Chapter 27

AN : I was expecting to be away for a while because of the editing required for this chapter but then suddenly there's so much work to do and all my waking moments are spent working. :(

Thank you for the all the reviews.

MyLittleElphie, jcacute19 - thank you for catching up!

Fae'sFlower, thanks for catching that big mistake...that is so embarassing! :D

LittleMissDelirious - LOL re the comparison, but I'm sure that Galinda is not as bloodthirsty as Cersei. Yes, I love the Avaris/Galinda pairing here. I think they're perfect for each other.

She did not expect it to rain.

She did not notice the thunder clouds when they started to form in the south until the first flash of lightning appeared somewhere behind her, to her left. She glanced over her shoulder and nudged the broom to go faster, thinking that she could outrace nature, and then the wind picked up and laughed at her naivety as it pushed the clouds towards her from an angle, faster than the broom could fly.

The second lightning was much closer. It came without warning, a flash so bright it blinded her momentarily. It lit up her surroundings, the dense clouds that mushroomed into a towering mass within seconds, that loomed over her and rose higher than her eyes could see, blocking off her view of the stars. The strong wind played a tug of war with her as it tried to rip her broom from her, as it tried to toss the green girl off her seat. Elphaba tightened her grip on her transport and squeezed the shaft tight, urging it to go faster just as the storm broke overhead, pelts of freezing rain that forced her to lower her head and squint her eyes. Another bolt of lightning came from deep within the cloud and touched the ground, electrifying the air and splitting the sky in half. Shadows formed on the land under her, the natural curves of the terrain looking like rivulets of blood, like scars of tears.

She was drenched by the time she reached Vinkus, soaked to her skin and chilled to her bones. She was glad when she finally saw the lights of Kiamo Ko, indicating to her that she had finally reached her destination. She flew to the back of the imposing structure and entered through a window into a rarely used corridor.

The passageway was dark, and she moved slowly, the dim light in her hand partially hidden by the folds of her soggy skirt. The place was quiet at first, but she began to hear the faint strains of music as she moved towards the main part of the building, the sound of strings and woodwinds. She had heard some of the servants humming when they did their work, but she had never heard an ensemble of instruments in Kiamo Ko before. But now there was music, and her ears picked up the sounds of the different instruments playing a soothing, melodic tune that she did not recognise. For a moment, she was reminded of the double date that she had gone on with Galinda so many years ago. For a moment, she wished that her friend was here, her hand in hers, her soothing voice next to her ear. As she reached the top of the stairs, she could see the glow from the lights below. She could hear sounds of people talking, people laughing, a girl giggling.

She descended the staircase before her, a downward spiral of a thousand steps. The main hall lay open below. The normally empty place had been converted into a ballroom, lit by hundreds of candles. One of the corners had been converted into a stage. There were half a dozen musicians on a corner that was partitioned off, their heads bowed as they played their instruments. Some of the guests were seated on the cushioned seats that were flush against the walls, while others stood in groups of twos and threes. A couple of younger men and ladies gathered at a corner and talked among themselves. Three of the servants moved among the guests, carrying trays of finger food and drinks. Trem stood alone, and he stopped one of the servants for a drink. His eyes went back to the couples on the dance floor as he took a sip, a smile on his face. And there in the centre, among the dancers, was Fiyero, his back to the stairs as he gave his partner a twirl before pulling her close to him as they swayed gently to the music.

One of the men was nodding perfunctorily as his neighbour rambled about something, his hands gesturing widely. The former scanned the large hall, trying to find something that would interest him when his eyes swept across the stairway and his jaw dropped. He raised a shaking hand, pointing at the dark figure on the steps. His companion followed his line of sight and gaped.

She knew what a sight she was, with her hair plastered to her face, her dress sticking to her skin, and a broom in her hand. At her feet, raindrops from her skirt dripped to form a puddle before flowing down the steps, dark tendrils staining the wood. Her heart pounded, loud like thunder, and blood rushed in her ears. For a moment, among the shadows, she saw her late professor standing next to a curtained window, and then he was gone.

She realised then that the music had stopped, sometime between the first man noticing her presence and everyone staring at her. Everyone, that is, except for the couple on the dance floor who were too engrossed in each other to note the change in the atmosphere.

The girl looked around a few moments later when she realised that the musicians had stopped playing and her friends were no longer dancing. The girl asked her partner why the music had stopped, her sweet voice a contrast to the dead silence. The king of Vinkus looked at the musicians, and it was only then that he realised that everyone was looking in the same direction. It was only then that he turned and saw her.

She took a step down, knowing that all eyes were on her as if she were the highlight of the show, the grand entrance that everyone had been waiting for. Or maybe she was the horror segment that no one had anticipated. She moved her feet without thinking, one stiff step followed by another, like a wound-up tiktok, and then another, and another, until she reached the bottom of the stairs. It was only then that Fiyero let go of his partner reluctantly. He said something to the girl, an assurance perhaps, and then the other couples opened a path for him. She could see some of their eyes turning to him, the people wondering what the king would do next. She could feel some of the eyes on her, the contempt in their eyes and the hostility in their glares.

It seemed to take an eternity for Fiyero to move across the hall. He looked at her, at the broom in her hand. It was only then that she realised that she was holding the stick upright like a staff, like a weapon, gripping it so tight it hurt.

He took a step forward. He was so close all she needed was to take one step and she would be able to touch his face, to wrap her arms around him. One step from burying her face in his chest.

From slapping him.

"You're back," he said with a smile. Perhaps the rest of them did not know him well enough, but tired as she was, she would not mistake the strained expression on his face for anything else.

He gestured to one of the servants. "Escort her back to her room." He added almost immediately. "No, bring her to one of the guest rooms." The servant nodded without a word.

"You must be exhausted." He looked behind him, at the people in the hall. "There are too many guests here. I'll come to you when I can. You must be hungry. I'll ask the servants to prepare something for you." And then he turned his back to her, gave his signal, and the music started again.

The servant brought her to one of the guest rooms. The windows in the room were opened. There was a fire burning in the fireplace and the bedsheets had been changed. Perhaps this was one of the rooms that was prepared for the guests who had come for the celebration and would be staying for the weekend. She did not ask. She did not want to know. She sat on the bed the moment the servant left, her arms around her. She had come back on time. She had…

What had she accomplished?

She had accomplished nothing. She had stopped nothing. All she had done was interrupt a couple dancing. She closed her eyes, and she could still see them behind her eyelids, the joyous look on Trelta's face as she looked up at Fiyero. The way he placed his hand on her tiny waist, her gloved dainty hand on his shoulder. The girl had worn an off-shouldered pearl gown, and the sequins and crystals on the skirt and sleeves reflected the candlelight and turned the dress golden. It was a gown made for a princess, for a queen.

Fiyero had given explicit instructions not to bring her to his suite. Maybe there was some reason why she had to go to another room instead. She looked at the wardrobe, wondering if she would find her clothes inside if she opened it, wondering if they would be shredded into strips like before. Maybe his room was being readied for a new occupant, a girl barely of age, youthful and innocent, a girl who would be excited and thrilled with the new arrangement, who would giggle when she bounced on the mattress before she wrapped her arms around the Arjiki king's neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

She shook her head. No, Fiyero would not do that.

Or would he?

She stood up, her wet clothes still sticking to her body like a second skin. Outside, a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, turning the walls stark white, followed by the roar of distant thunder that sounded like it had travelled a thousand miles and witnessed a thousand broken hearts. Her heart pounded, but it was not loud enough to cover up the strains of music that floated to the upper floors. Her head throbbed, and she squeezed her eyes shut and stepped further into the room, but the music continued to haunt her and pushed her towards the balcony, reminding her that she had just seen the man who had promised her forever holding another woman in his arms. A girl who was so important to the king that she was permitted to host her coming-of-age ball at Kiamo Ko, an arrangement that sent an irrefutable message to all of Vinkus.

Galinda predicted that he would ask for her forgiveness when she came back, but it seemed that the blonde had never been so wrong in her life.

Elphaba pushed the balcony door wide open and stepped outside. The rain was still falling, and the thunder roared ominously. She sank to the floor, and let the rumble drown out the music and the freezing rain numb the pain in her heart.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He knew that he should have come up earlier, but it had taken him considerable time before he managed to set the guests at ease with her sudden appearance, and more time before he could excuse himself from the party without being rude. The first thing that he noticed was the tray of food that was placed on the table near to the door, its contents cold and untouched. The green girl was nowhere to be seen.

"Elphaba?" he called out.

There was no reply.

The door to the balcony was opened. He took a cautious step towards it. She should not be outside; she never liked to be outdoor when it rained, but he had to be sure. The rain had stopped, but that was not the only thing he found when he stepped onto the balcony.

The green girl was on the floor, next to the door, her knees drawn to her chest, and her hands wrapped around her legs. Her hair was all wet and her dress was fully soaked.

"Elphaba," he called her name again, kneeling before her. She stared ahead and he wondered if she could see him through her glazed eyes. "What are you doing out here?"

There was no reply.

He reached out a hand hesitantly, remembering the time when he found her in Doctor Dillamond's room, a shard of glass in her hand. She blinked when he touched her arm, as if his touch had broken a spell and roused her from deep sleep. She stood up as if he was not there, as if she did not see him at all. It was then that he remembered that she had not spoken a single word since she had returned. He had been so anxious to get her out of the hall and put the guests at ease that he had not given her a chance to speak.

"It's late. You should rest," he suggested, touching her on her shoulder. She pulled away from him and looked away.

"Elphaba…"

"If you would excuse me, Your Majesty."

"What?" His eyes widened at the formal address and the cold In her voice.

"I'm sorry that I came back, but I'll respect your decision. I promise that I won't make a scene."

"What scene? What decision?"

"She's there, isn't it? In your room?"

"Who?" he asked, even though he knew exactly who she was talking about.

"Trelta. She's a good choice, Your Majesty. I'm sorry I came back. I should have known that I am no longer welcome. I should have known, shouldn't I?" She could not help but cackle.

"Trelta? There's nothing between us. I've been waiting for you to come back. I want you to come back. I wrote to you."

"You sent me away." She seethed. It had sounded like a suggestion, but they both knew that it was anything but that.

He shook his head. "I was angry over something that I had no right to be angry about. I'm a fool," he admitted.

"I'll explain another day," he answered the question in her bloodshot eyes. It had not taken him long to realise that whatever she had done, she had done it for him, and he felt like a fool. He had no right to be angry at her at all. But ego, and work, had stopped him from dropping everything and going after her.

"You have the right to be angry at me for being such a bad husband," he told her.

"The ball?"

"Trelta's?"

"Why? Are there others, Your Majesty?" He was caught off guard by the bitterness in her voice, by the sarcasm in her tone. He shook his head.

"It was Trem's request. He said that it was Trelta's wish to hold her party at the grandest place in Vinkus. He said that opening up Kiamo Ko for a party would improve the goodwill among the nobles." He knew what Trem's main objective was. By holding her coming-of-age ball in Kiamo Ko, he was trying to signal to the other tribes that Trelta was Fiyero's preferred choice for a queen. But the old man had been helping and guiding him so much. Trem had framed it as a small request, and had mentioned that he would understand if Fiyero rejected it as it was 'unconventional', but how could he do it without sounding petty and conservative?

Perhaps he should have rejected him then.

The wind blew, and Elphaba shivered. Fiyero took off his coat, cursing himself for being so oblivious to her state as he draped it over her shoulders.

"Let's get you out of these clothes," he said, but she tried to shrug it off.

"Elphaba, please." Something in his voice made her stop. He brushed his knuckles against her cold cheek. "We'll change you into something dry, get you warmed up, and then you can scream and shout at me for all you want."

He was glad that she did not protest, and he pulled her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin.

"And stop calling me 'Your Majesty'. I'm not some old, distant sovereign that you have pledged your allegiance to. You know that." He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through her hair, and he felt her lean into him, or maybe she just had no more strength, no more fight left in her.

"Let's go back to our room. I got to warn you though - it is a mess right now. I was trying to get something done, and the only thing I've done was turn the whole place upside down," he said as he lifted her into his arms. Elphaba closed her eyes as she rested her face in the crook of his neck, but she shuddered involuntarily when he planted a kiss in her hair. She wished that all this would be over. She wanted …

"Your Majesty?" a familiar voice came from the doorway.

Her form of address was formal, but Elphaba's eyes snapped open at the familiarity in her voice. She shifted and slid off Fiyero's arms as if she was just a servant who was caught with the master of the household. Trelta stood near the opened door, a distance away, but there was no mistaking the anguish on her face.

Fiyero tried to pull her back to him, but she took a step back, her eyes darting between her husband and the new arrival.

"Your... Yero… you told me that she is not coming back." Her hand went to her lips.

The green girl flinched at the words.

"Elphaba…" Fiyero looked at his wife imploringly. She shook her head, shook her head at the intimate way the girl had addressed him and took another step away from him. She wrapped her arms around her torso.

He turned to Trelta, anger blazing in his eyes. "I said no such thing."

"You said that she is not coming back," she repeated. "And you kissed me. doesn't that mean anything?"

"You kissed her?"

He reached for her, but she pulled her hand away. "Elphaba, listen to me."

"Why? So that you can play me for a fool? You kissed her!"

"I didn't." He wrapped his fingers around her arm.

"Are you saying that she's lying then?"

"I don't love her!"

"Am I supposed to be grateful for that?" She tried to yank her arm away, but he grabbed her wrist and held on to it.

She twisted her hand out of his grasp. Fiyero grabbed her by her shoulders.

"Listen to me!" His fingers dug into her skin, hurting her. She winced, twisting her shoulders, and Fiyero let go when he saw the hurt in her eyes. She staggered backwards and flinched when he took a step toward her as if he was going to hit her.

"Your Majesty!" Trelta came forward, blocking Fiyero's path, and the green girl took the opportunity to escape.

"Elphaba!"

Her heart hammered wildly, like a bird beating its wings against its cage. Her lungs burnt, on fire and underwater. There was someone or something after her; she could feel its rage, its talons reaching out. She could not recall what had happened moments earlier, did not know where she was heading, where she was, just a strong desire to flee.

She did not even know when she reached the end of the corridor; her mind was unable to register what her eyes were seeing. She missed a step, and it was only her grip on the handrail that stopped her from tumbling down the stairs. There was a shout behind her and then an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her backwards. She struggled free, but she only took two steps before the person grabbed her again and turned her around and pushed her against the railing, pinning her arms to her side. She tried to jerk her hand away, but he was stronger, his grip hurting her, his mouth forming words that she could not hear. He crushed her to him, and then let go with a grunt. Perhaps she had kicked him somewhere, hurt him somehow. But her victory was short-lived; she had barely taken a few more steps when he grabbed her again, his voice sounding like a threat and a plea and everything in between. She looked up at him, at the face that was familiar yet unrecognizable, at the stranger who was trying to hurt her.

She was going to die in his hands.

He regained consciousness minutes later. He was lying on his back and Trelta was next to him, her fingers stroking his forehead. Trem was there too, and so was two other servants.

"Are you alright, Your Majesty?" Trem asked as he struggled to stand up. The servants tried to pull him up but Fiyero waved them away. He managed to stand up without help after a while and leaned against the wall for support, looking at his limbs that he somehow could not feel. He looked at the stairs, behind Trem, but the green girl was nowhere to be seen.

Trelta came forward, her hands smoothing his shirt, touching him. He brushed her hands away.

"Where's Elphaba?"

"She ran away, Your Majesty," Trelta replied. "She pushed you down the stairs and ran away."

Fiyero winced as he felt the bump at the back of his head. He remembered struggling with Elphaba as he tried to stop her flight. He remembered her attempts to escape from his grip, the way she struggled as if her life depended on it, the look of horror in her eyes just before his world turned black.

He straightened as he pushed himself off the wall, as the tingles and numbness slowly faded from his body.

No, she did not simply push him away.

Thank goodness they found her soon after.

"I don't think you should see her tonight," was Tero's first sentence when he was ushered into the king's study. The doctor had just left after carrying out an extensive checkup on Fiyero and had declared the everything was fine with the young king except for the bump on his head and a few scratches but suggested that he should be monitored closely for the next twenty-four hours nonetheless.

"Why?" Fiyero asked, unable to hide his dismay. "Is she alright?"

Tero nodded.

"Where is she now? Why can't I see her?"

"I've settled her in my house for the night. She should be asleep by now. One of my servants is keeping watch outside the door."

"I'm going to see her." He tried to lift himself out of the couch.

"You're going to rest," his cousin pressed a hand on his shoulder, his voice leaving no room for negotiation.

"How is she?"

"She's badly shaken. She's scared, Fiyero. Something made her very scared. She was shaking so badly when we found her. It took us some time to calm her down, I did not want to push her further. What happened?"

"I… " Fiyero did not know what to say.

"What happened between the two of you?"

"What do you mean?"

"May I have permission to speak freely?" His eyes darted to the servant who had ushered him in.

Fiyero nodded to the servant who left silently, closing the door behind him. "Of course."

Still, it took Tero sometime before the words came out. "I know that I should not interfere in your affair, but I went to see her when I heard from Lord Tenmeadows that she was in Frottica … I asked her to come back with me, but she was adamant that she should stay put. So what happened between both of you?"

Fiyero rubbed his face with a hand. "What did she say?" he asked his cousin.

"I have to wait until we were alone before I could raise the topic. I have heard about the arrangements about Trelta's coming-of-age ball, and I didn't want her to hear about it from someone else and jumped to the wrong conclusion, but it seemed that she knew about it anyway. I know I should not interfere, but I don't think she knows much about our tradition, what something like that means. I can't say I know what you were thinking when you gave your permission, but it's not a smart decision."

Fiyero did not need to be reminded again how stupid he was.

Tero continued. "We didn't finish our conversation. There was an earthquake." Fiyero's eyes widened. "I know that tremours do not usually happen in Frottica, but it happened… wait…" Tero looked at the expression on Fiyero's face. "It's not an earthquake."

"So the rumours are true," he added after a while.

"Elphaba is not a witch."

Tero shook his head. "I'm sorry. Of course, she is not a witch. But there's no denying that she has some sorcery skills. Are you aware of that?"

"I knew it years ago. They taught sorcery at Shiz. Galinda signed up for lessons and she showed Elphaba the basics." He would be dead by now if Elphaba did not have her powers, if she had not magicked the broom to fly and fixed his heart, but the expression on Tero's face told him that it was not good news. "Tero, we are Vinkuns. Sorcery is part of our culture, whether we like it or not. Every one of us knows someone who knows magic, who weaves spells."

Tero nodded, but Fiyero knew what his cousin had left unsaid. Sorcery was for other people, not the royal family. Not the queen of Vinkus.

"So what made her so scared?" Tero changed the topic.

It was Fiyero's turn to shake his head. "I don't know. She was running headlong down the stairs. She was not even looking where she was going, and I thought that she was going to fall and break her neck. I have to stop her." He looked at Tero's face and his shoulders slumped.

"I am an idiot. I – " he looked around the study, looking for something to punch, something to throw and finding none. He squeezed the arm of the chair instead, feeling the wood hard against his palm. "I thought that she was not coming back. Trem was pressuring me to choose a wife from the nobles." He was also requesting Fiyero let his daughter use Kiamo Ko for her coming-of-age celebration. Fiyero knew what it meant. "I know who his preferred choice in the list is." Tero folded his arms at that point. Fiyero had missed Elphaba terribly. He wished that she was there with him, that she was there to listen to him and offered her advice. He wished that he had the courage to go to Gillikin to apologise to her and bring her back. But he was also afraid, afraid that Elphaba would slam the door in his face when he turned up and told him that she had decided to stay with Galinda. And then Trelta was there.

"She's not coming back," he had told her, looking at the letter in his hand, knowing that he would never get a reply, just like the ones that he had sent previously.

He felt nothing when she wrapped her arms around him and ran her fingers through his hair.

He did not stop her when she shyly pressed her lips to his.

"I cheated on her," Fiyero admitted.

"May I come in?" he asked.

He shuffled his feet, wondering how it'll with a door slam shut in his face. He held his breath when she hesitated, when she looked away. He wondered if she would come up with an excuse not to let him in. He wondered if he should say something, if he should pretend that he just happened to drop by after running an errand in the Red Windmill, if he should admit that he had stood outside her door twice before and left without knocking when she took a step back. He took that as permission and stepped into the cottage.

He had never entered this particular property of Tero's, but he could see why his cousin had chosen it for Elphaba. The place was small but homely, with almost everything within sight. He could see a warmly furnished living room before him, a beige couch with a stone table backed against a brick wall. There was a small bookshelf filled with books. An opening led to the kitchen with a small dining table while a closed door at the further corner of the living room led to the bedroom.

He passed the bottle of wine to her, and she stared at it for a moment before she replied.

"I don't drink." The disappointment was apparent in her voice.

"This comes highly recommended. It's the perfect condiment for vegetables." He was glad that he had done his homework beforehand.

She nodded, her eyes still trained on the bottle that was in her hands, as if it was some kind of animal and she did not know what to do with it.

His hands empty, Fiyero stuffed them into his pockets and then took them out again. He missed her when she was not around, and now that she was right before him, he did not know how to behave, what to say. It seemed that there were more lines on her face since he last saw her, but also a vulnerability that he had not noticed before, a fragility that would shatter with just a touch. He reached out a hand, wanting to cup her cheek, to pull her into his arms, to protect her from whatever or whoever that had been hurting her.

From himself.

He dropped his hand.

A popping sound suddenly came from the kitchen, and Elphaba spun around and dashed into the kitchen without another word. Fiyero followed, just in time to see her lift the cover of her pot so that the water inside would not boil over. The liquid bubbled, like unleashed anger, like barely contained rage. He wondered if it was a manifestation of her thoughts, of her emotions. She moved over to the chopping board and began to cut the vegetables – potato, carrot and artichoke - that were there.

The only sound in the room was the sound of the knife on the wooden board.

He had prepared his speeches beforehand – explanations, apologies, conversation starters, but now it seemed that they were not adequate to break the awkward silence.

Fiyero stood at the entrance to the kitchen, not knowing what to do, if he should offer to help her. He remembered the days when they were in Munchkinland, when they would prepare their dinner together if he came back early, the days when he could wrap his arms around her without hesitation and kissed her.

And she would kiss him back.

He watched the way she stood with her back straight, her expression unreadable, and he felt that there was an invisible wall between them. She was there, so close, but it was as if she was thousands of miles away. It was as if she had forgotten that he was in the house. Perhaps she had.

"I… " he cleared his throat. "I … I told the servants that I won't be back for dinner tonight." What was he thinking? Was she a servant, was it her job to slave for him, to cater to his whims and fancy? "Do you…. I don't suppose you have enough for two?"

She paused, the knife poised mid-air for a moment before she put it down. She did not reply, but she took out another potato and carrot from the basket next to the stove. She added a stalk of celery after a moment's contemplation.

There was no wine glass on the shelf, and so he took out a mug and poured some wine for himself, taking a sip before he spoke again.

"Can I help with anything?"

The rhythm of the cutting did not change.

"So what are you cooking?" he asked, but there was no answer. He imagined her replying, telling him about the dinner that she had planned. He imagined her talking, gesturing with a smile on her face as she recollected something that she had encountered earlier that day.

Her hand wrapped around the artichoke.

He remembered the time when they were in Munchkinland, when she was mad at him and refused to talk to him. When she punished him by cooking nothing but artichoke for one whole week. He would gladly go through that again if only it would make her talk to him again.

She put it back aside without a second thought.

"You don't have to cater to my taste, you know. I'll eat anything that you cook, even artichokes," he said with forced laughter.

But she just focused on her preparation, an intense look of concentration on her face, her lips pressed into a thin line as if she had not heard him at all.

He looked in the cupboard and took out two sets of cutleries and set the table.

He poured out more wine.

He went to her place every evening, often bringing food or flowers. He tried to get her to talk – he cracked jokes, he posed questions, he asked about her business, but she never kept still, she hardly spoke, and she never smiled. She did not drink the wine that he had brought, but he did, and he wondered what kind of man he had turned into, to rely on alcohol to give him the courage to face the woman he loved.

He worked until late at night so that he could clear as much work as possible, so that he could leave on time every evening, but it seemed that whatever he did was never enough to reduce the stack of documents that he had to go through, the tiniest thing that required his attention. It was as if fate was trying to stop him from leaving until his hair turned white and his eyesight failed. He did not dare to miss a single meal, afraid that she would not open the door again the next time he knocked if he skipped even one evening.

He held imaginary conversations between them in his head. In his mind, he would explain what happened that night, what did not happen between Trelta and him. As she listened, her expression would soften. She would walk into his arms and rest her face in the crook of his neck, and she would be able to hear the way his heart beat for her, feel all the words that he could not say, all the apologies that he kept locked up in his head.

His offer to help with the cooking was never accepted, but he managed to take over the washing after dinner. The green girl, however, scooted as far off as she could, as if she allergic to water, to him.

He never knew it was possible to miss someone who was in the same room as him.

She knew that she should go to another room or do something to keep her hands and mind occupied, but she remained on the chair as he washed the dishes after dinner, watching the way he handled the plates and the way the muscles on his forearms moved, the chinks of the ceramic soft and hypnotising. The water splattered as he rinsed the last of the dishes, and suds landed on his cheek. She shifted, wanting to go over to him. Her fingers itched, aching to reach out and wipe the foam away. She locked her fingers to keep them in place and stared at the floor.

She told herself that her stay in the Red Windmill was temporary. She was not here for him, pining for him like so many infatuated girls before her. Yet she could not deny the wave of emotions that rose whenever he appeared at her door – the quickening of her heartbeat when she saw his face, the way she gravitated to him, the way his presence drained her, mentally and emotionally. She knew that she should ask him not to come anymore, that he was not welcome, but the words would not come. Yet it took so much effort to restrain herself every time he was present, to stop herself from going to him, from stepping into his arms and wrapping her arms around him. She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Elphaba?"

She opened her eyes, and he was right in front of her, a knee on the floor.

The foam was still on his cheek, and she reached out subconsciously, her thumb wiping it away before she knew what she had done wrong. She retracted her hand and tucked it under the folds of her skirt and looked away.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked. "You looked pale. Should I call for a doctor?"

She shook her head. No doctor in this world would be able to determine the cause of her fatigue. No doctor in this world would be able to cure her illness.

Fiyero looked at her, the way she would never make eye contact. But for once, she was not moving non-stop, not busy with one thing or another and out of reach. For once, she was right in front of him.

He took a deep breath.

"I love you." She fidgeted with his declaration and he covered her hands with his to stop her from fleeing. "Please, Elphaba. Please listen to me. Just listen to me for five minutes."

Her fingers ceased their flittering under his touch.

"Forgive me, love. I know that I'm an idiot, I'm a fool. I shouldn't have sent you away."

Her lips parted, but she closed them again.

"I know that what I did is unforgivable. I can't turn back time, and I can't erase the hurtful things that I've done. I was wrong to think that I needed time away from you, when what I needed is more time with you, to talk to you, to hear you out." The truth about Doctor Dillamond's death was at the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it. She did not need to know. "I know that I've wronged you. I should not have jumped to conclusions. I should not believe what others say. I can do better, and I will do better, I swear. And believe me, there's nothing between Trelta and me. Perhaps I have inadvertently encouraged her. I shouldn't have. I should be more upfront with her and Trem. There's only one person I want as my wife, my queen, and that's you." He brought her hands to his lips and brushed his lips against her knuckles.

He searched her face for any sign of emotion, any indication of her façade crumbling.

All he saw was steel.

"I know that I have done you wrong. I know that I am not the best husband in the world, I'm not even a good husband. I know that I have hurt you over and over again. You have the right to hate me, to be angry with me. You don't have to bottle up your feelings."

She slipped her hands away.

"I know that I don't deserve your forgiveness, but don't treat me like a stranger. I'm not a stranger. Don't pretend that I don't exist. Please."

There was no reply from the green girl.

"So go ahead and scold me. Shout at me. Scream at me. Throw something at me. Hurt me. Hit me. I'll do anything, anything so long as it makes you feel better."

The green girl pursed her lips, and Fiyero looked at her intently.

Could she say it? Just a word. All she needed to say was just one word.

Leave.

He should leave. Leave her alone, and never come again. It would make her feel better.

"I'm tired. I'd like to retire early," was all she could say.

"Are you alright?" he asked again. He reached out to touch her cheek, the gentle brush of his fingers against her skin sending her heart racing, and she drew back with a sharp intake of her breath.

It took her less than a split second to compose herself and she shook her head. "I'm fine. I'm just tired."

"Really?"

She nodded slightly and stood up.

"Goodnight, Fiyero," she said as she walked him to the door, but the king loitered at the door, unwilling to leave.

"I'll come over tomorrow morning. I'll bring breakfast."

She shook her head again. "I'm fine. I have some errands to run tomorrow. I won't be in."

"Alright, then." She could see the disbelief in his face, and the disappointment. "Do you…"

"Goodnight," she repeated, firmer this time, as she closed the door without another word, shutting out the view of his face. She pressed her forehead against the wooden door and took a deep breath before she turned away. But she could only take a few steps before she buried her face in her hands and let the shudder coursed through her body.

She was too tired to pretend anymore.

She let her emotions run its course, until she stopped shaking and her face was dry once more.

She thought of how he had hurt her, how he had broken her heart.

She wanted to hate him.

She wanted to hurt him.

She couldn't.

She's the fool.

Edited : Just in case anyone decided to throw things at me, Trelta didn't do anything beyond kissing Fiyero (she is not planning to be his mistress), However, Fiyero knew that the fact that he didn't stop the girl is a form of betrayal/infidelity and is more than enough to break Elphaba's heart.