Author's Note: This week's comment is by the wonderful lkaecey. Thanks for taking the time to say something, Kaecey ;)
***
She hated horses, saddles, and dresses, all of which contributed to her discomfort. The horse's plodding jolted her with every step. The saddle felt like steel against her backside. And, wearing a dress as she was, she was forced to ride sidesaddle. She focused on her breathing to take the edge off of her discomfort. Only another block or so until they reached the embassy.
"If you leaned against me and allowed me to support you, you'd be less uncomfortable."
She clenched the saddle horn, staring at a random column of smoke in the distance. Likely someone was burning trash. Or having a bonfire in celebration of the end of the lockdown. "Who says I'm uncomfortable?"
"I did. Just now. Didn't you hear?"
Carissa huffed. "Why do you think I'm uncomfortable?"
"You keep shifting."
Children darted past them, and Elon slowed the horse. One little girl had her frost blond hair twisted back into a braid. Her trousers kept slipping down her slim figure as she struggled to keep up with the boys. As her second act of being Queen—the first being refurbishing Iver—she'd normalize trousers for women. Queens could do that, couldn't they?
"Wouldn't you be more comfortable?"
She craned her neck to glance at him, the movement causing tingles to shoot down her aching back. It wouldn't make her more comfortable. Sometimes, she could tolerate his touch. But other times, she could only think of his hands on her, his body against hers, and what they had meant when she was so close to other men. For those moments, it was as if she forgot he was Elon. But how could she tell him that?
He suddenly tore his gaze from hers, but not before she caught a flash of pain.
He hadn't even given her a chance to say anything. So why did he look so hurt?
"Carissa!"
She turned forward. "Aleck?"
A dirty figure darted through the crowd, and Carissa slid off the horse, her feet hitting the dirty cobblestone. She barely had time to steady herself before he rammed into her, his arms squeezing her waist.
She gasped for air and returned the embrace. "I take it I'm forgiven?"
"Of course, but don't forget—" he glanced up and flashed a cheeky grin "—I was right."
She laughed and hugged him tighter. "So you were." When they withdrew, her dress came away blackened. "What is this?" She lifted her sleeve and sniffed. It smelled like... smoke? "Aleck. What have you been doing?"
His gleeful face grew solemn. He folded his arms, looking into the distance. With the wind brushing his hair back, he almost looked noble. "Dispensing justice."
She followed his gaze. The column of smoke. A fire. She uttered a rather unqueenly curse.
Aleck's gaze shot to her, his eyebrows raised. "I was unaware you knew that word."
She massaged her temples, feeling the delicate veins pulse beneath her fingertips. "What did you do, Aleck?"
"I already told—"
"Please tell me you didn't actually burn his house down."
He shrugged. His shoulders were smooth and round as a child's should be—not jutting and boney as they had been previously. "I didn't actually see it burn down..."
"Aleck!" She felt the heat of someone at her back and turned. Elon. "We have to go back. Viltus' house—"
"All is well, Carissa."
She folded her arms. "You could have stopped it from happening, couldn't you?"
He smiled—not the response she'd been hoping for. "I could. Let's just say Viltus will be significantly more motivated to help the Iver project if he receives lodging in return." Elon handed the reins of his horse to a servant and strode inside.
Carissa followed, then slowed, the tap of her footsteps echoing through the polished hallway. On her way into the embassy, she'd been in too much pain to appreciate its beauty. On her way out, she'd been too preoccupied with how she would kill Akasha.
Potted plants filled the gaps between marble pillars. Their leafy fronds arced toward passers-by, and the vases, which cocooned the plant, were as shiny and plump as golden apples. The smell of fresh wax and kitchen spices warmed the air.
A few servants paused their work to bow or curtsey. She glanced behind herself to see who they were showing deference to, until she realized they were facing her. Even though she was in common garb, it seemed they'd recognized her.
Elon turned a corner, and Carissa stormed after him—she wasn't done with their conversation—until she nearly knocked over a petite girl. The girl gasped as she clutched a silver pitcher to her chest, the water within nearly slopping over.
"Excuse me." Carissa darted past her and caught up with Elon. "You said Elisa would convince him—not his burning house."
"Elisa was, indeed, a factor, but not the only factor."
They passed a vase, set on a table and brimming with the bluest water. Colorful flashes of light dashed back and forth within. Carissa slowed. Fish, but not the big, dull fish she'd seen in lakes. They were so tiny and colorful she was half convinced a fairy had scooped a few teaspoons out of a rainbow to form them.
She felt the heat of Elon's gaze and glanced at him.
Though his lips were barely lifted, his eyes communicated his amusement in a way his mouth never could. "If you find the embassy so impressive, I look forward to showing you the palace." He curled a lock of hair behind her ear before continuing to stride down the hallway.
She kept pace with him. "Where are we going?"
"To ensure everything has been packed and prepared for the trip."
"Aleck is coming?"
Elon paused to allow a servant carrying a platter of food to pass. "Yes. He's going to meet his uncle at the palace."
Carissa curled her fingers around the fabric of his sleeve. "His uncle? Aleck would never agree to meet him. He told me his uncle sold him."
"Upon meeting him, perhaps Aleck will change his mind." Elon turned left, crossing underneath an archway.
She released his sleeve. "Does Aleck know?"
"He doesn't."
"Elon, you can't just foist this situation upon him."
He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. "Can't I? I have foresight, Carissa, and I know what's best."
She tossed her gaze to the ground, lest he see the anger in her gaze. This was what frustrated her about Elon: he always assumed he knew best. What if some people wanted to take their destiny into their own hands?
Elon clasped her arms, and she came to a halt. If he hadn't, she would have run into him. "I'm not forcing this upon him, Carissa. Merely giving him an opportunity." He released her, disappointment softening his gaze. "I wish you would trust me."
She flinched. His words weren't cruel, but they stung nonetheless.
As they strode deeper into the embassy, more knights and guards wandered the halls, their armor glistening as brightly as the marble floors and polished pillars.
They entered through a small door into a stone room. Spears, swords, axes, and maces lined the walls. Two knights were polishing their swords while one grinded an axe against a whetstone.
Elon approached the one sharpening the axe. "General, are the weapons stored and prepared for the journey back?"
He dropped the axe to the floor and dipped into a low bow. "Yes, your highness."
"Excellent. And bring a pair of training staffs—actually, bring three."
Carissa's gaze landed on the wooden rods Elon referred to. They seemed fairly harmless—so why would they need them? "Why would we bring staffs?"
Elon glanced back at her. "To continue your training, of course."
***
One Day Later
Carissa tugged on the waistband of the pants, taking back her wish to wear trousers. Trousers were so stifling and baggy. Instead of lightly dusting her legs as she walked, like a skirt would, the fabric smothered her entire leg—from ankle to hip.
"Carissa? You do know how to put them on, don't you?"
Heat erupted across her face, and she pressed her back into the craggy bark of tree. She would sooner die than gallivant around in this strange contraption. "I don't want to wear these."
"You can't very well train in a dress."
"Then I won't train." Carissa picked her dress off the forest floor and brushed the leaves from the fabric. She was about to pull the trousers back off when the crunch of leaves alerted her to Elon's approach.
He rounded the tree, his gaze skimming her. "You look quite fetching in them."
She huffed. "They're uncomfortable."
"You'll get used to them. Come back to the clearing, and we'll begin training." He turned and strode back.
She followed him, keeping her legs splayed so the fabric wouldn't rub quite so uncomfortably.
Elon slowed his pace. "Carissa, what's taking you so—" He turned and covered his mouth, but not before she caught a glimpse of his smile. "You're–you're waddling, Carissa."
She gritted her teeth and quickened her stride—or waddle, as he claimed. "I don't like how it rubs on my inner legs. It's disturbing."
A chuckle burst from him, and he turned away, his shoulders shaking.
"Oh! Mock all you want—just wait until I get you into a skirt."
His chuckles culminated into a deep, resonant laugh, the sound seeming to roll through the forest. He turned back towards her, his dark eyes glittering. "You'll adjust, Carissa. Just have patience." He strode to her side and offered his arm.
She nearly rejected the help, given his outburst a few moments ago, but decided against it. The air seemed to brighten as they left the forest, with no leaves to block the remnants of the setting sun.
Elon bent down, swept up a wooden staff from the ground, and a moment later, it was flying towards her.
A squeal escaped her as she held up her forearms. The staff thwacked against her before falling to the grass. "I wasn't ready!"
He picked up his own staff and rolled his shoulders back. "You don't always have the luxury of being ready. Pick up your staff."
She huffed but picked it up.
"Left foot forward, right foot back."
She spread her legs apart, her torso facing away from him.
"Face me. And hold the staff at your side."
As soon as she corrected her stance, his staff whistled through the air, knocking hers out of hand. She shot him a heated glare, and he nodded towards the fallen staff.
"Again."
The light gradually rolled back before vanishing completely, as if the horizon had been nibbling at the sun before swallowing it whole. She plunked herself onto a log, and Elon seated himself beside her. While she was oozing sweat from every pore and gasping for air, Elon seemed as refreshed as if he'd just woken.
When she'd fought Akasha, that strange warmth in her veins had likely hidden her fatigue. But now she realized all those days spent moving slowly and gingerly from her injuries had sapped her strength. The muscle she'd gained from her light work as a farm girl had wasted away.
Aleck darted across the field towards them, the grass rippling in his wake. "Carissa! Elon!"
Carissa slid to the ground, so the log supported her back, and glanced up at Elon through her sweat-stiffened lashes. "Did you give him permission to address you so?"
He shrugged. "No, but I don't mind."
She began to ask Elon about when they ought to tell Aleck about his uncle, but Aleck reached them before she could.
Aleck held out a scraggly piece of meat twisted around a skewer. "I roasted a squirrel."
Carissa smothered a grimace as she took it from him before nibbling a piece off the side. The meat was squishier than she'd anticipated. Had he cooked it all the way?
Aleck glanced at Elon. "I want to do what Carissa is doing. I want to train to fight." His tiny hands fisted.
Carissa bent down, as if she were observing something in the grass, and spat the meat out. The flesh in the middle was pink. It seemed Aleck needed some lessons in how to cook.
Elon rubbed his chin. "You'd like to be a warrior?"
Aleck nodded. "Since I'm going to live with you in the palace, I might as well train with the other knights."
"Hmmm. Circumstances might change in the future, but I'll see what I can do." Elon ruffled Aleck's hair.
Aleck scrunched his nose and quickly smoothed it back down. "What do you mean?"
"You'll see."
Carissa bit her lip so hard it stung. Why try and hide this from Aleck? What was the worst that could happen? She glanced at Elon and found his gaze was already fixed on her, a warning darkening his eyes.
Trust him. Easier said than done. Carissa rolled to her feet, her joints creaking. If Elon insisted on more training tonight, she'd—
Darkness roiled on the horizon. It was the Esmerian border, next to Zonah. The black fog churned like a bubbling cauldron of ink.
The sight crushed the air from her lungs. "Elon? What's happening?"
Elon rose beside her. "The border moves with the Reapers. The darkness approaches."