Chapter Two: A Cup of Tea
A chill tickles over my flesh, gooseflesh spreads like a plague and I turn from the open field of wild grass and clean air to see the encroaching darkness. It rolls in like thunderclouds, dark, ominous, and all consuming. The roar of its approach promises terror. Flecks of sparking power erupt like bombs, the ground shakes underfoot and I await it. Frozen in the face of it. I know it will plow me over, suck me down, kill me.
The trembling starts, a soft vibration from my bones that transcends to my joints, my skin and inside my torso like a thousand enraged bees. I wobble, my vision blurs as I stare uselessly into the growing miasma. My body grows slick. I can hear my breathing, labored and too fast, but I feel like I am suffocating, drowning, while my lungs struggle.
"Run!" I whisper to myself as if the low volume will keep me hidden from the darkness already zeroing in on me.
Cold blankets the world around me, my sweat turns to sharp stabs of ice, my trembling turns to shivers and I'm frozen in place. A roar, a tortured animal's howl erupts from the center of the murky nebula. The noise echoes in my chest, long and frantic like remnants of those that had been sucked in before me, its victim's pleas. I don't understand if it wants me to come into it, to accept my fate and join that beast inside or to run, to fight.
I know what is coming. My panting stops as the blazing star of the night arises.
A twisted sphere emanates gloom and cracks larger and larger, growing with sparks of purple hissing bolts until it breaks out of the shadows. It comes for me. I feel myself slip out of my body just as the darkness snakes out around the orb. The blazing star moves to engulf me, caressing my face. It feels as if hands form from the gloom and wipes my frozen tears from my cheeks but there is no comfort in it as I am lifted out of reality and into the expanse of the night. Space, endless bounds of nothing and I float in the disturbance. My heart races, violently thumping against my rib cage and I look for the exit, knowing there is a way to end this.
I refuse!
I'm already caught but somehow, from the bottom dregs of my courage, I choose to fight. I thrash, reaching, kicking and screaming until I start to fall. I am sucked back into my body like a vortex and for a moment, light and images stretch into infinity where the darkness consumes it all. But I've escaped this time. Gravity drags me against the grain. Sandpaper rather than the silk of the shadows.
Solid ground slams into the back of my head and I groan, opening my eyes to see moonlight beaming a line through my curtains onto the ceiling of my bedroom. My legs, bent at the knees still on my mattress, are tangled in my blanket and I feel the back of my head with tenderness. "Ow." The nape of my neck and hair is wet with sweat and my groan fills the silence. My healing light glowing to leave my skull unmarred from my fall. Shadows of the night jolt my abused heart as the furniture cast their outlines from my own light.
"Useless." I mutter to myself and rub on my chest to lessen the weight I feel pressing down over me.
I must have had that dream again. I can't remember but with my heart pounding and my body soaked, it makes sense that the star of the night must have taken me again. It's been years since I've had anyone to go to at this hour and the thought of my own company sours my stomach. My limbs feel heavy as I tug them free from the bunched blankets. I roll, coming to a stand and I stretch out in an attempt to get my trembling to calm. The low temperature is alarming, especially for the season but an overly hot bath will fix me.
The water soothes my body but my mind remains alert in my agitation. A creak has my spine stiffening, a plop in the water steals my breath and I try to focus on anything else, something positive. With soap in my hair while I trail the rag soothingly across my flesh to chase the chill away- I realize what day it is. My stomach twists, the rag slips and drops into the water. My calm heart, after minutes of coaxing it steady, races anew. I close my eyes, sagging until my head slips under the water, the warmth overtaking me and I feel that suffocation again, my inability to breathe with my lungs struggling.
I scream, silently. Bubbles erupt up through the bathwater as I strain my lungs to their farthest extent. In the last desperate moments of sloshing my hips and gripping the sides to hold myself under, I raise, gasping in a breath, and push my hair from my face.
"This is what you want, Elizabeth." I pep myself as I grip the edge of the porcelain tub and note my pale knuckles straining from the sheer force. My towel on the seat beside the tub is soaked, along with the floor from my thrashing. 'Great.' I bend my head to rest on my hand and pinch my eyes closed in prayer as I repeat a mantra. 'This too shall pass.' Slowly, I step out. I don't care where I drip as I already made a disaster of my bathroom.
With a peek out my window I notice that morning has come. The sun has risen, again. My temple throbs and I rub my fingers into it in slow circles to massage a touch of comfort into myself. 'It's just the dream, Elizabeth.' I repeat. If I want to keep my energy up I need to try to eat in spite of the nervous jolts sparking in my tummy. I go to my closet already knowing what I will wear. I selected it days ago.
With a little arranging, I remove the dress and toss it across my bed, doubling back to the bathroom to clean up the mess. I have a heap of sopping towels on the floor and I frown, hoping Jelamet won't be too angry with me. I need her help to get ready.
I exit the bathroom, unable to erase the disorder I have inflicted. With a grimace, I slip on a simple dress to prepare for the casual morning I face. I'm tense, tight and I feel as if I am waiting for a blow- one that never comes but constantly threatens me.
My steps are as quiet as the walls, making no impact, here or any other place I exist in. I step into the dining room, spotting my prepared plate with no other on the long slab of shining glazed tabletop. My chin quivers but I poke my tongue across the inside of my bottom lip to hold it steady. With my food already here, I've missed the only company I'll have in this big empty room. I sit, heavy as I look down the rows of perfectly aligned chairs then across the centerpiece of fresh red flowers and unlit candles.
The walls are a deep purple on the upper half and the bottom half is dark wood with etches of the stars. I hate purple. It's the saddest color. Tears well in my eyes and I look up to hold them in. The twinkling light fixture dances from the rows of windows at my back that let in the sun. It's silly how after years of this being my assigned seat I automatically gravitate here when, just on the other side, I could look out at the world rather than stare at the wall. But my plate is always placed here, I am a slave to my own habit, to my father's expectations.
A portrait hangs on the wall over the head of the table to my right and I look it over. A family that has long since evolved past the broad, easy smiles. My mother in her pale-haired beauty, Margaret is almost a mirror of her while Veronica took after our father with his hair its original color, having not grayed yet when this had been commissioned. I am in the center, a sore thumb of silver hair and blue eyes among the matching sets on either side of the tiny version of me.
I focus back on my food and I manage a few bits of fruit, savoring the sweet juices. Mid-bite, a knock sounds on the door and my heart soars. Father? I stand, straightening my dress and wishing I had taken some care with myself now that I have company. The door creaks open and the spot of gray hair that dips in has my throat closing with overwhelming emotion, as I know it isn't him. She's hunched, her pinched face always looks sour but I know only half of her face moves the way she wants it to. Even her smile looks like a grimace.
"Another night terror, dear?" Jelamet asks, pushing the door open and stoppers it. My chest muscles relax and I breathe easier.
"The angelica herb didn't work," I tell her, frowning. She knew from a glance and I marvel at how well she knows me. I stand with my plate of food, intent to follow her to the kitchens. Before I leave the dining room, I gather the red bouquet in my free hand, saving the blossoms from their fate of dying alone.
"Where will you be taking your tea, dear?" Jelamet asks, grabbing my plate from me when we stop outside the doors of the kitchen. Wherever I choose will need to be prepped and Zaneri and Jennah are most likely waiting for the order.
"Margaret's balcony, I think," I request and the old woman goes into the warm room, calling out to the two girls chatting inside. The bay window from Margaret's sitting room faces the balcony and Jelamet will have a full view of us, as a chaperone, inside but away. Plus, I can watch the gate for when he arrives as it overlooks the main entrance. I don't know what he looks like but I would be able to tell when a demon arrives, wouldn't I? Unless he has enough power to conceal himself completely.
The morning wears on and Jelamet returns. My hands are shaking when I take her arm to assist her as we move, she leans heavier while we go up the stairs. Mael passes us, quipping a pleasant 'good morning'. She returns it just as kindly. The old lady on my arm is breathing slightly labored, so I slow. When we turn down the way that leads to my hall of empty rooms, I smile knowing there isn't a need to rush when you have nowhere to go.
"Do you know anything about demons?" I puzzle, looking at the side of her crinkling face. Her lips purse in contemplation but only one cheek wrinkles up, the other remains sagged.
"What I know about demons will curl your toenails but that was long, long ago." Her voice is low and careful and I nod, accepting her words. She grips my forearm when we reach my hall and I look toward Margaret's rooms. The double doors are already open. Jennah and Zaneri must be tidying already. I suppose arriving before us wouldn't be difficult.
Inside my bedroom, Jelamet shuffles away to gather some things from the bathroom while I give the flowers a new home beside my bed. When finished, I pull off my day dress and toss it carelessly away. For my special guest, I have chosen my blue dress, with no frills or extras, just a small flower on either of my shoulders where the sleeves are cut to show off my arms. This dress reaches my calves, wavy and lose from my waist down but form-fitting from there up. Although the scoop neck is nice, it is more modest than I usually go for in regards to my chest but I want to be at my best. I unhook the dress from its hanger and position it to step in. I pull it over my shoulders before I finger comb my hair. It had dried wavy without me fussing with it and I like how buoyant it feels.
With my luck, he'll be a blob monster and I won't have to worry one iota if my chest is covered well enough or if my hair lays nice. I roll my eyes as Jelamet comes out huffing and ha'ing. "You are a grown woman and can't bathe without splashing around like a whale in heat? Every. Single. Time." I flush, instantly embarrassed at the self-drama I've partaken in this morning. She twirls her finger. I obey her unspoken command and spin to show her my back. She buttons me up while muttering about extra laundry loads and how I can't sit still.
"I'm sorry," I warble to her and her fingers slow.
"No, no, dear girl. It's just some water." Jelamet comforts and when the last button is clasped she guides me to my jewelry table. I skip the necklaces and bracelets, wanting to be bare but I decide on my star and moon orb earrings. She starts to pull up my hair but I dip away and ask if I can keep it down. "Flowers then, to draw the eye."
Do I want to draw the eye? No.
I rise to do as she suggests and starts pulling buds off the Amaryllis blooms of the bouquet I took. When I return I have the task of pushing hairpins through the receptacle of each flower. "I tried to save you," I tell them, "but you'll be put to use and keep me company while I wait." Rather than a band of flowers, I pin them all on the left side of my head bunched together in one grouping as if it is half a headband.
With something to do with my hands, I calm, finding my center. Jelamet's cough draws my attention. It goes on in a long hack until I can't take it, I rise to find her in my bathroom to pat her back with healing taps of my light. The strain eases and I watch her for any changes.
"You are the crown jewel of our people, Elizabeth." She tells me, her wet eyes shine as she looks me over with pride. I try to smile but dismiss it mid-attempt. "Oh, don't you give me another thought. You'll be fine."
There isn't much left to do in my room but I make her sit while I finish up the rest. I do all her assigned duties, I clean and arrange while she talks of my younger days to fill the silence. "After tea, I'll help you polish too, so don't go on without me," I tell her and hear her grumble but she doesn't deny me. At the end of doing her chores, Zaneri knocks to remind me of the time. I flush. Had Jelamet kept me busy on purpose? She kept my mind off my nerves. Her grimace-smile flashes when I narrow my eyes at her wrinkled face.
Zaneri professes she'll escort my guest to Margaret's rooms as I help Jelamet to stand.
My older sister's rooms are perfect. The doors are all open giving peeks to her strict organization and elegant tastes. Everything personal has been removed long ago when she'd moved to the temples. In the sitting room I position Jelamet to face the window and with a crooked finger she points to a book on the mantle over the empty fireplace. I collect it for her, asking if she's comfortable and prolonging the inevitable walk to the balcony. From here I can see the round wrought iron table and the tray of tea with the pot still corked to keep in the heat. I dread having to sit there and wait again.
"Leave me be, girl. You'll be fine." Jelamet scolds softly when I offer to get her a blanket. I sigh heavily as she squeezes my hands in hers as if lending me the little strength she has. At the end of Margaret's hall, I open the doors that lead to the balcony and prop them both wide in invitation.
A few steps across the balcony and I stop to close my eyes and focus on breathing steadily. Mead confirmed a hand delivery and even showed me the five extra gold pieces the Demon Prince had given him as a tip. He'd been generous in his gratitude, a quality I value. Even if he is a dragon scaled humanoid with sharp vicious teeth, he might be nice on the inside. He doubled Mead's profits. I had expected a letter from Lord Meliodas, confirming his attendance but none had come. I suppose demons will not know what is expected in a courting, or the invitation went ignored and I should be preparing myself for a letdown.
Comfort comes from the thought of being stood up, it's something I know how to handle. I ignore the seats, pry my eyes open to watch the gate and walk across the clean stone to stand at the railing. The sky is clear in its infinite blue and though I miss the clouds I am grateful the view is unobscured. I watch the square houses and markets below with all the little dots crowded and walking but never bumping into one another.
I lean forward on my tippy toes, hands on the rail as I look straight down. The bushes below hide the path there, the one that goes all around the castle. When inside a person can't be seen from the outside but I can look into the windows of the first floor of the castle if I pull myself up on the window ledges. As a child, my sisters would take me on the path and we thought we were so naughty, getting away with sneaking out and back in. I smile, rolling my eyes at us. We had listened below many cracked windows with that trick.
Life had been happy here when they had been around. The silence moved in after Veronica made her own path in life, her stubborn determination took her from me too soon. I flush, feeling shame at my envy. I'm glad she could leave and truly happy that she can make her own choices.
The sun is high and the gate doesn't open, the guards never escort anyone to the castle.
"It's what I should expect," I whisper in the wind, easing into the familiar feeling of dismissal, of being brushed to the side. Has he forgotten about me too? My hair catches in the breeze and one of my flowers dislodges from the flapping locks, leaving me behind. "Be free," I hush to the blossom as I watch it float, spin, and then vanish around the edge of the castle wall. Somberly my eyes fill as I wish, with every last desperate inch of my soul, that I could float away with the Amaryllis. Tears fall, slowly and steadily.
My fate is here, to wait for others who never give me a second thought.
"Elizabeth?" A deep voice queries. Stunned, I spin, feeling as if for a blink of a second, my wish is granted and the wind has blown me away.
"You came," I marvel. My hands shake as I wipe my tears away, embarrassed. He doesn't look like I imagined, not even a little. All my thoughts had circled around monsters and mini-versions of the three-eyed king. Of all my wild speculations, I never entertained the idea that he might be handsome. From his blonde chaotic locks, clear green eyes and blank angled face to the fit lines of his shirt covered torso and simple loose slacks over his black shoes, he exudes confidence. As if he guarantees his own place in the world and knows, single-mindedly, what he wants. In spite of being a bit shorter than me, I am intimidated, as I have no direction in life.
We stare until he shakes his head, his hair tousles in the movement.
"Of course," he hums softly, "you asked me here." As if my request is all it takes to summon him. I frown, my brow tenses as I watch him look me over. He's slow and I shift, uncomfortable. I wonder if what he imagined of me is anything close to what I am. For a long breath he stares at my bare feet and self consciously I tuck one behind the other before I walk toward the table already set for our tea.
I don't look at him, just motion with my hand for him to take his seat. I stand before the table as I pour us each a cup. The steam rises and I can tell from the smell that Lavender and Chamomile have been steeping. What a wonderful choice. "Honey or milk?" I ask, setting a spoon on his saucer before I repeat the motions with my own. As I work with my hands, the activity lets me refocus, but I can feel his eyes burning into me.
"No," he hushes, moving closer without tapping across the stone, "thank you," he finishes. I give him a small dip of my head in a show of respect as I note his shoes. They are cloth, the black is deceptive and its design hides it well. No wonder I hadn't heard him walk down Margaret's hall. I move, sit first and I take a spoon of sugar for my own cup, stirring it in. I watch the amber liquid swirl and the grains dissolve. "You've grown since we last met," he notes.
"I didn't know we'd met before." I am curious about this new information and we meet gazes. His green eyes don't leave mine as he takes his seat, his hands come up on the table to wrap around his cup. I look down at mine, doing the same before I sip at the warm calming liquid as he continues.
"You were five, so I understand if you don't remember." His voice is nice, like smooth velvet wiping a messy chalkboard clean. I nod as if agreeing with his explanation but I worry as I have other memories younger than five. Wouldn't meeting my future husband been important or stand out in my mind? Perhaps I hadn't been told at the time or hadn't understood?
"How old were you?" I question, looking up to see him still looking at me.
"Fourteen." He answers, cradling his cup as he takes a sip. His face is blank, a solid neutral and I am not sure if he likes the taste. The flavor is one of my favorites and I hope to have something so simple in common with him. The commonality of the arranged marriage is too big a concept to connect over. I need a baby step.
I place my cup on its saucer, remove the spoon but hold the handle while resting my arm on the tablecloth. "Were you... chosen for this at random?" I ask and risk another glance up. It can't be a coincidence that I am catching him watching me every time. He must like eye contact but I can't maintain it for long, the moss green of his orbs seem to catch me and pull me into something.
"Chosen for what?" He is so at ease and I hope he doesn't notice my discomfort.
"The arranged marriage?" I shift in my seat under his stare until I reach my limit and focus on the blue floral design of the teapot between us. "It doesn't make sense for me, a royal of the demon clan's enemy nation, to be in a position for the crown. At the time of the negotiations, we had lost thoroughly, our side wouldn't have had any leverage to demand our union and the more I think about it, the more I want to know what happened back then." I gesture with a flopped wave between us, "how we happened."
"Huh." He breathes, as if discovering something. He takes another sip of his tea, casual. I look into him. I expect an answer but he seems content to just look on blankly.
"You were there, do you remember? Or, am I right, we were the unlucky names pulled from either side of the war?" Finally, Meliodas looks away. He takes in the view of the city and I bite my lip as he shrugs, not answering me beyond that. Did his nose flare? He either doesn't know, didn't question it before or doesn't want to tell me. Fine. The clang of my cup as it shakes in its cradle alerts me to my hands quaking and I release the poor fragile thing. I fold my fingers together in my lap to hide them.
The silence grows, I scratch at my nails as the awkwardness spreads but with him relaxing back I fear I am the only one to feel it.
"Your letter said you had recently found out you were to be married to me." He mentions, for a bitter moment I think I will simply 'shrug and look at the view' to give him a spoonful of what he'd fed me but the ire passes. Technically he isn't asking me anything but I know it is his attempt to start up our conversation again.
"I knew I was to be married to another nation's lord," I demur before looking down. I find the indent in my knuckle fascinating, a fine enough distraction. "It was after my father gave me the last missive from the Demon King- Oh, uh," I grow warm as I realize my blunder and I look at him in panic as I squeak out an apology. He doesn't seem angry. He doesn't have any reaction at all. "When 'his Majesty' demanded progress on our union, my father told me I am to marry a demon prince. I hadn't known which, whether it would be you or Lord Zeldris, until I read the missive myself."
That's when he has a reaction, he winces, hissing through his teeth but the expression passes just as quickly as it comes.
"You never questioned where the gifts came from?" He asks, "none of the notes were included?"
I frown, face pinching in confusion. He can read me well enough and leans forward in his seat, I instantly lean back to keep the same distance between us. "I've never... You've sent gifts?" I wonder, baffled. I watch him for any sign of misunderstanding.
"Books, letters, things I've found interesting over the years and once an entire set of mounted butterflies from the demons' territories." I love butterflies. I'd chased them around the meadow when Jelamet had been well enough to take me every couple months as a child. Father always demanded every guard available to attend us when we'd go. It had been less than a five-minute fly but he'd always been like that, with me in particular, since childhood.
"Oh." My hand covers my mouth to hide my surprise and annoyance. I turn in my chair to look through the bay windows. Jelamet is still where I left her, her gray head is limp, tilted back and her mouth hangs open in obvious sleep. I can practically hear the old bat's snores. I shift back to focus on him again and I promise, softly, "I'll figure out what happened to it all, now that I know it exists, or, existed."
With another sip, he places his cup down, empty. His eyebrows are lowered but with his eyes set in such a relaxed way I still can't grasp any emotions from him. Is he trying to be expressionless?
"Would you like another?" I motion to the pot and I take his silence to mean yes as he continues staring. I stand, stepping closer to arrange the kettle, holding the lid as I pour him another. Since I am already doing it, I top mine off as well. The steam is barely a trickle and I curb my disappointment. "Do you like it?" I nudge my head to indicate the drink and the corner of his lips twist up as he puts the cup to his full lips. When the teacup is pulled away, they are slick and shining.
I sit the teapot down, stepping back to my side of the table and adjusting my dress with a swoop of the fabric to take my seat again. He must, but he doesn't tell me. Maybe he doesn't like talking? He likes looking though and I grow uncomfortable under his ogling. At least I can conclude he isn't disappointed in my body. I shakily gather my own cup as I feel the same about his form.
A bird tweets and I watch it swoop through the air, flying to the railing to perch. "I brought talking points." Meliodas draws my attention back and I watch as he pulls a slip of paper from his pocket. He looks them over before his eyes are drawn back up to mine and I sniff humorously.
"Let me see," I grin, holding my hand out with my palm up over the table. His lips part a fraction, the only sign he's heard me as he stares blankly but his green eyes darken. After a few heartbeats, the back of his hand skims over my fingertips as he places the paper in mine. A warm tingle spreads at the contact and after he pulls away lingeringly, my skin still feels him. As if he's left behind an imprint of himself on my flesh.
Shakingly, I gather the paper to me, holding it under the table to read and hide my nervous reaction. There are a few notes to himself. 'Ask questions', 'don't lie' and 'learn her languages', I am not sure what the last one means but I smile at the first set of reminders. The rest are cute topics. 'Favorite foods?' 'Best childhood memory' 'What does she like to do?' and 'What does she want to do but hasn't yet?'
The last one slices through my growing tenderness, right to my core. Wounded, my mind hounds me with all the things in life I haven't done, being trapped in this castle as I always am. 'Oh, the poor princess', I mock my own drama. My throat squeezing, my chest grows tight and I swallow thickly. I lift the note to place next to the teapot, dragging my hand away to my cup. I bring it to my lips and ease my tension through the liquid. After I breathe easier I tell him, at just above a whisper, "I like to read."
"What genre?" He matches my tone, his eyes still on me and I notice his canines above and below are pointed. When he's spoken his white teeth have drawn my eye. It had been one of my fears, rows of sharp teeth, but with only four they suite him. I hadn't even noticed at first, they are so subtle.
"Anything, Adventure is my favorite. I like to be-" I shake my head. He won't want to know that being someone brave and strong for the few hours it takes me to finish a novel entices me. I can be someone else, can go anywhere and conquer anything when drawn into the written world. If it is printed on the pages, it comes to life for me. It's all the life I have. I shake my head, "What do you like to do?"
He sips his tea, seeming to think about it as he looks to the flowers in my hair. "I like to fight, to learn new techniques and master them." My gaze shifts to his arms, his shirt is looser but usually I can tell which is a person's sword arm by the firmer muscles. Unless he means hand to hand and not with a weapon? I open my mouth to ask but he beats me to it, "and the other questions?" I frown, reminded again of the last question.
"Strawberries," I hush to him. Growing warm when he grins. "Any way. Fresh or baked in a pie. Once a long time ago I had the best strawberry tart with the fluffiest sweet cream on top and honestly, nothing has lived up to it since." He leans forward, his elbows on the table as his chest rumbles and he makes 'nish, nish' noises through his nose with his lips tipped up. He's... laughing. I smile, resting my elbows as I wrap my fingers around my cup, easing.
"You like sweets then." He notes and I watch his eyes crinkle in joy, nodding my affirmation. "Next time I'll bring you something you might like. I've never come across its rival and I've traveled just about every place at this point." I suppose with being Lord he can. How different our lives are glare obvious before me and I frown, leaning away. I take my tea cup with me to sip, watching the liquid move.
"What's your favorite food?" I ask my tea, shaking my head to stop the nagging insistence that I'll always be anchored. Heirs are expected in an arranged marriage, to cement the allegiance our blood is to mix as it isn't truly me they want, but my womb. I'll be raising children in another castle, Meliodas will dictate my whereabouts then. From my father's cooking pan into demon's fire.
"Ale." He quips and I look up, startled. He's blank-faced again, so I can't tell if he's serious but he's leaning back in his chair again, teacup empty. "There's this Ale, it's only served in Bernia. I'm sure you've been, it's the closest town to here." He waves a hand while I stare, my lungs suddenly not getting enough air. "Next time you go, try it. It has an apple sweet aftertaste." Rather than agree, as he wrote not to lie and I didn't want to either, I offer to pour him another cup. He takes the pot himself, pouring it, sparing me having to get up again. I know there is nothing left as the last drops drips slowly from the spout. Our time is coming to an end.
I find myself staring at the teapot in disdain. But not because of Lord Meliodas in particular. He is fine in a standoff, distant way, but once he leaves I will fall back into my empty rooms where all I have to look forward to is Jelamet's muttering complaints of her old bones and failing body. I've read through every adventure in our library and I suppose I can revisit a favorite but this is something new. It's a marvel to actually have tea with someone who wants to talk to me.
The last of my tea slips down and I lick my lips, arranging my cup on its saucer with care before I wrap myself in a hug and hold my own elbows over my waist.
"What's something you've always wanted to do?" He inquires, I try not to react but a phantom hand ghosts up from my stomach to grip at my heart from the inside. I should have asked him about his childhood first but that question seems just as punishing as he will no doubt ask it of me after.
Something simple. Think of something simple.
"To try Bernia ale." I joke, opening my eyes to stare into his. He's blank again, his jawline catches my eye and I follow it down over his Adam's apple. He has nice skin. With that face, he probably doesn't have a problem attracting women and I wonder briefly about fidelity following our nuptials. A woman is required to be loyal but every royal man I've met had rumors following them, maids fired and concubines hidden in wings of the house as 'art buyers' with their own stipends. Veronica knows everything and usually scandalously whispers what she knows about a person after they'd come to our castle. Since she's here sporadically she still does it. It's a ritual now, as if her mission in life is to catch me up on everything I miss going on in the rest of the world.
"Right." He's kind, not pushing.
"How about you?" I am expecting the same type of answer I have given. A guarded but truthful desire, yet he pauses, sipping as if to give himself more time to think.
"There is something," he starts, smooth and thoughtful but I can see the moment he changes his mind, the corners of his eyes tensing. "I would like to table this question, to answer it later. Will you, too?" He requests and I nod, glad he hasn't treated me how I had treated him.
"Do you fight with a sword?" I wonder, afraid he'll ask his last question before his cup empties.
"Not when I fight for sport." He grimaces. "A sword is to kill. My brother and I will raise arms against one another as we know the other's limits but no, I don't fight with a sword, not in the way you're imagining." I suppose the fights in my adventure books are dramatized and they are always life and death.
"It's a sport?" I guess, "so it's something I could watch some time?" The smile that spreads over his lips is unstoppable, crows feet crinkle by his eyes. He's very handsome in his joy. He must truly relish in the hobby he's chosen.
"Absolutely." He answers and a tiny sliver of dangerous hope cracks into the hollow view of my future. Perhaps Lord Meliodas won't keep me locked away? Even if it is just one outing here and there, I won't complain. He blanks again, palming his cup, "We'll have to go before I become king. After I doubt there will be any time to spare."
The sliver of a spark ignites and I nod. Even if it's a limited time adventure, I'll love a few memories of the world. Something nags in my mind and I look him over, he sips his tea, his eyes on the cut of my sleeve.
"Sir Meliodas?" I ask and his eyes meet mine in pleasant surprise. I flush, realizing I haven't said his name before. "Excuse me for this but..." I decide against it, looking away, "Never mind."
"No." He croons gently, as if coaxing a wounded bird from its perch. "Please, it's fine."
I hold my own hands over my lap, looking everywhere but at him, until finally, I breathe deep to gather my nerves. "It just seems..." I'm determined as I meet his emerald eyes, "Excuse me but, do you want to take the throne?"
He finishes his drink, arranging the cup on its saucer as I had, his eyes at my neck climbing ever higher with their constant search of my body. "It doesn't matter what I want, it is my fate."
The gap between us shrinks to nothing. He is worldly, confident and so sure of his place in the world but he's stuck too. He has a path laid for him to a destination he hasn't chosen.
"I know what it's like to be caught in a trap," I reply, bleak and lost. His breath catches in a sudden halt but I resist looking. I'm sure he simply realized the time or snagged his clothing on something. The hand inside me doesn't grip at my heart, it vanishes, as a cool hollowness fills me and I don't feel anything at all. I stand, supporting myself with the table until my footing is solid and I turn to Jelamet. She's sunk further into the cushions, arm over her eyes as if to block out the troublesome light. "I'll walk you out if you want." I offer, stepping back as the breeze plays at the edges of me.
He doesn't move and with effort, I drag my gaze to his. As soon as they meet, he nods and stands. After he pushes his chair in he offers me his arm and I reach for it. I shake the closer I get, my brain fizzing in... something. I frown, frozen in my outstretched position. Perhaps a bit of memory is still in this fuzzy brain because getting nearer to him, it feels familiar in a strange sense.
"It's okay." Sir Meliodas reassures. His arm drops and mine follows to rest at my own side. We stand, facing one another and the wind tousles his chaotic hair. A series of tweets sounds, the bird has returned and I steady myself. I lead, our feet silent down the hall and it unnerves me as it is always me alone in my vacuum of quiet. "Your rooms are very neat." He notes and I scoff.
"These are my sister Margaret's rooms," I confess to him and as we turn down the next hall, he's beside me, his face angled to mine. I point to my closed doors, "Those are mine." He looks away, roaming the walls and doors before facing forward again. We exit the wing, alone, as we head through the main hall.
"Where is everyone?" He murmurs. I frown, looking over at him in confusion. "Shouldn't there be guards, maids, and attendees rushing around?" Do other castles have that?
"The guards are outside," I answer. "Inside there's Jelamet for me, she's slept through your visit, excuse her. Jennah is my father's and Zaneri helps them both." I shrug, "it's only father and I, plus the house so three is enough. They rotate which rooms they do and who cooks, so things are always attended too."
"What about tutors and companions?" Sir Meliodas continues and I flush, my hands coming to my heart.
"I'm too old for tutors," I explain, not wanting to talk about this as the image of the room our childhood tutor had traumatized the three of us in flashes in my mind. "I had a companion once, his father made him play with me but after I figured out... when I realized..." I tuck my hair back, grateful for the front door coming into view across our grand entranceway.
"Realized what?" He sounds curious as if trying to understand rather than judge.
"He wasn't my real friend." I continue. "I only have one, outside of Jelamet." I explain, the void swirls and I ease into the nothingness. I zone out and my hands fall away as the effort to protect myself isn't worth the energy it requires. "You've met him."
"When?" His hand comes up to scratch at the side of his head. "Who?" I gaze into him, closing off and he stands straighter, stopping, mere feet from the door and I sigh longingly for us to be moving closer to our parting.
"Mead." At his blank stare and unmoving frame, I explain, "he delivered my invitation. I do enjoy his siblings as well." I wait, having nothing else to tell him about the subject. It isn't like Mead and I ever schedule time to see one another. If there is a job to do around here the guards know to ask him first and he always finds me if he is on location. Other than that, it isn't like I can leave. Guards swarm if I step outside the walls without an escort.
An escort meant permission. None of the girls will leave with me without my father's personal say so.
"That scruffy kid?" Sir Meliodas remembers and I frown. He's only scruffy because he has to mend his own clothing. "How'd you two meet? I can't imagine that being an arranged companion."
"He isn't. It was actually the same day I lost Mael." Mael had been my companion for two years before that, a vulnerable time as Veronica had left around then. Sir Meliodas still isn't moving and I decide I am done, I don't want to go down this road. We've touched too many memories already and at this rate, I'll be inviting the nightmares. I spin, stepping toward the exit regardless if he is following or not.
With a creak, I grip the long pole handle and use my legs to pull and pry it open. It's heavy and when I have it cracked, a hand intercepts, gripping the solid door. With no effort at all Meliodas pulls the door wide. My hands drop from the handle and I step back, embarrassed I struggled when it comes so easily to him. The emptiness inside eats up the new feeling and it too passes.
"Thank you for the tea, Elizabeth." Meliodas smiles, coaxing a small flicker of comfort as I know he means it from his pleased tone. My gaze is drawn to the front yard and then to his clear, open face. He asks, "Will you walk with me to the gate?"
Another fraction of myself chips away.
"I can't leave the castle grounds," I tell him, admitting what I haven't wanted to tell him. His head tilts, eyes tensing and I frown. I don't think he believes me. "I'll show you." I whisper, resigned. I step around him, out the front doors and I head down the front steps while picking up the skirts of my dress. The path is short from here to the palace walls.
Meliodas catches up, looking over at me but he can study all he wants. There isn't anything left of me to see. Will he figure it out now? That I have clipped wings? A bird in a cage with no knowledge of the world outside of what I've been taught and what I've read in books.
"Your feet-" He starts but I don't pay him any mind, pushing open the iron fence that surrounds my home and stepping onto the cobblestone street with purpose. I hold it open for Sir Meliodas and he joins me. He looks around, brows raised as if I met his challenge and failed. "I think with me here, it will be fine," he comments, not understanding. With stealth, I close the fence, stepping to cross the street when a rush of air erupts before me.
An angel, in full guard armor and extended wings, lands in my path. All the flowers in my hair dislodge from the gust and I watch them abandon me as they tumble down the street, tossing over one another. 'Be free', I pray for them, but the void is still swirling so there are no tears left to rise and fall.
"Lady Elizabeth." The large man chides, drawing my attention to his center head. He is looking over me, his voice full of frustration. Some goddesses have extra wings but this is the only goddess I know with extra heads. He has three of them, all of a different stage in life. A child on his right, middle age at the center, and crone on his left. All six of his cheeks are tinged pink from his anger.
"Tarmiel," I say by way of greeting, polite but distant. "I'm escorting Sir Meliodas to the gates, we're done with our tea." The angel's child face barely glances over at him, dismissing him, but I bend to face Meliodas, peering into his dark green eyes with one brow raised. Challenge met. 'Do you see me?' I sent him mentally but Meliodas' face is barren.
"You'll do no such thing. Lord Bartra was very specific. Any number of things could occur that close to the exit especially with him." Tarmiel's voice scratches at the inside of my ears like claws and I sigh wearily.
"If he promises-"
"Lady Elizabeth." I know talking is pointless. If it had been Mael or Dale I could go into the city with them but all the others refuse me any leeway as no one else willingly takes a scolding for me. Minimally, he never tells my father of the many hours I have put in trying to negotiate time away from the castle. "I've not the time for this."
"All I have is time. Come with us, or send for Mael." I start, he sighs.
"Excuse me." Meliodas interrupts and I wince, knowing my chances are out the window now. If I plead it is because I want something but if he pleads it's because he is after something and none of them will trust another leading me by their whims. Especially not a demon, prince or not. "I'll see her to the gate and if that isn't enough assurance that she'll be unharmed while in my care, you are more than welcome to ensure her safe return by joining us."
Tarmiel doesn't reply, all three heads turn to me and I look up with a wince as his displeasure has notched to the next degree up. "Inside." He commands, arm raising to point as if I don't know the way back.
"Please, Tarmiel, come with us." This time, Tarmiel steps forward and he reaches for my arm to haul me back himself. I sag, resigning to the move as it had been carried out more than my fair share. The arm-haul is the least embarrassing of the manhandling I have endured but it has been a few months since it's devolved to this point. I feel the breeze of his grab miss my arm as my other is grasped and I find I'm standing by the fence again, Sir Meliodas casually at my side. His touch lingers on my arm as it did on my fingertips, feeling his after-touch more than the original.
Meliodas ignores the enraged angel behind him as he stares into me. I stare over his shoulder at the red-faces of Tarmiel.
"I'm glad to have met you," I whisper, breaking my gaze to focus on the man before me. "Will I see you again?" I flush, obviously we will since we are to be married, "I mean, before the, uh..."
"Yes." He agrees, saving me a second time and I smile, feeling my lips curve on their own. "I'm glad to have met you too, Elizabeth. This second time went much smoother." He chuckles humorlessly and I don't get it. Meliodas reaches toward me and I feel that tingling familiar sensation again, uncomfortable. I flinch away but grow ashamed as he takes an iron rod in his hand, pulling at it to open the fence behind me.
He hadn't been reaching for me. As if he is walking me home, I stroll through the fence back on castle grounds and Tarmiel takes to the skies again, the flurry of his downdraft catches my dress in its wind and I push my hair back from my face.
"Goodbye, Sir Meliodas." I call out, turning to the gilded cage wondering how everyone else can see a castle when they look. For me, it only appears that way for brief shining moments.
Perhaps father will have dinner with me tonight? I am sure he will be curious about how the meeting had gone. I hope the curiosity will pull him away from his duties long enough for a few moments of conversation.
It's fine. Everything is fine. At the doors I turn, looking back to see how far Sir Meliodas made it down the street but to my surprise, he is still at the fence where I left him. He raises his arm, overhead waving to me and I find my hand raising to return the motion.