Important note: This chapter happens in chronological order. None of the characters are in two places at once!
"Will it?" murmured Clove, eyeing her twiddling hands.
The king arched an eyebrow. Nobody ever dared to challenge him that way. She'd make a fiesty queen. He could deal with that, he supposed.
"Of course, my lady." He gently tugged on one of her hands and brought his lips to it again. "I've missed having your sweet presence next to me. I hope time shall allow us to spend more time together?"
"I have all the time in the world," she replied, and he felt his heart sink, just a bit.
"Words I have never been happier to hear," he said as he took her hands into his own and held them as if they were something sacred. He leaned down to kiss her, but retaliated in surprise (and shock) when she purposefully turned her cheek away and strolled over to the window. His patience was thinning. Just a little bit. He went after her.
She sat down. "You've been away so long." Batting her glossed-over lashes, the bright red lips folded into a sultry pout (which clashed horribly with her smeared eyeliner).
Didn't you just state that? Cato his lips into a smile, he replied, "I know. And I apologize. You must know, though, being away from you so long has pained me as much as it pained you."
She made a sort of hmph sound and didn't turn around.
"That is why," Cato continued, everything his father taught him swirling around and mumbling and jumbling around in his head, "I'll make it up to you. Personally."
"Personally?"
"Yes...love. Your happiness means so much to me." He kissed her, and she let him this time. He sat down by her.
She looked him over. Her hands reached up to touch him somewhere, anywhere. "You make it difficult to be angry at you."
He smiled. "So I do."
"You do." Her fingers tingled wonderfully, running through his hair, which was more tousled than ever before.
"So that means you forgive me?"
"Well, no, not really, I - " She ceased talking as her hands caressed his shoulders and her eyes flitted up to his headpiece, attracted to the glinting from the sun. "I would just love to know when our wedding is, love. It means the world to me." She imagined all the fruit she'd cut for the wedding, arranged in centerpieces and cornucopias and set for eloquent displays.
"We've been betrothed for about a year, I would not wish to put off our wedding sooner. However, as much as it pains me to say, love, the feast is coming up quite soon, the Victory Banquet with our ally..."
"Yes, I've heard of that. It's only a few weeks away. The Capitol, right?"
"They have helped us generously, and we must give back." He wondered what the ruler of the Capitol - old man Snow - liked to eat. Probably the liver of a child.
"I will be looking forward to the feast. It'll be quite a change this year, now that our kingdom finally has guests." She felt her cheeks heating up. "I am invited to the feast, am I not, my Lord?"
"My lady, of course you are." He noticed her hand smelt like apple when he kissed it again. His father loved apple.
"You are good to me, My Lord." Her eyes were shining as she spoke. "Best king of our kingdom in centuries."
After that, they embraced and kissed passionately. Tongues seared and old feelings arose like that of a sparking flame.
A while into it, Cato's large hands found themselves holding her waist - searching for an opening to slide themselves up. Clove immediately broke the kiss, leaving his lips on fire and still burning. She set her own in a smirk. "No, my lord. None of that until we are married."
When the time came (and came it did rather soon), he bid her farewell very politely. She closed the door with hope restored in her. The first thing he did after leaving her room was finding a mirror and fixing his tousled hair.
Katniss Pov
Something tells me he'll come for sure tonight. I don't know why. I don't know how. All I know is he's coming.
It's rather strange. He used to come everyday, then he didn't come for one day, and now he started coming again, about every other day. I'm not sure how much less. I just know it's less than before. Not that I'm complaining, of course. In fact, I'm rather grateful that I have some nights to myself. My only laments are Lavinia and family; I haven't seen both of them in awhile. I wonder how they are doing. Are they eating enough? Are they being treated right? Why won't Lavinia come visit?
As much as she worships him, even she must be somewhat frightened of him. He hasn't been in a good mood recently; the new bite marks along my torso say so.
Before he came in, I made sure to remove my threadbare dress and lay underneath the blankets to wait for him. He likes it when I think of him. Oh Prim, you ought to listen to me now! Since when do I care what a man thinks of me?
I didn't have to wait long. He came in quietly, as he always did, and he shut the doors primly and properly as any other night. His footsteps were silent. I shivered underneath his blankets - praying he was in a good mood.
To my surprise, he didn't do anything drastic or heavy this time. He simply covered me from head to toe in light kisses (which reminded me of dandelion fluff in the breezes back home). After he was finished, he merely rolled over and went to sleep.
One can say I'm more than shocked. He didn't try to touch me tonight, even I'd gotten naked for him (I felt so dirty thinking like this). But why did he bathe me in kisses? Was he too tired tonight for our regular activity? I laid there in the dark next to him, thinking.
He was incredibly big - I didn't know men could grow to become that size, least I've never seen any muscular guys in 12. Even his arms are nearly triple the size of mine. He could snap my neck without even blinking, without twitching so much of an eye. And yet, each time his arms were around me, I was reminded of stories I've been told and things I've seen - man and woman snuggling together, just warm and happy and comfortable to be in each other's embrace. Why am I putting two and two together, even though they have nothing to do with the other? Why do I keep on thinking of couples when I think of Cato and me? Those thoughts are absolutely absurd. Man and woman were gentle, caring, in love. Cato and I are enemies, and currently I am at his mercy. There is no passion between our activity.
But I've never had the attention of a man - until now.
He was always gentle with my breasts. He never bit or scratched them harshly; usually, when his attention is on them, he fixed them with an almost tender gaze and then proceeded to gently take one into his mouth. They were showered with butterfly kisses, something the rest of my body yearned for when he was harsh.
His hands that touched me - hands that are calloused, hands that have done things, hands that possibly have murdered - would stroke me gently and softly until I was drowning in my own whimpers, until I was forgetting about all the deeds done with them. Letting out a sob, I'd bury my face in the crook of his neck. He paid no attention to my nails as they sank into his back, which would be flushed with sweat as both of us panted our way into heavenly acres. He would sometimes leave right away. Other times he'd bask in the afterglow with me.
Hearing his breathing in the dark, I couldn't help but wonder, all those times he was in a hurry, he was away - was there - was there someone else, perhaps some time in the past? Did he keep prisoner another like me, struggling to protect her family, to save what's left of the only home she's ever known? Did he threaten her? Did his anger have something to do with her (or the other way around)? Did he pleasure her?
Did he kill her?
Is that what he's going to do with me once he gets tired of me? These nights come back to me in a way that rises goosebumps on my skin.
Glancing at his back, I saw the small patch of moonlight lighting up his hair. My eyes trailed down his neck, shoulders, to his muscular back that looks smooth and scarred at the same time. In one heavy breath I didn't realize I was holding, my hand of its own accord reached out and traced the small scars littering his back.
I don't know how long I do this or why I'm doing this - or even if I'm aware of myself doing it. I stroke each scar as if it were something sacred that needed a special healing touch. My fingers had a dreamlike mind of their own. Each trace, each caress was a dancer in flight, an ice skater skating figure eights in starlight.
"I'm not asleep, Katniss."
My heart nearly stops, and I drew my hand away as fast as I can as he turns around and faced me. The heat radiated off of my face at his piercing gaze. Awkwardness practically steamed from my ears and floated out all around us.
For a moment, I'm too mortified to say anything. And then I blurted out, "You have lots of them."
His eyebrows flit up. He's not the only one surprised at blunt, morbid curiosity. He turned his gaze to the polished mahogany ceiling of his canopy. "Yes. I know."
A pinch of irritation irks up in me at his simple answer. Then I realized that it may not say much, but that didn't mean it said nothing at all.
"Do they hurt?"
His stare came back onto me. "No," he said after he blinked a few times, "They were there a long time ago."
I wondered if he was lying. Back in District 12, when Gale and I went hunting all the time, we'd also get hurt. It didn't happen often - we were careful hunters, but sometimes on a good day, where we got stuff like a whole deer or a litter of rabbits, we'd have a moment of celebration and let our guards down. I remembered how Gale would get scars and cuts and bruises on himself, and when I'd try to heal him (not that I'm much of a healer, anyways), he'd smirk stupidly and he'd say, "They're nothing, Catnip. They don't hurt." He lied, though. The strain in his voice, the pain on his face was as clear to me as day.
But now that I'm here in this man's bed, I can't even read him properly. Something just tugged at me, though. Something told me he's not telling the entire truth. But why do I care? I ask myself. We're supposed to be enemies. We grew up in different districts, born and bred to slay the parties that are not our own people. I'm kind of in a downfall at that one, since he's got my district captured. But...but why does he keep me in his bed? Is he slowly taking his time to break me? Will he separate my head from body after he's gotten enough of me? Or could he shrewdly be planning something else?
My thoughts are interrupted by his arms, wounding their way around me until I'm pressed against his chest, snuggled next to him. It is this kind of intimate gesture that worried me. It isn't normal behavior for two enemies. It sent me into a sort of panic. Through my hunting instincts, when an animal behaves abnormally, it usually means something very bad is coming this way. In that moment, I lose it.
"Don't hurt me," my voice came out barely a whisper, "I've been hurt enough." My pride has been deprived from me. I sounded so weak. I sounded like I surrendered. What would my kingdom think of me, reduced to this? How can I ever rescue my people if I act like a coward?
But I still wished for him not to hurt me.
His reply thoroughly startled me.
"We're not so different, you and I. We've never been graced with a second option...we cannot make our own mark without it belonging to someone else."
I couldn't fall asleep. I laid in bed, and dwelled on his words, his soft snores providing background music.
Peeta (Third Person Pov)
"Are they almost done?"
"Almost," he replied with a smile, peering in at the oven. He could feel their exhales of relief.
"Oh, you do so much for us," sang the pleasantly plump Donna, who always wore an apron that didn't fit her middle, "You're such a big help here, even if you're a bit new and young." She put her hands to her mouth and giggled, her belly shaking.
"We've always been busy during the time of the feast, but this year...oh goodness, you are like a saint!" said Mary Lou, the stringy-haired, stick-figured woman who reminded Peeta of children from the Seam, "I dunno how you managed to bake all those puff pastries and breads at once! And that cake..." Her eyes filled with stars, as if she could suddenly taste it.
Peeta gulped. Having grown up in the Merchant section of 12, he's seen the kids who go around begging to make ends meet. Was all this food going to be eaten anyways? Wouldn't the feast be better if it was passed to the hungry, the people who were starving?
Peeta didn't like to speak ill of people, but perhaps the king of 2 really was a tyrant. Ah, at least he didn't harm Katniss, Lavinia had informed him. Yet. Peeta was glad to take work in the kitchen, for the cooks loved to gossip what was going on in the castle. This way he could do what he loved (even if it was in a place he didn't find welcoming) and keep tabs on 2. The sooner his people were rescued, the better.
"With Peeta here, the feast will be a grand success," Greasy Sae threw an arm around Peeta's shoulders, "I can just imagine His Majesty's face as he bites into your bread, and his expression going 'Good heavens! Who made this remarkable masterpiece?'" She winked at him and went back to the sink.
Peeta forced himself to smile. His hands started to shake when he began to knead the new dough.
Cato
He remembered walking along this stone path as if it were yesterday. The frosty mist hung thick in the air, accompanied by a slight sliver of light from the skies. Morning dew dotted the patches of greenery. He could feel closer to his destination with every step he took.
The stone wall finally came into view. They were only about an inch taller than he was.
He walked along beside it, running his hand across its cool smoothness. It was a wonder the rock managed to remain smooth. These walls had been a long, long time ago. Curly green tendrils clung at the top. A spiderweb had collected many dewdrops, which made it glitter like a fabric sewn with pearls. His fingers never left the touch of stone.
He remembered the roses, too. The roses that had bloomed here many years ago. And then they'd stopped blooming.
He cracked his knuckles. It felt good. He needed to relieve himself of some stress. CRACK. That felt so good. And so did power. CRACK.
She was such a small woman. That's why she felt so good, he reasoned. That was the only reason why. If he worked her too hard, would she eventually break? Not that he cared. Hell, she could break if she wanted to. In fact, he'd wanted to break her in the first place. Okay, maybe he had wanted to break her emotionally, but he supposed it didn't matter how the enemy was dominated as long as they were, well, defeated.
Damnit! Everytime he came close to deflating her, he'd always let himself go. So many times he had wanted to get his whip, to humiliate her, to beat her down. He'd have even thrown her in the dungeons. But something kept him restrained, everytime. And he didn't doubt that something was himself.
It was a sign of weakness, he decided. He didn't know where it came from, didn't know why it came, but he knew it was there. He was softening. What would his father say, if he could see his son getting this worked up over a wench? Especially a wench from 12? Castor's voice rang in his head: "We are 2. We do not associate with the low. We enslave them, we bring them to bow under our mercy. We show no mercy, we show no weakness. We are always strong. We're survivors. Our alliance with the Capitol shall someday aid you, my son. That is why I have arranged it."
He perked up, listening to a sudden brush of the chilly zephyr. It wasn't set in stone that the wench had to be killed or destroyed. She could be useful, if she was going to invade his mind from now on. He glanced up at the colorful sky with rock-hard eyes, and then at the wall he had unknowlingly been punching. He had to get back to the castle. It wouldn't do for the people of 2 to see their king lashing out, now would it?
Lavinia
Never had there been a heavier box. Each step felt like lead. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought she had an Adam's apple. There always seemed to be something stuck in her throat these days.
She had the urge to lift the top and take a peek inside, just a quick peek she's sure that won't harm anybody. She won't even breathe on it. Honest. They made the wedding gowns so delicate in this kingdom.
Whenever the wedding was spoken of, Lavinia secretly wanted to cry. There was never a more horrible match, she'd thought. The vicious maiden was not worthy enough of their king. Lavinia knew she shouldn't be personally biased, but she liked to be real. To be real, who wouldn't admit that carving fruit is a little creepy? Maybe not just carving fruit as an art. But Lavinia shuddered upon the time she was bringing the queen-to-be a drink in the middle of the night and she heard noises coming from inside the door. They were whispers.
At first Lavinia had thought that there was a guest inside (perhaps the king?) and wondered if she should intrude. Then she realized, as she shamefully listened some more, that there was nobody else in there and the queen was talking to herself. Or to put it more accurately, her fruit. Who wouldn't be even a little spooked if they heard stuff like "Are you hurting? I want you to hurt real, real bad" or "This is your head and I'm carving your skin, digging into your skull, tell me, does it hurt, huh, describe your pain to me, I can sympathize..." in the middle of the night? If she dared say it, Mistress Clove was...insane.
Lavinia supposed that Clove had her reasons. She just wished Clove wasn't going to be queen. There were far better women out there, including the young woman from District 12. But she had stopped visiting Katniss so often, assuming it was just a matter of time before the king would get sick of her. She had taken a liking to Katniss, and the knowledge of Katniss being taken away added ever so much to her sense of loneliness.
But...Katniss hadn't been taken away yet. She's even been given her own room in a tower, locked and guarded of course. Lavinia decided to visit her. Seeing Katniss would give her a little, if not the tiniest drop of hope against her growing dread. But with the feast coming up and so much to prepare and do, it's been a hassle for Lavinia to see anyone at all. It was such a good thing Peeta Mellark came to help in the kitchen. She'd never known he was quite talented with flour. And he was such a nice person. Something was always on his mind, but he was nice. It's hard to meet nice people in the castle.
The drop in her stomach was even heavier than the symbol she was carrying, the symbol of that a marriage, something that was supposed to be cherished, something that was supposed to bring merriment. Instead, it brought Lavinia a raw kind of misery, the kind she couldn't explain.
Two hundred miles away, another castle sat surrounded by mountains. It had taller towers than the one in 2, more turrets, and more guards. Carved out of stone, it loomed over the village below it like a giant. Of course, the bustling villagers never really paid much attention to its shadow. They were too busy gleaming with richness and color. News spread like wildfire in their kingdom. (Oh, oh, did you hear? The war has ended! The war has ended! Panem is united! Or so they thought.)
In the throne room, the hearth crackled almost eerily. The flames flickered and shadows danced on the walls. Even though the fire was going, it was a cold room. But not an empty one.
The royal throne on the platform was occupied by a strange being. His was not very tall, but the platform he was sitting on seemed to make one think so. His eyes were glassed over, as if he were looking into some other world. He wore only the finest robes, made from real tiger hide and deer skin. He had a gleaming chandelier, but if one looked closely enough, one can see the trophies of hunting parties hung all around the room. For some, it sent a shiver down their spine.
King Snow flicked his cape over his shoulder with a gloved hand. His head rested atop one hand. Ah, no wonder no one else was there in the room with him. He lay deep in thought, and whomever shall distract the king from his meditation can kiss hello to a death penalty. The sickly-sweet aroma of roses and blood didn't help enlighten the room, either, especially not the scent that came from his lips (of which were fuller than an overly made-up woman's).
The war had ended. The feast was only a few weeks away. Step one of his plans had succeeded nicely. He was to meet with the new king of 2 at the feast. He was looking forward to it, if he were to be honest to himself. There were many an interesting thing he'd heard...
He smiled devilishly. The war had ended. His lips curled into a sneer. Or so the rest of Panem thought.
Sorry it took me longer than a week to update! They should rename February "The Birthday Month." Just about everybody I know has a birthday around this time. And I'm never one to pass parties!
So, what some of you said about Cato making Katniss his queen. It's not going to be that easy, eh?
Anyways, with that said, thank you for all your amazing reviews as always. I'm really excited for what's coming up next (as in throughout the story), I have a lot more things unexpected, just like Cato and Clove's engagement. I wasn't trying THAT hard to make Cato so unlikable, but I guess I did. I know this wasn't as much of a chapter as the last one, but I'd like to think the next one will be a bit longer. We'll see.
And some very special ones out of the amazing reviews, THANK YOU SO, SO MUCH for your compliments on my writing skills. Writing has always been a passion of mine, and I love what I do. I'm using very simple language with deeper meaning concealed inside some of them. To those who pay attention to small details throughout the story, you will find them.
And thank you for some of the most beautiful feedback/responses I had ever gotten. When I first read them, I was so shocked and touched that I kinda just sat there blinking at my screen for awhile, reading them over and over again with a smile on my face.
2 Fun Facts about this story:
1. Enraptured Prisoner was inspired by a series of Snow White fanfics.
2. I listened to "God Help the Outcasts" from Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame (amazing song, amazing movie by the way :) over and over again when I wrote some of the previous chapters ( particularly the last chapter)
The more you review, the quicker I'll be inspired to update (I remember when 30 reviewed for one chapter! WOW!). I'll update Freedom of a Mockingjay very soon by the way, didn't forget about that :) And I may go back and edit this, depending on the turnout
Hey, if you're reading this, you found the bonus preview for the next chapter:
"He what?" she hissed through her bared teeth. Her two fang-teeth glinted as she stalked forward in menacing steps. "Who was that girl at the feast? The one with the braid?!"