Author's Note: Just so you guys know, I'm currently sitting in a car in the middle of nowhere (okay, not nowhere. In a random person's driveway in the middle of nowhere). I was at a friend's house (without wifi), and I had to drive to find enough cellular connection to post this. Just wanted you guys to know how much I love you...
***
"Announcing the arrival of King Elon and... his lovely bride and queen, Carissa."
Elon straightened, pride swelling within him at the announcement. He remembered the day he'd left the palace, how he'd stared towards the City of Zonah, his heart throbbing painfully in his chest, his palms clammy. The journey had officially been to reinforce Zonah, but in truth, he'd gone hoping it'd give Carissa a chance to find him. He'd known before going that if Carissa didn't come to him then, it was unlikely she ever would.
When he'd arrived, he'd been tempted to tear the city apart and turn it upside down until he found her. And then he'd woo her until she was so madly in love with him, she would beg to be his wife.
Instead, he'd only allowed himself one tiny glimpse of her in the pub. He'd given her a generous tip, when really he'd rather have given her a generous kiss, while wrapping her in his arms and professing his love for her. Of course, that future would have seen him soundly slapped. Elon suppressed a smile at the thought.
As their shoes clinked against the marble steps, the nobles clustered together, whispers bristling from their puckered lips.
A glance at Carissa revealed she'd tilted her head down, her hair an obsidian curtain. She was embarrassed, as was expected. But she'd become accustomed to the attention in time.
If only she'd lift her head, so he could better see her expression. When she blushed, it wasn't a mere reddening of her cheeks, as if she'd dabbed on rouge. Pink flooded her entire face. A lovely shade of pink, the color of rose petals and sunrises. Yet another thing he adored about her.
She glanced up at him, a question sparkling in her breath-taking blue eyes. The color of her gown brought out their color, making them impossibly vivid. "Elon?"
"Hmm?"
"Aren't we supposed to..." She nodded towards the other couples, who'd begun dancing with the music—and who were staring at them in curiosity and confusion.
Ah. It seemed they'd arrived at the ballroom floor. And that the music had started. And balls were supposed to be for dancing, not staring at one's lovely wife. Or perhaps he could do both.
He guided her hands to the correct positions. Her slender hand against his shoulder, as innocent as it was, stirred something hot within him. It never ceased to amaze him that she could arouse him with the slightest of touches and glances, more so than any other woman, despite their best efforts.
But perhaps that wasn't due to some sort of magical connection on their part, but rather a decision on his. Ever since he'd learned of his betrothal, he'd been determined to wait for her. Of course, he'd been attracted to and admired other women, but he never allowed it to go farther. He'd offered his heart only to Carissa.
A tiny divot appeared between her brows as she studied his steps. She stepped on the edge of her dress, a few seams popping, before she righted herself with a sheepish smile, a blush cascading over her face.
His chest tightened, fondness and affection nearly sending his heart into overdrive, and he couldn't help but pull her closer. He'd spent most of his time at previous balls imagining what it'd be like to dance with her. Even now, he could scarcely believe he was holding her.
She huddled more deeply into his arms, hiding her flaming face against his chest. He rested his chin on her shoulder, savoring its smoothness beneath the rasp of his stubble.
All too soon, this moment would come to an end.
Elon's grip on her tightened, as if he could shield her from the coming chaos. He could whisk her away right now, saving her from pain and humiliation. But to do so would deprive her of the opportunity to choose, to forge the makings of her own destiny, to become the Queen his people needed.
And in the future, there would be more instances like this one. She would doubt his abilities. She would doubt his wisdom. He only hoped she wouldn't doubt his love.
***
Warmth swirled within her as Elon lead her off the dance floor, flushing her with a heady sense of pleasure. She was glad she'd decided to come to the ball.
Elon handed her a plate and gestured to the buffet table. "What would you like to try?"
The rocking of the carriage had drowned her appetite in nausea, and she hadn't eaten much earlier. Now, a hot hunger gnawed at her stomach. "What should I try?"
His cheeks dimpled. "How about everything?"
She laughed. "Everything it is, then."
Elon started with a slice of buttered bread, then a cluster of fruit, then a cut of meat, then—
"Look at how much food she has on her plate. She must be a commoner."
Carissa jerked, the word 'commoner' stinging her ears. A discreet side glance revealed two older women, their silver hair piled in curls.
"But she could use a bit of flesh on her. As it is, she has no figure whatsoever. I don't even know how the King could tell she was a woman—"
Carissa's plate clattered to the floor, its contents scattering and splattering across the marble. Her corset wasn't tight—Elon had demanded the lady-in-waiting leave it plenty loose—yet her breaths came rushing in and out of her chest. She didn't meet Elon's gaze as she knelt. "I'm s–so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me." Her hands quaked uncontrollably as she tried to shove the food back onto the plate.
The music slowed to a halt as the nobles stopped dancing to stare.
Elon knelt next to her and gripped her hands, stilling her movement. "It's alright, Carissa. I told you something like this would happen, didn't I?"
She ducked her head. "Well, yes, but—"
He squeezed her hands. "And you're just as adorably embarrassed as I'd suspected you'd be."
She peered up at him, surprised to find a tender smile gracing his lips. "But I made a mistake."
"And you'll make many more. I don't want perfection, Carissa; I just want you."
Her heart jolted, skipping a beat and then pounding faster as if to make up for it, and she returned his smile.
He rose, pulling her up with him. "You're still trembling. Why don't you have a seat while I finish cleaning?"
"But I can't let you clean up my—"
He brushed his lips over hers. "I have this, Carissa. And now that I'm your husband, I'm going to serve you as best I can." Before she could protest, he led her to a seat at the edge of the ballroom. "I'll join you once I'm done."
He strode back to the buffet table and knelt by her mess, until a servant came and practically shooed him away. The music slowly began, and the nobles peeled their gazes away from her to resume dancing.
She fanned herself with her hand, trying to cool the flush of embarrassment on her cheeks, as her gaze skimmed the room.
The ballroom was lovely, all aglow with golden candlelight. Buffet tables ran along opposite sides of the ballroom. On the other sides, marble staircases bookended the ballroom, leading up to a second level. The second level circled the ballroom floor, arches giving all of those above a clear view to those dancing below. Swags of royal blue cloth framed the arches, while winged golden creatures protruded from the pillars between them.
Before she could sink further into her chair, wishing she were invisible among all this grandeur, Elon approached her with two food laden plates. He set one on her lap, the heat seeping through the porcelain to warm her legs, and sat beside her.
Carissa stretched her lips into a smile. "It's a large portion."
Elon raised an eyebrow. "And?" He tore off a wad of bread and slipped it between his lips.
"Is it because you want me to look more like a woman?"
He snorted before swallowing his bread. "You are a woman. And you shouldn't worry so much over the opinions of two dense—I mean dear—old ladies."
"So... you heard, then." She rubbed her thumb along the pulpy flesh of a red fruit.
"I did."
"Oh." She kept her gaze on her plate as heat pooled in her cheeks.
Elon clasped her wrist. "I want you to eat, Carissa, because you're hungry. And I want you to eat generous portions, because it's going to make you healthier, however," she heard the grin in his voice, "added curves would be a welcome by-product."
She peered up at him. "So you're not waiting to... consummate our marriage until my figure is more pleasing?"
He leaned closer, his lips caressing her ear. "I would be more than happy to make love to you just as you are, over and over and over again."
She was certain her face had grown more heated with each syllable—whether from the feel of his lips or the contents of his words, she wasn't sure.
"May I have this dance?"
Carissa's gaze snapped to the man in front of her, his hand extended. She glanced over at Elon, waiting for him to tell the man 'no.'
But Elon only glanced at her, a smile softening his lips.
Was he amused? Did he want her to dance with the man? Carissa glanced back at the man. His caramel-colored hair was smoothed back in a pompadour, his smile stiff with politeness.
His arm lowered slowly, and she buried a flinch. Her answer had taken too long.
She grasped his hand, his gloves dry and soft beneath her fingers. "Of course. It'd be my pleasure."
For a brief moment, his smile touched his eyes before fleeing. "Excellent." He led her onto the edge of the dance floor. They stopped, and she placed her hands where Elon had shown her. The man tilted his head, listening.
The music transitioned into a different style so smoothly that had they not been listening, she wouldn't have noticed. The man tapped his foot a few times before nodding. "It's a waltz. You know it?"
She shook her head.
"It's easy. You move your right foot back. Then your left foot slides back and to the left. Your right foot joins your left foot. Then you step with your left foot forward. Right foot slides forward and to the right. Then your left foot joins your right, and you're back in the starting position."
Her brows twitched as she tried to keep them from plummeting into a confused frown.
"Make sense?"
She nodded. There was no need to reveal to the whole kingdom just how common their new queen was, after all.
"Excellent."
The waltz began, and she nearly tripped over her own feet as she tried to mirror his movements.
She dared a glance upwards. A grimace plastered the nobleman's expression. Their gazes locked, and his lips began to tighten in a faux smile. Her feet fumbled, and she dragged her gaze back down to her steps, the ballroom growing uncomfortably warm.
She missed Elon already. The strength of his shoulder beneath her palm. The gentle, calloused grip of his hand. The way he pulled her close as if he couldn't bear the slightest distance between them. And his smile. Regardless of whether she'd stepped on his toes, stumbled, or performed the steps with grace, his smile was always there for her—communicating his love and pride with an eloquence she could only aspire to.
The nobleman's hand dropped from her waist.
The music still continued, and the other couples still danced. Had he finally had enough of her? Not that she could say she regretted their dance was at an end.
She began to pull away, but he kept their hands clasped.
"We're still dancing?"
His smile was tight with annoyance. "I'm trying to perform a spin, your majesty. If you'd rather—"
"Oh! A spin is fine." Village dances had lots of spinning. She could at least do that well.
The nobleman raised their clasped hands. She twirled beneath his arm, the world blurring around her, before coming back around to face him. At least not all of these dance moves were dull.
The nobleman pursed his lips. "No, no. Not like that." His gaze darted up and down her figure, as if he could see the commoner hidden by the façade of royalty. "You have danced before, haven't you?"
"Of course."
"I see. Obviously not the waltz." He sighed through his nose before summoning another smile. "I'll teach you." He dropped his hand from her waist again and held their clasped hands up high. "Now step to the right. Keep walking, and I'll readjust my grip on your hand. And then we're back in the starting position."
"That's not a spin. I'm just walking around your hand in a circle."
He shrugged, jaw tightening. Probably to refrain from commenting. "You may call it whatever you'd like. That is the move." He resumed their waltz without further comment.
Carissa still kept her gaze fastened to the ground, more to hide her frustration than to watch her step. It seemed everything she did wasn't good enough—from her appearance, to the quantity of her food, to her dancing. Her head felt hot and tight enough to burst. She took deep sips of air, but nothing seemed to alleviate the sensation.
Elon had thought she was good enough, so his subjects should as well—regardless of her dance moves.
The nobleman raised their joined arms, and Carissa didn't hesitate. She spun, her dress flaring majestically around her, her arm outstretched to feel the air slipping through her fingers.
She slammed into a lady in a peach gown and reeled backwards. The nobleman released her hand, and she lost her balance before tripping and falling against someone else. Something hard clipped her head before clanging to the ground. Goblets cascaded to the ground before shattering, spilling glass and wine over her skirt.
Carissa rubbed her aching head. A servant stood to her left, stuttering and apologizing. That must have been who she'd fallen against. Her gaze swerved downward, where rivers of wine puddled around shimmering peaks of glass. A silver platter lay in front of her. It seemed the ball would be short a few glasses of wine.
Something wound tight around her chest. She'd just proved all of the nobles right; she was too common to be a queen.
She glanced up at Elon. Though his lips were pressed tightly, as if to contain laughter, a smile slipped through. She studied the mess around her, the noble's appalled faces, and found a strange urge to laugh bubbling within her. One only had to glance into Elon's eyes to know he truly thought her adorable and the situation amusing. And his was the only opinion that truly mattered.
"Oh my, what a mess."
"The poor servants. After a long, grueling day of preparation, now they have to clean up this?"
"Are you well, your majesty?"
The comments pelted her, evaporating the laughter stirring inside her. She glanced up, hoping the sight of Elon's smile would anchor her. The nobles had crowded in closer, and Elon was nowhere to be found.
Her heart fluttered and squirmed, like a butterfly writhing in someone's grasp. Where was he?
A young girl gasped and lifted the hem of her wine-stained dress. "My gown. It's ruined."
"Can't you replace it?"
"No. Papa gave it to me before leaving on his trip."
An older man shook his head and bent towards a younger man. "A woman's worth is judged by her grace. Remember that, my boy."
A raven-haired woman clucked her tongue. "It's a shame she's going to make such an impression for her first ball."
Carissa kept her hands fisted at her sides, barely keeping from plugging her ears as the nobles erupted into conversation, tsking, murmuring, sniggering, and sighing.
"—says she's common—"
"Your majesty, can I help with—"
"—or you might step on glass—"
"—why the King married such a lowborn is—"
"—and earlier, when she dropped her plate and—"
"—never seen such graceless—"
A wave of dizziness crested over her, and she staggered backwards. Hot pain sliced into her heel, but she felt strangely disconnected from the sensation—as if she were wincing in sympathy while watching someone else.
Something tingled at her fingertips, and she stared down at her hands. They appeared perfectly normal. As the seconds oozed by, the feeling dissipated. She curled her fingers, then relaxed them. They were completely numb. How strange.
"Look at how pale she is."
"Oh! She's about to faint. Someone ought to be prepared to catch her."
The voices were mere whispers, competing with the loud whining reverberating in her skull, but they grounded her. She was not going to faint in front of them. Not without Elon to guard her in her state of vulnerability.
She turned and ran, ignoring the wobble of her knees, the shouts behind her, the pain shredding her soles. She wasn't sure where she ran—only that each step set fire to her nerves and threatened to drown her vision in splotches of color. The marble floor blurred together in an endless stream of white.
A breeze splashed her face, and she glanced up, slowing as she approached the edge of an outdoor balcony. She sank to the floor, hugging a cool banister to her cheek. Beyond the balcony, waterfalls crashed to a lake below, kissing her face with flecks of spray. Rocky mountains were bearded in trees, their tops starkly bald in contrast. So elegant and majestic. As were the nobles, despite their snobby demeanors.
And what was she? Common. Graceless. Weak. Pressure thudded beneath her forehead, and Carissa closed her eyes. She'd nearly passed out in front of them—all because she'd spilled some wine and become embarrassed. Truly, Elon would be pressed to find a more pitiful bride.
She'd been hoping to prove herself a queen. Instead, she'd been exposed as the fool she was.
A plump tear slid down her lower lashes, slunk down her cheek, and dripped onto her dress. Though she forbade another from escaping, it came nonetheless. And another. And another. Suppressed sobs knotted at her throat, and she pursed her lips to keep silent. Even if she couldn't entirely quash her weakness, the least she could do was ensure others remained unaware of it.
Footsteps padded softly behind her. If only she could have been allowed a few more minutes to dry her tears and convince her face to adopt a more queenly expression.
"Carissa."
She glanced up at Elon, her relief warring with humiliation. "Where were you? I n–n—" A sob crept up her throat and nearly escaped.
He knelt by her side. "You what?"
What was the point of containing them anymore? Elon wasn't going to be fooled. "I needed you." That was all she could manage before burying her face into her hands and muffling her cries against her palms.
"Oh, love." It took her a moment to realize he'd addressed her, not simply spoken the word.
Cloth rustled, and moments later, she was wrapped in the velvety folds of his cloak as he gathered her into his arms. Even though sobs still rattled her frame, her body eased at his touch.
Once her sobs had subsided into silent tears, he drew her hands from her face. No doubt her vein-webbed eyes, puffy eyelids, and splotchy red face made for quite the sight. Elon alternated between dabbing her face dry with his cloak and tracing kisses across her cheeks and forehead.
Her tears tracks had just begun to dry when Elon spoke, "I was there the whole time, Carissa. You simply lost sight of me. I left when you did, so I could meet you here." He brushed wet strands of hair from her cheeks.
She released a shuddering sigh. "I'm sorry. For everything."
"It's alright, Carissa." He fit his lips to hers, and a delicious thrill shot down her spine. She sighed into his kiss and slid her hands up his chest, then around his neck.
The sound of a gasp caused her to pull back, its pitch so high it was near a squeal.
A young woman stared at them, her mouth a tiny 'o', her eyes wide in shock—and perhaps just a hint of mischief.
Heat flurried across her skin, but before she could push away from Elon, he clasped her more tightly to him before nodding to the young woman.
She scurried away, a blush high on her cheeks.
Carissa wriggled out of Elon's grasp. "Perhaps we ought not kiss in public."
Amusement bowed his lips. "I think a man should kiss his wife anywhere he pleases, but if it makes you more comfortable, I shall do my best to restrain myself. But no promises."
She shook her head, smiling. "Haven't you any discretion?"
He snorted. "Why, of course. I whispered that I'd make love to you over and over, didn't I? I could have shouted it."
"Elon!"
He grinned, his fingers grazing her heated face. "And I'm still not going to give up on making you blush on command."
She swatted his hand away. "You are completely and utterly ridiculous." She began to scoot off his lap, but Elon dragged her back.
"I wouldn't put any weight on your feet right now, love."
"Why?" She wriggled her toes experimentally and startled at the spikes of pain.
"I'm afraid you walked through some of the glass in your haste to escape the ballroom." He rolled to his feet with ease, despite having to cradle her in his arms.
As they strolled to their room, she couldn't help but glance down the hallways, lest someone else stumble upon them. But aside from the servants and guards, the palace seemed empty—or perhaps its size made it seem so.
Elon seated her on the bed, removed her cloth shoes—which had done little to protect her feet—and picked out every glass shard. He rinsed her feet in a basin, gently running his fingers over her skin until it healed.
Elon loosed the laces of her gown and corset before helping her slip into a clean gown—not just a chemise, but a gown designed purely for sleeping. His touches were chaste and fleeting, never lingering long enough to cause her to panic.
He settled her in bed and tapped a silver dome on the nightstand. "I had your platter from the ball delivered here. This is to keep it hot. I know you don't want to eat now, but should you awaken and find yourself hungry, it will be here."
She managed a sleepy smile.
Elon smiled in return, and then it was gone. "Some of the nobles are eating breakfast tomorrow, Carissa. Shall we join them or not?"
Though eating with Elon alone did sound appealing, she wasn't a coward. She would dine with them and show them she had nothing to be ashamed off—especially her common blood. She bobbed her head.
"Then I'll wake you tomorrow in time to prepare."
The last thing she remembered were Elon's lips grazing her forehead, and then sleep overtook her.
***