Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All characters, places, and names belong to their respective owners.
Gale throws his arms around me, lifting me into the air and throwing me around before plopping me down, causing my the light yellow fabric of my skirts to puff up as my feet hit the ground.
"Catnip," he says dotingly, "I've missed you."
I smile and give him a big squeeze, "Right back at you," I say gleefully, leaning into him and pressing my head against his shoulder. Everything about Gale reminds me of my father. The steel gray eyes, the dark ruffled hair, even the light scent of pine that always seems to follow Gale brings forth memories of my father.
I squeeze Gale for a moment, my hands wrapping around his shoulders as I grip myself to the only piece of home I have left. It's only when I feel my husband's hand resting against the small of my back that I step back and let go.
"Katniss," he says almost warningly, his arm wrapping around my waist.
Gale stares directly at Peeta with an almost steely gaze, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty."
Peeta nods, "Likewise for me, Your Grace. My men will handle your company. Why don't you allow me to show you the gardens."
Peeta firmly takes my hand as the three of us walk leisurely through the back gardens. With him between the two of us, I can barely look at Gale. It's too odd- too confusing, to have the two men who have defined my life so close to each other. A few months ago I couldn't have even dreamed up this scenario. How could I? There was no reason to believe never that Gale, the boy who I grew up thinking I was going to marry, would be walking alongside the man I ended up calling husband.
"Here," says Peeta, motioning towards the golden gate that encircles the front of the palace, "is the public entrance. It would be my recommendation that you avoid this quarter of the grounds while you are visiting, the place is filled with tourists and peddlers during the afternoon hours."
Gale raises an eyebrow and gives a look, "The public is allowed to enter the palace?"
Peeta nods, "Any man in possession of a sword is allowed to enter the courtyard during certain hours, but the gardens and residences are restricted to the servants and those who have been invited to court."
The two of them chatter about polite subjects like palace regulations for a few minutes, leaving me out of the conversation.
"Peeta?" I ask, interrupting a discussion on the guards' uniforms, "Shouldn't you be heading to that meeting you scheduled earlier?"
Peeta gets the hint, "Oh, of course, I probably should be heading over to the East Wing right now," he reaches over to shake Gale's hand, "It was a pleasure getting to meet you. Katniss, why don't you show our guest the grand parlor?"
The grand parlor is beautiful. A sprawling arrangement of plush sky blue sofas and lounges litter the room, filling it with a more casual vibe than the rest of the palace. While the seating itself is alluring, it's the canopy of painted cherubs and heavens along the ceiling that makes the room.
"Wow," Gale says, taking a moment to study the elaborate room as he settles into his seat, "this certainly is something."
I nod and give him a small smile. I remember what it felt like when I first arrived here. The grandeur, the ostentatious splendor of it all, had felt overwhelming to me. I can see that Gale, a man who prefers log cabins and cotton breeches over palaces and velvet suits, looks rather out of his element in this room.
He fidgets uncomfortably in his royal blue jacket, "This place, it's very…" he stops, trailing off to avoid being offensive.
I give him a smile, "I know," my voice saddens with longing for the simple home I once knew, "I feel it every waking moment I spend in this place."
"Do you enjoy it here?" he asks me in a low voice, his eyes suspiciously glancing at the guard standing in the doorway, "Be honest."
"'Enjoy' is a bit of a strong word," I admit, "It's not home, but it's not particularly bad."
Gale places an assuring hand on my arm, "He doesn't, hurt you? Does he?"
"No!" I say, rushing to assure him, "Peeta's a lot of things, but he would never hurt me, not in that way."
Gale bites his lip, "That's good, Katniss. That's good," he falters before changing the subject, "I heard they are reorganizing the taxes this year. Perhaps you could speak to your husband about working on a policy for Seam?"
The rest of our conversation is stoic, removed in a way that we never were together. I can't help but wonder if all of my relationships with the people I was so close with before will end up like this. Will I even know what to say to Prim when she arrives? Will she look at me as a stranger, some person who wasn't even there for her when her father died?
The moments I spend in Gale's company are brief. Both my husband and my former fiance spend hours on end locked away in the counsel room disputing over trade initiatives, or something of that matter.
With Peeta and Gale preoccupied, I spend my time in the company of Duchess Effie, who decides that we should hold a banquet in Gale's honor. Gale is certainly not the most important guest that has visited the palace over the past weeks, but with the recent lack of entertainment and dismal turn of events, Effie decides that a banquet is the perfect event to make the court perk up a bit.
By now, the word of my father's passing has spread throughout the palace. The people are told it was a freak hunting accident, a lie concocted by Panem's officials. When I demand to know the reason for the cover up, the only answer Peeta gives me is that there is 'no need to alarm the people'. In some show of support the palace residents wear black mourning gowns for the banquet. One of my maids tells me that even the common merchants hold a service in the square to honor my father.
The banquet is held in the same hall where Peeta and I dined for our wedding. Tables of food filled with relatively simple dishes of venison and hearty soups line the walls along the right, while the other side of the room is filled with mingling guests and a handful of casual dancers.
The servants dress Peeta and I in fine black mourning clothes. He wears a solid black silk suit with fine silver trim, while I sport a black sack back gown, that is, with the exception of the night black color and the string of near black pearls around my neck, not all that different from the other gowns I wear.
Despite the dreary attire, the members of court still manage to make their outfits appear outlandish. Large towering wigs adorned with black lace and decorated bird cages, a fashion that I had been quite mercifully spared of, top many of the ladies' heads. It's not just the wigs though, even the mourning attire manages to be ornate. Piles of night black lace, ribbons, and sashes adorn the women's gowns. I can't imagine what the expense must be, yards and yards of lace, which has to be painstakingly made by hand, just to put on a dress that will be probably only be used for a handful of occasions.
Peeta and I make our entrance a full hour after the party begins. Although the entire event is supposed to be in honor of Gale, I barely see him for most of the evening. Instead of allowing me to spend time with the cousin I hadn't seen in ages, Effie forces me to socialize with my ladies in waiting.
The women are unsurprisingly just as disinterested in me as they were before. Lady Glimmer, Clove, and a few of the others chat amongst themselves while I stand awkwardly amongst them, barely noticing whatever new fashions they are discussing. The only real solstice I have in the group is Madge. At my request Peeta had placed her in my court, but neither of us are big talkers so we don't really affect the conversational topics.
It's to my great relief when Peeta slips into our little circle, requesting me to dance with him and rescuing me in the process.
The allemade is a simple, almost whimsical dance in which four couples dance in a circle, occasionally pairing off for a few steps. I can't help but laugh as Peeta, a man who has spent years of his life mastering dance, fumbles on a few of the steps.
"Katniss!" Peeta says, giving a mock frown, "don't laugh, I can't help it. I'm impaired, I swear!"
I throw my hands over his neck, breaking the routine to give him a quick kiss, "I pity your dance instructor."
Peeta laughs, finding my arm as we break off into a more complicated paired dance, "His name was Claudius Templesmith," he says, his voice pitching as he mocks the false snotty tone that some of the nobles use, " and he was certainly not amused by my 'clumsy feet and graceless steps'. Although, in my defense the allemande was not in fashion when I was a boy."
The dance slows, allowing us to mingle on the sidelines while a new group joins the floor. It isn't long before somebody taps my shoulder, causing me to turn around.
"Katniss, would you like to join me for a dance?" offers Gale. He's dressed in a nice black silk suit with gold trim, an outfit that makes him look nothing like himself, but even under the fancy attire I can still see the boy I used to roll around with in the forests.
Our dance is complicated so we don't carry on much conservation. Instead the two of us just silently carry out the steps, our eyes barely meeting as we pause for the turns. After, when we have finished a few rounds and I can no longer spot Peeta, Gale and I navigate towards a relatively uncrowded corner of the room.
"It's disgusting," he says, not bothering to keep his voice low, "a few of them just went outside to puke up their meal."
"I know." I say, and I do. Wasn't I just as appalled when I came to Panem?
"Do you?" he says with a shake of his head, "Because from my perspective," he motions towards me with a throw of his hand, "you seem to be blending in quite fine."
"What are you implying exactly, Gale? Just spit it out."
"You're so- different," he says, "the dresses, the perfectly graceful steps, the way you dote after that man," Gale throws his hands up in frustration, "It's not you, Katniss. How is it that you have changed so much over the course of a few months? How is it that the girl I knew, the one who carried knives in her stockings- the one who always wore a sharp tongue and a quick scowl- How is it that she has become all of this?" he motions towards my powdered and puffed appearance, "Have you forgotten who you are?"
"Gale," I plead, "don't!"
"You can't do this, Catnip," he says, his use of my nickname almost in jest, "Everybody expects you to be different. You can't become one of them."
"I'm not becoming 'one of them'," I hiss under my breath, worried that somebody will notice our heated conversation.
"Just don't forget, Katniss. There are a lot of people outside of this little fantasy world you have with your little Capitol husband, people that you used to care about. Imagine, is this what your father would have wanted for you? We finally have a chance to fight for what we deserve, and you have to start deciding who you belong to; him or your people."
"I don't belong to him."
Gale shakes his head and gives me a look full of pity, "Tell me this Katniss, has he managed to purchase your soul in accordance with your bed?"
I turn in early for the night, giving the excuse that I feel ill. Usually they wouldn't let me off the hook that easily, but Duchess Effie accepts my excuse because I have been feeling a little nauseous lately.
Peeta comes to bed a couple of hours earlier, his hands resting against the door frame as he throws his jacket on one the vanity, "I heard you were feeling ill, are you alright?"
"Am I a purchase?" I ask him outright.
"What?" he says, closing the door.
"Is that what I am to you? An ignorant little girl who you bartered for like cattle?"
"No," he says, his forehead twisting in confusion, "Have I done anything to make you think something so harsh?"
My eyes blink as I hold back the tears, "It's just the truth, isn't it? You bought me like a man would purchase a slave girl. Don't pretend it's anything more than that."
"Why do you do this, Katniss?" Peeta says, his voice turning up in anger, "Why do you destroy every advantage we make? You accuse me of sleeping with other women, you yell at me at every turn? Am I that revolting to you, that you need to turn yourself away at every chance we get?"
"Why can't you just let me be?" I cry out to him, curling tighter in the chair.
"I can't help it. I don't want to let go of you," his tone softens a little and he reaches out to me.
I scoff, removing his hand, "I'm sure you've said that a million times before, to a million different women."
"Oh," Peeta says, his voice twisting in a way I have never heard him do before, "Don't pull that card with me, not when you were having heated conversations with your pretty little beau for all the world to see."
"He's not my beau, Peeta. Don't make it into anything it's not."
He laughs, "Oh really, because everybody was gossiping about your little lover's quarrel back there. How do you think that makes me look? I can't even keep you away from your cousin."
"It wasn't-" I protest.
"Tell me then, Katniss," his words are sharp, almost cruel, "Have you ever kissed him."
My eyes cast downward and my face floods at the thought, "No," I lie.
He looks at me incredulously, "You aren't a very good liar, Katniss."
"Would it matter?" I say in a hoarse whisper, "If you were really taking your part in your 'ladies' and I was sneaking off with Gale? None of this means anything."
"Of course it would, Katniss," his brow furrows and his voice lowers, his anger lowering.
"Why?"
"Because," he says, pausing, "it just wouldn't be right, and as I have previously stated, I'm not going to soil our marriage bed. I hope you are willing to give me the same respect."
"Can you really be satisfied with me? For the rest of your life? I know many girls have given you far more than I have. Would you really rebuke them for the simple pleasures of my bed?"
He gives me a sad smile, "I can certainly 'make do', Katniss. I've said it a thousand times, and I will say it a thousand more. I'm not going to be with any of them, I'm really not sure what more assurance I can give you," he lowers his body so that he is kneeling beside me, "Why don't we chalk all of this down to your grief, how about that? We can forget it ever happened."
I sigh, the heavy emotions flowing through my body turn to thoughts of my father and I find myself almost instantaneously tearing up.
"I really loved him, you know?" my face turns away from the window, "He was the only parent I had left. Now all I have is Prim."
He gives me a half smile, "I know, I'm sorry for my little outburst. I wasn't thinking about how you are feeling right now."
He moves closer to me and his arm catches mine, "Come on, let's go to bed-" he starts.
"Kiss me," I interrupt him, my face stained with tears, "make me forget."
Peeta gives into my demands, his lips finding mine. He's hesitant at first, his gentle touches almost feeling like he's scared that I'm going to break into a million pieces, but eventually he stops worrying about my fragility and puts his focus on pinning my body against our bedroom wall.
His fingers quickly undo the pins that hold my stomacher in place. The piece of fabric is hastily tossed to the ground, allowing him to slide his hands under my dress and untie my stays.
His lips are soft and warm, so unlike my own chapped angry ones, and I find myself wanting more of him than I ever have before. Instead of being satisfied with his actions, I only built up need, greedy unexplainable need. It isn't long before he throws me against the bed and buries himself inside of me, the angry conversation from earlier long forgotten.
The moment is more intimate, more raw than the other times we have been together. Even the feeling of him crashing into me seems to be oddly more intense than it was in the other times we have been together. Maybe it's only because we haven't been together in a while, but I can't help but feel more connected to him than I ever had before.
And after, when I'm safety curled up against his bare chest, my body pressed against his in the clean white sheets of our be, he just says it, no warning, no apprisal of any kind, just the feeling of him playing with the tangled strands of my hair
"I love you," he says in a just audible whisper, "that's why it matters."
End of Part One
Author's Note: We have finally reached a turning point in the story! [Spoiler: I would take note of Katniss's mood swings if I was you;)] As always, I would like to thank my amazing beta, PrissPanem, for editing this chapter.
Remember to review. I'm looking forward to hearing what you thought of that ending!
You can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety. I post spoilers and inspirations for my stories on there.
Historical Note: The allemande was a popular aristocratic dance. Marie Antionette in particular popularized the contredanse allemande in the last quarter of the 18th century.
I may have mentioned this previously, but a 'sack back gown' is a casual term for a 'robe à la française', a fashionable gown that would have been worn by many members of the upper class.