Icy Smoke Orchards
Their volte ended and, disregarding the rumours that she knew would fly, she left for the gardens, the stranger trailing in her wake. She could not care enough to consider Cecil's reaction, let alone the storm that Robert would ring over her head later. She could not even control her thoughts or actions well enough to change her decision; she had never been so reckless in all her twenty-five years...but that was not going to stop her.
She led him to the apple orchard; her footsteps a dance for him to follow, and follow he did, but in that respect he was no different to any other man. If there was one thing that Elizabeth knew with absolute certainty, it was that men would always follow her. She had clearly caught his eye but that was nothing new to her; what puzzled her was the absolute innocence in the looks her threw at her. His eyes, so old in their depths, almost out of place in the handsome, boyish face, yet the utter transparent purity they held whenever they caught her eyes. She could not fathom it...but she would.
She turned to face him; her full skirts swirling in the powdery snow.
"John..." she whispered, remember the name he had given when he introduced himself.
"Your Majesty..." It seemed he had grown cautious of her advances, but that would not trouble her; she knew when to chase and when to pull away. Something about this beautiful stranger told her to push on with the chase and take down the stag.
"You know my name, do you not?" she asked, deliberately provoking him to utter it. He looked at her, his eyes assessing every inch of her face, then he spoke.
"Elizabeth." His voice wrapped around her name like spun sugar; so fragile and yet so protective. She loved how it sounded coming from his lips; such warmth and invitation in four syllables…she almost leaned towards him. Almost.
She took one, solitary step forward, stretching out her hand to caress his face. His skin was velvety with the rough edge of a growing beard. She took another step; she was so close to him. Her hand pushed into his tousled brown hair, feeling its softness, the way it slipped through her fingers with such ease and still looked like a bird's nest.
She broke so easily; the step was simple, the last move in the dance when you draw near your partner. It was the volte all over again, except this time, she had no audience to play for. She was alone with him and vulnerable to the alien feelings that were swirling around inside her.
"Do I have to get permission to kiss the Queen?" he enquired, a slight amusement in the tilt of his head.
"Well, I am Queen, so it should be my prerogative to grant permission, should it not?" Even when she drew herself up to her most regal height, she did not measure up to his towering stature.
"So…that permission…have I got it?" He seemed uncertain but she could her the confidence in his voice growing as she smiled desirously.
"Yes" she breathed, closing her eyes slowly.
His warm palms cupped her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks gently. His brought his head down towards her and pressed his lips against hers for just a second. It was torture. She did not open her eyes but she felt, as much as heard, his sigh of contentment. He rested his forehead against hers and she let herself mould into the warmth of him.
But no matter how much she tried to be satisfied by his kiss, she wanted more from him; she wanted the passion that she saw in Robert when he looked at her. She wanted fire, not the chaste kisses that she could have had from any other courtier looking for a step up the ladder of court fortune.
She put her hands over his and opened her eyes. He was staring at her absorbedly and, without thinking, she pushed upwards on her toes and brought her lips to his. They moulded instantly into one another, until she could not tell whose lips were whose, whose hands belonged to whom. She felt the desperation in his movements as his mouth pushed against hers, leaving her gasping for air in the frozen orchard. Their breath was mirrored in puffs of icy smoke in the air as his hands grasped at her hair, pulling her closer, deepening their kiss. His tongue traced her bottom lip and she almost pulled back from the sin that she was bound to commit if he continued, but the fresh, warm scent of him made her continue to savour the sensation of his lips against hers; moving as one; a rhythm, a dance. The volte in its most perfect achievement…