It was drizzling. August always brought a week of obscenely warm days. Natalya could only describe the feeling on the back of her neck as God's spit. She figured she deserved it; maybe this was His evidence that He was real. The sweat leaking from her skin, combined with the depressing humidity from the storm, trapped her and her sister indoors for the time being.
They found themselves in the kitchen. Katyusha had made the brave decision to fill her basket with strawberries before the sky opened, and she narrowly escaped the rain coming back in. She insisted they bake a dessert for their brother, who was bedridden after collapsing hours before. The kitchen was ominously quiet as the two women chopped the red fruit into smaller pieces. Natalya wondered how many other sounds a knife can make, besides hitting against wooden cutting boards and slicing through mens' guts.
Tolys practically ran into the counter when he threw himself through the door-frame. Much to the sisters' horror, his hand flung itself into a bowl of discarded, boiled strawberries. When he retrieved his soiled palm, his fingers were coated with vermillion jam.
"My apologies, ladies."
"State your business in our kitchen, and then get the hell out," Natalya growled, her arms crossed in front of her chest.
"Wine, for the king." His breath sounded like waves to the younger sister. She stuck her finger in the direction of a deep barrel in the corner of the kitchen. The knight dunked a nearby goblet into the casket, and shriveled when he heard Natalya's voice shout for him to not sink his sticky hand into it.
"Your washing is outside," she declared.
"My lady, it is raining."
"Correct. There should be enough water for you out there."
Tolys' lips curled into a shaky grin. "Yes, my lady," he replied, his frizzy hair sticking to his neck as he bowed. Like a weather-vane, then turned on his heels and left, only for him to be transformed into the dreaded man Natalya hated so much.
Magnus leaned on the door-frame with a smirk plastered on his face. The tip of his nose was sunburned, and shone unusually in comparison to the gray sky outside. Natalya tried her best to ignore the viking in front of her, and instead she focused on the melody of her knife chopping through a fresh roll of dough. That same blade came close to slicing through her husband's fingers when he dipped them into the same bowl that Tolys drenched himself in. The woman was aware of Katyusha's palm wrapped around her forearm, perhaps to keep her from lunging at the man. The newlyweds locked eyes as Magnus drew his soaked fingers across his tongue.
"I haven't had strawberries in a long time," the warrior stated as he cleaned his hand with his saliva. He just barely dodged Natalya's knife-wielding hand as it swung at his temple. His grin resurfaced when he whipped his neck to focus on her again.
"You men are always putting your fingers where they do not belong!" Natalya tossed her knife towards the wall, just barely missing her frantic sister, and scooped her own hand into the bowl of strawberries. She smeared it across his stone face, leaving her own fingers laced with the sickening red coating.
Katyusha already had a towel for her sister right as she made the attempt to look for one. Then, the woman wiped Magnus' face from across the table, until all that was left was a sticky shine on his cheek.
"Hello, Magnus," the elder greeted with what Natalya had to assume was a forced smile. It made her sick.
"Do not be nice to him."
"Hello, Lady Kat." The prince bowed slightly. When he rose, he gestured vaguely at the display in front of him. "What is...this?"
Natalya rolled her eyes, while her sister's sparkled. The elder clasped her fingers together and grinned.
"We are making pastries! You are free to try one, if you stay for a little while more."
"No! These are for Big Brother."
"But Nat, there will be many left over."
Silence, then a crack of thunder. The pounding coming from the sudden heaviness of the rain outside battered Natalya's ears. Magnus must have sensed the weight crushing the room too, because before she could scold him once more for standing near her, he excused himself and hurried through the door from which he came. Damp grass and caked soil replaced the smell of sickeningly sweet strawberries.
"There is no reason for you to be rude to him," Katyusha snapped, her brows furrowing.
"I have every right to be," the younger growled.
"You probably hurt his feelings! He walked out!"
"Do barbarians have feelings?"
Katyusha sighed. She wrung her nervous hands in her apron. "We are all children of God. Even if he is a pagan, he still shares the same mix that we have in our bodies."
Magnus was a viking, but Natalya was sick when she thought of him bleeding the blood of humans. At the same time, the vision that passed through her mind of him, collapsing on the floor with his insides in his hands, wasn't too bad of a daydream.
"Big Brother, I refuse to consummate with him."
Natalya knew his tricks all too well. She had trouble telling whether his coughing fit this time was coming from his illness, or the speed from which he stuffed the lovingly made pastries into his maw.
"Big Brother, I said I want a divorce," she said a little bit louder, hoping he could hear her through his constant chewing.
"He is almost dead, not almost deaf," Raivis piped in from his seat on the stone floor. The woman threw her hand into the air, but decided in the end to not slap him. She was not in the mood for aggression. Nevertheless, the fool still flinched at her movements.
Ivan dusted the crumbs from his hands. Remnants of his treat rained from his chin when he moved his jaw. Katyusha stood at his side armed with a moist cloth, ready to capture the crumbs.
"I understand your concern," he started, his voice hoarse and low. "But the marriage is final. There is no way in Heaven or in Hell I would leave you two without support."
"You are eating fucking pastries! Do dying men eat as they waste away?"
"You only get to die once!" Ivan proclaimed. "I might as well enjoy myself, don't you think?"
"Spoken like a true masochist!" the fool exclaimed with cheer.
"Shut up! Dying soldiers don't even ask for food when their feet turn black. How are you hungry?"
"Would I lie to you?"
"Ivan-"
"Have I ever lied to you?" His tone turned sinister. The usual honey in his voice churned her stomach. A retaliation began to sputter from Natalya's lips, until Raivis caught the corner of her eye.
"Why do you let the drunken fool in here?"
The king's lips stretched and his cheeks glowed once more. "He is a good conversationalist!"
Raivis let out a whine. "Hey, I'm only a drunken fool when I'm drunk!"
Natalya growled.
Ivan clapped his hands once. "Nat needs some cheering up! Fool, please sing me that song you performed last night!"
The younger sister rolled her eyes. Her gaze lazily rested on her brother's jubilant expression, while her blood boiled. With nothing less than a stumble, the teenager rose to his feet and cleared his throat. A lyre appeared from underneath the bed, and without commentary, he began to strum the instrument.
"When waters freeze over and forests grow bare,
The lady will sit at her window and stare.
The sunshine all gone, she'll look out and wonder
If luck is the same for those who blunder.
My mistress is Death-"
"-Enough about this death bullshit!" Natalya swiped at the teenager. Her sharp fingernails just barely missed his rosy cheeks as he leapt out of her way. Despite the heavy huffing and aghast o-shape forming on his lips, his eyes lit mischievously.
Katyusha's sudden, motherly gesture of wiping Ivan's chin was more of a nervous tic than it was of aid to the king. His fingers gently laced around her forearm and pushed her hands aside.
"I think it is best if I speak with Natalya in private," he stated. The two women met each other's eyes, before Katyusha silently placed a hand on Raivis' back and escorted him from the bedroom. Once the heavy door slammed shut, the youngest royal gripped the end of the bed.
"I wish you spoke with me about..." She gestured around her. "This! Everything!"
"You're nineteen. When will you act your age?"
"Kat is twenty-three. I'm forever grateful for Sadiq's offering to marry her before she becomes too old. Uh, I don't think she's an aging women, but...you know how men are outside of the castle grounds. If I were to pass while waiting for a suitor for the two of you, chaos would ensue, don't you think?"
"I would have at least liked to have a choice in who I share a bed with," she grumbled. She crossed her arms in front of her chest.
"Would you be happier if I married you off to one of the court attendees? Maybe..."
His voice trailed off until even its silence didn't linger in the humid air. They both knew the eyes and ears of the castle, and how they'd rip each other apart like a pack of wolves to claim his throne.
"I'm not made for marriage."
"I know."
She exhaled fiercely through her nostrils.
Ivan cleared his throat. He glanced out the window, then focused his attention back to his tense sister. She felt as sturdy as the wooden bed her brother lay on with how straight her back stood, but on the inside, she was ready to bend inwards.
"I would like a crown of flowers when I die. Something natural, you see? Gold and silver, what are they, exactly? They are forged by men and weigh you down. I already feel as if I'm forcing my feet forward when I wear my crown. Maybe that is what drags me down to my grave. Is that something you think you can do?"
Natalya chewed her lip. Every conversation they had since he fell ill involved death. It was like a lover to him; death embraced him, and he was absolutely infatuated with it. In a way, she found herself jealous, yearning, even for the same affection from him.
She gave a single, rigid nod.
"And Nat?"
"Yes?"
"When you and Kat are seated on your own, separate thrones, promise me you won't kill each other."
"Tolys."
She reached for the front of his trousers. A gasp escaped his lips
"Why are they not dead?"
"My lady." He gulped. "I cannot kill them while your brother lives."
Natalya was well aware of how they looked. She, straddling the panting, still clothed knight on her bed. He, with cheeks engulfed by a pink flame. If someone were to walk into her bedroom, the two wouldn't be able to conjure an explanation for their position. Explaining herself wasn't a concern for her, however. She didn't need to explain anything.
Her fingers hummed after they met the side of Tolys' face. His cheekbone stayed on her palm, his blood under her nails. She climbed off of his laying body and held her head with her violent hands. She rippled with the bed as the knight's body shifted.
"Patience is power."
"Is it?" the lady asked, still not looking forward.
"If you say something enough, you'll start to believe it."
She shrugged. Light strands of hair fell from her shoulders. "What is your good reason for waiting?
"I made a visit to Father Feliks. He's a priest and apothecary-"
"I know who he is. He smells like he sleeps outside."
A light laugh escaped him. Feliks' herbs were, at times, too strong for even Tolys to be around.
"He gave me poison."
"Poison is a woman's weapon-"
"-You're the one who wants them dead."
He bit his tongue with regret. Her gaze fell on him, her brows furrowing.
"You might benefit from drinking the poison yourself if you continue to speak out of turn!" she snarled, her nails digging into his knee. He shifted uncomfortably, but found himself too drained to push her away.
The knight thought his words over before speaking again. Sweat collected on his forehead. Meanwhile, her fingers danced up his thigh. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the tickle from her touch couldn't keep his lips shut tightly.
"I'm going to drop it in your husbands' wine chalices at the funeral. We'll wait a month, and then we can proceed with our marriage."
Tolys' hazel eyes reopened just in time for him to see the princess' numb expression turn sour.
"We don't know when his death will be! You can't speak so matter-of-factly! He could pass in a month, a year, a day even! You sound like a god!"
Her words hung heavily in the now tense air. The last of her words were choked. Natalya's features grew soft, her eyes shifting to something at her side. Tolys had the urge to stroke her face, or pull her into a hug that she seemingly needed, but he knew better than that. He knew not to embrace wolves.
"My lady, there won't be a single benefit to killing them now. What do you think your brother will do if your husband is dead? He'll just find the next suitor while I rot in prison."
His shaking fingers met her fist, which was about ready to swing at him. He leaned in to place a kiss on her bony knuckles.
"Please, place your faith in me," he whispered.
Natalya's free hand caressed his cheek. Her thumb nail stabbed his shaved chin. Tolys felt like a deer; her hooded eyes were an archer, poised with a bow and arrow ready, and he was the creature stuck frozen in man's hungry gaze.
But maybe, he thought, there were some deer who relished in the exchange. With Natalya knelt above him, any sense of impending doom melted into the room's interior. His cheek no longer burned.
"I already have."
The woman crawled from the bed and floated to the window. The sill grew noticeably damp from precipitation when she threw the shutters open, yet she still leaned on the stone fixture. Though her face poked out the window and her cheeks were kissed by the light sprinkling of rain, Tolys could swear he saw self-forming drops leave her eyes.
A/N: We're officially halfway through He Who Carves the Stars! How are you feeling? Are you excited, on edge, nervous, hungry for pastries maybe? This chapter was going to be longer, but I decided to start Chapter 5 with where this chapter was originally supposed to end (because I wanted to finally get this chapter posted).
I'm hoping to have the fic finished by the end of September. School is starting soon, so right now I'm spending as much time as I can finishing the chapters I've written before I'm sucked into academic writing.
I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, have a great day! :)