A/N: I have had a really bad day today and I choose not to elaborate. However, I've noticed that whenever I do have feelings to vent, venting them by writing and reading helps me produce a really good story. Yes, it's weird. It is now my official stress-relief plan. Isn't that interesting? I read over Chapter 4 again and decided that Marguerite must have a funny role in this one. I really enjoyed writing her sprightly little speeches, since they are based on someone I know and immensely dislike. So review, if I didn't make a total fool of myself.
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Chapter 5: Boredom and Grass Blades
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For the next week, Clement had made sure that I would accompany him with every outing he'd share with Lady Marguerite. I often tried to escape from having to attend these tea parties and little outings with that simpering she-devil, but Eder and Elaine found it as guaranteed entertainment and somehow found ways for me to attend anyway. This did not make me happy, and I did not know how they did that. I confronted Clement about this one day and he just laughed and said that he did not want to dine with evil alone. He thought it funny that I would suffer. Enraged, I hit him across the back of his head and stalked away, chin high and fists clenched at my sides.
Marguerite was pure evil rolled up being a pretty face.
I remembered well those words of Eder: "Make her miserable." and I kept to them as greatly as I could. Not wanting to cause an uproar, I chose not to verbally attack her in her face the day we went out riding but instead sort of made my choice of outfit interesting. As I've mentioned before, no one but Clement and Eder knew about my being a Gypsy. I had gone to the market and purchased some soft purple cloth, gold thread, some small disks of gold, and several gold bangles and gold bracelets. Then, isolating myself in my room, I spent the next entire days sewing and cutting and threading and weaving.
When I stepped in front of my mirror the evening I finished the work, I was garbed in Gypsy wear with my hair loose and decorated with a silk purple bandana, a long sleeveless gown of mystic purple with a slanted hemline from slightly above my knee to my ankles, an elaborate gold necklace hanging from my neck (made from the gold disks and the gold thread), and my many bangles hanging from my wrists.
I knew I'd get in trouble for this, but this was a bona fide sign of protest. To make it seem like a noblewoman's gown from Elysia, Elaine said I should wear satin slippers instead of rough shoes and that I should have added weak, translucent sleeves of silk that did not cling to my arms but hung loosely from their seams. To make up for this, I merely sewed myself a pair of silky gloves and called it enough.
I hid it carefully in the depths of my wardrobe and waited for the next morning, when we would all go riding.
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The next afternoon, when I was scheduled to meet Clement and Marguerite for an afternoon ride, I wore my Gypsy wear with a cozy jacket around my arms, in case it'd suddenly become windy or chilly, which it usually did. Their reactions were quite funny: Clement's jaw had dropped and Marguerite had reddened with... envy, I believe. This wear was much more comfortable than the flouncy, pastel pink dress that she wore. It must've been unbearably hot.
Outraged, Clement had stalked over to me before I knew it and hauled me into the back of the stables. I raised my eyebrows when he scanned my dress, his eyes lingering for a second on my the bits of my exposed legs. He blushed, coughed, and resumed glaring at me.
"Rozenta, what do you think you're doing?" he gasped, his hands on my shoulders trembling. I knew that he wanted nothing more than to shake the sense into me or to shake the stupidity out of me. I smirked and looked over his shoulder and spotted Marguerite, who was watching me with hatred and confusion.
"Wearing what all Gypsy women wear," I replied softly. His hands were now tightening on my shoulder as though he imagined them on my neck.
"You are supposed to be dressed as a noblewoman," he grated, even though his eyes were betraying him. Once again, they were straying to my legs. I wanted to slap him for that.
"Well," I began heatedly, although I was struggling to keep my tone flat and without emotion. "I could simply say that this is traditional Elysian wear, even for the nobles. It isn't too scandalous for the prince, now is it?" I asked, blinking innocently. His gaze abruptly returned to my face, his cheeks stained with pink.
But the usual, mischievous glint returned to his eyes. He staggered back as though hurt, but the taunting grin he wore remained the same, along with the naught hiding in his eyes.
"Too scandalous? Why, Rozenta, I have seen better legs in my life," he laughed. I narrowed my eyes darkly at him and, taking his ear between my thumb and forefinger, twisted it hard. He cried out and jumped aside, nursing his ear. I smiled brightly and finding the white stallion that was given me, Solomon, I mounted and stared down at him mock-imperiously.
Marguerite was on her mount, Annabelle, waiting for us. She glared a death glare at me and a hopeless look at Clement, which he ignored. His eyes were busy taking in every aspect of myself again, which sent my skin tingling, and he barely noticed Marguerite was there.
As we all rode on – Clement on his black stallion, Cyrus – Marguerite sulked slightly behind Clement and I. We did not notice this. We were too busy bantering about our favorite colors. Now that I truly think about it, there was actual no possible way to figure out how that topic came to be.
Blue was my favorite color, and his green. They weren't so different, really, but when you argued with someone like Clement, he wouldn't rest until he had the upper hand.
"Blue is diverse. It can be tranquil and exciting and noble, but green cannot." I snapped. Clement was still laughing (why? I do not know) and smiled at me fondly, though I was sure it was a mock. Still, I felt inclined to smile back, but I did not. I stared ahead with defiance and examined the sky, which was blue.
Blue is truly better than green! I thought indignantly. Why won't he yield?
"What?" I asked, quite rudely. He opened his mouth to say something, still grinning and chortling, before Marguerite on Annabelle galloped up to us, between Clement and myself. She had a smile pasted on her face, although when she looked at me her eyes screamed abhorrence.
"Oh, Clement love, we must ride together again! Except... alone, next time." She finished by twirling a golden curl between her fingers and batting her eyelashes. The surprised and dreading look on Clement's face made me laugh out and gallop forward, faster this time. Faster than a trot.
Now I was riding. It was not really windy, but the speed of Solomon's riding made it seem so, and soon I was riding and leaning forward on my mount's back. The faster I pushed Solomon to go, the more the wind played through my hair wildly and let it thrash about my face. Somewhere along the ride, my bandana flew off, but I did not care. Riding came so naturally to me, though this was my first time. It was as though riding was a part of my nature. Riding wildly, riding free. The sound of the horse's hooves hitting the floor fell in time with the beats of my heart. I let the fresh, clean air fill me and I tossed my head back lightly, so that the strands of hair clinging to my neck flew back.
I heard laughing somewhere beside me. I started; the walls I had built around myself during that ecstatic moment of riding all fell apart and looking wildly around, my gaze fell on Clement, who was riding just as fast. He was grinning widely and laughing, though not really saying anything.
I slowed Solomon down by a tiny grove of cherry blossom trees, where there was a gentle shower of delicate, pink petals. There, I slid gracefully off of my horse and slipped under the showers. My skin prickled with delight; a petal slid onto my nose and lightly off. I knelt down, oblivious to the rest of the world around me, but my face still faced the sky. More petals hit my face, fragrant and mellow and fragile.
I started as a hand brushed across my face and pushed the petals away. The hand was so light, perhaps even lighter than the petals. And hesitant; the hand was hesitant. My head whipped down and my eyes snapped open. And there was Clement, kneeling right in front of me and I didn't even notice.
I was angry when he broke my moment of bliss, but not by much. Sending him a mock-reproachful look, I sat crisscrossed under the tree and pulled my hair over one shoulder. Stroking it, I watched him warily as he sat down beside me, his roguish expression softening.
"You love to ride, don't you?" he asked, his voice sincere and thoughtful instead of its usual prankish and taunting. He looked quite handsome at the moment, fun but honest, amused but hesitant. The sun shone on the dark waves of his hair. His dark blue eyes glimmered fondly at me, like before. He was leaning, relaxed and calm, against the tree. But I was forgetting my place; I was a Gypsy who hated him and had him hate me back, and I could not think him handsome. I pushed away those thoughts and watched him with intent.
"No. Actually, this was my first time," I said, absently smoothing my skirts.
His face lit up with admiration and surprise, as did his grin, although the expression hiding behind his eyes were still so roguish that I wanted to box his ears. "Really? Your first time? You ride almost as well as I."
I snorted scathingly. "Egotistical maniac. I rode finer than you, and you have probably had years of practice. I, on the other hand, picked it up while finding a comfortable and sturdy way to sit and finding a firm hold on the reins. Solomon is an obedient horse," I added thoughtfully.
His face fell slightly at my insult. "I was joking, Rozenta. My, but you're edgy. I can't talk to you without getting an insult, now can I?"
I put on a mocking, thinking-hard expression and shook my head, my black, Gypsy waves tumbling over both shoulders. "No, I suppose not. Has it happened yet?"
He shook his head, now staring at the sky's horizon as though lost in thought. "No, I don't think so. But I still await the day," he replied quite absentmindedly, as the words simply spilled unchecked from his mouth.
He wasn't being sarcastic. I watched him cautiously now, a pensive frown on my face.
We spent another moment or so in silence, his stare still on the horizon and my hand once again pulling my hair over my shoulder. The afternoon was reaching its usual lull that indicated the coming of the sunset, and still we sat in silence. He seemed perfectly content like that, staring ahead and yet staring within. I, however, couldn't stop myself from fidgeting and I sat under that tree plucking grass blades and ripping them neatly in half. Soon we were in completely different worlds; me in my world of boredom and grass blades and him in his world of contemplating and reflecting.
My hand, groping around the floor for a lengthy piece of grass, found a flower instead, hidden tidily behind one of the tree's roots. I gently plucked it out; it was an off-white sort of color, with star-shaped petals that curved slightly and with a center that was shaped like a star. My eyes lit up as I recognized the plant; this was the flower astirae, or in the tongue of the Merilian (for astirae was in my tongue), healing-star.
Astirae was a miraculous, healing flower that I often used with Lorant, Mariutza, and Jenica whenever we studied herb lore. It numbed physical pain and proved a useful salve as well as being incredible in calming grief and emotional pain. So far, it was my favorite flower. Actually holding astirae in my hand again brought me memories of my camp, and I hastily scrubbed away the pending tears. I would keep it, and either keep it as a keepsake while I rotted in this accursed palace or if I'd ever return home, I'd use it in my studies again.
When I looked up, I saw Clement was gazing at me, concern etched into all of his features. I couldn't meet his eyes; I swore I'd never let him see me cry and a flower was about to make me break down. My fist almost clenched over the delicate astirae, but I was careful not to.
"You're crying," he said quite bluntly, staring at me. I glared at him and gazed at the tiny white flower in my hand, and I searched the ground for more. But there was nothing there but grass. And Clement's gaze was still on me.
"Yes, isn't it amazing? Rozenta the Gypsy girl can shed a tear... who would've known?" My voice dripped with sarcasm. I expected Clement to sneer or to laugh, but he did neither. He continued to watch me, arms crossed and now sitting straighter.
A moment of silence. Then...
"You know, stealing a horse isn't a horrible offence, even when it involves royalty. I can release you any day."
My attention was caught. My head shot up and I stared at him, disbelieving.
He took a deep breath and went on. "But, I will not."
Anger bubbled in me, boiling my blood. I glared at him incredulously and placed the astirae on the ground, lest I crush the poor thing to its end. He would release me, and he would release me when, where, and exactly how I would say!
"And why not? You let it pass from your lips! Stealing a horse is not a terrible offence! Why keep me here? Do you wish to turn me into a servant?"
His stare bore into me, deep in thought and not bearing a little bit of prankishness at all. "As you've probably guessed, my mother and father are not here. They are in Kione until the end of the summer, but I desire my father's council nonetheless. I don't know why, but I don't feel too compelled to let you go so soon. And Bedivere agrees."
This snapped something in me, something outraged beyond words. I shot up and carefully holding onto my precious astirae, I found my horse, mounted him, and galloped off.
I could sense Clement right behind me, but I ran on anyways. Solomon rode as he did before, fast and free.
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I meant to return right to my quarters, but Marguerite stopped me. She was there in the stables when I arrived, simpering with a burning furnace of hatred behind the smile. Her pretty blue eyes were chilly. As I carefully tied Solomon's reins by his stall, I did not expect the best.
"An Elysian noblewoman, I hear," she said, her voice quite fluttery. Noble or not, she was still above me as a possible betrothed of Prince Clement. I stood rooted to the stable floors, meeting her steady gaze for steady glare. She looked at Solomon and stroked him with a pallid hand, her blue-eyed gaze affectionate upon the horse for a minute. Instantly, my anger was piqued. She had no right to pet my horse like that, not when it was now rightfully mine. Instinctively, my hands tightened around Solomon's reins and I too laid a tan hand on the horse's mane.
"He gave you a horse better than Annabelle," she twittered, feigning hurt. "I rode Solomon before. Obedient and fast and strong. He would've been mine, had I not had an unfortunate... accident with the beast. Annabelle is quick, but she is too vain for her own good. Clement favors you."
I snorted derisively, finishing the tying of the reins. I knew for a fact that her accident with the mount included him bucking her off. I knew Solomon, though I had him for only one day, but that span of time was enough for me to tell that he favored strong and spirited riders, and Marguerite was not a strong and spirited rider. And the way she kept bringing up Clement... I was still angry at him, still unable to believe his obstinacy. I sighed, in frustration and despair both, and looked Marguerite in the eye again.
It was my turn to talk.
"Prince Clement is a fool and does not favor me at all. He gave me Solomon because I grew fond of the horse at first sight and he knows how stubborn and unyielding I could be. Besides, Solomon liked me as well. I could not ride any other horse without making a fuss. What is your business here?"
Her mood changed instantly. She brightened and twirled a golden curl around her finger as she talked, tilting her head. The poise was strange. Relief was evident on her face, but as she watched me her blue eyes still shone with hatred and anguish. There was no way for me to reason out why, and I did not care.
"To invite you to a luncheon, dear! It is tomorrow... can you attend? Delightful! Bedivere will be there, and Clement, and myself! I look so forward to it! And you are right. Clement does not really like you. Every time he looks at you, I can feel contempt. And I should know. He and I are one, did you know? Well, I must be off! Lady Vanessa is wanting to see me, to discuss what I shall wear tomorrow! I suppose a periwinkle blue summer dress would be marvelous, wouldn't it? I shall see you at dinner!" And she flounced off with a toss of her golden head.
I stared after her in incredulity. Then, every trace of my smoldering anger wiped out of its own accord and I threw back my head and laughed. Laughed loud, and liberally, and unendingly. A stable boy who came in a second later jumped at the sound and stared wildly around in fright before backing out. But I barely noticed. I felt my head ready to explode. Never before had I met anyone so... foolish! And I hung around Mariutza, who was as crazy and reckless as a friend could ever be, and I thought that I would know foolish!
And yet, this was beyond anything foolery I had ever witnessed.
Finally, my laughter wore off. I was still in a giggle fit as I made my way to the parlor, feeling quite eager to find a fantasy novel that I had left there sometime back. I giggled on my way out of the stables, through the lengthy grounds, into the guest's quarters, and searching for the guest parlor.
When I opened the door, I instantly saw Clement lethargically seated in the squashiest armchair, idly reading from my fantasy novel.
I was too tired to be angry. I sighed, exasperated, and threw up my hands. Like usual, he was smiling impishly, his cobalt eyes shining with laughter, as his gaze focused on me.
How he got here before me, I honestly do not know.
A/N: I personally liked this chapter, but I'm not the one reviewing. It wasn't so bad... right? Well, I'm tired, I haven't too much to say, and I've still got a mountain of homework waiting for me. Grrr. So review and... at the moment, I'm totally witless, so please forgive me.
And by the way, has anyone read the Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier, or Summers at Castle Auburn by Sharon Shinn? Those are probably my most favorite books besides the Wheel of Time series, the Harry Potter series, the Lord of the Rings, Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, and Ella Enchanted. ::reads my list again:: Hehe, I like reading.
And by the other way, does anyone have any recommendations for any books I should read? As you can tell, I adore fantasy and I adore fantasy in the medieval times (e.g. – Summers at Castle Auburn, Daughter of the Forest, and Ella Enchanted) and I really want to read more. If not medieval times, then something that is fantasy-fantasy-fantasy really-hard-to-understand-at-times fantasy books (e.g. – Wheel of Time and/or Lord of the Rings). If not, then maybe just a desperately good fantasy novel, I honestly don't care what category as long as it is good :D
