The queen was slated to arrive tomorrow, and Balthier had been unable to requisition so much as one measly moment of pure privacy with Penelo. Meals were presided over by a bevy of servants just waiting with bated breath to whisk a plate away the instant it was no longer needed, standing within an arm's reach to refill a glass after every sip. With so many watchful eyes boring into the back of his head, he kept the table conversation limited to the weather. Which was fair. And had been the last nine times they'd discussed it.
Gardeners abounded on the grounds or in the conservatory, maids flitted in and out of rooms to dust or sweep or wheel in seemingly endless trays of tea and cakes. Even the village children spied upon them whenever they were out of doors, by turns enticing Penelo to join in their games or swinging from the apple trees like obnoxious little monkeys, the cacophonous screeches they uttered precluding any attempt at conversation.
Not one moment that didn't promise to be swiftly interrupted. Penelo had speculated that it was because they were curious about him, since word had only recently gotten out that he hadn't perished in the fall of the Bahamut. But it was Balthier's opinion that they were overly protective of their mistress. No one was overtly hostile to him, but he had been on the receiving end of several pointed glances that said more than words would have. Infuriating, since there was little to be done about it - the only place they might be able to secure a little privacy was in their respective bedrooms, and he'd already been summarily banished from hers.
He was almost - almost - desperate enough to ignore her dictatorial decree and seek her out regardless, but if she took his presumption poorly, she'd likely boot him off her estate once more, and he'd have to go through hell to worm his way back into her life.
He sighed. It was late, but sleep continually eluded him; too many concerns gnawed at his brain to permit the encroaching shadows to settle over him. Instead he left the bedside lamp burning low, pressed his fingers to his forehead to smooth away the furrows that had gathered there, and futilely attempted to reason out how he might resolve his current predicament.
By the chimes of the clock across the large bedroom, it had gone past midnight when he heard the careful twist of the door handle, the swish of the door easing open just enough to admit a nighttime intruder. Instinct had him reaching for his weapon, but he paused as a shadowed white-gowned figure slipped through the gap, bare feet silent on the carpeted floors. The door was closed just as quietly as it had been opened.
Penelo. Her hair loose and brushed to shining softness, her body cloaked in what seemed to be acres of gauzy white linen. Thoroughly concealed from neck to wrists to ankles, only her bare toes peeked out from beneath the garment.
Bemusement tied his tongue into knots. What on earth was she doing here? Hadn't she insisted on observing certain proprieties to keep her reputation intact? How, then, had she come to be in his room at this hour of the night?
But all he managed to say was, "What the devil are you wearing?"
She squeaked in alarm, clearly having expected him to be asleep, whirling to face him with one hand pressed over her chest as if to forcibly slow the frantic pounding of her heart.
"Oh, come, now," he drawled. "You can hardly claim that I snuck up on you when you've slipped into my room unannounced."
But she was here, as if she had been summoned by his thoughts, and it aroused a primitive sort of satisfaction in him. She had come to him. Even if she was wearing some godsawful travesty of a nightgown.
"Darling girl, what are you doing here?"
She drifted toward him, the fluttering of the voluminous gown giving her an ethereal air, almost as if she were floating across the space, unfettered by so lowly a force as gravity . "I couldn't sleep," she murmured.
He arched a brow, reclined back against the mountain of pillows propped against the massive headboard, folded his arms behind his head. Even in the muted light, he saw her eyes catch and linger on his chest.
"And you thought to come here...to sleep?" He injected a measure of disbelief into his tone, gratified at the sheepish expression that briefly flitted across her face. She paused near the side of the bed, unaware that even the weak lamplight penetrated the light material of her gown, silhouetting the graceful lines of her body. He dragged his gaze away before she could notice where his attention had caught.
"Yes." She made a feeble attempt at a smile. "I don't sleep very well on my own anymore. And I haven't gotten used to the night noises here yet." She tipped her head to one side and her hair spilled over her shoulder, gilded by the glow of the lamp. "Do you mind?"
"You were the one so concerned with your reputation," he countered.
Her shoulders lifted in a half-hearted shrug. "I twisted up the covers fairly well tossing and turning. I'm hoping that the maids will just assume I got up early." Her fingers tangled together before her and she hesitated as though she thought he might turn her away.
Which he damn well should have; she had instituted these expectations, he ought to hold her to them as much as she'd bound him by them. She was a fool if she thought to manage him, manipulate him into perpetual fulfillment of her tiniest whims. But, for tonight...she had come to him. Under cover of darkness, unnoticed, secluded away in a place they would not be interrupted until morning at least. Given the circumstances, he would indulge her.
And so he lifted the edge of the covers and she gratefully scrambled in beside him, dropping her head back against the pillows with a heartfelt sigh. The heat of her body quickly warmed the rush of cool air that had preceded her beneath the covers. With the blankets gathered up to her chin and her hair spread out across the pillows, she looked young and innocent. Her sooty lashes swept downward; she turned toward him and eased closer, settling her cheek against his shoulder with a tiny sigh.
He was beginning to think she truly did intend only to sleep. A lock of her hair curled over his shoulder, drifting across his chest; he lifted it carefully and rubbed the silky strands between his fingers. It still carried the sweet lavender fragrance of her soap, a scent he would never tire of. Beneath the covers, one of her cool hands slipped across his chest, coming to rest over his heart. Little witch. She had to know that after weeks of celibacy, days of being tortured by her very proximity, that even that small, affectionate gesture was more than he could bear.
The froth of lace at the wrist of her nightgown scratched across his skin. He lifted her hand off his chest, shoving down the covers for a closer inspection. The gauzy fabric of the gown itself was soft enough, he supposed, but he was greedy enough to want the silky warmth of her body against his, unimpeded by the ridiculous garment.
One of her eyes cracked open. "Balthier, what are you doing?" Her voice was warm, slightly indistinct, as if, lulled by the heat of his body and the security he provided, she had already been on the cusp of sleep.
"This won't do." He slipped a finger beneath the cuff at her wrist, testing the elasticity. "How in the world do you manage to sleep in this?"
A half-smile. She said wryly, "When maids creep in and out of your bedroom at all hours, you sort of get used to it."
"Not here." He thrust his hands beneath the blankets in search of the hem.
"What? Balthier -"
"Not in my bed. I'll not be scratched raw by lace all through the night, darling." Having failed to find the hem of the voluminous gown, he resorted to grabbing up great handfuls of fabric, jerking it upwards.
"Wait!" she yelped, folding her arms across her chest defensively. "It's all I've got on!"
He tried to smother a dissolute smile, failed miserably. "I know. This bit of nonsense is so thin it might as well be transparent in the light." He nodded his head to indicate the lamp on the bedside table. "You were standing just there. I could hardly fail to notice."
If her cheeks burned any brighter, he feared she might burst into flame. "You might've said something!"
His eyebrows arched. "Why would I want to do a fool thing like that? I'll never be that reformed, darling girl." He gave an insistent jerk on the cloth in his hands; they engaged in a brief tug-of-war for control of it. But at last he wrestled it away from her, and she capitulated with an irritated huff as he yanked the gown over her head at last and tossed the offending bundle of fabric clear across the room lest she harbor any hope of retrieving it.
She settled for drawing the covers up around her shoulders, her full lower lip stuck out in a mock-pout. "You can't always win, you know," she said as he eased back, satisfied, and drew her against his side.
His voice was muffled in her mussed hair. "Darling, that's the first honest victory I've scored in more than a month. Be a dear and permit me to savor it while it lasts."
Beneath the covers, she shifted closer, drawing her sleek, soft leg slowly against his. His arms contracted around her; he stifled a groan. Under his fingertips, her skin was warm, smooth perfection. Already he ached in the worst of ways. And still, she continued that maddening journey, the exquisite glide of her bare skin over his as euphoric as it was torturous. He seized her thigh before she could wreak further havoc with his senses. But her hands, which had been caught between them, feathered over his chest in light, delicate strokes. Those soft fingers could bring him to his knees faster than any weapon.
"Darling girl," he managed unsteadily. "We've not had more than a shred of privacy lately."
"Mmm," she murmured. "I know." Her fingertips drifted over his shoulders, slid into the hair at the nape of his neck. Her fingernails raked delicately over his skin, evoking a shudder.
He schooled his features into a determined expression. "I shouldn't like to squander such an opportunity. We have...things to discuss."
"Oh?" She leaned closer; her lips brushed the corner of his mouth.
He reared back. "Are you trying to seduce me?"
Her eyes opened, wide, guileless. "Is it working?" she asked breathlessly.
He'd had all he could take. "Yes, damn you," he muttered, fisting his hands in her hair. They'd talk...later.
Sometime just after dawn, Balthier awoke as the door creaked open. He managed to fling the covers over Penelo's head just before the maid scuttled in to light a fire, then sank back down, feigning sleep. With the comforting press of Penelo's body against his side and her warm breath against his chest, he might've actually managed to get back to sleep, had the maid not let out a scandalized gasp.
He lifted his head from the pillow - the maid held Penelo's discarded nightgown in her hands.
So much for her reputation. He pressed one hand to his face, sighed heavily. Of course that attracted the maid's attention; she turned on him with wide, shocked eyes.
"I can explain," he whispered, hoping the heavy covers would muffle his voice enough so as not to disturb Penelo. "Outside. Five minutes."
A brief nod of acknowledgment; the maid folded the nightgown with swift, jerky motions, set it on a chair, and fled the room. Carefully, Balthier eased away from Penelo and dressed quickly, regretfully.
Had he not been so careless with that, the maid might've come and gone without ever being the wiser - and they might've been afforded an opportunity to talk, as they hadn't last night. Instead, he'd bungled the whole affair once again. But...maybe there was something he could do just now, before he tried his hand at staving off eminent disaster. His fingers closed around the ring in his pocket, withdrawing it carefully. The faint strains of early morning sunlight glinted off the delicate gold band.
Penelo sprawled across the bed on her stomach, her hair wild around her face. Her right hand was thrust beneath the pillows, but that was fine, for it was the left he needed, and that was stretched out atop the covers as if in search of him. She made a soft sound of discontentment when he sat beside her, but he brushed aside her tangled hair to press a kiss to the curve of her throat, and she smiled in sleep, burrowing deeper into the covers.
Clasped in his hand, the cold metal of the ring had been warmed by the heat of his skin, and she didn't so much as stir when he slipped it onto her finger. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when he saw that it was a perfect fit. She'd not have to press her fingers together to keep this one in place, as she had with the ring he'd given her in Balfonheim. Another careful brush of his lips to her temple and he was off, grabbing up the folded nightgown and easing quietly out the door.
The maid was waiting, as he'd hoped, wringing her hands with a fractious expression. "Sir," she said in a whisper. "She's a good girl."
"Yes," he responded in a hushed tone. "She is. And she'd be rather distraught if she were to hear any gossip about this, so I want your assurance that no one else will learn of it. And to ease your mind, I've every intention of marrying her." He fixed her with a firm stare. "But it would be a pleasant change to be afforded enough privacy to manage a proper proposal without fear of being interrupted at an inopportune moment."
A guilty flush told him all he needed to know - they really had been conspiring to ensure that he and Penelo were properly chaperoned while he was in residence.
"If you would be so kind," he continued, handing over the nightgown, "she'll need a change of clothes. I suspect it would be a bit embarrassing for her to be caught wandering the house in her nightgown."
"Of course. I'll bring down some clothing straight away," the maid said. She fumbled in her pocket for a moment, turned towards the door, and before Balthier could guess what she was about, he heard the soft snick of the lock engaging.
"What the devil was that in service of?" he snapped.
"Sir," she said. "She's my lady, and my first loyalty is to her. You can go anywhere you please - after the wedding." And she hurried away to fetch a set of clothes, leaving Balthier locked out of his own room, and with no way to get back inside without waking Penelo and revealing that they had been discovered. While he couldn't dredge up even the smallest amount of guilt over it, he suspected that she would - and he supposed he was going to have to learn to grow accustomed to making sacrifices for her sake. So as long as the maid kept her silence, Penelo could keep her illusions.
Bright sunlight poured into the room, and Penelo buried her face in the pillow with groan. It was perhaps the first decent night of sleep she'd gotten since she'd arrived here, and all she wanted was to blot out the light and sink back into it. Whereas once she had been an early riser, long nights of tossing and turning had made her over into a layabed, fighting for sleep whenever she could manage, sometimes well into the afternoon. Of course, no one would dare insinuate that she'd grown slothful - but she felt it all the same.
The covers were soft and warm around her, but the space beside her had grown cool. Balthier had clearly risen some time ago. Oh. With a gasp, she jerked upright. Not in her room - she'd come to his last night. Morning had well advanced, and if she were not careful, she'd find herself caught by the servants, still in her nightgown no less. That would certainly be gossip-fodder for weeks.
She climbed out of bed to search for the nightgown, but it had disappeared, and instead a folded set of her clothing lay upon a chair. As she hurriedly pulled on the outfit, she supposed that Balthier must have returned her nightgown to her room and retrieved a new set of clothing, probably to enable her to sleep in a bit longer. Rather thoughtful of him, actually. In day clothes, there would be no need to sneak about her own home like a thief, dodging maids and servants.
She eased the door open a fraction of an inch, peeking outside, listening for the telltale sound of footsteps. Satisfied that no one was lingering in the corridor, she hurried out of the room and snapped the door shut behind her.
Moments later, she collided with a maid who was rounding a corner, an armful of linens clutched to her chest.
"Oh, miss," she said. "We've been looking for you! Her Majesty the Queen has arrived; she is awaiting you in the Rose salon. It's a bit past breakfast, miss, so Cook sent down some pastries and tea to tide you over until lunch."
If the maid wondered what her mistress might have been doing in the South Wing, her face did not reveal it. So Penelo murmured her thanks and left the maid to her work, breathing a sigh of relief.
Ashe was, as promised, waiting in the Rose Salon, seated comfortably on a low sofa, a small plate of pastries and tea cakes before her and a dainty china cup of tea in her hands.
"Ah, there you are," she said. "I had begun to wonder when you were going to make an appearance."
"I'm sorry, I overslept," Penelo said, flushing guiltily, sinking into her own seat.
"How odd," Ashe murmured, passing a plate to Penelo. "The maid who brought me here mentioned that you weren't in your room and that they were trying to find you." Her grey eyes searched Penelo's face, noting the deepening color that spread across her cheeks. "But then, I do believe I saw the Strahl docked behind the manor when I arrived."
Penelo murmured something noncommittal through a mouthful of flaky pastry.
"So I suppose you might have overslept at that," Ashe continued, watching Penelo slink down in her seat. "Just...not in your room."
"Oh, stop," Penelo pleaded. "You've embarrassed me quite enough already."
"Serves you right for making me wait. Have there been any interesting developments on that front, then?" Ashe inquired, stirring a lump of sugar into a fresh cup of tea which she handed over to Penelo, who accepted it graciously.
Penelo shrugged. "Not particularly. It's been such an odd week, really," she said. "It's been pleasant, of course, but there's hardly been a moment alone." She wrapped her hands around the cup, baffled by the slight clink against the china. Brows drawn in confusion, she uncurled her left hand and glanced down at it.
Ashe made a soft sound of interest. "Not particularly," she scoffed. "Penelo, dear, that is a ring. If that's not an interesting development, I don't know what is."
"I...I don't know where it came from," she stammered. The thin gold band that circled her finger was as much a mystery to her as it was to Ashe. "Really, I don't. It's not mine." Although it fit her finger like it'd been made for her. When had it appeared? She hadn't noticed it this morning, but then she'd been in such a hurry to dress and get out of Balthier's room before she could be caught there.
"Do you suppose," Ashe murmured, "that Balthier might've...?"
"I..." She was a bit afraid to speculate. "I really couldn't say." She slipped the band carefully off her finger to examine it. It didn't really seem to fit Balthier's style, he had always preferred flashier accessories. But...it did fit hers.
"I think...there's an inscription." On the interior of the band there seemed to be some kind of etching; she brought it up close, turning it in the light to read the delicate lettering.
You are always, and ever shall be, in my heart.
Ceremina's words to her beloved pirate of legend, inscribed upon the inner circle of the ring.
"Oh." She brought one hand to her mouth, clutching the ring to her heart with the other. A helpless wash of tears rushed to her eyes; she blinked them back desperately.
"Well?" Ashe was poised at the edge of her seat, not a queen in the moment, but simply a friend, breathless with anticipation. "What does it say?"
But Penelo shook her head. "It's private," she said.
Ashe sighed her disappointment. "At least assuage my curiosity - it is from him, isn't it?"
"Yes." Penelo slipped the ring back into place on her finger. The gold warmed to her skin; it felt...right, natural. Not some gaudy trinket, nor some ostentatious display of wealth. Rather, something that had been chosen exclusively for her, tailored to what she would prefer. "Yes, I think it must be." Who else would have chosen that particular phrase?
Ashe shifted in her seat, her face scrawled over with a thousand questions. But she settled on only one: "How will you answer?"
Before she could respond, a maid swept into the room, announcing Balthier before she scuttled away. His mask had slipped somewhat, though she thought that perhaps only she would have noticed - his movements were slow and deliberate, his eyes searched her face for a sign, a signal that her answer would be favorable. She rose from her seat, noticing that his jerked from her face to linger speculatively on her clasped hands, and knew he was looking for the ring.
"A few moments of privacy, if you please," he said, directing his words to Ashe.
"I do not please," she protested. "I've come all the way here at an ungodly hour of the morning, and now it's beginning to appear as if I need not have come after all. The very least you can do is to give me a bit of peace of mind before I leave." And she resumed sipping her tea, content to play chaperone.
With an aggravated sound, he advanced on Penelo, who watched him approach with wide, curious eyes. One of his hands tangled in her hair, drawing her closer, pleased when both of hers settled on his chest, revealing that the ring he'd placed there yet remained. His head bent to her ear, his fingers warm and gentle on the nape of her neck.
"Darling girl, you told me once that I should find my anchor," he said in a low voice, intended for her ears alone. "It's you. It has always been you." His free hand settled over hers, pressing it over his heart. "You've always been so much more than I have ever deserved. I thought that perhaps you might be willing to suffer my companionship, that I might one day become worthy of you."
She felt as though the shock of the words had cracked her open, exposing the bits and pieces she had locked away to protect herself, infusing her with a sweet, emanating warmth. And she reached down inside herself and listened to the echo of his words with her heart, and heard the beat of his within them.
Such humble words didn't suit him at all, she was tempted to tell him. But instead she asked, "How long do you expect that to take?"
Her face was perfectly placid, but her eyes had begun to glow in that singular way she possessed, and the tightness that had gripped his chest for so long began to unwind. "I've spent so long being unworthy, I shouldn't know quite where to begin. But I imagine most of my bad habits might be tamed in...perhaps fifty or sixty years. Will that do?"
"You're asking this time?" she asked. He thought he glimpsed a fragile smile lurking in the corners of her mouth.
An answering smile tugged at his lips. "I've ordered you enough, I think. It never works quite the way I expect. I confess, it is my hope that asking shall produce a different result."
She sparkled with mirth, glowed with joy. And she turned to Ashe, who waited with her chin in her hand, raptly watching the unfolding scene, and said, "I'm sorry I've brought you all this way for nothing. And I'll come back, I promise. But for now I've got to go." Her blue eyes were luminous, brilliant as she gazed up at Balthier. "I suppose I won't be needing my own airship after all."
Ashe sighed, rising from the sofa. "I thought as much," she said. "Do forgive me for bowing out, but there's only so much romance one can stomach at this hour of the morning. Permit me the liberty of extending your farewells - temporary farewells, mind you - to your staff." To Balthier, she said, "I promised you once that I would care for her in your stead. Now I ask you for your promise of the same."
"You have it. Without reservation, you have it." He pulled away from Penelo long enough to extend his hand to the queen, who shook it to seal the pledge.
"Let's call it a month, then, shall we? I'll expect you both back in Rabanastre for a proper wedding then." And she ducked out the door, leaving them alone at last.
"The Strahl is waiting." Balthier offered Penelo his hand. "Wherever you wish to go."
And she placed her hand in his, and they were gone.