Hello fantastic friends!
So school started up this week cutting into my precious writing time, but I was determined to finish this chapter today :D
As always I love reviews! Enjoy XD
~Breathe~
It takes Clara a minute to pull herself back together. Had she just imagined that John was leaning in to kiss her? It's been a hell of a long time since she's had a romantic liaison of any kind. Did she misread the situation? Is that why he left? He realized what Clara was thinking and didn't want it?
Clara gets to her feet, shoving away the hurt and embarrassment which threatens to overwhelm her. It's a dull ache in her chest. It feels like she's been punched in the gut, but she has to go back inside and pretend to be happy. And happy is the furthest from what she's feeling right now. Putting on her best poker face Clara slips back into the ballroom.
As she steps through the open doors Clara can't help glancing around. She doesn't see John. Did he leave? She hopes so, because she doesn't want to see him again. She doesn't even want to think about him. Prince Harold is waiting for her along with the eyes of everyone at the ball. It suddenly gets hard to breathe. He is dressed as a Knight.
"It's time, my dear." Harold glances over Clara's shoulder towards the courtyard. Guilt creeps into her emotions even though there's no reason for it. The man is engaged to Oswin not her. Not that anything happened in the courtyard anyway. A blush colors the back of her neck before Harold takes her arm.
Clara forces a small smile. It probably looks fake.
The crowd of opulently dressed dancers makes way for them. They watch expectantly as Harold leads her to the platform where the rest of the family is waiting. King Toby and Queen Viola are beaming. They look like this is the greatest day of their lives. They look so happy for her. Lavender, on the other hand, her smile is as fake as Clara's. Her eyes are cold and distant.
The King steps forward and the crowd goes silent. "Here on this most joyous of holidays I bring to you even more glad tidings! A royal union between my daughter Princess Oswin Kovarian of the Violet Kingdom and Prince Harold Saxon of the Gray Court!"
The ballroom erupts into cheers and applause. It sounds like a death march. Grinning to the crowd, Harold wraps his arm around her waist pulling her closer. Instinctively, she steps away. Or tries to. He tightens his grip holding her in place. Resisting the urge to stamp on his foot - no one is allowed to manhandle her - Clara keeps smiling.
"Now our two kingdoms will be joined in an era of peace and prosperity." Harold says in a ringing voice making the crowd cheer harder.
Clara goes ridged when he leans forward to press his lips to hers. Revulsion curls her stomach though the kiss itself is not wholly unpleasant. She knows this is all for show. She can feel Viola judging her reaction and, as hard as it is to do, Clara relaxes into the kiss. It goes against everything in her to lean forward, but she does. Clara can feel his surprise.
The kiss is over almost as soon as it begun. It feels like eternity.
When Harold pulls back his smile is slightly smug. "That was different." he says so only Clara can hear.
She doesn't know how to respond. What does that mean? Did he kiss Oswin before? Is that why she hated him? Movement on the other end of the hall catches her eye. Someone dressed as a vagabond walks out of the ballroom. A sharp pain blooms behind her sternum. It finds home with the dull ache currently weighing down her heart.
Clara forces her attention back to the Prince. He's watching her closely and she wonders if he knows where her eyes just went. If he does he doesn't say anything. Finally removing his grip on her, Harold steps back. The weight of his hand lingers. It feels like a bruise against her skin.
The orchestra strikes up a waltz and the crowd parts before them. Rattled, Clara forgets what's supposed to happen next. Why is he pulling her forward? Why are people clearing the center of the floor?
"My lady?" Harold says, bowing low at the waist.
Curtsy! You're supposed to curtsy! Screams the functional part of her brain. Curtsy? Oh right… holding out her sheer skirt Clara gives it her best effort. Vastra would probably be disappointed but at least she doesn't fall on her face. This is the engagement waltz. They have to lead the dance just like the king and queen on prom night. It's such an incongruous image Clara almost laughs.
Harold leads her out to the center of the ballroom. She can feel the eager eyes tracing her movements. Everyone here expects something of Oswin. And she's not her. Clara needs to smile, to look happy. She can't blow this by letting people see the way her skin crawls when Harold touches her. So she does.
He leads her into the steps, rotating them in time with the slow music. Submitting dominance is difficult, but she swallows it down and keeps smiling. No one can say she's not keeping up her end of the bargain.
"You look beautiful tonight." He whispers in her ear and it sounds genuine.
"Thank you." Clara mumbles.
What else can she say? Harold hasn't really given her any reason to dislike him. The kiss was for show. It was expected. He seems nice even, but she knows not to ignore her instincts. That's what got her stuck in Shades in the first place. She knew something was wrong at Broken Bridge and she jumped anyway.
Just as Clara knows there's something off about Harold. Maybe it's the way his eyes linger where they shouldn't or that smile which is almost a smirk. Maybe it's a lot of things and maybe it's all in her head. But the bottom line is Clara doesn't trust him.
They make it through the dance and Clara is finally able to get away from him. Excusing herself for a drink she sneaks away. Moving along the edges of the room Clara avoids Harold and the rest of the royals for the rest of the evening. Thankfully the party is nearly over so she doesn't have to dodge for long.
As midnight approaches marking the day where the land of the spirits is perfectly aligned with their own the room begins to countdown.
"Ten!"
Clara edges towards the door. This is the perfect distraction.
"Nine!"
She glances around to see if anyone will notice her escape. She just wants out of here.
"Eight!"
Clara slips out of the ballroom and rushes to the stairs before anyone can stop her.
"Seven!"
The intoxicated voices fade as she follows the path the girls taught her to get back to Oswin's bedroom. Now Clara can breathe. No one is watching her. No one is making her be someone else. She sighs, stopping at an arched stone window and pulling of her mask.
The full moon pours light in pooling on the floor around her feet. Closing her eyes Clara tries to let go of the weight in her chest. The rejection, the uncertainty, she wants to wish it all away. Sadly life doesn't work like that.
"What are you doing up here?" John's voice asks.
Her breathe hitches in shock and something else. Opening her eyes, Clara doesn't turn around. She doesn't want to see him. Embarrassment and anger twist her gut.
"What do you want?" she counters.
"I-" John pauses, voice strained. "I saw you and I thought I should -"
"What?" Clara bites, "Make sure I'm alright? I can take care of myself, thanks."
"That's not- I mean-. I was worried."
That strikes a nerve. Clara whips around to face him. Her mask falls to the floor. He's standing just inside the pool of light from the window, his face half in shadow. It makes him look older, darker somehow. But she can see the discomfort - and is that remorse - on his features. It makes her retort die on her tongue.
"You left the ball." Clara says lamely.
John meets her gaze. There's an intensity in his expression she doesn't expect. Ignoring her implied question he says, "Why am I here?"
It's a question more to himself than Clara. She doesn't fully understand it. Electric tingles race across her skin when he takes a step closer. That's something she does understand. Want. Clara wants John to kiss her, to hold her, anything more than this.
"Why did you leave?" she asks.
They are even closer now, merely inches apart. Standing in the spotlight of the moon. Nothing outside of it exists. It's only them and the moonlight.
"I'm a soldier, a servant." John says so softly she can barely hear it. "There are things I can't have."
"That's stupid." Clara says bluntly.
He laughs breathlessly. And it breaks the barriers. John closes the distance between them hungrily. His calloused hands cradle her face as he seals Clara's mouth with his. A wild desire stirs inside her when she presses back, arms lifting up to wrap around his neck.
It's better than anything she could have imagined. John tastes like honey and cinnamon. Like storms and the sea. The soft sound he makes when she runs her tongue over his bottom lip burns through her. Fingers trail down her spine and tug her closer. Clara responds in kind. She wants more. She wants all of John. More than she's ever wanted anyone.
He is soft, pliant, and willing; tongue licking deep into her mouth. They breathe into each other, bodies molded together. Hands eager and uncertain and desperate to explore. Clara traces the shape of his jaw with her fingertips as if committing it to memory. Slowly they break apart breathing heavy. Lips swollen and pink, faces flush.
John smiles at her, pupils wide. "I'm sorry." he says.
"For what?"
He presses another kiss to her lips softly. A small discontented whine escapes Clara when he pulls away again. John chuckles, placing his hands against her cheeks gently.
"For not doing that earlier."