a slightly shaky stance. Nervous, he grabbed hold of her ankle.
"Get down!" he yelled at her, but she was laughing. A pair of horseback riders passed them, staring at Renée as she raised her hands over her head and hollered into the sky. The horseback riders encouraged her. "Renée!"
"Lighten up!" she said, ignoring the hair that whipped around her face until she turned towards the oncoming wind, catching it with eyes closed and arms wide. "This is an adventure, Cirian!"
He wanted to yell at her, to shake his head and laugh, to drag her back down from there himself. But even as he held her ankle down, he felt the need to release her and let her go free. The red in her hair was like blood on his fingertips, and the scores of freckles peppering her cheeks like raindrops to wash it all away.
She ducked back down in time to avoid an upcoming branch. Markus called out to warn her of it. Cirian found himself face to face with her, eyes wide and swirling with anxiety. She could only offer her pearly white teeth in a vertiginous grin of standing at such a wavering height and feeling empowered by the breeze to push and shove her off.
. . .
"You're insane," Cirian accused, refusing to coddle her after the stunt she pulled on the carriage. He brushed past her, his bag tossed over his shoulder as Renée fixed her fluff of hair in an attempt to look as though she wasn't insane.
Markus was removing her travel bag from the back of the carriage when Renée scoffed haughtily at Cirian. "Come now, everyone has a little insane streak in them once in a while," she said. She made no attempt to deny her insanity, rather, she attempted to excuse it as normal.
She turned around and grabbed her bag from Markus, along with the sheath of her sword. He turned to the back of the carriage to fetch his things, and by the time the two of them caught up with Cirian, he already booked two rooms.
"I'll have a meal brought up to your rooms," the receptionist said, smiling at the three of them as they thanked her for her hospitality. Cirian passed Markus his key before shifting to guide Renée down the hall to their separate room. Renée had her sword clipped to her belt, disguised underneath her coat.
The room was standard for hostels, except for the canopy that looped over the bedposts, seemingly far more extravagant in comparison to the remainder of the room. It was white and lace, which complimented the wallpaper with its purity and flower-patterned design. Cirian took it in briefly, suddenly aware of how tired the day had made him—it didn't help that Renée almost exhausted his emotional capabilities.
He set his suitcase down and unlocked it with the key he had on hand with every intention of bathing away his concerns. As he moved to undo his shirt, he felt a certain pair of hands encase his torso and pluck the buttons free herself. He wondered if she felt him freeze, and wondered if his hands felt like ice when he laid them over hers, stopping her actions.
Her chin rested against his shoulder. "The last time I recall us making love was when we were both topped after dining with your colleagues. I can't say... I remember much of anything that happened that night." He felt her jaw tense against his shoulder, and as she nestled her forehead against his neck, her brows pressed together. Suddenly her fingers moved underneath his, slipping between the break in his shirt. The heat of her skin was molten lava against his rigid, inhibited body.
"I haven't drank a drop since—y-you-" he started, feeling suddenly compelled to acknowledge the fact that King Darius had given him a drink. He drank all of it. Sorcery wasn't exactly a grand power to mix with alcohol, nor was handling sexual matters.
"You haven't even attempted to coerce me into your bed since," she said heatedly, and the accusation made his jaw drop. "And I know I'm the cause of that. I should never have said such nasty things to you that morning afterwards. A-And I regret them now. I do."
The tug on her voice caused Cirian to pull her hands loose so he could turn and see her clearly. She had that look of determination in her eyes, such as when she sat herself atop the carriage without any desire to leave it. She screwed her eyes shut and shook her head, her hands squeezing his to the point his fingers went numb from both the pressure and the cold.
"I was afraid to lose control, or be unsure, and regret everything. I-I thought I hated you after what you did to me, b-but I realize it wasn't just you. I should never have accused you of something that I was equally guilty for. It was stupid and I wish I could just—I could just-"
She let out an annoyed cry and shook his hands with hers. He realized she wasn't crying—her eyes weren't even red. She was just angry at herself.
He squeezed her hands, urging her to look up at him again. He let out a breathy laugh, mostly out of restrained concern as he said, "That night—when we were both tinkered, I don't even think you noticed the roses I had the gardner pick and Reid splay all over the place. I can hardly recall what it looked like."
Her lips broke into a smile, and then a soft giggle. She said she remembered, and thought it was idiotically romantic. She found rose peddles in her bloomers the next day. He wanted to kiss her terribly, but waited until the moment she shifted closer, as if answering to his thoughts.
Renée had him braced against the table his suitcase was on, and as he leaned the both of them against it, lips pressed against hers, his bathing products tipped against a fresh set of clothes he laid out for later. She broke away, her breath hot against his neck and shoulder as she leaned over to pick them up again. "Do you mind if I use your hair wash?" she asked suddenly, holding it up for him to see.
Just as he was about to stammer a reply, a knock sounded on the door and a voice reminded them of the dinner they ordered. The both of them hesitated, Renée still holding the hair wash up. At last she turned and called out, "You can leave it at the door. Thank you!"
It took time for Cirian to process the reason Renée was still standing so near to him, the hair wash just a mere ploy to cover the mischief in her Valenian eyes. He smirked at her, surprised by his ability to remain cool in the state his mind was in now. With a swipe of his hand, the bottle was in his hands. "Only if I get to wash your hair for you, my love," he bargained.
Her visage turned up into a melodic laugh as she pulled him across the room to the full bathroom, complete with running water and a tub for their leisure. In her delight, she sent Cirian's head into a dizzy mess of thoughts, images, ideas of Renée exposing her heart to him as she almost tricked herself into doing in the start of their marriage.
She ran the bath while Cirian took one of the candles in the other room to light the few candleholders in the restroom. Electricity wasn't often common in traveling towns and hostels such as this, and without many sorcerers around, hot water was most often available where plumbing was found.
He became distracted by lighting the last few candles to realize Renée was partially undressed. Bloomers weren't entirely reasonable with riding gear, which left her in simple undergarments that tightly fitted her lean hips and stomach. The moment Cirian turned to set down the spare candle, he nearly dropped it in his haste to turn away. Renée laughed, poking fun at him. "You weren't this modest on our wedding night," she giggled. He was embarrassed to admit that he agreed to that.
"Sorry for being polite," he said sarcastically, setting aside the candle and wondering just how straight-forward he should be when faced with the most beautiful girl he had the good fortune of marrying stripping to her bare skin. He shrugged off his shirt, his eyes now unable to break from Renée as she lowered every part of her sex down to her shoulders beneath the water. She picked up one of the soaps left behind by the hostel and started dousing the water with suds so it clung to the tips of her red hair.
The tub was clearly meant for one full-grown individual rather than two, so Renée moved forward and motioned for him to settle behind her, his legs framing her petite hips and torso, so her arms came to hug his kneecaps. He could barely remember the last time he felt her skin so intimately, so warm and soft against his flesh like she never outgrew the smooth texture of a baby's skin.
She had foam sinking down the sides of her shoulders, and he leaned over and kissed a bare spot there—gently, hesitantly, and aware of her hand as she reached back and grazed her fingers through his hair. "The water almost made me forget how cold you are," she said, and he laughed against her shoulder. "It's nice."
"Thank you," he said against her ear, and he felt her shiver. The water quaked against it. "Are you certain-"
"Yes," she said, turning slightly s0 his lips were just barely an inch from hers. Her breath hitched, and he watched her chest freeze before releasing the air from her lungs once more. The water settled just below her breasts, covered in gooseflesh.
He kissed the corner of her mouth, her hand still clinging to his hair as she turned to press her lips to his directly. As she submerged herself backwards, into the water so her head resting against the lip of the tub, Cirian slowly lowered himself over her, aware of the girlish smile on her face.
"Let's erase what happened before," he said, and she tilted her head at him. The ends of her hair were dark with water, and shined in the light of the candles. "Only if you're willing to start over fresh," he continued, cupping water into one hand and dousing the top of her head. The dry fluff of hair flattened with the rest of it.
"I agree," she said, nodding fervently as she hoisted herself up, eye-to-eye with him. She locked both hands behind his head, soothing the skin over his neck and to his cheeks. Pulling him close, she kissed him and he felt it sizzle over his body, vanishing the cold in an instant. He felt warm, and ardently in love with Renée again.
She smoothed her hands across his shoulders and down his chest before straying a hand to hold the edge of the tub. He broke away from her lips momentarily, aware of her heavy, hot breath against his hair as he adjusted himself between her hips and the tender thighs he felt cling to him. He was in a thrilling haze up until the burst of ardor in hearing her hitched breath and gasp, nails digging into the skin of his shoulder.
He hesitated, watching her now as she bit hard onto her lower lip and shut her eyes, her nails still deep in his shoulder. "Are you okay?" he asked, suddenly aware of his hoarse voice.
"I will be once you start moving," she said, hissing again as he rolled his hips forward, up until he was fully inside of her, and the tight warmth of her sex. He groaned, easing himself back before pumping forward again, meeting her in the surge of holding ones' breath.
Her head rolled back, revealing the arch of her back drawing her breasts closer to him, her skin hot and red under his eyes. As his hips rocked against her, he lowered his neck to place wet kisses across the plane of her collarbone and across her neck. He suckled here and there, the marks against her skin red and eliciting a moan of pleasure from the both of them.
His thrusts quickened, Renée's hand that held her firm to the tub came then to cling to him, and she bit her cries of euphoria against his shoulder. He felt the tension in his snap, and he shuddered violently against her, the water in the tub sloshing over the sides. He lowered the both of them down, chest heaving even as he removed himself from her. She moaned out of distress.
"Please, Cirian," she said, rubbing her hands feverishly against his back. He panted against her, and hoisted himself up to his knees, Renée against his lap. He lowered a free hand across her stomach, and lowered it to cup her clit, watching the expressions flit across her face, and how her cheeks reddened. She nestled her head against his shoulder, breathing heavy as he rubbed two fingers against her and entered. He pleased her until she shivered her release over his hand and down her thighs. He kissed her fervently against her hair.
Once washing his hand clear in the water, he stroked her thigh as the two of them sat together, recovering their breaths and the feel of each other's skin. His eyes trailed down her back and into the water, where he saw the bottoms of her feet and her curled toes relax. The water went cold rather quickly, and when it did, he pulled his head away from hers so he could see her clearly. She blinked at him, her expression calm.
"Do you want something to eat?" he asked. "Dinner is still outside."
She nodded, moving back so he could get out of the tub. While he left to fetch the food, she drained the water and blew out the candles.
Not bothering the put on his fresh change of clothes, Cirian went to the door, opened it, and picked up the tray. The hallway was empty, so he considered his nudity undetected. As he passed the restroom door, he glimpsed at Renée in the remaining light as she pulled her bloomers out of her bag and sighed at them.
The two of them dried and made themselves descent before returning to the bedroom where Cirian waited until Renée was comfy in the bed, her back up against the assortment pillows. He tucked the blanket over her and laid her plate down over it. Before he could leave to fetch his own, she pulled him back and cupped his cheek, urging him closer so she could kiss him on the forehead. "Thank you," she said.
He felt her bite marks sear into his shoulder, and the indents of her nails against his shoulder blades. "Anything for you, my love."
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE : author's note
*walks away*
*crawls into trashcan*
bye.