A/N: Reminder: This story has been reverted back to the original version. Please see my profile for the revised version.

CHAPTER 6

Hitomi steeled herself to graciousness as she stepped out of the washroom. Van was waiting on a couch he had pushed close to the fire, and she knew somehow that he'd done it for her so she wouldn't sit on the floor again. She seated herself across from him and, to give her hands something to do, began brushing her hair. Braiding her hair at night was something she could have done in the washroom, but without understanding completely why, she was anxious to not be in the washroom at the moment.

Van sat reclined against the opposite arm of the sofa and now observed her freely as she began her brushing. She focused on the fire, but couldn't help glancing at him now and again. Had she really thought only a couple hours ago that she could get used to this? His gaze was just so very intense sometimes. After many silent minutes sitting like this, she finally dared ask, "What is it you think when you stare at me so?"

"I'm not really thinking anything. I am enjoying watching you brush your hair."

"That's it?"

"Watching you keeps my mind off other things."

There was something in his manner as he spoke that helped her shed some of her discomposure. At dinner, after her success at distracting him from glaring down the darkness in his own head, she'd experienced a strange boost of pride by her influence over him. Certainly, she hadn't expected herself to have such an effect on him, but now, as he sat complacently watching her groom herself, she thought again that if it brought him peace, she would happily endure his passionate stares.

"May I have a turn?"

She paused to give him a questioning look. He was sitting forward with his hand held out. "You want to brush my hair?"

"Yes. Were you about to braid it?"

"I was," she handed him the brush, a little surprised by his accurate guess, and turned her back to him. Van moved closer and bent one leg against the back of the sofa, putting her almost in his lap with the movement. Her heart thumped, and she found she had to focus to breathe. It became easier when he began brushing and the motion relaxed her a little.

"I can braid it for you if you like," came his voice in her ear, making her jump with its proximity.

"You know how?" she was finally able to gasp out. Her whole body trembled, so she focused on enjoying the feeling of him playing with her hair. He wasn't exactly gentle, but she didn't mind; having her hair brushed was always something she'd enjoyed, and it felt especially pleasant after going weeks without such pampering.

"Merle made me braid her hair before bed sometimes," he answered, and by the way he said it, she could tell there was a story there. Hitomi found herself calming down, and she thought of his lost sister.

"Whatever made her do it?"

"Whenever I made her angry, or if she caught me sneaking away before formal dinners, she threatened to tell our parents if I didn't promise to come braid her hair. She told me I was such a pain in the ass brother that I needed to do something to make up for it once in a while."

Hitomi found herself laughing.

A moment later, he added softly, almost as an aside. "She told me someday I'd make my wife angry and that this was something I could do to please her."

This simple confession made Hitomi want to both laugh and cry for him. Bless Merle! How prophetic of her to teach Van such a thing! Hitomi squeezed her eyes shut and allowed hot tears to fall unceremoniously onto her chest in memory of his missing sister. She took a breath and answered him, "Well, I've not been mad at you, but Merle was right. I hope to thank her someday."

"Have you any word of her?" Van asked quietly.

"No, Van, but we haven't found her body, either," she said, shifting herself so she was leaning against his leg a little more. It hurt her to be frank, but she knew he appreciated her directness, and she silently hoped that her physical presence soothed him.

Perhaps to distract himself, he said simply, "I've always liked your hair. It's very pretty." The words sounded awkward coming from his lips, and she wondered if he'd ever complimented anyone aloud before. Still, it pleased her to think he liked something about her.

"Thank you."

She relaxed back into him, completely absorbed in the feel of his hands playing through her hair.

"Hitomi, why did you accept my proposal?" he asked, jolting her out of her comfortable stupor.

His fingers moved just a little rougher in her hair, as if he were agitated, and she wondered what possessed him to ask her such a thing. Taking hold of the hand in her hair, she lifted it and turned to face him. They were so very, very close, and she found she liked his warmth and his smell. She kept his hand in hers as her eyes roamed his face, and she tried hard not to stare at his lips.

"Did you know my maternal grandmother is Fanelian?"

"I might have," he said, but Hitomi guessed he actually didn't.

"My mother's family has a long history of having wolf nannies. Mine hailed from Adom. I lived briefly in Fanelia near there, with my nursemaid and my cousins."

"You did?"

"Yes, my mother was able to convince my father to send me away during the Freid-Basramian war. I spent my thirteenth and fourteenth years wandering the Fanelian wilds with the wolf-people and my cousins. I fell in love with it all—the mountains, the people, even the dragons."

"So you married me because you loved the mountains and the dragons?"

"Not entirely." Hitomi paused. "I'm not sure I'll tell you more. You're laughing."

"Do I look like someone who laughs at others?" He said without a trace of humor; Hitomi found it almost disconcerting, this ability to look frighteningly serious when she was certain he'd just teased her.

She grinned at him anyway, "You certainly laugh very little out loud."

He shrugged, "I don't laugh on the inside either. My mother and sister said I was born an old dragon in a young man's body."

"What?" she laughed. "What a thing for them to say." His eyes were smiling at her now, and while she wanted to say more, she didn't want to break his good mood like she had at dinner.

She adjusted herself against the back of the couch so they were facing one another, and in response, he took both her hands in his. For a moment, she found herself completely absorbed in the feel of his strong, warm fingers rubbing against hers; her skin began to tingle all over and she forgot what he'd asked her.

"Are you going to answer my question?"

Hitomi jerked her head up to see a ghost of a smirk on Van's face; she'd been lost in thought staring at their intertwined hands. He seemed so much more collected than she was, so in retaliation, she tugged one hand free so she could ground herself by placing it between her neck and the much cooler couch.

"I answered your question. I really did marry you for your mountains and your dragons."

"I believe you said that wasn't entirely true." His voice was low and quiet, and he was openly smiling at her. She felt a little panic as she realized she would do a great many things in order to see this smile on her husband's usually stony face— the least of which included sharing something she'd never shared with anyone.

For a moment, she sat bewildered by his beautiful masculinity, from the curve of his mouth to the angles of his face and down to his exposed chest, and her fingers longed to touch him all over. Before she gave in, she took in a sharp breath and turned away. Through the fogginess of her thoughts, she asked herself why he cared to know the answer to her question when they could be doing other more pleasant things. He must need to know something from her.

Hitomi looked again at Van, whose gaze had turned to the fire. She made up her mind to continue and hoped that he found what he was looking for.

"When I was seventeen, my family toured Fanelia again. That's when I visited your capital for the first time. It had been a gloomy, wet morning on the road there—rather miserable, really. I remember wishing we'd stayed at the inn. But right as we came to overlook the city, the rain let up and the clouds parted just so and the entire city sparkled in the sunlight. I remember the great tree above the palace shining bright like a jewel. It was the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen."

He remained silent, staring into the room behind her. She realized where his thoughts were going and hurried to move on with her story. "I toured the palace the next day so I could see the great tree closer."

"What did you think?"

"It was… uncanny, I would say."

"What do you mean?"

"As I walked through the grounds, I found I knew all the paths."

"How?" His eyes were on her again, calm and curious. "Does this have to do with your intuition?"

She smiled, caught off guard that he'd recalled that little detail from their dinner conversation. "Yes. But actually… I had dreams of it."

"You dreamed of the palace?" his gaze drifted off into the dark room as he absorbed what she'd said.

"Yes, and sometimes," she emphasized, lest he think she were some prophetess, "I have dreams that show me things that are going to happen."

"That's how you knew about the strategy meeting here in Pallas?"

"Yes." When he didn't respond, she went on. "Anyway, after that trip, I began to regularly dream of Fanelia and the great tree and the capital. I eventually realized that was my true home, and I knew that someday a path would open up, and I would return to Fanelia for good." After a pause, she added lightly, "I didn't think it would be as queen, though. That came as a bit of a surprise."

"Did it? It sounds like that's what your dreams were preparing you for." He'd returned his interested gaze to her.

"Maybe so, but it's not something I aspired to."

"I believe that."

"You do?"

"At my gala, you were one of only a few who looked at me with no pretense or ulterior motives, which is funny because it seems like you did have your own motives."

"It was more that I had faith that things would work out however they were meant to."

After another pause, Van leaned a little closer and asked in a low whisper she felt across her neck, "Did you dream about me?"

Hitomi gave him what she hoped was a sly look. "I don't believe I did."

He began running his warm hand up and down her arm, his fingers slipping under the sleeve of her robe, and she shivered. "For some reason, I doubt that."

It was impossible for her to think with him touching her like that; she impatiently reached for his offending hand and intertwined her fingers with it. In response, he pulled her a little closer to himself and nuzzled his face into her hair. "What were your dreams?" he murmured lowly into her ear.

"You're teasing me!" she exclaimed in a futile attempt to resist the shudder she felt run through her.

"No, I'm trying to persuade you," he said seriously.

She giggled, "Well, you need to let me think."

"Fine," he said simply and pressed a kiss to her head. Then, to her surprise, he sat back and stilled himself. Something about this simple action told her he really did want to hear about her dreams of him, and she allowed herself to relax against his shoulder. He had one arm around her, his hand gripping her waist, and both her hands were playing along his free arm, enjoying the feel of his skin and hair and sinew.

Hitomi closed her eyes, reminiscing on those magical, fateful, distressing dreams before they became reality. It seemed like a lifetime ago since she had them, but it hadn't even been a year. She pushed herself to continue. "As soon as we received an invitation to your gala, I began to have dreams of it. Flashes and impressions, really. Your white gloved hand taking mine in introduction. Tapestries behind your shoulder as we danced. The reflection of lights in a garden fountain as I walked holding your arm. I never saw your face, though. I didn't know until the gala that it was you. And I didn't dream of you in full until after I'd returned home. The day before my father received your offer, I saw you and I standing in the sun before the great tree wearing what I knew was wedding regalia."

He met her eyes briefly. "You saw our wedding?" his voice was soft. She realized that they'd never spoken of their wedding, as if it had been a non-event.

"Only that much."

"Hmm."

Hitomi did not want to reminisce further about that night or her dreams; she didn't want to think about how trying it had truly been to remain gracious and hopeful when those moments of her dreams came to pass with an indifferent king. She made up her mind to change the direction of the conversation.

When she next spoke, she satisfied her eager fingers by bringing her hand up to play with the muscles on his exposed chest just inches from her face. "Now I want to know why you sent an offer to me? At the gala, you showed no particular interest whatsoever." The muscles under his skin twitched, but his face remained neutral as he sat in thought. Hitomi wondered how hard he was trying to remain unaffected by her touch.

As if in response to her silent question, he plucked her hand off his chest, intertwined it with his again, and sat up a little to look her full on. She felt a little pang of rejection without his warmth next to her. "Understand that every formal event I attended—whether in Fanelia or not—my advisors would pressure me to pick a wife. It was as if they had some divine mandate from my parents, or something. For years, they came at me with lists of the women I'd interacted with. Do you know how many women I've danced with in my life?"

It had been something she had thought of with no small amount of jealousy, but she shook her head anyway.

"Hitomi, I've danced with hundreds of girls." As she listened, she saw exasperation in his eyes and heard a twinge of desperation in his voice. "I hate dancing. At that gala, it's all I did, except that brief moment when I took you out to the garden. But when I danced with you, I found that I didn't hate it. Also, you were pretty, and your smile didn't make my skin crawl. So when my advisors gave me a list of names, and yours was on it, I decided on you and went with it."

When Van finished his explanation, he looked at her with open sincerity in his eyes. His was no great love confession, certainly—especially compared to the disclosure of her dreams, which was also no definite declaration—but, if she were honest, it was far more than she could've hoped for from her famously disinterested husband. Hitomi knew that if she were a romantic woman, she might have cried— and a small part of her wanted to—but instead she gave way for the tiny bloom of happiness within herself. "So you're saying you proposed marriage based on the fact that I made dancing tolerable?" He gave a little shrug, and they smiled together.

She thought of their wedding and the awkward ambiance that seeped from it into the early weeks and months of their marriage. She was afraid to ask, but she did anyway. "What about our wedding dance? Was that less miserable for you?"

His face fell, and he took a breath. "No, that was worse than any others. With hindsight, I have come to realize that was probably because all the people were watching us instead of only some, but honestly, at the time I worried it was a sign I'd made a mistake."

"Oh." Hitomi's heart sank just a little. That explained so much about his ambivalence towards her after that day, especially since he'd hinged his decision on dancing, of all things. Looking back, however, she could say she had sensed his doubt and had mirrored his behavior right back to him. It had all been uncomfortable for her, too, even with the hope of having been directed by her dreams. Not 'til after the war started had she found she wished things to be otherwise with him. Now, she found she could understand him.

"I don't feel that way anymore, in case that's what you're thinking," he said softly, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek. She met his eyes and felt an excited energy run through her. "Hitomi, I'm very grateful that you are my queen."

It was enough for her. Tired of stopping herself, she reached out to him, her fingers gripping his robe, and pulled him closer. Eye to eye, nose to nose, they shared one breath before softly, slowly, their lips met. She wrapped her arms around him and brought him closer, twining her hands through his hair, pressing kiss after unhurried kiss to his lips. One of his hands moved to her neck, the other around her waist, and he deepened their kiss. Savoring the feel of his lips and tongue, and the newness of his taste and his breath, she caressed her hands across and over his chest and shoulders and back. He explored down her neck, and his hands burned along her body as they wandered down and around and under. She held him, returned his favors, kissed him deeper. And when, eventually, finally, for the second time that very long day, she found herself gazing into his cinnamon eyes as he carried her to his waiting bed, she welcomed it. He was, after all, her husband the king, and she was his queen.