I made a tiny mistake. There will actually be 32 chapters (epilogue included). Sorry about that!
Dinner passed without incident, but Penelo found herself in her first clash of wills with Balthier thereafter as she took him on a tour of the manor, which Balthier had deemed safe enough now that the steward had retired from his work for the day.
"The South wing," Penelo said, gesturing down a hallway. "It's got nine bedrooms; you can pick any one you like." The implication being, of course, that he would have a room of his own.
"Oh?" His voice was too smooth; she knew him too well - he wasn't pleased with her pronouncement and thought to coerce her from her path, perhaps he intended to wheedle his way into her bedroom. "How many bedrooms does this house have?" he asked in a deceptively light tone, catching her hand up in his, stroking the pad of his thumb over her palm.
She knew he was attempting to disarm her, but she stumbled over her answer anyway. "Th-thirty-two."
"And how many in the palace, do you think? I counted at least one hundred and eighty-three. But then, I stopped searching once I'd found the right room." His thumb had traversed down her palm and over her wrist, brushing lightly over her pulse. "It took me three days to find you there. Here, I imagine, I could find you in a matter of minutes. Half an hour on the outside."
"Balthier." She tried to sound stern. "I won't be gossiped about in my own home."
One brow arched. "I can't imagine who would be so crass as to do so."
She sighed, making an irritated sound in her throat. "Servants talk. You must know that."
His face darkened. "No one will do so in my hearing. Not more than once, at least."
"That's the point," she stressed. "No one's going to do it in your hearing. But they'll whisper in corridors and tell their friends and titter to one another behind closed doors. That's how reputations are ruined, Balthier - not in overt accusations, but sly murmurs that are impossible to silence."
"You didn't seem particularly concerned with your reputation before," he said.
"I didn't have a reputation before. No one cared what I did when I was a commoner; most people were content to ignore my existence entirely, because homeless orphans are a constant reminder of how low they themselves might one day fall. But now, every move I make is a reflection on Ashe, on Dalmasca." She blew out a heavy breath, and he knew she resented the new set of expectations under which she must live, the constant eyes upon her, the frustration that even out in the country, privacy yet eluded her.
"This is important to you," he said slowly, studying her closed posture, the firm set of her chin. "What people think of you...it matters."
"No," she said. "Not to me, truly. I'm used to people thinking poorly of me. But it'll matter to Ashe, to everyone who looks to her to set an example, to those who might doubt her capabilities as queen. I can't pretend my actions carry no consequence. I have to be circumspect."
He was used to getting his way, to manipulating the odds in his favor. He could likely do so now - but she would not thank him for it. Ultimately, she needed to be in command of her own choices. He didn't have to like them, but if he did not treat her concerns with the gravity they deserved, she would shut him out, cease to confide in him.
He might be tempted to protest being rebuffed, but she had every right to dictate her terms, and he would simply have to accept them if he wished to remain in her good graces. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back against the wall and tipped his head to indicate the first door on the left in the South wing hallway.
"That one," he said finally.
She wasn't certain whether she ought to be relieved or concerned at his easy acquiescence. "I, ah...I'll be going, then." She turned abruptly to leave.
"I'll leave the door unlocked," he said in a warm, low voice. "If it should happen that you find yourself in need of company."
"I'm sure that won't be necessary," she managed. There was no one else around; most of the servants had retired for the night. And yet she still found herself unbelievably flustered by the subtle insinuation. That wouldn't do at all; if she gave an inch he would press for a mile. He was notoriously adept at ferreting out weakness and using it to his advantage. He had always been hers, and she was almost certain he knew it. How else to explain that knowing smirk?
"Suit yourself." There was a touch of amusement in his voice, just enough to aggravate her, which she was sure was exactly as he had intended.
"In the morning, then." Unconsciously she backed a step away, then silently chided herself when his smirk grew more pronounced. She was such a fool to allow him to unbalance her. "I'll be going, then."
"You've said that already."
Damn! She had, hadn't she? And every moment she lingered added to his amusement.
He tried to mask a snicker as a cough and she skewered him with an icy glare, which only served to entertain him further. She made a wordless sound of frustration, pivoted, and stalked away, but the low sounds of his amusement trailed after.
She hadn't slept well, of course. Even the slightest of sounds had set her heart to pounding, certain that it would prove to be Balthier disobeying her dictate to steal into her bedroom. Hopeful anticipation had warred with exasperation; a perplexing blend to be sure. But he hadn't come. She didn't know whether she ought to be thankful or disappointed. She had finally fallen asleep as dawn crept over the horizon, only to be woken a mere hour or so later when a maid had slipped in to build a fire in the hearth. Desperate for some activity to ease her restlessness, she quickly dressed and made her way to the conservatory to prune the heartfruit trees that were beginning to bloom.
The conservatory was deserted this early in the morning, of course; the gardeners would spend most of the early morning outside working on the lawns and gardens, and would likely return to the conservatory only when the heat of the day had fully advanced. Still, they'd made great strides with the plants, considering not one of them had ever seen one before. She grabbed up a pair of shears that had been left behind by the gardeners, and began pruning away tiny stray branches, careful to avoid the fragile pink blossoms. Such an undertaking would allow the plant to redirect its energy to where it was needed, putting out lush, fragrant blossoms that promised healthy, plump fruit if well-tended. She had hoped that the task would soothe her, calm her nerves, and perhaps take her mind off of Balthier, but she found quickly that was a futile wish indeed.
It wasn't really his fault that she was in a foul temper. He had merely bowed to her wishes and done as asked. She knew he did not care a whit for her reputation or his, but it was interesting that he would pay heed to her concerns. She hadn't truly expected him to do so - he always did exactly as he pleased. Hence her current frustration; she had known him a year ago, but somewhere along the way he had changed. Maybe he was still changing. Perhaps she could have handled the old version of him. She would know what to expect - a man who was unreliable, fickle, selfish, reckless. This new Balthier? He could prove to be far more of a danger to her than the old one had ever been.
Oh, he was still clever, cunning, ruthless - she didn't think he would ever shake loose of those traits. But he was also honest, dependable, generous, affectionate, charming...and those things made him devastating. She experienced a flutter of trepidation as she realized that the man he had become would have no need to steal her heart - she would surrender it willingly.
Oh. Rocking back on her heels, she swiped her hand across her forehead, leaving a fine dusting of gritty dirt behind. She loved him. She loved him. That was...terrible. And wonderful. And terrible. Had she ever stopped loving him? Or had she just buried it deep down to protect herself from the pain? But it was like a dam had burst inside of her; she felt the familiar jolt of raw emotion surge from within her, prickling her skin, tingling all the way to her fingers and toes. That same sweet, warm ache she had suffered a year ago. He had turned it bitter and cold before - she wished she knew his intentions, wished for some sign that he would not do so again. But...he had come back, even after she'd sent him away. He had counted to almost the very minute! Certainly that meant something.
She wavered. Ashe had advised her to let him declare himself, to let him shoulder the risk. It was sound advice; she had been foolish before and suffered the consequences. She could wait him out until he made his intentions known.
"You've got some dirt."
She jumped and dropped the shears, which clattered noisily to the floor. A hot tide of crimson washed over her; she felt it creeping over her face like a fever flush.
Embarrassment made her snap, "Would you stop sneaking up on me!"
His brows rose in surprise. "I made quite a racket, actually; you'd have heard me if you hadn't had your head in the clouds. You must've been a thousand miles away." With one hand he cupped her chin, holding her still as he brushed away the smudge of dirt with the other. But he did not release her when it was gone; instead his free hand settled on the dip of her waist, easing her closer.
She swallowed heavily. "Anyone could see," she breathed. A half-hearted protest at best; she pressed her cheek against his palm as his fingers slid into her hair.
"Surely," he said, "a kiss is not so terribly inappropriate."
It certainly was the way he did it. But if he did not, she was afraid she might give herself away; that fluttery burst of emotion threatened to transmute itself into words and spill out of her. It was a method of self-preservation, she told herself as she lifted herself onto her toes, twined her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his. She had surprised him, she thought, for there was the briefest moment of hesitation, an uncharacteristic stillness. And then his arms closed fully around her, and he made a raw sound of pleasure in his throat, and she sighed and yielded to the hungry pressure of his kiss.
Comprehension had hit him like a bolt of lightning, and he had found himself momentarily stunned. But he smoothly recovered, gathering her against him, holding her perhaps the tiniest bit tighter than was proper. And yet he was helpless to resist when such exultation sang in his blood, coursed through his veins.
She had settled at last, hesitation vanquished. Surrender. He could feel it, taste it. She shuddered as his fingertips caressed the nape of her neck - no tension to be found, just perfect, utter softness beneath his fingers. There was no tart desperation, just the pliant sweetness of her mouth, her delicate fingers raking through his hair, the whisper-soft sigh of her breath.
She loved him. She might not have said the words, but he could feel them in her, and it made all the difference in the world. He wanted to drag her off to his bedroom, spend the next several hours making love to her, reveling in his victory - their victory, for she had conquered him as surely as he had her. But she desired discretion, and so he would have to restrain himself for her sake. He didn't want to draw away, he wanted to savor the heady perfection of this moment. For a lifetime, forever.
With monumental effort, he managed to pry himself away, her low murmur of protest pure agony to hear. He steeled himself against her delicately flushed cheeks, the hazy softness of her eyes, her luminous glow. How was it that he was the only one to see it?
"Dangerous territory, darling," he said in a rough, nearly guttural voice he did not recognize. His fingers retained the memory of her silky hair, curling as though seeking hers to intertwine with, his arms burned with the residual heat of her skin. In a matter of moments his body had been seared with the imprint of hers, and drawing away had left him incomplete, unfinished.
"Oh," she said with a tremulous laugh. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, her gaze sliding away from him guiltily, and he suppressed a sigh. She loved him - but she didn't want him to know it. Not yet, at least - which signified that she didn't yet feel secure.
He tried for a reassuring smile. "I think we ought to, ah...avoid isolated rooms for the time being. Perhaps limiting ourselves to the well-traveled areas will keep me honest."
"Do you really think so?" She sounded both curious and regretful, and he snickered.
"No. But I suppose it's worth the attempt." He reached for her hand, capturing it in his. "I hope palace life has not had an adverse effect on your defensive maneuvers."
She tilted her head inquisitively, clearly not understanding the shift in the conversation. "I shouldn't think so. Why?"
He made an aggrieved sound, raked his free hand through his hair. "Let us just say that even those with the best of intentions sometimes stray from the path. And, darling girl, it is so very rare for my intentions to even approach decency. For the sake of your reputation, you'll be keeping us honest. By force, if the need should arise."
Mere hours later, Balthier found himself flat on his back, staring up at the high ceiling of the library, struggling to regain his breath after she'd knocked the breath clear from his lungs with a remarkably well-aimed blow to his solar plexus. Penelo was crouched on the floor beside him, her face drawn in distress, frantically spouting apologies.
"I'm so sorry!" she wailed, knotting her fingers together.
"You've said," he wheezed. He might've tried for something more reassuring, had he the air to accommodate more than two words.
"Well, I am," she insisted. Then, as if she couldn't resist the urge to scold him, she added, "But I did warn you."
"Did you?" His breathing was still ragged, but at least he could draw in air once again. "I don't recall."
"And you did tell me to, after all." She settled back onto her folded legs, her concerned expression easing as he slowly recovered.
"I can't imagine why. Temporary insanity, perhaps." He forced himself upright, supporting himself on his elbows. "Let's abandon that particular idea, shall we?"
She studied him thoughtfully for a moment. "No; I think it's serving its purpose," she said carefully.
With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes and sprawled out on the floor once again. "I rather thought you might say that. I should never have put that idea in your head; it has proved to be hazardous to my health."
"You're proving to be hazardous to my reputation," she retorted. "You lured me in here for...for nefarious purposes."
"Is that what they're calling it, now?" There was the sound of rustling fabric, and then the warm press of her body along his right side as she laid down upon the carpeted floor beside him. Tentatively she placed one hand on his chest, and then, after his silence affirmed it caused no further pain, she eased closer and settled her head there.
He knew she meant only to provide comfort, that even though he'd given her leave to debilitate him if necessary she felt guilty for having injured him, however temporarily. And yet, he couldn't help but make note of the fact that they were both horizontal. It had not been an ideal method of achieving that goal, but he could hardly be blamed for seizing opportunities as they arose.
Under the guise of offering her comfort, he smoothed his fingers down her back...and lower. Immediately her hand shot up and lodged beneath his chin, using just enough pressure against his throat so as to be uncomfortable, but stopping just shy of painful.
"Balthier..." she warned.
"All right, all right." He lifted his hand, wrapped it around her waist, and the pressure or her hand at his throat was obligingly removed. "Can you truly blame me? What man would squander such an opportunity?"
She heaved an exasperated sigh. "You were supposed to be on your best behavior," she reminded him.
"Darling girl, I have done nothing even remotely larcenous in a longer time than I'd care to admit. I assure you, this is my best behavior." He shifted onto his side to face her. "If the worst you can currently say of me is that I might make the occasional attempt at seduction, I'd say I've become a veritable paragon of virtue."
"Virtue?" she echoed incredulously.
"Perhaps not the best choice of words, but the point still stands." He caught himself as his fingers, seemingly of their own accord, were edging beneath the hem of her top. With a vexed exhalation, he clasped his hands behind his head. "Safer not to touch you," he muttered. "I've tempted fate enough for one day. I find that I've grown rather fond of breathing."
To her credit, she did look genuinely regretful. "I really am sorry," she said again.
"Oh?" He leered down at her. "How sorry are you, then?"
She shoved away from him and scrambled to her feet with a nervous flutter of laughter. "Not that sorry," she said. "You can help yourself up; I don't trust you."
Although he knew the words were innocuous - she only meant she suspected he might pull her down to him once again, an idea which had certainly crossed his mind - they still gave him pause, caused him to wince. And though he recovered swiftly, she had noticed his hesitation, noticed the quick flash of hurt that had crossed his face.
She cringed. "I-I didn't mean that like it sounded," she said lamely. "I swear I didn't."
He climbed to his feet, brushed his rumpled clothing back into place. "I know." He tried to inject some lightness into his tone, but it came out flat, dejected.
"Really, Balthier." She sidled closer, worrying her lower lip. "If I didn't trust you, you wouldn't be here - I'd have thrown you out permanently." She managed a self-deprecating smile. "Honestly, I'm not sure why you even bothered to come back."
He stilled. "What do you mean by that?"
"We're out in the country," she said. "The most excitement this place has experienced since I've been here was when a tenant's goat escaped from its pen and ate its way through half a topiary before one of the gardeners managed to catch it." An apologetic smile. "You must be bored out of your mind."
Of course there were more exciting places to be - but without her by his side, they had lost their luster. All his life, he hadn't merely been indulging wanderlust; he'd been running. From his past, from his misdeeds, from his guilt. But they had caught up with him regardless. And she - she had banished them, erased them, lifted those burdens from his shoulders. She had loved him anyway, despite his flaws, or maybe even because of them. And he no longer felt pressed to run. There was no longer anything he wished to escape. How, then, could he be bored? He was exactly where he wanted to be - with her.
Slowly he shook his head. "No," he said. "I admit, I've become accustomed to a certain level of danger dogging my footsteps that is notably lacking here. But boring it is not."
"Give it a few days," she muttered. "You'll be scaling the walls. You'll sneak off in the dead of night to escape the monotony. You'll...are you laughing at me?" Her lips compressed into a firm line as she huffed her disapproval.
He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, struggling to smooth away the amusement on his face. "I thought you liked it here."
"I did. I mean, I do." She hesitated, gave a helpless shrug. "It's beautiful here, and it's wonderful to have a place to call home. But I'm...restless, I guess. And I suppose a bit jealous of you. You've got the Strahl; you can leave whenever you like."
Whereas she was more or less stuck, unless she wished to use a more pedestrian means of travel until her own airship was completed. Of course she was bored here; she'd accomplished months worth of work in just a few weeks and there was little left for her to do. So she was left with nothing but time to feel the ground beneath her feet while longing for the skies. But he could give them back to her; why should she wait weeks or months here for an airship of her own, when they could be sailing the world round in the Strahl?
He slipped one hand into his pocket, his fingers brushing the ring, closing around it. Good gods, was he truly going to do this here and now? And what would he do if she refused him?
"Darling girl," he said, acutely aware of the husky tenor of his voice. "You could leave here today. Now, if you wish."
Her eyes rounded; he didn't think he'd ever seen them quite so wide, her golden brows arched towards her hairline, and she stared at him. As if she were seeing him for the first time. As if she were seeing him clearly.
He just wished he could ascertain whether or not she'd actually liked whatever it was she'd seen. Whether or not she'd seen anything worthy. Whether he'd once again been judged and found wanting. And he'd never placed anywhere near as much significance on someone else's opinion of him before. Because he had no idea of the depths of her feelings, whether they were enough for her to take a leap of faith, enough to choose him.
Her lips parted, but for a long moment she said nothing. The seconds crept by in a silence thick as tar, heavy and fraught with tension. Then, finally, she managed, "Balthier...what are you saying?"
"Not saying," he corrected. "Asking. Penelo, I -"
And they both started at a heavy knock on the solid wooden library door, the fragile mood broken as surely as if it had splintered into a thousand pieces. A moment later, a kitchen maid swept in, pushing a tea cart towards them.
Penelo shot him a glance as if to say, 'Yousee? No privacy at all.'But her cheeks were flushed with vivid color, mingled embarrassment and irritation at having been interrupted during such a private moment.
Balthier sympathized - but then, she had warned him that there was precious little privacy to be had here. With no small amount of regret, he uncurled his fingers, letting the ring fall back into the depths of his pocket where it would remain until the proper time arrived.