Intoxication: Chapter Ten
I guess this is what it's supposed to feel like
No we don't talk, no we don't talk, we don't talk anymore
I guess this is what it's supposed to sound like
The universe, the universe, universe is torn
I don't want to live without you
I can live without you half the day, hey
I don't want to live without you
And put life off for another day
But I can't stop
Thinking about
Thinking about us anymore
I said I can't stop
Thinking about,
Thinking about us anymore
I said I can't stop, no
Thinking about,
Thinking about this anymore
And all I've got
Is nothing I want anymore
No I never get used to silence
But I don't hear, no I don't hear
I don't hear you anymore
I know I had to look hard to find it
Everything, everything, everything is gone
-OneRepublic, Can't Stop
"Come on, Penelope." Sofia gave the reins a light snap, not wishing to sting the horse beneath her. Unlike the average rider, she need only use her voice to communicate her desires to her mount.
"Are we in a rush, Princess?" To anyone listening the horse's response was no more than an whinny, but not to Sofia.
She tightened her knees as Penelope picked up speed, just as eager to eat up the turf as the young woman on her back. Penelope's love for speed was part of the reason they got along so well. Without wings, the light grey mare was the next best thing to flying derby racing. Sofia hadn't had a proper challenge in horsemanship since graduating school and now she took the opportunity to work out the frustration roiling inside her. The clean May breeze filled her lungs and whipped tendrils of hair loose from her bun.
She reined Penelope to the right around a mound of rocks, tearing up grass in their wake. Riding always filled her with a kind of euphoria. Sofia never could get the hang of riding side saddle, no matter how often she was chastised for riding like a man. And the deft ballet of rider and steed was made so much easier by wearing breeches. Though she'd broken the standard of females barred from riding derby, some conventions were harder fought than others, and riding astride was still considered fairly improper for a young woman. But Sofia didn't care. She'd rarely conformed to standards and wasn't about to give up one of her favored pastimes to make a few castle fuddy-duddies and village matrons comfortable.
Thoughts of social conformity only increased the turmoil inside her. Since the Spring Fete she'd been the commensurate debutante, attending every ball, picnic, barbeque and tea party. Her recent calendar of events even put her elitist sister to shame. If her parents took notice that she'd suddenly blossomed into a social butterfly seemingly overnight, they didn't comment on it, though she had a feeling that things were being said about her in private.
She gave a stubborn shake of her head, leaning forward to urge Penelope into a breakneck speed. Let her parents think what they wanted about her change in habits. An uncharacteristic dejection had crept in to eat away at the sunny countenance that had always defined her. Lately she felt irritable and short-tempered, but she tried hard to keep civil, even cheerful around her family. Only she knew what a deception she perpetrated, but the truth was not something she could share with them. So at home she pretended to be her usual pleasant self, and social affairs she pretended interest in the diversions of her peers. On both fronts she hoped for the same result, that she'd succeed in shaking herself free of this foolhardy infatuation.
But the season was not going at all how she'd hoped. Certainly by now she should have moved beyond one misguided fling to pursue more appropriate suitors. The irony that it had taken an infatuation potion to bring to light how besotted she'd become was not lost on her. Immensely popular in her own right, she didn't want for admirers. The problem stemmed from a lack of interest on her part. She'd thrown herself into the season in an increasingly desperate attempt to deny her feelings for Enchancia's sorcerer. Engagements off the castle premises were preferable as she found it that much harder to engage young men in flirtatious conversation while the object of her true desire stood on the sideline glowering.
Even the kiss of fresh spring air on her face and the exhilarating feeling of soaring over the ground on the back of a powerful steed couldn't clear away her frustration and despair. She's tried every tactic she could think of, using her usual resourcefulness to find new and inventive way of pushing beyond her comfort zone to flirt with eligible men, even if she had very little interest in them as romantic prospects. She played the part of the superlative coquette in hopes of discovering some previously unknown version of herself. Perhaps, she hoped, Cedric wasn't so special to her after all. Maybe she just needed to broaden her horizons. But after countless waltzes in the arms of handsome young men, dozens of coy touches, and hours of arch banter, she didn't feel the least bit encouraged by her prospects. And always the memory of one stolen afternoon in the arms of the wrong man taunted her memory and her dreams. Whenever she woke, panting and shivering in the dark of night, it proved a potent reminder of her failure.
While Cedric lingered in her mind, on the fringes of every soiree was Sebastian Rousseau. She sensed a growing interest from the Royaume prince while her own stalled. Sebastian proved good company, but she kept him at arm's length. They spoke often and danced occasionally, but his attraction appeared genuine and she didn't wish to offer false encouragements. So she sought out less consequential diversions, guided by physical attraction rather than emotional interest. Her heart felt slightly bruised, so she kept her emotions carefully sheltered.
But even the physical proved beyond her reach. By the May Day Ball in Kaldune she'd decided measures beyond flirtatious conversation and dancing were called for to cure her heavy heart. Kalvin St. James, an ex-derby racer with muscular arms and thick blond hair, seemed a fine choice to assist her in forgetting all about a particular lanky sorcerer with black hair and dark eyes. At Royal Prep she'd had a crush on Kalvin, joining with her peers in sighing over his baby blue eyes and white smile. After allowing him to lead her into the shadows to a secluded patch of garden path, she'd closed her eyes while he plied her lips with tender kisses that grew bolder with each press.
But it was no use. Not only did kissing Kalvin not wiped Cedric from her mind, conversely the comparison between them only sharpened her longing for the sorcerer to a brutal edge. She expected to feel at least a modicum of physical pleasure if nothing else in the arms of a handsome young man, but even that was beyond her reach. Though she was sure Kalvin was a decent friend with very nice lips, she felt neither enticed nor aroused by his kisses. When he attempted to deepen their embrace, she gently disengaged herself murmuring vague apologies.
Despite burning with shame for the way she acted, attempting to entice men she had no interest in, she continued with the charade (though she didn't bother to try kissing anymore men). Being out among her peers was still better than sitting in the castle, whiling away long hours alone or in the quiet company of her family who tried to hide their sidelong glances. Word of her uncharacteristic behavior couldn't fail to make the round of the gossip mill. Her parents already suspected something was off about her, what with the sudden termination of her trips to the north tower. She hoped they attributed her unexpected shift in activities more to an increased interest in society than any aversion to Cedric.
She wasn't avoiding him per say, but they hadn't spoken since the night of the Spring Fete. Not really anything more than a murmured "Good morning" or "Good afternoon" if they happened to pass in the hallway. Ever since the night of the Spring Fete she found it hard to look him in the eye. This man who had taken her maidenhead, kissed and caressed her in the most intimate ways, and she was more hung up on their almost-kiss that night. Valentine's Day could be blamed on Fountain D'engouement, but there was nothing to blame her continued attraction on.
It was the memory of his eyes that cut the most. The heated way he gazed down at her face, standing in the doorway after she'd chased him down the hall. No matter what he said, she knew he'd been the cause behind the fire on the terrace. The look on his face when he turned to find Arif's arm clamped around her waist raised goose-flesh along her arms. In that moment he'd looked every inch the dark, powerful sorcerer she knew simmered beneath the surface. That look had been decidedly possessive and, all the gods and angels help her, it had sent a shiver of raw electricity straight to her core.
She was a progressive, educated woman and the thought that a man wished to possess her should have fill her with potent rage. By the time she caught up with him outside his door the anger had indeed surfaced, only to vanish the instant he looked upon her with open longing. If Cedric wished to own her, then she desired dominion over him as well. Her body's reaction striped away any pretense of indifference. She desired him. But she could put that aside, ignore her feelings and push them down, if only he wouldn't look at her like that.
She scowled at her own thoughts, tightening her grip on the reins, and tried to lose herself in the feel of the wind rushing over her face. She and Penelope wove their way through a woodland path taking the long way to their destination before slowing on the edge of town. Sofia patted the horse's neck, both of them out of breath.
"That was fun," Penelope nickered.
Pulling up to a small cottage, Sofia dismounted, leaving the reins loose. "Stay here Pen. I'll try not to take too long."
When she knocked a handsome young man opened the door. "Jared," Sofia smiled warmly, "How are you?"
"Tired." His dazzling smile belaying his words. "But it's worth it."
"Where's Ruby and the baby?"
"In here," Ruby called from inside the house.
Jared stepped aside, allowing her entrance. When Sofia rounded the doorway to the parlor she stopped, a hand fluttering to her throat. "Oh Ruby, he's beautiful."
Ruby chuckled, cuddling her newborn son to her chest. "He is, isn't he?"
"Not nearly so much as his momma," Jared joked, leaning down to kiss his wife's forehead. "I've got to be getting back to the store. Do you need anything, Honey?"
Ruby spared her husband a glance before turning back to the tiny bundle in her arms. "I've got all I need right here."
"If you need me, send word with Mrs. Elsup from next door. She said she'd be happy to be of help."
"I think we'll be fine. Besides Sofia's here now."
Jared nodded to the princess before heading out the door.
"That man, I swear." Ruby shook her head, a smile curling up the corner of her mouth. "Thinks I'm the only woman who's ever had a baby. I keep telling him women have be doing it for years."
Sofia took a seat in an empty chair. "What do you expect? He loves you."
"He does." Ruby beamed down at her new son, crooning to him, "Daddy loves us both."
Examining the tiny hands that grasped his mother's finger, Sofia couldn't contain it any longer. "Can I hold him, please?"
"Of course," Ruby laughed, handing the baby carefully over. "Mind his head."
Sofia knew how to hold a baby, but didn't say anything. She knew her oldest friend was just being a protective new mother. Once in her arms, the baby blinked his eyes open seeming to stare, fascinated by a new face. She felt her heart swell. "Oh, he smiled at me."
"He's a week old, Sof. Not to burst your bubble, but it's probably gas."
Sofia shook her head, smiling mischievously. "Nope, I'm going with smile. What's his name?"
"George Alaster Whittly. We named him after Jared's grandfather."
"What a name for such a little thing," the princess cooed, nuzzling little George's nose with hers. He was so adorable it made her ache.
Ruby was watching them closely. "You're acting awfully baby crazy. Something you want to tell me?"
"What?" She pulled her attention away from George's tiny fingers long enough to consider his mother's question.
"Considering how babies are made and all ...," Ruby let the implication hang.
"No," Sofia answered quickly. "No, I'm sure of it. My monthly schedule is as regular as ever."
"That's probably for the best."
"You think?" She said with a wry quirk of her lips. "I can't imagine explaining that to my parents."
Little George squirmed, making gurgled sounds of protest.
"Looks like feeding time." Ruby reached for the baby and Sofia handed him over. Once George was happily settled against his mother's breast, Ruby turned to her. "Speaking of, whatever happened with your situation?"
Sofia chewed at her bottom lip. Surrounding herself with the vapid gentry has offered more protection than a mere respite from the castle and its prickly sorcerer. None of her royal friends knew what had happened, and so she hadn't had to admit to anyone that she lied. Hadn't had to admit how deeply that lie still hurt. "Nothing really," she answered carefully. "We talked and everything got sorted out."
Ruby's eyebrows knit together and her face took on a look eerily similar to her mother's. Helen Henshaw was a formidable woman, and her daughter hadn't fallen far from the tree. All Ruby had to say was, "Sofia," and her warning tone had the princess spilling out the truth.
"Oh Ruby," she confessed, "Everything's such a mess. I gave him some space, just like we talked about. I assumed after some time he'd come around and I'd be able to explain what happened. But before I could he tried resign."
"Resign?" Ruby frowned, "That's a bit dramatic, isn't it?"
"Yes," she blew out a frustrated breath. "It made me so angry, the thought of he would rather leave than speak to me."
"But Sofia, from what you told me it sounded like he thought he'd done some pretty serious harm."
"Okay, maybe I can understand a little why he thought leaving was for the best," she allowed begrudgingly, "but he still should have talked to me first."
"I'll give you that," Ruby soothed. "So he resigned, then what happened?"
"Tried to resign. Dad refused to accept it. He actually asked me to talk Cedric out of it. Of course he didn't know why Cedric was trying to quit his job all of a sudden."
Ruby watched her, waiting patiently for her to go on with the rest of her tale. She had known Sofia long enough to recognize the subtle distress written on her face, and allowed her friend the time she needed to gather her thoughts.
"I was just so mad," Sofia whispered, as if confessing some dark sin. Ruby would understand how rare a feeling anger was for Sofia and how difficult it was for her to admit to it. "It was as if he was saying I didn't have any say in the matter whatsoever. Like I couldn't possibly have made up my own mind about wanting to be with him. But even though I was angry, I didn't want him to go."
Sofia fell silent, but Ruby sensed there was more she wished to say. After a long pause, she gave the princess's riding boot a nudge with her toe. "So?"
"So," Sofia sighed, "I may have stretched the truth a bit."
Ruby's brows bunched again, and before she could open her mouth, Sofia hurried on to explain.
"I couldn't let him just leave," she implored her friend to understand. "I didn't know if I'd ever see him again. I panicked."
"What did you do?"
"I told him what happened between us didn't mean anything. There was nothing for him to feel guilty about and no reason he should leave. I had to. If I told him the truth, he might have left anyway, thinking it for the best."
"You of all people know that no good comes from lying, Sofia," she said gently.
Her shoulders slumped, feeling ashamed. "I know."
Ruby shifted her sleeping son to her shoulder, gently patting his back. She gave her friend a sympathetic look. "So what is the truth?"
The answer was a long time coming as she searched for the most honest answer she could give. "I don't know," she whispered, "But it's not what I told him."
Cedric blinked hard, but the words on the parchment still blurred. He set the paper down, finally admitting defeat. In desperate need of a break, he'd been working much too hard of late. But he had to pass the time somehow, and work that took up his attention was better than the alternative.
The king had never been so pleased with the state of the kingdom's magical accomplishments. The stores were well stocked with a range of medicinal potions and tonics, the farmers had more magical weed killer, plant fertilizer and pest control than they could use in a season. The maids were delighted with the recent addition of self-cleaning feather dusters and all 760 windows in the castle had been charmed to resist smudging and dirt.
Cedric checked the time and saw he still had an hour before his scheduled meeting with the king to discuss preparations for several upcoming functions, including Princess Sofia's birthday. Normally he dreaded these kinds of talks, preferring the king simply send a list of requests, but any distraction was welcome from the empty hours alone.
Time alone made for time to think.
He considered laying down for a bit of rest, but immediately rejected the idea. Though he needed sleep badly, laying in bed only reminded him of the brief time his bed had been occupied by another. At least the faint whisper of lavender that clung to his pillows had finally dissipated. Laying in bed, surrounded by her delicate scent, it was too easy to remember. And while the memory of her writhing beneath him was physically intriguing, mentally it brought up a complicated maelstrom of emotions.
A light tap on the door broke his scattered thoughts. Baileywick shouldn't be there yet. It was too early for his meeting with the king. "Enter," he called out with reservation.
Mary pushed the door open, carrying a meal tray balanced on one hand.
Cedric squinted at the maid in confusion. "I didn't order lunch."
"Thought you might be peckish." She set the tray down on top of his papers, turning to lean her hip against the edge of the table.
He looked from the unsolicited meal to the woman now crowding his personal space. He'd corrected the well-meaning, if misplaced, order that meals be brought up on a regular basis like he was some sort of invalid. Baileywick hadn't taken his word for it, but the steward must have sought out Sofia's approval to desist. Cedric was back to grabbing hasty bites between errands or ordering meals, which he rarely did. Mary's thin guise of concern didn't faze him. He knew where this was headed.
"How very kind of you," his lips pursed in sarcasm.
She didn't shrink away from his sour expression. "Now, don't be like that," she coaxed. "Is that any way to treat a friend looking out for your welfare?"
He dropped the pretense, not in the mood for banter. "Why are you really here?"
"Direct," she nodded as if agreeing with his tactics. "Paul and I broke up a few weeks ago. As per our standing arraignment, I found myself feeling a bit lonely."
She slinked closer, running her hand up his sleeve to toy with the collar of his robe. He didn't pull away, considering her offer. "Who's Paul?" he stalled, not truly caring about the answer.
When Cedric first met Mary several years ago, he'd confused her easy, open nature, deeming her a flippant nitwit, but once he got to know her a bit he found he enjoyed her company, as long as he didn't have to endure it for too long. Similarly she found his sardonic moods entertaining in short doses and the two had struck something of an unspoken bargain. When engaged in a relationship Mary was fiercely loyal and monogamous, but she was also a free spirit that craved independence. When she found herself at a loose end with no current beau she came to see Cedric. This arrangement had suited him in the past as it afforded an easy and uncomplicated means to an end. Mary's occasional disappearances into the arms of other men didn't deter him in the slightest as he didn't care to engage in a more committed relationship with her himself. If she announced that she was getting married tomorrow, never to be seen again, he'd hardly bat an eye and wish her the best of luck to boot.
"One of the guards," she said, moving from his collar to tug at the end of his cravat.
The mustard-colored satin slipped free and he tried not to think on how Sofia had wound the ends around her hands, pulling him down the first time she kissed him.
Mary eased herself down on his lap and he pushed all thoughts of the out-of-reach princess from his mind.
"Not the jealous type, I hope," Cedric remarked, conversationally. "I have enough problems without having a palace guard mad at me."
Mary's cinnamon freckled nose crinkled. "Why should he care what I do? We're not together anymore."
Cedric shifted, uncomfortable. "Jealousy is an irrational emotion."
She bent to kiss his neck, but he pulled away. "I don't believe I've agreed to anything just yet."
"Really?" Mary favored him with a coy smile. "You've never said no before."
"That doesn't mean I can't now." Mary's forward nature never bothered him before, but at the moment it irritated him for some reason. He usually enjoyed speaking plainly with her as he rarely got to do so, always hiding his true feelings from the king.
She stared at him a moment, unsure if he was serious. "You're moody today," she pouted.
"Haven't been sleeping well," he muttered.
Her arms wound around his shoulders, one hand teasing the hair at the nape of his neck. "Are you sure that's all?"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"I forget sometimes how much you like to lock yourself away up here. You didn't know? You're quite the topic of conversation 'round the gossip mill. You and the princess."
Cedric stiffened, quickly schooling his features. "What about me and the princess?"
Mary smiled wryly. "Don't even have to ask which one, do you?"
He frowned, belatedly remembering that there were two princesses in residence. But it was no matter. Assuming she meant Sofia gave nothing away. He and Amber barely tolerated one another.
"The whole castle's been wonderin' what happened between the two of you. Princess Sofia used to spend her every waking day locked up in here with you, and all of a sudden the two of you won't be in the same room with each other."
Had he been so obvious? Hoping no one had noticed their estrangement seemed beyond naive now. Of course they had. Hadn't Tilly told him as much. But so long as no one guessed the truth, he didn't care. Much. They could flap their lips all they liked down in the servant's quarters.
"Look," Mary shifted on his lap, easing back to catch his eye. "I don't care what you do up here in this tower, but ... just be careful."
Cedric looked back at her, some of his annoyance easing. Her concern for him was in earnest, as was her warning. He felt he should say something, but he didn't know what to say.
"Did you hear about Tessa?" She asked, suddenly changing topic.
Cedric cast back, the name familiar. He remembered the sweet faced maid that came to collect Sofia when ... On that day. "What of her?"
"She's been relocated," she spat the last word out like a curse. "Word is one of the stable boys found her in the barn with Prince James's hand up her skirt."
"Truly?" His brows rose. "We're they really discovered ... like that?"
"I don't know if that's exactly what happened. All I knows is one day the girl's receiving all the praise in the world from Mister Baileywick on her job, and the next she'd shipped off to some noble's house on the outskirts of the kingdom."
"At least the king saw fit to secure her a new position."
Mary scowled. "Oh sure. Poor girl's naught but seventeen. Her whole family lives in the village and now she's some twenty leagues off. She'll probably only get to see her Mum and Da on Wassailia if she's lucky. And why? Because some philanderin' prince took a fancy to her."
"You're not suggesting James would do anything against the girl's will?" Cedric didn't know much about James anymore. The young man was the spitting image of his father in face and temperament, but he had a reckless streak that came with youth.
"No," she frowned, "But that's not the point. Even if she were willing, which I'm sure she were, the prince dallies with the help and who pays the price?"
"I see what you mean," he muttered, feeling a keen sting from her words. He almost asked why she felt the need to tell him all this, but decided against it. He didn't want to hear the answer.
"Best we in the lower ranks keep to ourselves." She snuggled closer to him.
When she bent to kiss his neck this time he let her, turning her words over in his mind. Certain members of the staff, like Baileywick and himself actually belonged to an echelon above the general servants, but a servant was a servant, regardless if they were at the top of the chain or not. He was infinitely closer to Mary in social standing than Sofia, but still held apart in some nebulas middle. The thought made him feel awfully lonely.
Mary kissed his neck, moving up to nibble his ear. He closed his eyes and tried to let it all go, to enjoy this moment of connection with another being; one that cared for him, if only for the physical benefits he could provide her. Mary never had a problem enjoying herself with him. She was honest in all things, including what she liked, and had no qualms letting him know. He'd actually learned quite a bit from her. And she gave as good as she got.
His hands tightened around her waist and she squirmed in his lap. After plundering his ear with her tongue, her lips grazed across his cheek before capturing his mouth. He kissed her back, dredging up hunger buried down deep. His groin twitched in response. Groaning against his mouth, she twisted her hands into his hair, bringing him closer.
His hand slid up her back, expecting to find long skeins of loose ringlets. Instead her tight corkscrew curls were drawn up under a cap, pinned back. He faltered for a moment before forging on, delving his tongue into her willing mouth.
Memory over laid reality and he remembered delicate hands sliding into his hair, but she sat stride him, not sideways. He'd plundered her mouth, believing it his only shot; some mistake or trick of fate that he didn't wish to waste. He remembered slinging one arm around her waist while the other hand curled around the back of her corset, pulling her tight against his lap. He remembered her gasp of surprised arousal. He remembered the way she smelled, like lavender, not lye soap and furniture polish.
Mary sucked his lower lip between hers, biting lightly. Usually he liked that maneuver, but he twisted away. All ardor vanished, and with it his half-hearted erection. He wasn't sure if he felt sorry or relieved. Either way, he muttered, "Damn it."
"What's wrong?" Mary stared at him, wide-eyed and breathless.
Again he was reminded of another woman. He saw Sofia sprawled across the seatee in his study. Her eyes glassy with arousal and her mouth red from his kisses. Her skirts had gathered up around her waist and he saw the creamy skin of her thighs between her stockings and bloomers. Her shallow breaths pushed her breasts up against her constricting corset.
"What's wrong?" She panted.
He forced the memory away before he became aroused again for all the wrong reasons.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, moving Mary off his lap. She stared at him, confused and incredulous. She deserved an explanation, but all he could offer was, "I can't."
She frowned, but rather than pouting he saw honest hurt behind her eyes. "What do you mean? You seemed more than willing a moment ago."
"I know," he sighed, standing up. "I just ... can't."
He watched anger take over her face, making her eyebrows come together and her mouth draw thin and tight. She stomped to the door and he fully expected her to storm out in a huff. She stopped with her hand on the handle. Looking back over her shoulder, she seemed to reconsider. "Are you really in that deep?"
He turned the question over in his mind, trying to see all the angles and possible meanings. But he was tired of pretending. "I suppose I am."
Her shoulder drooped and she looked at him with something akin to pity. "Remember what I said, be careful. They're not like us, and we'll never be one of them."
She left then, her cryptic words hanging in the air. He didn't have to wonder at her meaning as Mary wasn't one for subterfuge. She felt honest concern for him, enough to warrant a warning. He wilted where he stood, sitting back against the table. Rolling his head around on his shoulders, he tried to ease the tension that had formed there.
He'd just turned down free, no-strings-attached sex for a memory. He was indeed in deep.
Author's Note: I'll admit, I argued with myself over whether or not Cedric should actual sleep with Mary. It felt a little like a cop out having him turn her down, but in the end it just didn't feel right. I figured it was enough that I went there a little.
Fun fact: Buckingham Palace has 760 windows. That's where I got the number of windows for Enchancia's castle.