A/N: Look, I found more plot. :-D And more lust, angst, and well-mannered Victorian smut. Not to mention a plethora of roses.
This is my first try at posting chapters as they're written, as opposed to entire stories. We'll see how that goes.
Lewis Carroll and Tim Burton own these characters, with the exception of Casiphia.
Chapter 1: Falling
You love the roses - so do I. I wish
The sky would rain down roses, as they rain
From off the shaken bush. Why will it not?
Then all the valley would be pink and white
And soft to tread on. They would fall as light
As feathers, smelling sweet; and it would be
Like sleeping and like waking, all at once!
~George Eliot
The romance between Ilosovic Stayne, former Knave of Hearts, and Casiphia Rhoswen, attendant to the White Queen, continued apace, baffling many at Mormoreal and charming the few who understood and appreciated their attraction. It seemed they shared a sense of mischief and adventure that kept them both entertained, and this was something of a relief for those who had tired of being on the receiving end of Casiphia's mischief and tart commentary. The world they were building for themselves may have closed them away from regular life, but that could not last forever, and for the time being, those around them humored them.
Casiphia was slumbering soundly one night when a knock came at her bedroom door. Groggily climbing out of bed, she stumbled to the door to find Stayne outside. "Come outside with me. You need to see something," he whispered. So she pulled on her old green cloak, found a pair of boots to slide her feet into, and with a yawn followed him out the door and down the corridor and up the spiraling flight of stairs that led up to one of the castle's turrets. Faint moonlight fell through the windows they passed, giving just enough silvery illumination to light their way.
She was still half asleep when he led her to the window and guided her to sit next to him on the sill, but she woke instantly when she saw the rain of shooting stars overhead, so bright that they made the landscape visible. She gave Ilosovic a brilliant smile and settled into the circle of his arms to watch the meteor shower, not speaking, simply luxuriating in each other's presence and the spectacle above.
As a means of thanking him, the next day Casiphia waited till Stayne was away riding, and slipped into his bedchamber to sprinkle the petals from several dozen white roses over his counterpane. She couldn't help but chuckle at how ridiculously romantic this was all becoming, nor could she resist the impulse to indulge the whim.
That night Ilosovic came to her room soon after dinner, and as she was greeting him, slipped a strip of cloth that seemed to have been cut from his old cloak, the one he'd worn in service to the Red Queen, over her eyes and blindfolded her. Then he swept her up into his arms, down the hallway, and tossed her lightly onto his bed amidst the rose petals.
She was still bouncing—and giggling—when he fell next to her and began slowly, slowly undressing her. With her vision obscured by the blindfold, her other senses were exquisitely sensitive, and shudders chased up and down her spine as he slid her gown over her shoulders and unlaced her corset. The touch of his long, deft fingers radiated across her skin as he caressed her, and soon she fell back with a moan and moved to help him finish removing her clothing. But he caught her hands with one of his, and completed the task himself.
Casiphia was almost dizzy with wanting him by the time she heard him divesting himself of own clothing. Then his mouth was upon hers, and his hands on her body and hers on his, and she tore off the blindfold so she could see him by the light of the half-dozen candles in the room. By the time he was inside her she was no longer thinking, for once, but was filled only with sensation and emotion.
They moved together fiercely, cresting almost at the same moment, and then collapsed back onto sheets strewn with rose petals now crushed and translucent and exuding fragrance as strong as when they were plucked from the blooms in the garden.
Casiphia was dozing off when Ilosovic wakened her gently.
"You know I don't generally sleep with...this," he said, gesturing to the black leather eyepatch he wore.
"No, I guess you wouldn't," she said. "I hadn't thought about it, but I can see—I can understand that. So, er..."
"I would like to invite you to stay here with me tonight, but I need to know how you feel about this wound."
"I don't think it will bother me," she said, raising herself up on one elbow. "I don't mind scars and injuries; I've had a few of my own, for that matter.
"I don't know if you' ve noticed this one," she said, gesturing at he triangular mark at her left temple, "but it's where I ran into the corner of a table when I was learning to walk.
"And this one—" she indicated the line down the outside of her left calf—"has an even better story. I tumbled down a cliff when I was 11 and fractured it, and then made it worse by pulling myself back up the cliff because I was afraid no one would find me if I didn't. It's even more absurd when you realize it was Chessur who found me, and my being at the bottom of a cliff would have made no difference to him. Anyway, it required surgery and I was in a cast for quite a while.
"I was a bit careless as a child," she admitted. "Luckily I've learned to keep my footing a bit better since then, especially since corsets and high heels came along soon after that."
"Some might say you're a careless adult as well."
"I would say instead that I have excellent instincts."
"I know that's how I'd prefer to think of it," he said.
"Scars just mean you've lived a real life," Casiphia said. "There is nothing wrong with that. And yours just makes me more aware of how truly beautiful you are."
She put a hand to Ilosovic's left cheek. "So how did this happen?"
"When I was capturing the Jabberwock for Iracebeth," he sighed. "We both know how well that turned out."
"I suspected as much," Casiphia said, giving him a gentle kiss. "May I see?"
Slowly he undid the ties of the eyepatch, and Casiphia took a careful look at the stitched eyelid and puckered scar tissue beneath.
"It's not as bad as I expected," she said. 'I suppose it's healed well and no longer pains you?"
"For the most part," he said.
"It means a great deal that you felt safe showing me that," Casiphia said, giving him a long and slow kiss. "And I would like very much to stay here with you tonight."
He embraced her, and it was a moment before she felt hot tears on her shoulder and realized he was weeping.
Wordlessly she pulled him down beside her onto the pillows and stroked his hair until he fell asleep. She lay awake for a long time afterwards, thinking, holding him gently.
* * * * *
The next morning she awoke in the circle of Ilosovic's arms, nestled into snowy layers of linen and down.
"Good morning, m—milady," he smiled.
"Were you starting to say something else?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
"Well. Yes," he paused for a moment. "I keep wanting to call you 'my love,' but I fear that may be presumptuous."
"Not presumptuous at all," she smiled. "Not at all. My love." And she couldn't help but grin, and he couldn't help but grin too in response.
"Mmm, I'm glad I agreed to stay here with you last night. Shall we ring for tea and see how long we can make the morning last?"
"That, my love, is a frabjous idea."