Chapter 8
Edge wasn't completely sure what to do next. He'd held Rydia in his arms for about twenty minutes, just kissing her, before he realized that his strength was about to give out. Sure, Rydia was just a little slip of a thing, but come on. He wasn't made of steel.
And it had been awkward, truly awkward, to put her down and stop kissing her. It wasn't like some movie or a story, where things just fade beautifully into the next scene. This was real. And they'd both just sort of stood there for a moment, right on the edge of nervous laughter.
Then Sam had walked in and given them a look. That look potently reminded Edge of the time Sam had caught him about to ride off on one of his father's royal horses without permission. It was a time when he'd been young, careless, and above all, guilty.
But all Sam had said -- both times -- was, "Sir, I believe it's almost time for dinner." And this time, it had been a much-needed excuse for both he and Rydia to laugh and whirl away, ostensibly to get ready for dinner, but obviously to think about and analyze what had just happened.
And now Edge was in his room, staring at the mirror, trying to keep back that one piece of hair that *would* keep popping out onto his forehead, as if today hadn't been the momentous day when Rydia *asked him to kiss her*.
"What are you doing?" Edge scoffed at his reflection. "Worrying? You're worrying. Why? This is only what you've wanted for practically half your *life*. Okay, maybe about two years. Seems about the same."
Edge pulled away from his mirror and started striding around his large room. It was beautiful, absolutely marvelous -- no luxury had been overlooked in the rebuilding of the castle of Eblan. But Edge's magnificent surroundings didn't calm him, as they usually did. "So you've kissed now," he told himself. "That's it. You're still *friends*, for goodness' sakes. This doesn't change *that*. And hey, this is exactly what you've wanted. Since you met her -- just to kiss her. Those lips ... "
Edge shook himself and sat down on the bed. "But ... " he whispered. "What if she doesn't love you the way you love her? That's not Rydia, she wouldn't go around kissing everyone she sees. But what if? What if things don't work ... "
Edge heaved a giant sigh and fell back onto the bed. "I need Kain," he almost wailed.
"If you don't mind my saying so, sir," Sam's voice came from the doorway, "talking to yourself is commonly considered a sign of psychological instability."
Edge closed his eyes. "Great," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Sam is almost exactly like Kain, just twice the age and half the understanding."
"I think you'll find, sir, that age and understanding often go hand in hand," Sam replied mildly, ignoring the barb and approaching the bed. "Is there a problem?"
Edge sat up and examined Sam's face. Of course Sam knew exactly what was going on, he had that omnipotent look in his eye again. "Just worried about the love of my life and how things are going to pan out," he replied flatly.
Sam allowed himself a close-lipped smile. "The Lady Rydia, I would presume," he replied. "I get the feeling the hordes of women will stop parading to our front doorstep now." At Edge's sharp look, Sam added, "Sir."
Edge rolled his eyes. "Yeah, just keep up that modicum of dignity," he said sarcastically, "even when you're making fun of me."
"Did something go wrong, sir?" Sam asked delicately.
Edge stood up and walked over to his mirror to examine his reflection again. Sam waited, knowing from years of experience with Edge that he wasn't ignoring him, he was merely considering the answer to the question. And how he looked.
"No," Edge finally replied. "Nothing went wrong. I'm just worried that I can't give her what she wants."
"Well, sir," Sam said after a moment, "what does she want?"
Edge fiddled with his piece of stray hair again. "I don't know."
"The easiest way of figuring that out," Sam said, "is usually to ask her. Might I suggest you proceed to the dinner table now? You don't want to keep Lady Rydia waiting, and I hear the chef has made a delectable Baronian sea bass for the evening."
Edge strode out of the room, muttering something about preferring salmon.
~~~
Rydia walked into the dining room, steeling herself for an interesting dinner. All of her careful preparation, though, flew out of her head when she saw Edge sitting at the table.
It wasn't as if she hadn't seen this exact scene several times before, and even thought what she was thinking now a thousand times before. Edge was, to put it mildly, handsome, and she'd always thought so. It was in the set of his chin, his strong jaw, his eyes. They were gray, or blue, or somewhere in between, and they flashed when they looked at you. And even sitting at a table, you could tell his chest was so strong, the ninja gear fitted him and his whole personality so well --
Rydia abruptly cut herself off. She was waxing way too "romance novel" for her own good, she scolded herself. Too many of those Lady Roberts books at night, no doubt. No more for a week.
"Hey, Rydia," Edge said, flashing a smile and standing with his customary courtesy. It always surprised her a little bit just how gentlemanly he was, considering his constant teasing humor and slightly sarcastic remarks. But he never failed in this department, to come around to her side of the table and pull out her chair for her.
The dining table was, as is customary in old-fashioned, formal castles, ridiculously long and thin. Edge and Rydia sat across from each other, and sometimes their dishes bumped a little bit because of how thin the table was. There was, however, room for about fifteen more people at the table. On each side.
"If I were king here," Rydia remarked as a waiter was forced to set down their plates of Baronian sea bass almost overlapping, "I would definitely redesign this table. And make it much, much, wider."
"But I would not redesign this sea bass for my kingdom," Edge said by way of reply, his eyes wide. "Gerald, give my highest compliments to the Chef Linberg. This is amazing! What are we having for dessert, do you know?"
"I believe the menu is chocolate truffles, sir," the waiter replied.
"Mm. Ask Linberg if he's got any, um ... " Edge thought back to a certain cookbook he had once read. "Wine, figs, and raspberries, too, will you?"
Gerald raised an eyebrow. Figs, huh. The last time Sir Edge had asked for figs was with some blonde chick who stayed the night. Several nights. "Will do, sir," was all he said, and exited the room.
Rydia, however, was an avid cookbook reader herself. "Figs?" she said mildly. "Why didn't you order oysters for the night, as well? Maybe some nutmeg? Almonds?"
Edge thought it would be best to feign innocence in this case, so he continued eating his sea bass with avarice. "I just haven't had figs in a long time," he said.
"I, too, have read Cooking for Lovers: Aphrodisiacs for Your Mate," Rydia informed him. Edge nearly choked. "I don't think you needed to call for figs -- there's definitely cilantro in this sea bass. Was that your doing, too?"
"Happy coincidence," Edge replied. "Are you angry?"
Rydia paused and considered the potency of her answer. "No," she said deliberately, looking into those gray-blue eyes. "I'm not angry."
She saw something new come into those eyes, something she'd never seen there before. It caught her off-balance and she wasn't sure what to say next. She wasn't even sure why she hadn't been more upset that Edge was feeding her aphrodisiacs in a pathetic attempt to get her into his four- postered bed made from beautiful oak, special-ordered from the forests of Toroia.
Rydia was avoiding thinking about the topic at hand, and she knew it.
"Rydia," Edge said, drawing her back to the present. Neither of them had spoken in a couple minutes. This had been happening quite a bit this evening, and it wasn't just due to the incredible sea bass. Which, she admitted, did melt in her mouth.
"Rydia? You there?" Edge said, and Rydia looked up and saw him laughing at her. She was distracted again, this time by his dimples.
"Before we do anything stupid," Edge went on, uneasy at her silence and uncanny stare. She had a knack for throwing him a little off-balance. He ruffled a hand through his hair.
"You're messing up your coiffure," Rydia said softly.
"I don't care about my coiffure," Edge replied, sitting on his hands to keep them from moving. "What -- where do you think we're headed?"
"Towards dessert," Rydia replied, still in her quiet voice.
"Avoidance, my dear, is never a good idea," Edge sighed, trying to resist the urge to jump into a little avoidance himself. "I mean, what do you want? You know what I want. I told you I'm in love with you, and I am, and I always have been, and I always will be, and I am."
Rydia decided not to cut him off and tell him he'd repeated himself. This was an important moment.
"But if you don't want the same things I do," Edge said, and paused. He didn't want his voice to break, not now. "We're good friends, and if that's all you want and the -- kisses were about something else, then we shouldn't -- do anything stupid. Because I wouldn't want to lose you."
Sitting in her comfortably padded chair, the scent of sea bass wafting up before her, Rydia thought dazedly how easy it suddenly seemed to be a woman. How difficult it must really be to have to pour out your heart the way Edge just had, and simply wait for a response. Sure, some women made the first move, but it wasn't expected of them the same way it was expected of men. That was, she pondered, a little unfair. It had to be tough, and you had to be on tenterhooks waiting for that person to respond.
She looked up and Edge's eyes looked tortured. Oops.
"I think," she said slowly, "that I feel the same way."
Edge thought his jaw dropping might make a loud, jarring noise as it hit the table, but oddly enough, it didn't.
"I'm not sure, though," she said, looking at him with her shy, misty eyes. "I've never dealt with ... love ... or anything like it, so I don't know quite what it's like."
Edge just could not find his voice. This could eventually be a problem, if she always affected him like this.
"But I've always imagined," she went on, and now her voice was very, very small. "I always imagined that if I did ever feel love, someday ... that it would be like this. With you."
Edge stood abruptly, pushing his chair back with a gratingly loud sound in the silent dining hall. He walked around the table and lifted Rydia to her feet as well. She felt his hand strong at her waist, and watched in wonder as he stroked her cheek with one finger. Rydia would never have been able to guess that this man, who wielded a sword and picked a pocket, would be able to possess this much tenderness inside him.
He kissed her.
Some minutes later, Sam popped his head in. He tried to turn away and head back to the kitchen, but he simply couldn't resist -- after all, he'd known the boy all his twenty-five years.
"No need for the figs, then, sir?" he said, keeping the chuckle out of his voice, and waited for his king to turn around.
Edge wasn't completely sure what to do next. He'd held Rydia in his arms for about twenty minutes, just kissing her, before he realized that his strength was about to give out. Sure, Rydia was just a little slip of a thing, but come on. He wasn't made of steel.
And it had been awkward, truly awkward, to put her down and stop kissing her. It wasn't like some movie or a story, where things just fade beautifully into the next scene. This was real. And they'd both just sort of stood there for a moment, right on the edge of nervous laughter.
Then Sam had walked in and given them a look. That look potently reminded Edge of the time Sam had caught him about to ride off on one of his father's royal horses without permission. It was a time when he'd been young, careless, and above all, guilty.
But all Sam had said -- both times -- was, "Sir, I believe it's almost time for dinner." And this time, it had been a much-needed excuse for both he and Rydia to laugh and whirl away, ostensibly to get ready for dinner, but obviously to think about and analyze what had just happened.
And now Edge was in his room, staring at the mirror, trying to keep back that one piece of hair that *would* keep popping out onto his forehead, as if today hadn't been the momentous day when Rydia *asked him to kiss her*.
"What are you doing?" Edge scoffed at his reflection. "Worrying? You're worrying. Why? This is only what you've wanted for practically half your *life*. Okay, maybe about two years. Seems about the same."
Edge pulled away from his mirror and started striding around his large room. It was beautiful, absolutely marvelous -- no luxury had been overlooked in the rebuilding of the castle of Eblan. But Edge's magnificent surroundings didn't calm him, as they usually did. "So you've kissed now," he told himself. "That's it. You're still *friends*, for goodness' sakes. This doesn't change *that*. And hey, this is exactly what you've wanted. Since you met her -- just to kiss her. Those lips ... "
Edge shook himself and sat down on the bed. "But ... " he whispered. "What if she doesn't love you the way you love her? That's not Rydia, she wouldn't go around kissing everyone she sees. But what if? What if things don't work ... "
Edge heaved a giant sigh and fell back onto the bed. "I need Kain," he almost wailed.
"If you don't mind my saying so, sir," Sam's voice came from the doorway, "talking to yourself is commonly considered a sign of psychological instability."
Edge closed his eyes. "Great," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Sam is almost exactly like Kain, just twice the age and half the understanding."
"I think you'll find, sir, that age and understanding often go hand in hand," Sam replied mildly, ignoring the barb and approaching the bed. "Is there a problem?"
Edge sat up and examined Sam's face. Of course Sam knew exactly what was going on, he had that omnipotent look in his eye again. "Just worried about the love of my life and how things are going to pan out," he replied flatly.
Sam allowed himself a close-lipped smile. "The Lady Rydia, I would presume," he replied. "I get the feeling the hordes of women will stop parading to our front doorstep now." At Edge's sharp look, Sam added, "Sir."
Edge rolled his eyes. "Yeah, just keep up that modicum of dignity," he said sarcastically, "even when you're making fun of me."
"Did something go wrong, sir?" Sam asked delicately.
Edge stood up and walked over to his mirror to examine his reflection again. Sam waited, knowing from years of experience with Edge that he wasn't ignoring him, he was merely considering the answer to the question. And how he looked.
"No," Edge finally replied. "Nothing went wrong. I'm just worried that I can't give her what she wants."
"Well, sir," Sam said after a moment, "what does she want?"
Edge fiddled with his piece of stray hair again. "I don't know."
"The easiest way of figuring that out," Sam said, "is usually to ask her. Might I suggest you proceed to the dinner table now? You don't want to keep Lady Rydia waiting, and I hear the chef has made a delectable Baronian sea bass for the evening."
Edge strode out of the room, muttering something about preferring salmon.
~~~
Rydia walked into the dining room, steeling herself for an interesting dinner. All of her careful preparation, though, flew out of her head when she saw Edge sitting at the table.
It wasn't as if she hadn't seen this exact scene several times before, and even thought what she was thinking now a thousand times before. Edge was, to put it mildly, handsome, and she'd always thought so. It was in the set of his chin, his strong jaw, his eyes. They were gray, or blue, or somewhere in between, and they flashed when they looked at you. And even sitting at a table, you could tell his chest was so strong, the ninja gear fitted him and his whole personality so well --
Rydia abruptly cut herself off. She was waxing way too "romance novel" for her own good, she scolded herself. Too many of those Lady Roberts books at night, no doubt. No more for a week.
"Hey, Rydia," Edge said, flashing a smile and standing with his customary courtesy. It always surprised her a little bit just how gentlemanly he was, considering his constant teasing humor and slightly sarcastic remarks. But he never failed in this department, to come around to her side of the table and pull out her chair for her.
The dining table was, as is customary in old-fashioned, formal castles, ridiculously long and thin. Edge and Rydia sat across from each other, and sometimes their dishes bumped a little bit because of how thin the table was. There was, however, room for about fifteen more people at the table. On each side.
"If I were king here," Rydia remarked as a waiter was forced to set down their plates of Baronian sea bass almost overlapping, "I would definitely redesign this table. And make it much, much, wider."
"But I would not redesign this sea bass for my kingdom," Edge said by way of reply, his eyes wide. "Gerald, give my highest compliments to the Chef Linberg. This is amazing! What are we having for dessert, do you know?"
"I believe the menu is chocolate truffles, sir," the waiter replied.
"Mm. Ask Linberg if he's got any, um ... " Edge thought back to a certain cookbook he had once read. "Wine, figs, and raspberries, too, will you?"
Gerald raised an eyebrow. Figs, huh. The last time Sir Edge had asked for figs was with some blonde chick who stayed the night. Several nights. "Will do, sir," was all he said, and exited the room.
Rydia, however, was an avid cookbook reader herself. "Figs?" she said mildly. "Why didn't you order oysters for the night, as well? Maybe some nutmeg? Almonds?"
Edge thought it would be best to feign innocence in this case, so he continued eating his sea bass with avarice. "I just haven't had figs in a long time," he said.
"I, too, have read Cooking for Lovers: Aphrodisiacs for Your Mate," Rydia informed him. Edge nearly choked. "I don't think you needed to call for figs -- there's definitely cilantro in this sea bass. Was that your doing, too?"
"Happy coincidence," Edge replied. "Are you angry?"
Rydia paused and considered the potency of her answer. "No," she said deliberately, looking into those gray-blue eyes. "I'm not angry."
She saw something new come into those eyes, something she'd never seen there before. It caught her off-balance and she wasn't sure what to say next. She wasn't even sure why she hadn't been more upset that Edge was feeding her aphrodisiacs in a pathetic attempt to get her into his four- postered bed made from beautiful oak, special-ordered from the forests of Toroia.
Rydia was avoiding thinking about the topic at hand, and she knew it.
"Rydia," Edge said, drawing her back to the present. Neither of them had spoken in a couple minutes. This had been happening quite a bit this evening, and it wasn't just due to the incredible sea bass. Which, she admitted, did melt in her mouth.
"Rydia? You there?" Edge said, and Rydia looked up and saw him laughing at her. She was distracted again, this time by his dimples.
"Before we do anything stupid," Edge went on, uneasy at her silence and uncanny stare. She had a knack for throwing him a little off-balance. He ruffled a hand through his hair.
"You're messing up your coiffure," Rydia said softly.
"I don't care about my coiffure," Edge replied, sitting on his hands to keep them from moving. "What -- where do you think we're headed?"
"Towards dessert," Rydia replied, still in her quiet voice.
"Avoidance, my dear, is never a good idea," Edge sighed, trying to resist the urge to jump into a little avoidance himself. "I mean, what do you want? You know what I want. I told you I'm in love with you, and I am, and I always have been, and I always will be, and I am."
Rydia decided not to cut him off and tell him he'd repeated himself. This was an important moment.
"But if you don't want the same things I do," Edge said, and paused. He didn't want his voice to break, not now. "We're good friends, and if that's all you want and the -- kisses were about something else, then we shouldn't -- do anything stupid. Because I wouldn't want to lose you."
Sitting in her comfortably padded chair, the scent of sea bass wafting up before her, Rydia thought dazedly how easy it suddenly seemed to be a woman. How difficult it must really be to have to pour out your heart the way Edge just had, and simply wait for a response. Sure, some women made the first move, but it wasn't expected of them the same way it was expected of men. That was, she pondered, a little unfair. It had to be tough, and you had to be on tenterhooks waiting for that person to respond.
She looked up and Edge's eyes looked tortured. Oops.
"I think," she said slowly, "that I feel the same way."
Edge thought his jaw dropping might make a loud, jarring noise as it hit the table, but oddly enough, it didn't.
"I'm not sure, though," she said, looking at him with her shy, misty eyes. "I've never dealt with ... love ... or anything like it, so I don't know quite what it's like."
Edge just could not find his voice. This could eventually be a problem, if she always affected him like this.
"But I've always imagined," she went on, and now her voice was very, very small. "I always imagined that if I did ever feel love, someday ... that it would be like this. With you."
Edge stood abruptly, pushing his chair back with a gratingly loud sound in the silent dining hall. He walked around the table and lifted Rydia to her feet as well. She felt his hand strong at her waist, and watched in wonder as he stroked her cheek with one finger. Rydia would never have been able to guess that this man, who wielded a sword and picked a pocket, would be able to possess this much tenderness inside him.
He kissed her.
Some minutes later, Sam popped his head in. He tried to turn away and head back to the kitchen, but he simply couldn't resist -- after all, he'd known the boy all his twenty-five years.
"No need for the figs, then, sir?" he said, keeping the chuckle out of his voice, and waited for his king to turn around.