As the Eagle Flies
This chapter is a fair deal longer than the previous ones, and I have a feeling it won't be a one-time occurrence. XD The poem mentioned in this chapter is 'Caedmon's Hymn', which you can find in Chapter 4. Enjoy!
Chapter 11
It was still dark when Serena stepped outside. She was exhausted enough the night before that the clean sheets and the soft mattress lulled her to sleep, deeply, dreamlessly, and she had awoken feeling more refreshed than ever. She knew she would not have been able to fall back asleep, and dressed warmly before she changed her mind. She met no restraint as she greeted the few of Lita's staff who were awake at that hour, and the footman had been very courteous when he showed her to the gardens. He bowed graciously when Serena thanked him, and she smiled at these small gestures she had missed so much.
She absently walked around the garden, her fingers lightly brushing the flowers that were still in bloom. Every now and then a plant would catch her attention, but for the most part, her gaze was cast upward at the diming stars, the crescent moon, the dark blanket of night slowly making its way for dawn. The sky never seemed as vast and all-seeing as it did now, the blend of light and darkness that was so completely out of her reach. She smiled at the thought, taking comfort in the knowledge that it belonged equally to everyone, no matter what little they may have in this world. And at that moment, she was content to simply experience this when so many others were still inside, fast asleep. It almost felt as if she could stake her claim in this calm moment that was not yet morning.
But the colours of day were already seeping in, and Serena knew she could not keep the sky to herself for long. She lowered her head at the thought of returning to the palace, where she had to be curbed. Briefly she thought of the day before, of the decision she had been forced to make. Even if more opportunities presented themselves in the future, Serena knew she could not escape—she had established too many ties. She did not need the scenes to be played out before her anymore—she knew with a certainty from both her mind and heart that these three people could be trusted, and she owed them what little she could give.
Serena had made her way to a small corner of the garden, and a sweet velvety scent now brought her back to her surroundings. She saw, to her surprise and delight, the flowers that bloomed in the bushes before her. They were of more colours than she had encountered in Chiston, larger and more fragrant by far. Even in the low light Serena could make out the deep red of the roses, their petals gleaming with dew. Amazed by her discovery, she reached towards it.
"Careful there."
The voice nearly made her jump, and though she quickly gathered her wits, her heart continued to beat in an erratic fashion. She had not heard Darien approach her, but he was barely a few steps away, his dark eyes looking straight at her. He moved towards her before she could react.
"These roses have quite an impressive set of thorns; I doubt you'd want a few nasty cuts or scratches." He bent down, surveying the flowers for a moment before carefully reaching for the blossom. His movements were steady and sure, his fingers deft as he evaded the thorns and broke the stem. Smiling, he held out the flower to Serena. "For the Lady."
Their fingers brushed as she took the rose, and Serena felt a shiver that was not from the cool air. She closed her eyes and allowed the sweet scent of the flower wash through her like a cleansing tide. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
They stood there in silence, surrounded by the soft fragrance and the early morning. A glance at Darien told her that he was just as content to be enjoying the moment without any words, and Serena allowed herself to relax. It was nice, having this understanding, this presence of the other, their thoughts just within reach. It was not as if they did not have anything to talk about—Serena wondered about how he had slept, the reasons behind him being awake so early, whether the roses were as rare a species in Sairelle as it was back home. But these questions seemed meaningless at the moment, and not enough justification to break what they were sharing, the indescribable feeling of belonging.
So she let her arms drop to her side, a hand casually reaching for his. He showed no surprise at the brief touch, but Serena heard the quickened breathing in the air. She flexed a few fingers, enjoying the sensation of his warmth as they brushed against his skin. The small movement, the hesitation and uncertainty, gave him a chance to think, to react. His hand moved towards hers in a decided path that had only one destination. It found what he sought, and Serena shivered when his heat wrapped around her cool fingers, entwining with hers as if it was his job to warm her up. Their hands interlocked, Serena and Darien watched the last whispers of the night fall away, giving its reins to the light pink that kissed the edge of the horizon. The sun made its appearance, the ball of glowing fire making its swift ascent into the sky as it claimed ownership over the world.
Only when the sky had completely been cleared of the hues that followed the sun did Darien give Serena's hand a gentle tug, and she looked at him with a comprehension that stemmed from somewhere within before she wordlessly followed his lead and went back inside.
Their parting was a dispirited affair. Serena made no remarks or protests when Nephrite declared that they should start heading back. Just as the day before had been light-hearted and easy, this had been the exact opposite, the tenseness wafting in the air almost as if it had a life of its own. Darien could only stand aside and watch the exchanges between Serena and Lita, not knowing if he could assist in any way. He bit back the urge to make a public suggestion to Nephrite that perhaps they could stay longer, for the Prince was to be gone for a week, but he knew the precautions had to be kept. The lie had to be lived out through to the end.
"Don't be so glum, Serena," Lita had been saying, "it is not as if we won't see each other again."
"I suppose you're right…" The girl glanced over to Nephrite, a hopeful look, and Darien clenched his fist, willing himself not to interfere.
"I'm sure we can repeat trips similar to this one," Nephrite replied. "And I'm sure Lady Lita is more than happy to make her way to the palace at anytime. She would be more than welcome."
Darien saw the brief exchange between the two, the obvious grin on Nephrite's face and the blush that began on Lita's. He had a feeling a guest room would not need to be prepared when the Countess visited.
"Indeed, the Lady is welcome." Darien smiled at the two, content with the flicker of understanding in Nephrite's eyes.
Lita had turned to Serena again. "Write to me, will you? I would love to receive the mighty Shitennou Lord Nephrite as a letter deliverer."
Serena nodded. "I shall." She accepted Darien's offered hand, and climbed into the carriage. "Take care, Lita."
Her words had a finality to it that sliced through Darien's heart. Serena had turned away before he could study her expression, but he already knew what was bothering her—she did not expect to see the Countess again. His jaw hard, Darien gave a curt nod to Lita and disappeared into the carriage. He would make sure the ladies would meet again.
He gave a command to Nephrite, who spurred the horses into motion. Serena waved goodbye to Lita from the small window, and when they had passed the main gates, Serena settled back into her seat. For the next few minutes the only sound that passed between them was the even rhythm of the horses' gait and the creaking of the wheels as they rolled across the dirt. Remembering the quiet dawn they had shared only hours before, Darien reached for Serena's hand, and was rewarded with a glance, a small smile. Hands entwined, they rode on in silence.
Her set of rooms at the palace felt more like a prison cell than it ever had before. It might have been several times more spacious than the guest room she was given at Lita's estate, but it had none of the comforts that made Lita's place a home. Looking around the tidy, well-decorated room with its vases of flowers and expensive linens, Serena thought that something was missing. The room seemed to have never held audience to laughter, only the tears and pains of herself, of those who had come before her. Briefly Serena wondered exactly who had occupied these suites before her. Had they felt as trapped, as helpless, despite the fineries? She would have to pry the answer out of Nephrite or Darien.
She was not surprised to see Mina, who had no doubt waited for her return, in the large dining room. The girl looked relieved to see Serena, and quickly rose to her feet.
"Miss, I am glad that you are well!" Mina held out her hands for Serena's coat, and she quickly removed it. "I was worried that you might get caught."
Serena frowned at the thought. "Has anyone visited in my absence?"
"Lady Rachael came by, but she left when she realised you were not here." Mina hung Serena's coat, and made sure Serena was seated before ringing for a servant.
"Rachael? What did she want? What did you tell her?"
"The Lady asked for you, and when I told her you were not available in your room, she walked away."
Serena doubted the fiery woman would have simply walked away and attended to her own business without any suspicions as to her whereabouts, but nothing could be done now. The memories of their last exchange and Rachael's unexpected defence at the ball resurfaced, and she wondered how Rachael could be contacted. She would have to ask Nephrite and Darien about that too.
"Did you enjoy yourself in the last two days?"
Serena smiled at the sincerity of the girl. "I did, very much. Perhaps you could come with us next time." She wasn't sure of the logistics, but the horror on Mina's face made Serena wince.
"Please do not say things like that," Mina said, her eyes wide. "If they ever found out, they would punish the both of us."
Serena knew better than to argue, so she directed Mina to another question. "Mina, would you know where I might acquire some writing instruments and parchment?"
The girl nodded and left the room, reappearing moments later with Serena's request. She laid them on the table, and Serena touched the items with interest. The parchment was thick and rough, and the quills well-balanced. She removed the lid from the bottle of black ink and dipped the nib, testing the instrument against the paper. The ink flowed steadily without fault and the scratching, although harsh, was enough to ensure the control over her script. Satisfied, she turned to thank Mina and ask for some moments of privacy.
"As you wish," the girl said through her curtsy. "Would you like me to interrupt you when dinner is ready?"
She thought of the delicious meals Lita had arranged for them, and doubted the food here would be half as good. "That will not be necessary," Serena replied. "I will call you when I am ready to eat."
She heard Mina leave the room and softly close the door. Taking a deep breath, Serena waited for her thoughts to settle before dipping her quill into the inkwell and began to write her letter.
Darien did not expect to find himself with Mina when he entered the main entertaining area of Serena's room. The blonde girl was dressed in the simple uniform of the maids around the palace, so far removed from the usual silks and laces Mina preferred. She quickly masked her surprise at seeing him so informally dressed, and gave a low curtsy, addressing him in softly.
"Your Highness, it is a great honour to have you here."
The cultivated voice made Darien slightly uneasy, but he was sure Mina's demeanour changed when in Serena's presence. He waved an arm, and she rose back to her feet. "When I am in these rooms, I am Darien, not the Prince. I had expected Lord Kunzite to have mentioned such details to you."
Mina curtsied again. "Only in passing, Your Highness. Lord Kunzite and I have not had much opportunity to meet as of late."
"I appreciate your services, Lady Mina, and I am sure you will do well to remember that I am only Darien here." His tone was harsh, impatient, and there was no room for debate.
"I understand, Darien."
Darien scanned the room, his gaze lingering over the doors that led to the bedroom. "Is she awake?"
"And why must you presume that a lady cannot function after an outing without taking their infamous naps?" The hint of sarcasm was not lost, and Darien found himself once again approving of Kunzite's choice of feminine company.
"I am also under the presumption that the primary task in your assignment is to observe."
Mina dipped to the floor again, the curtsy short and graceful. "The lady I am serving is likely to end with a great number of questions, if her serving maid did not interact with her at all."
"Ah, so you are recalling the lessons you have learnt from the first score of your life."
"One does not forget the basics, Lord Darien. Even Lord Kunzite's preferences have not dulled the instincts that have been bred through years of servitude."
Darien let out a chuckle, and Mina curtsied again, smiling. She had always been in favour with the Prince as well as the rest of the Shitennou, and Darien found himself nodding at her diplomacy and quick wits.
"Lady Mina, it has always astounded me that one with such an upbringing as yourself has manifested into such a graceful, eloquent lady who can put a well-bred noble to shame."
"You are giving me more credit than I deserve," Mina replied, her blue eyes twinkling. "It is my former mistress and her insistence upon my education that you should pay homage to."
"Perhaps we should pay our respects together," Darien said. He let his last words hang in the air, giving them both a few moments before rephrasing his previous question, seeking the answer he most wanted to know. "I gather, from your earlier response, that Lady Serena is currently awake and ready to embark on her next adventure without needing to recover from her last. However, the strongest of us still have a tendency to find ourselves powerless against the tantalising thoughts of food, and I was wondering whether you would be so kind as to tell me if she has eaten her evening meal?"
He could tell she was surprised at his choice of words, at the roundabout way he had asked the question when the Prince could have simply demanded the answer. But as always, Mina quickly gathered herself, providing him with a straightforward answer: "No, she has not."
"Well then, I have arranged for a meal to be prepared for us, and I would greatly appreciate if you could see that it is delivered onto a properly set table."
"She is currently using the dining table."
Darien raised an eyebrow. "I thought you had said she has not yet dined?"
"A table can be used for more than one purpose, Lord Darien. It is perhaps only males who are so single-minded in their intentions."
He suddenly moved closer to her, his fingers tracing the contours of her cheek. Although Mina was used to the Prince's flirting, he saw the tiniest trace of fear. Smiling at the response, he bent down, his lips sweeping across her hair before breathing into her ear.
"I'm sure I can find another use. Would you like to assist me in my explorations?" She shuddered noticeably, and Darien drew back, a gleam in his eyes. "Such blatant rejection. At least I can inform Lord Kunzite that I tried."
"Your Highness?"
"Darien," he corrected, smiling—her voice was shaky.
"She does not wish to be disturbed."
"We shall see about that, Lady Mina." He took a few steps towards the dining room, and paused, turning back. "After you fetch the food, you may have the evening off. I believe you will find Kunzite in his chambers."
"I thank you for your consideration." His words seemed to have given Mina her strength, and her wits returned. "I wish you all the best in convincing Lady Serena to participate in your experiments on the dining table."
Darien stared at Mina, feeling his calm being replaced by disarrayed thoughts, the images of Serena beneath him, supple and willing. His jaw tightened, and the anger rose at Mina's audacity.
But the girl simply made one last curtsy and looked him in the eye. "My powers of observation have served me well during this assignment." She left the room without another word.
Darien did not know how long he had stood rooted to his position, muscles tense from the whirlpool of rage and desire. He tried to leash them before his emotions could take rein, but the teasing flashes made it impossible for him to think of anything other than the feel of Serena's skin, her full lips as she wet them, the curve where her shoulder met her neck, her silky, golden tresses intoxicating him with her scent as he buried himself, deep and hot, in a place that only belonged to him.
It was the sound of moving furniture that brought him back to his surroundings, and he did his best to compose himself before the soft footsteps drew closer and the door closest to him was opened.
"Mina, would it be possible to—" Serena froze when she met Darien's intense gaze. He couldn't help but feel smug at how she seemed to have just as enough trouble collecting herself. "Darien, what a lovely surprise!"
"I asked Mina to see if dinner is ready to be brought to your room," he said mildly. "Is there something you need her for?"
She shook her head, and Darien noticed the folded parchment in her hands. "Actually, I was going to ask her to find you. I have a letter here that I would like to seal and deliver to Lita."
The thought of Serena, writing to Lita in confidence, unnerved him more than it should have. He quickly dismissed the jealousy. "Is there no wax?"
"Mina brought me the wax, along with a very sturdy set of quills, but I have no seal."
"That shouldn't be a problem." He gestured into the room. "Shall we?"
He followed her into the dining room, clenching his fist as he saw the table, and looked at the scraps of parchment that she had tested the quills on. She had mostly written her own name, but it was the elegant cursive that caught his attention. Her writing was not without faults, a sign that she did not take her handwriting lessons seriously, but the assured loops and the sloped letters said much about her stubbornness, of how her writing was seen as a necessity, a way of communication, rather than an art form to be perfected. He tucked this piece of information away and reached for the wax stick.
"Would you please pass me a candle?" Serena quickly compiled, reaching for the nearest candelabra. She handed him her letter, already folded and ready to be sealed, and he carefully melted the wax, letting it run onto the parchment where the end of the flap met the rest of the letter. When the softened wax had become an irregular crimson circle, he set the candelabra onto the table and withdrew the gold ring he always kept with him. He pressed the stamp into the wax, waiting for the slight hardening before lifting his ring. The seal was of an eagle, wings outstretched. He wordlessly returned the letter to Serena.
"Could you possibly…?"
He was surprised by the hesitancy in her request, but betrayed none of it and only nodded in understanding. "I will see that it is delivered."
Serena smiled, and Darien felt the heat return. "Thank you, Darien."
He was looking for his next words when a knock sounded on the door, and Serena quickly went to open it. Mina entered, casting him a quick glance before busying herself with clearing the table.
Serena reached the parchment and the writing box before Mina. "I would like to hold onto these," she said.
"Of course, miss." Mina's voice was meek and quiet, holding none of its lustrous qualities. He barely had time to register the difference—the parchment and letter had given him an idea.
Serena saw his smile and looked at him questioningly. "Darien?"
"Come, let's eat our dinner." He pulled out a chair for her as Mina brought the food in, the aroma appealing to his empty stomach. The unexpected rush of excitement seemed to override his hunger, and Darien felt his anticipation at her reaction. He knew he had read her correctly and she would like it, but Darien yearned to see the expression on her face.
"Darien, you're grinning like Nephrite. What's so funny?"
He tried to keep his tone calm, but it still sounded light and cheerful to his own ears. "Just eat your dinner. And afterwards…well, you'll just have to wait and find out."
"What does that mean?" Her voice was almost shrill, like a flute in its upper register. "Darien, tell me!"
He pleasantly commented on the soup, and made an unsuccessful attempt to divert her attention. As they ate their meal, Darien hoped that Serena would like the surprise that was in store for her.
"I still think he is utterly obscene. Perhaps some can find an element of humour in the situation, but I do not believe these attempts to induce laughter are in any way successful in directing our attention away from all the lewdness. In fact, I would like to suggest that it is these attempts at creating a light-hearted mood when such bawdy behaviour is taking place only serves to increase its obscenity."
Amelia was pleased when she saw the General hesitate at her passionate declaration. The words and the force with which she presented them was slightly uncharacteristic, but she was desperate for her opinion to be taken seriously—judging from the sudden furrowing of eyebrows, Amelia knew that he was considering her point.
"I can see what you are trying to say," Zoisite said slowly, "but the fact still remains that his intentions were partially to provide amusement and entertainment."
Amelia inhaled and exhaled to calm herself, a practise she was familiar with. "Yet he carries them out in an obscene fashion. There is nothing polite or well-mannered about Fielding's depictions."
"If your argument is that Joseph Andrews is an obscene text, then I believe you should admit that Pamela is similarly so."
That struck a nerve. "Richardson is nowhere near obscene. He is a master of portraying delicate subjects with finesse and care—"
"As is Fielding."
"—and needs not resort to childish theatrics like Fielding when dealing with such issues."
"So what you really wish to discuss is the intention of the authors rather than the texts themselves."
Amelia narrowed her eyes. "The intentions are found to be expressed in the texts. One cannot simply discuss the 'intentions' without looking at the texts."
"Where Joseph Andrews is base comedy and Pamela is a highly cultivated art form."
Amelia smiled. "Precisely."
Zoisite leaned back on his chair, clearly exasperated. "I suppose any hope of reaching a mutual agreement tonight is impossible?"
"Unless, of course, you care to reconsider my perspective."
Zoisite laughed, though the sound was not entirely at ease. "Lady Amelia, for all your meek persona and intelligence, you can be one very thick, very stubborn lady."
Amelia could not help but blush at his words, which prompted him to chuckle, this time a sound full of warmth. Her blush only deepened, and Amelia took a sip of her water, silently berating herself for having spoken up. It would have been a lot more comfortable if she simply listened to his thoughts and be spared from being the centre of his attention. She wondered again why he was here, why the busy General had agreed to spend the little free time he had with her, poring over questionable novels and arguing over which one was more inappropriate, when the answer was rather obvious.
Following her train of thought, she could not help but mutter, "I suppose nothing can be more lewd and bawdy than Cleland. His…veracity puts all of them to shame."
Zoisite laughed, the light sound echoing through the room. "I believe you have found something we can both agree on. Although…I believe I am missing my copy of Fanny Hill. You don't suppose…?"
Amelia gave him a mortified look.
"No, I don't suppose. My apologies, Lady." He seemed concentrated in thought, the few moments broken with realisation, followed by some muttering of his own. "Nephrite. He said he had to 'educate' Jadeite…"
Watching the General shaking his head in discomfort, Amelia could not help but be somewhat intrigued. The words left her before she had a chance to think. "May I ask why you had a copy in the first place?"
Amelia was sure that the mortified look Zoisite now had mirrored her own. She quickly ducked her head, avoiding his gaze.
"Well, you see, it is because…" He swallowed, and shifted in his seat. "It is a rare book and I happen to be a collector."
Amelia nodded, not daring to process his answer; she had done enough damage for the day. She pretended to find a particular passage of a book—though she had no idea which—suddenly very interesting and worthy of her study, and stared at it intently for a few moments. Her cheeks flared again as she realised their discussion for the evening was probably over, and the most appropriate thing she could do was thank the General for his time and leave the room. But somehow she could not comprehend the fact that Zoisite, the civilised mentor she had looked up to for years, was in possession of the most explicit novel in the history of written literature, whose main plot consisted of the debauchery and consequent adventures of a fourteen year old girl.
It was not all that unexpected, really. Amelia knew that men had needs, that men, no matter how intelligent and courteous, were still male, with their male urges and appetites. It was just too much for Amelia to think of Zoisite as one of those males, who had obviously read and indulged in a book. A banned book.
Zoisite sighed, a strained sound that disconcerted her more. "I am sorry if I have offended you in any way…"
Amelia could only shake her head, her eyes still on the book in front of her. She did not even know what language the text was written in. "No, you have caused no offense, I am simply feeling slightly…" Uncomfortable. And thinking about you in a way that is clearly detrimental to my wellbeing.
The main door opened, and Amelia breathed a quiet sigh of relief at the interruption. They both straightened in their seats and made work of rearranging their reading material into neat piles. They were sitting at the large table that was far from the entrance and it would take a few more moments for the newcomers to notice their presence. Amelia could make out two sets of footsteps, but strangely enough, there was no sign of any talking. She was about to rise from her seat and greet the two when she heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by a clear, melodious voice.
"Oh Darien! This is amazing!"
Amelia recognised that voice, recognised the lilting accent that was not from Sairelle. But she did not recognise the name, though she saw Zoisite tense visibly from the corner of her eyes.
"Do you like it?"
Amelia fought hard to keep her breathing steady. She could recognise that deep, cultured voice anywhere. She did not know why it sounded somewhat different, warm and breathless as if he was anticipating her response, with none of the usual coolness that delivered countless orders. What was the Prince doing here?
Amelia did not want to think about the consequences when the Prince realised she and Zoisite were sitting here in silence, listening to the Prince's conversations. Determined to announce her presence, Amelia braced herself against the table, ready to rise to her feet.
She did not contain her surprise when Zoisite's cool hand covered her own. His own expression was a desperate, silent plea for her to remain seated. Her heart began to pound against her chest, and the fingers of Amelia's free hand twitched, wanting to feel her own pulse to confirm that she was simply experiencing a mild case of shock.
In the next moment Zoisite was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her face. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her swimming head enough to comprehend his urgent words, no louder than a murmur. "Listen to me, Amelia. You must not address him as Prince Endymion. He is Darien, Master of the Eagles and a close friend of the Shitennou. Do not show any more reverence to him than you would me. You must do as I say. Do you understand me, Amelia?"
She nodded, the palpitations increasing until she could not pinpoint the source of her erratically beating heart. Fear, confusion, excitement? There was no time for answers.
The Prince had spotted them at the same moment Zoisite pulled away, his hand drawn back as if it had been stung. Amelia could not fathom the calm expression on the General's face, and struggled to maintain her own composure. Noting her hands were trembling, she quickly took them off the table, cradling them beneath the table in her lap.
"Have we interrupted something?" the Prince asked, his voice with a touch of concern. Amelia kept her gaze on her books, still not daring to look at the Prince.
Zoisite rose to his feet in a quick movement, and Amelia stumbled in suit. "Darien, you must not make such jokes at the expense of Lady Amelia." His voice was at ease, but Amelia could see the white knuckles of the General's closed fists. They seemed to loosen at his next words. "Lady Serena, it is a pleasure to see you again."
If her memory had served her correctly—and Amelia's memory seldom failed—the last time Zoisite interacted with Serena was almost a week ago when the General was bandaging the girl's hands and was rewarded with the Chistonian's insults. Amelia goaded herself for her thoughts—it was very likely that Zoisite had met with the girl on other occasions without Amelia's knowledge, and the circumstances between them had changed as a result. Amelia bit her bottom lip, willing herself not to be jealous.
"You are Lord Zoisite, am I correct?" Serena's voice was soft and courteous, and very uncertain, instantly disproving Amelia's theory. She felt angered at being wrong on so many occasions in such a short space of time; it was definitely not a good day.
"I am surprised you remember."
Amelia looked up in time to see Serena smile. "I believe only four Generals are under the title of the Four Heavenly Kings, and the recollection of such a number of names prove to be possible for even one such as myself."
Zoisite bowed in response. "I see that you always take your wits with you, Lady Serena."
"Some consider them to be irritating, but I am glad that you approve." Serena turned her gaze to Amelia, her cerulean eyes sparkling in recognition. "And Lady Amelia. It is a pleasure to see you again. How did your perusal of Catullus go?"
The men's attention was suddenly on her, and Amelia felt the familiar blush rising to her cheeks. She tried to ignore them and focused only on Serena.
"I must admit my enjoyment and appreciation for his works was heightened by our brief discussion."
Serena glanced at the leather-bound volumes that were stacked on the desk. "Henry Fielding and Samuel Richardson. They are an interesting pair to study."
The arguments from the earlier debate returned, fresh in her memory, and Amelia leapt at the promise of a third opinion. "Are you familiar with their works?"
"I am." Serena picked up Amelia's copy of Pamela and opened it, flicking through the pages, eyes scanning the text. She paused at a section, her expression unreadable. "I am more familiar than I would like to be."
She closed it and returned the book, surprising Amelia with the pain that was suddenly in her eyes. The men's calm reaction to Serena's words told Amelia that they had not seen the change in the girl's mood, and Amelia quickly thought of a diversion before the others could catch on.
"Lord Zoisite and I happen to have been involved in a friendly discussion over the similarities and differences between the works of these two authors, and have happened to reach a stalemate. Perhaps you would like to provide your own opinion?"
Serena acknowledged Amelia's gestures, and looked to the Prince, who was pulling out a chair for Serena. "This should be interesting," he said. "I believe that Lady Amelia and Lord Zoisite are constantly engaging in such 'friendly discussions', and there have been many a time when they find themselves requiring a referee to hand out their judgements. However, the task is more difficult than it seems, as only few are able to meet the intellectual demands set by these two. You should be honoured to be given the privilege."
Serena looked up at the Prince as he took his own seat. "Why does it seem as if you're reading my death sentence instead of praising me?"
Amelia tensed at the girl's words, not wanting to be involved when the Prince's anger was unleashed. To Amelia's surprise, the Prince only laughed, a rich sound that Amelia had never heard before with such sincerity. "I'm afraid I'm having some second thoughts here myself—I was hoping to treat you to something special and spend the rest of the evening digging out rare books, but it seems as if I have inadvertently led you to your funeral."
The words sounded like an insult to Amelia's ears, but Zoisite had thought otherwise. The usually serene General was smiling genuinely, his features softening in a way that stunned Amelia. For all the years of their acquaintance, she had never seen him like this.
"Darien here has a habit of exaggerating his misfortunes," Zoisite said, his voice warm. "I am sure such skills would have been highly beneficial had he decided to contribute them to the theatre."
"I must admit that I have not yet noticed the behaviour," was Serena's response, "but perhaps such characteristics only surface when Darien is in more serious company, where he feels a need to compensate for a lack of his other qualities."
Amelia smiled at Serena's words, pleased to see that she had made the Prince so uncomfortable. He feigned hurt and remorse as he muttered, "Nephrite's going to say goodbye to his hidden supply of brandy."
Zoisite nodded, bemused. "Third drawer of the mahogany cabinet in his drawing room."
"Thank you. I vow to never again provide my assistance to Kunzite during your games of chess." The two men solemnly shook on the promise, while Amelia and Serena looked on in disbelief.
"Now that the two of you have indulged in the necessity of affirming your masculinity," Serena said, "shall we proceed to a more constructive discussion?"
"As constructive as squabbling over the drivels of lecherous dead men can get."
Serena shot a look at the Prince, and Amelia swore she saw him cower. "If you want to sit there, the least you can do is curb your own drivelling."
Amelia watched, amazed, as the Prince bowed his head apologetically. "Your command is duly noted."
Finding a loss for words, Amelia looked to Zoisite for encouragement. The General was smiling and at ease, almost as if he believed the Prince's behaviour was completely normal. Amelia felt that all attention was on her yet again, waiting for her to begin the discussion. Although she did not understand the changing dynamics between the three people she sat with, Amelia knew they were gathered here for a purpose, one that she was familiar with. She took a moment to consider her options, but her curiosity about Serena's opinions overcame her uncertainty; Amelia straightened in her seat, her decision made.
"Lady Serena, would you enlighten us with your thoughts on the similarities and differences between the works of Fielding and Richardson?"
Serena drained the water in her glass, relieved that it was finally over. Darien had been correct about the intensity and duration of such discussions between Amelia and Zoisite, and their passion had been contagious. Though they respected what Serena had to say and listened to her arguments carefully, persuading them to accept her interpretations as the most valid was another matter entirely. The polite exchanges had gradually turned into a full-blown verbal campaign for the most righteous of answers, leaving no room for restraint or hesitation. Serena had never engaged in such a heated battle, but she begrudgingly admitted that it was somewhat enjoyable, or at least it would be viewed as such, once she had stopped retrospectively going over every little detail and dissecting their arguments into countless pieces.
And she did not like Darien's triumphant look, which surely resulted from the concentration that was still plastered on her face. He wasn't the one who had to defend the authorial intentions of those whose quills had long run out of ink.
"Poor Serena," he said, reaching out a hand to comfort her, "I should have given you a more explicit warning before sacrificing you to these philosophical canines."
She brushed the hand away. "Don't patronise me, Darien. I handled it well enough with your assistance."
"She couldn't be more correct," Zoisite said, drinking from his own glass. "Your points were very well argued, Lady Serena."
"Likewise, Lord Zoisite." She nodded in Amelia's direction. "And you, Lady Amelia. I am very impressed at your thorough knowledge of these works."
"What about me? Where's my compliment?"
Serena raised an eyebrow at Darien's keen expression. "The only thing you deserve is a good clubbing for not mentioning you kept company with two of the most intelligent and well-educated people I have ever had the honour of meeting."
"Is that so much of a surprise, Lady Serena?" Zoisite asked politely. Serena regarded the light tone with suspicion—the General had spoken in the exact same way before ripping one of her arguments to shreds.
"I'm not entirely sure whether anything should be a surprise, after being exposed to Nephrite's…exuberance."
The men laughed, and Serena allowed a smile to slip. It quickly disappeared when she noticed Amelia sitting with her shoulders tense, struggling to keep a polite, interested expression on her face. Amelia had been passionate and eager to present her own opinions during the discussion, but she was now the uncertain, quiet woman who looked as if she didn't think she belonged. Serena could almost hear the well-formed apologies Amelia would make to excuse herself from their company.
Hoping her familiarity with Darien and her slight upper hand would act in her favour, Serena spoke again. "Darien, I believe it is time to finally make yourself useful. Please do us all a favour and remove these books from my sight before a headache finds me."
He flashed her a wide, charming smile, and Serena wondered why she ever doubted. "Certainly, my Lady."
Taking the hint, Zoisite also rose from his seat. "Perhaps some refreshments are also in order. Lady Serena, would more water suffice, or would you prefer something stronger?"
"A light wine would be lovely."
She noticed the General did not ask Amelia or Darien for their preferences, and Zoisite was halfway to the door when Darien called out, "Zoisite, give me a hand here and then we can raid Nephrite's room together."
Serena saw the look shared between the two, though she did not know what transpired between the men. Zoisite nodded and returned to the table, and the two cleared the books, save the small pile Amelia insisted on taking with her. They quickly returned them to the shelves, and bowed before leaving the two women alone.
The silence was far from comfortable. Amelia gave Serena a polite nod and reached over to retrieve a volume from the books she had kept aside. The soft sound of pages being flipped continued for the next few minutes, allowing Serena the time to gather her own thoughts. Seeing the concentration on Amelia's face, Serena almost felt sorry for the girl. She was a proud, intelligent woman, and despite the readiness with which she expressed her opinion, she no doubt kept her own personal feelings to herself. But her obvious discomfort in their presence when the conversation went beyond those of the literary and philosophical realm could not be simply attributed to aloofness or superiority.
"Lady Amelia, may I enquire as to what you are currently reading?" The empathy in her own voice astonished her, but Serena was not able to withdraw her offer.
"A collection of early Anglo-Saxon literature," Amelia replied, after a short pause. It was obvious that the girl wanted nothing more than to continue reading in peace, but she made an attempt to remain courteous. "Are you familiar with those works too?"
Serena had heard of it, but the texts were obscure and she never had a chance to study them in Chiston. "I am not. Has it proven to be interesting so far?"
"I am slowly making progress on learning the language in order to interpret them."
"Your dedication is very admirable." Serena bent across the table, trying to decipher the words. "That seems to be an entirely different script!"
She must have said something amusing, for Amelia let out a small smile. "Only a few letters are different, but most of them bear similarities with the Common Tongue."
"Ah. I must confess I have not yet mastered the art of reading upside down." Seeing Amelia's smile widen, Serena spoke again. "Could you read a portion out loud?"
Serena could tell from the surprise and hesitation that Amelia was not used to receiving such requests. But despite her reservations, the girl nodded, and Serena waited patiently for Amelia to start.
The language was foreign, each individual word incomprehensible to Serena, but there was a certain quality to the sounds and rhythm that reminded her of standing alone atop a mountain, her hands outstretched towards the heavens in an act of surrender. She had never heard anything like it before, and yet, Serena felt like she knew the piece, knew the heavy sentiments that enveloped her. And then Amelia had finished, and Serena was free again.
"That was amazing."
Colour rose to Amelia's cheeks, but she was smiling. "It is rather awe-inspiring. 'Caedmon's Hymn', truly one of a kind."
"There is something special about it," Serena said, "a particular quality that makes it so raw and so refined at the same time… Would you happen to know what it is?"
Amelia shook her head, the joy gone. "I have been trying to find the answer to that myself, but it has continued to elude me."
"Perhaps we could make a combined effort. Would you please read it again?"
The girl obliged and Serena closed her eyes this time, letting the sounds roll over her. The effect, though not so profound, were still there. It only took Serena a moment to pinpoint the exact nature.
"It is the meter," Serena said once Amelia finished reading. "I almost overlooked it because I've never experienced anything like this before, but it's trochaic."
"Where?" Amelia looked back at the pages, somewhat frustrated. "I don't see it."
"There are four stressed syllables in each line, but the number of unstressed syllables are uneven, unmatched. Read the first line again."
Amelia complied, her expression now one of amazement. "How did you know?"
"I was just listening to the way it sounded so tense, with a driving force, and at the same time so loose, almost messy."
"Yes, yes, that makes perfect sense." The girl looked at the poem again, and was suddenly excited. "The alliteration! Most of the stressed syllables are also alliterative!"
Armed with the new knowledge, Amelia read through the piece a third time, allowing them both to fully appreciate the piece. When she finished, the light in her eyes had changed into something soft and friendly, a subdued spark that would warm them for the rest of the evening.
Darien knocked once on Nephrite's door and entered, Zoisite close behind. He was surprised to find Kunzite sitting with Nephrite, but the older General was not fazed at unexpectedly seeing his Prince.
"Your Highness, I have been looking for you."
He dismissed Kunzite's bow with a wave of a hand, certain that the General's search had been hindered by Mina's report. "What is the occasion, Lord Kunzite?"
"I have a letter from Diamond."
Darien paused for a moment, then nodded, extending his hand. Kunzite pulled the letter from within his coat.
"Is that all?" Not waiting for the General to reply, Darien had already made his way towards the table where Nephrite sat. He broke the seal and, under the light of a lamp, quickly skimmed the contents. So, the fool did have half his wits about him. He folded the parchment and placed it in his pocket, where another letter was waiting. "Nephrite, deliver this to Lita please."
He knew he was being abrupt, but time could not be wasted. "If you leave at once, you may be able to catch her before she retires for the evening."
Nephrite took it, bowing deeply. "Then I will see you later tomorrow, Darien." He paused, then added, "Or perhaps the day after that, if I am fortunate."
Darien noticed the other Shitennou exchange glances, but those questions would have to wait. Serena, on the other hand, had waited long enough, and he was not about to waste another minute. He had already selected a bottle of very fine pinot noir from his cellar—now it was time for that elusive brandy from the third drawer.
Her arm was looped through his as they walked back to her room. Having her so close to him, Darien thought about all those images that had been brought up against his will. With them he recalled the memory of the kisses they had shared, how her soft lips had sought out what she wanted, what they both wanted, without restraint. His mouth grew dry at the thought, and Darien quickly pushed them away.
"I know a great majority of the evening was unexpected, but I hope you enjoyed it regardless."
Serena sighed in contentment. "It was truly wonderful. I have never seen so many books in my life… Zoisite and Amelia are lovely people too. I thought they were a bit proud at first—I thought all of you were too proud for your own good—but no, they were lovely, and intelligent, and really lovely people."
Darien stopped in his tracks, and Serena stumbled, almost falling over. He quickly caught her, setting her back on her feet again. "Serena? Are you feeling alright?"
"Sunshine couldn't feel better!" The words were slurred, and she was smiling brightly. "I am a bit tired though…that's strange, I don't think I've done anything strenuous today…"
"Serena, you were up before dawn."
"Oh. Well. Was it pretty? I like sunrises, though I never get to see them often…I hope it was pretty." She paused, and a frown worked its way into her face. "It's a bit hot here, don't you think?"
Darien shook his head in disbelief. She seemed to be sober, although a bit tired, while they were still in the library, but the woman he was with now seemed to have little self-restraint. "I think you've had a bit too much to drink. We'd best get you into bed before you cause a disaster."
"Why yes, I'd love to have another drink. Is that where you're taking me, Darien?"
Darien started moving again, gently tugging Serena with him. They weren't far from her room, and he knew from experience that she would fall asleep as soon as she hit the bed. He felt guilty at having put her through such an endeavour when she was already tired, despite how well he had meant.
"I'm taking you someplace better, Serena. It's comfortable, quiet, and you even get to lie down."
"Ooohh…that sounds lovely! The library was comfortable, well the seats were, and quiet, except when you started bickering about your manly pride. You're too proud, Darien, did you know that?"
How had she gotten so drunk anyway? He remembered the first few times her glass had been filled, where the girl greedily drank her wine to ease her thirst, but didn't Amelia also drink with them throughout the evening? He abruptly stopped again, steadying Serena as she once again lost her balance. Amelia was not one to drink—Serena had finished the entire bottle. It was unbelievable that she was still standing.
"Must you keep doing that?!" The frustration was evident in her eyes, though they were distant and glazed. "Don't you think that just because I'm your friend I'm going to let you off the hook and not be angry with you—what are you doing? Put me down!"
He had scooped her up in his arms, and was now taking hurried steps towards her room. "I'll put you down when I'm sure you won't topple over immediately afterwards."
He could almost see her expression as she contemplated his words. "Well. Okay then." She leaned into his chest, draping her arms around his neck, surprising him with the intimacy. He had expected more of a struggle, but the bundle in his arms seemed more than happy to make herself comfortable. He shook his head, smiling to himself at the absurdity of the situation: the powerful Prince Endymion of Sairelle, carrying an inebriated prisoner to her rooms so he could tuck her into bed.
To his relief, they soon reached the entrance to her rooms. Shifting her weight to one arm, he freed his other hand enough to open the door, letting them both into the empty rooms. He quietly closed the door behind them, then headed straight for the bedroom. Darien noted with satisfaction that a fire was still burning in the room, warding off the chilly autumn night. He carefully placed Serena onto the bed, smiling as he withdrew his arms from beneath her.
"There, you're all set," he said, brushing away a stray wisp of hair. He was still hovering over her, and was about to straighten when her eyes found his.
The intensity behind those knowing cerulean eyes sent a burst of heat surging through his body, straight to his heart. The glazed look was gone, and in its place was a single-minded focus, a confident woman who knew what she wanted. And in that moment, in the soul-shattering heartbeat, she wanted him.
There was no need for consent, for the nod or murmur that he would have given her, but she silently questioned him just the same, though she did not wait for an answer. Her grip on him was strong, and he did not resist when she pulled him down, down, to her waiting lips, to the body waiting for him to explore. There was nothing chaste or restrained in their kiss, none of the polite and courteous give and take of their previous non-verbal conversations—this was urgent, raw, their lips and tongues seeking what the other needed. This was her fingers twisting in his hair, pulling him to her mouth, and then down, down. This was his lips wrenching from hers, finding her neck, her breasts, the fine trail of hair towards her belly, and down. This was tongues and hands travelling for a lifetime and finally finding where they belonged and what belonged to them. The soft, the hard, the swelling and the tumbling, the cries that escaped through the throat and breathed into the ear; it was all an endless cycle, born before their time and waiting for the right moment to ensnare its prey.
But he pulled away from her before the trap closed, feeling his own heart tear out in defiance. "No, Serena, not like this."
She was confused, then angry, but he moved in before she could speak, capturing her lips, stroking her skin with his hands. Pulling away for the second time was just as difficult, just as painful.
"Listen to me, my beautiful Serena. I want this, very much." He kissed her neck, grazing it with his teeth until she moaned and he found his words slipping away with her. "I want you, I want us, more than anything in this world. And I want it to be real, like the scent of the flowers you breathed in this morning, like the feel of rough parchment under your fingers."
"It is real, Darien." Her voice was a whisper. "We are real."
He smiled, running a finger across her forehead, not knowing how much the words meant to him. "I know, sweetie, I know. But it has to be more, there has to be so much more, than just this moment. I want every kiss,"—he lowered himself enough to place a feather-light touch on the tip of her nose—"every caress,"—he moved his hand down her body, teasing the soft curls with his fingertips—"to be just as real now as it will be tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that."
"It will be," she promised. He smiled again, a sad smile, not knowing why the honesty, the trust, was hurting so much.
"No, not the way I want it to be, not the way I need it to be." He felt tears well at the confession, blurring the image of Serena, patient and willing. "I want you to know every single moment for what it is, not as a blend of this and that that you can't quite name. Do you understand me, Serena?"
She could have lied when she nodded and murmured her reply, but he would never have known. All that mattered was what she said, what she did, and he drank her presence with a thirst that stemmed from someplace deep within, every drop a truth. So before he left he kissed her again, a gentle kiss that betrayed none of his desperation, and hoped that it wouldn't be their last.
AN: Please review! :)