The rented room was littered with gently flickering candles, the soft scent of mountain flowers vaguely covering the scent of ale and moldy cheese. Abigail sat cross legged on a worn rug in the center of the room, The Cock in the Crown's "luxury sweet". Her eyes were lidded, hands hovering with palms up at her sides. Deep, even breaths kept the time as she honed her concentration.
She carefully formed the images from memories in her mind, gentle wisps of wind against the leaves of trees. The unmistakable howl in the darkest of hours, comforting and yet harrowing. The shrill whisper, beating flakes of snow against her pale cheeks.
Her eyes focused on the candle just a few feet in front of her, the slow flicker hypnotizing the young monarch. As it seemed to bob and duck, her eyes closed and arms slowly lowered, drawing upon her strength. Both hands met at her clavicle and pushed forward in an effort to release the energy. Creaking an eye open, her face fell from serene indifference to frown. "Sod."
A low chuckle resounded behind her. "And you said my attempt was bad." Moving from the straw mattress to the floor, Ben's hands held onto her hips as he situated himself at her back, thumbs pressing lazy circles into her back. "Relax, dear Princess."
Abigail's head dropped forward. She had stolen away to Ben's room hours previously, unable to master this newest spell. Unfortunately, his presence only seemed to hinder her further. "I can't."
"Of course you can. You just need to empty that pretty little head of yours." She huffed in response. "As it turns out, you're in the presence of a master of relaxation. You've received my introduction already," his lips ghosted over the nape of her neck, hot breath leaving goose flesh in its wake, "and if you will allow me, I can further…acclimate you to the fine art." As if to test her boundaries, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her back. Hearing only a slow sigh in response, his lips began to travel over her shoulders.
"As relaxing as that may be, it certainly does nothing to improve my concentration."
The captain rested his chin on her shoulder, the poppy seeds of stubble scratching her delicate skin. He tugged at her long-sleeved tunic, further pulling one side down her arm. "I can only imagine this isn't helping." He could practically feel her eyes roll. "In a warm, fire-ridden room, you cover up like the celibate priestesses in Old Quarter." Ben himself settled on a light cotton shirt he had cut the sleeves from, various blood stains and holes littering the once pristine white fabric.
"I am a princess, Benjamin. It isn't very appropriate for me to traipse about in minimal clothing."
His large arms encircled her waist, a solitary finger poking through a gap between buttons at the center. He sought out the warmth of her forbidden skin. "That's well and fine when we're in town and on the road. But it's you and me in this room. And Cerby, but I don't think he counts." Feeling Abigail tense, his easy mood faltered. "Princess?"
"I don't want you to see my lines." The statement was simple enough, for it's sheer ludicrousness. Ben thought to say as much, but settled on listening for the time being. "They shift and glow when I use will, but they never go away. Not completely."
A hand traveled north, cupping and tilting her chin towards him. "That's it? That's why you don't allow yourself the freedom of simple clothing? My dear Princess Abigail, you are remarkably gorgeous- especially for a pale, freckle-less girl of Albion," he teased. "You could have a third of forth breast hidden under your shirt, and I would still find you irresistible."
Cheeks tinted pink as his lips met hers, slowly moving together. "Because you wouldn't enjoy that at all," she remarked. "You just want to get me out of my clothes."
A devilish smirk lit his features. "A happy coincidence."
"I'm sure," she giggled, melting into his chest.
"It's true," he affirmed, pressing his lips to her cheek. "Now try again. If you get it right this time, I might even let you see my tattoo."
The princess snorted, a hand coming to cover her mouth. "Why does this not surprise me?"
Lips met again briefly. Ben was first to pull away, resting his forehead against Abigail's. "Try again."
Sighing, the princess faced forward. Her gaze swept the room, taking note of each flame. Shoulders pulled back, and hands that had tangled themselves with the captain's retreated to their previous positions. Drawing upon a small amount of her will, her eyes closed.
Ben watched as the lines flowed from the center of her chest and out, down to her hands. Pale yellow and green lines outlined the shape of gauntlets, turning and swirling in her palm. She pressed forward and with a small flare of light, a gentle wind rushed forward, extinguishing nearly half of the candles. There were several beats of silence. "You can open your eyes now."
Abigail smiled sheepishly as she opened her eyes. Seeing her progress, she squealed and turned to Ben. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she tackled him to the floor.