I COILED MY fingers around Maverick's reins, clutching to them as if they would keep me grounded. My teeth remained clenched for I was determined not to allow even the whisper of a hiss to escape my lips.
I kept a wary eye on the shriveled briars latching onto the branches, somewhat certain that they would lunge if I so much blinked. But they did not—it seemed as if there were content with what blood they had reaped. And that concerned me. Gravely.
Gnarled twigs scratched as my legs, threatening to trip me should I become distracted. It would be best if I made haste for my path was merely lit by way of the setting sun and I did not want to learn what lurked in the shadows.
What irked me more than the twisted thicket was the silence. Only the sound of my breathing and the snapping of twigs lingered in the stale air... All else fell upon deaf ears.
"Maverick," I whispered if only to fill the void. I beckoned him betwixt the thorns. He was quick to abide and soon grew impatient and I found myself stumbling after him—it was as if he recognized the road and knew where to lead me.
After long, we emerged from the bristle and stood before gates of iron. I grew stiff. Thorned vines webbed across the entirety of the castle, branching out as to devour it whole. Painfully bright roses dotted the rubbled, dripping petals that willingly puddled along the ground.
Slopes of snow and sheets of ice glazed over the castle, held in place by twines of thorn and rose. Even from where I stood, I could see that tendrils of barbed vines had speared inside the castle, weaving through planes of glass. My stomach fell. Could he have already—
I dared not think on what that entailed.
Upon the whisper of touch from my finger, the iron gates slid open. I paused, eyeing the roses warily. Such a stark red—it was difficult to tear my gaze from it. My fingers clenched. I knew better than to attempt guiding the stallion through the clustered tendrils.
Nimbly, I freed my fingers from his reins and let them fall slack. It would be unwise to tie him—there was little need and if I were to do so, it would cripple him. And having done that...my gaze fixated along the grand steps, now uprooted by roses and thus disheveled.
Raoul would be within it. He had to be. I only hoped that I found him breathing.
I crept through the twisted gardens, hastily crawling beneath or leaping over fallen briars. Faster. My jaw clenched and for a moment I nearly yelled out in frustration. This bedamned maze of thorns!
I found myself tripping over sprawled roots and crumbled stairways, allowing them to lead me to the grand doors at the top of the stairs. There was no need for me to linger in hopes of the doors opening—they had been splintered apart against.
With little thought, my legs began carrying me to my old bedchamber—empty.
As was the library. And the dining hall. And the room with the mirror. And the ballroom.
Panic rose within my throat--threatening to choke me. Merde. Where was he?
I checked room after room, to no avail. It was as if he had vanished. No. No. He couldn't have. I clutched at my chest, gathering the fabric in my fist as if I wished to tear it. "Raoul?" I could not keep the fear and panic from my voice. "Where are you?"
Had Jacques already—No. No. He couldn't have.
"Raoul?" He was not in the kitchens—not the servant quarters nor the drawing room.
My feet slammed into the floor, fueled by the desperation to find him. I was not late, was I? So late as to warrant his...death? I curled my fingers around a door knob, sliding it open and sweeping my eyes across it.
"Ra—"
A man stood by the window, overlooking the tangled forests through parted drapes.
I froze.
He stood with clenched fists and a stiff posture—as if he had not moved in the last hour. The man turned, slowly, upon hearing me, as if he cared not what caused such noise. And then his eyes fell unto mine, a wild look flashing through them for but an instant.
I felt a flutter in my chest.
My legs were moving before I had even thought to take a step forward. Within a second I was in his waiting arms, held against his chest. "Raoul," I breathed softly, drawing my arms around his neck as I tightened my grasp on him. "Mon Dieu. I thought—"
"I am right here." He crushed me in his embrace, pressing me against him without reservation. "If I had known that all it takes to earn an embrace from you was time and distance, I would have done it sooner," he mumbled into my hair, some wisp of humor in his voice.
I only buried my face into his chest and drew a breath, clutching to the sensation of his arms, his warmth, his lips along the shell of my ear. It felt so familiar and I could not deny myself the pleasure of reminiscing in it. "And had you done it sooner," I huffed out, "it would have not ended as such."
"I am not so inclined as to test that." He leaned back, fingers beneath the corner of my jaw as to hold my face to his. The side of his thumb grazed along my cheek and his brows creased. "Ismae, you're hurt."
"'Tis but a scratch," I mumbled.
He scoffed. "Far more than one." He took my hand in his and led me to the edge of a bed. His bed. Of course—I glanced around—his chambers. "Sit here," he instructed as he began to step away. "I will return within a moment."
I could not find it within myself to argue with him and thus abided. Yet, I noted the warmth leaving me as he parted—and nearly sought its return. But I instead set my hands over my chest as to still my heart and drew my eyes to his chamber.
His bed was made but not so perfectly as to insinuate that he had never lain in it. Books—not those of fiction—littered the floor beside the window and heaped atop a cushioned chair I knew him to favor. The room was otherwise orderly and unmessed.
Raoul was quick to return with a cloth and a bowl of heated water. I went to take the cloth from him. He tsked and pressed my hand down. "Please, allow me." Once I stilled again, he began to gently wipe away the dried bits of blood.
His brows drew together in concentration, lips tugged downwards at the corners in annoyance. I felt his fingers skim across my cheeks, nimbly, gently, as though he feared to pain me. His took care in touching me, as if motivated by the fear of hurting me. And it felt somewhat strange—the sudden gentleness in which he treated me.
Carefully, he shifted closer, kneeling before me as to tend to the scratches. I wanted to poke fun at him for fretting over such small scrapes—wanted to tease him for his needless worrying. But I could not for I found myself taken aback by it—the fondness in his eyes, the breath of his touch, the caution in his movements... And thought it rather heartening.
"Why," he murmured as he dipped the cloth in the water, "why come back?"
"Are you not happy to see me?" The words left me softly, lacking the sharpness I hoped they would carry.
"You misunderstand. It pleases me immensely to see you." His hand reached for my feet. I jerked my legs back. "Ismae." He coaxed my feet into his lap and for a moment I thought I would shriek from the shame of it.
"There is no need to do that—" I hissed, nearly jolting from the bed as he pressed the cloth to the tender part of my foot. I crumbled into him, biting back the crude words upon my tongue.
"Your ankle," he murmured, worry surfacing in his voice as he brushed his fingers along it delicately.
"Oh." It must have happened when I'd tripped over the stump beneath the snow. As my attention drew to my foot, I could not deny the subtle throb within it. "'Tis fine." For the most part.
He clicked his tongue. "No, it isn't." With immense care, he drew a cloth around the top of my foot and along the back of my heel as to hold it in place. "Some snow will do it good."
A small, miniscule smile tugged at my lips. I rested my head against his chest, surprised to hear the thumping of his heart. It was rather loud--and fast. I lifted my hand and set it on his cheek. With a mind of their own, my fingers gingerly smoothed the crease between his brows and went to trace the scars marring his handsome face.
"You distract me, dear," he whispered.
"I missed you," I replied softly.
He stilled for but a second. "When have you become so charming?"
Since I realized just how tender you are. Since the pleasure of your company became clear to me. But instead, I held a hand to the base of my throat and asked, "Does it unnerve you?"
"Yes. Yes it does. Very much." And then he went on, continuing his fretting over the scratches across my skin. His movements were swift and concise, accomplishing exactly what they had set out to do--no more, no less.
But when he sat me down on his bed and the mattress dipped beneath his weight, I found his heated gaze pinned to mine. My throat parched and my lips had gone dry.
His rough fingertips brushed along my skin, tracing the edge of my jaw in heated sweeps. I held my breath, surrendering to the gentle nudge in his movements. Then his calloused palms held my jaw in place—and he pressed a warm kiss to my forehead.
"Forgive me," he murmured softly, "but I cannot refrain."
"You need not refrain," I mumbled back, a hoarseness in my voice. The look in his eyes...Mon Dieu, I could not disregard it. My fingers splayed across the back of his nape and wove into his thick hair, drawing his head level with my own. "Especially not now."
I sealed the distance between us, pressing my lips to his and giving up what little reason remained in my bones.
"And I've missed you." He loosed a grunt and soon coaxed me to lay back as he kissed me deeply. I responded in kind, my fingers curling as my lips grew tender against his. "So much."
I could not help but wonder, why I had ever held out to him. A man so gentle, so careful and tender. Within the darkness of his bed chambers, I confessed all the secrets I had sought to keep from him, confessed every whim and thought that had ever crossed my mind—surrendered to all that I had ever denied.
I kissed him until all else failed to matter, until I could not think of anything except his lips against my own, his ragged breathing, his straying hands—the mumbled words upon his tongue.
And if only for a bit, I would allow myself to drown in all of it, lest the opportunity never rises again.
I awoke to fingers running through my hair and a steady heartbeat in my ears.
I returned to my senses within his arms, my legs tangled along his and my head rested upon his shoulder. A sigh escaped my lips, something content and blissful. As I shifted, I grew aware of the dull, pleasant ache between my legs.
"How are you feeling?" he murmured, a laziness softening his usually crisp words.
"Good." I shifted closer to him, craving the sensation of his body along mine. I must have slipped into a slumber at some point or another, for it seemed to me that though he had not slept, I had certainly lapsed some period of time or other. "Better than that, actually."
He pressed a kiss to my bared shoulder, a hand splayed across my belly leisurely. I arched into his touch, tilting my head back as to give in to the graze of his teeth along my throat and jaw.
"I hate to say it," I whispered in between shudders, "but we mustn't dally further."
"I welcome the dalliance," he groaned, and with a final nip along the shell of my ear, obliged. As did I. He rose from beneath the covers, without a strip of cloth nor drop of shame. My breath hitched.
The scars marking his flesh became painfully obvious to me and I knew now why he had not welcomed the attention I had given them an hour prior. I yanked my gaze away and drew the sheets around me, tightly, as I stood to retrieve my clothing.
"What is it?" Amusement lingered in his every word. "Why the shyness now?"
Heat flared within me. "Raoul, 'tis different for me." Different because whenever I glanced his way, I could not help but recall his lips upon mine, his teeth scraping my skin, his drifting fingers...and that look in his eyes. That look when I urged him closer, when I fractured beneath him and trembled alongside him.
He laughed quietly and neared me, with the intent to assist me in dressing. For only a second, I thought of refusing his aid but I found that I could not. Not when he had been so heartbreakingly gentle with me, so devastatingly patient, so utterly attentive. It wounded me that I even considered denying him.
He drew me against his chest and sprinkled kisses along the delicate skin beneath my ear. "Is there anything you want of me?" he murmured. "Anything I can comfort you with?"
I shook my head, unable to trust myself with speech just yet, and instead took to dressing. He assisted me wordlessly, for his mouth was rather occupied. It seemed to me he was determined to kiss every inch of my skin before I sealed it from his touch.
"How is your ankle?" His lips teased my collar bone.
"It feels much better..." I wove my fingers through the locks of hair at the back of his nape and shifted to my toes as to kiss his neck tenderly. "You seem distressed..."
"Pardon me," he mumbled. "I had wished to take my time with you and to lay with you long after that. But it seems that is not to occur." He leaned back with a sigh. "It wounds me to see you injured, Ismae...I worry for your safety. It is why I had urged you to leave me, for you are in grave danger here."
"As are you." I tilted my head and met his eyes. "I thought I would be able to refrain from thinking of it but no, I cannot. There must still be a way, Raoul..."
He needn't hear the rest of it. He clasped my hand in his and drew me to the window. "Look. Tell me, what do you see?"
I squeezed his hand, bracing myself for what had brought the grimness to his voice. Rather than be met with shades of blackened thorns and pearly snow, my gaze fell to tendrils of red. Fire blazed over the mass of branches and thorns surrounding the castle, devouring all that lay before it. This fire...it was of no coincidence. Surely it had been started as a means to cleave a path here.
"I see...a forest burning with thorns and secrets." At his silence, I turned and met his eyes. "And I see a man who has long given up hope."
"That I cannot deny." He loosed a long breath. "I have long known that I had never been meant to be spared of it. It is by my mother's actions that I stand this very moment."
A twinge tore at my chest. "And yet...still you try."
"I have to," he whispered gently. "For all my servants who had been wronged, for my people. And now, the time has come—once the moon has set behind clouds of briar, when branches burn beneath wisps of fire, until the castle's blood had been reaped and the witch's thirst quenched...It will only be a bit until then."
I squeezed his hand.
"I fear that if they succeed in their oath, it will not be this castle alone that suffers—"
A sharp crack cut his words short and he whipped around, frowning as he listened to the bellows emanating from beneath us. Within the castle. Shouts of men. "Merdasse." Promptly, he began to pace, hands shoved into his hair. "It seems our time is to be cut short." He produced a string of dark curses. "Ismae, you must le—"
"No." I drew near and caught his hands in mine, brushing my lips along his knuckles as to capture his attention. "Calm yourself, Raoul. And have faith in me."
"I am calm." He loosened a deep breath. "And I have some faith. But I possess more fear."
"Then you will have to make peace with it." I wove my arm around his. "'Tis only proper that the castle's lord and his lady greet their guests."
Author's Nonsense
Yes. They did it.
By 'it' I mean kissed, of course.