How Far
Chapter 17
Along with helping Natalia out of her reception gown and removing the many pins from her hair, Sera had drawn the princess a rose-scented bath. The gesture was appreciated, but Natalia had planned to simply don her nightdress and wait for Guy like any other new bride.
Although... a bath did sound lovely. A quick soak to wash off the day and relax her. "Well, perhaps for a second," she decided, then dismissed Sera for the night.
Natalia sank into the warm water and let out a long sigh of pleasure. All right, perhaps more than a second.
It was all over, and the wedding had been a grand success, if she did say so herself. The ceremony was beautiful, and by the end, she was married to the person she loved. It was perfect, just as her grandmother had promised.
And even with the shortened, highly-patrolled route, the carriage ride through the city had given them a chance to share the celebration with her precious people. Thousands had lined the streets, hung out of windows or stood in doorways, children perched on their parents' shoulders, all waving, cheering, granting their beloved princess their best wishes for a happy marriage. She'd waved back, smiling, laughing, holding Guy's hand and watching his reaction to the abundance of goodwill. He waved and smiled, too, but she could tell he was in awe of the attention, humbled by the display.
He would do so much good for them, she knew. This was the beginning of a new era, a peace they would protect, a legacy of prosperity and self-determination, all placed in their hands.
At the end of the route, a stage had been erected, festooned with red and white ribbons, where the children's choir of Baticul sang the kingdom's anthem for their princess and new prince. Natalia made a point to thank each one of them, hugging the girls and planting light pecks on the cheeks of blushing boys. Guy, meanwhile, offered the boys a manly fist bump and bowed to kiss the girls' hands, making them squeal and giggle with delight.
Natalia had been so proud.
She leaned her head against the back of the tub and closed her eyes. The water did feel heavenly, so much that she could easily drift to sleep here. At that thought, she sat up again and ran wet hands over her eyes to perk herself up.
After the carriage ride, Natalia had finally had the chance to change out of her heavy wedding gown. It was everything she'd wanted, but she'd been buttoned into it long enough, and the flowing train was too much to carry around all evening. As they'd entered the palace, Guy had whispered in her ear, offering to accompany her to her dressing room, but before her heart could quicken at the thought of beginning their married life early, Luke interrupted to pull Guy away for something or other, claiming best man privileges.
Natalia had bit her tongue to keep from asserting her overruling privileges as princess and bride. Soon enough the two best friends would be on different continents again, and she wouldn't begrudge them this time together.
Her reception gown used the same lace as her ceremony gown, but rather than sleeves, Louise had created a halter-style bodice with a pearl fastener behind the neck. The billowy, knee-length skirt was designed for both ease and flair in movement, providing comfort and style when charming her guests with either conversation or dance. Her hair remained pinned in place and her tiara atop her head, but the veil was removed to be preserved with the ceremony gown until their wedding clothes could be displayed in the Royal Museum.
Sometimes the details of her life seemed absurd, even to her. A princess had to be both diplomat and fashion icon. There were plenty of people who would be more concerned with what she'd worn than what the entire ceremony meant for the kingdom.
And though he had been disappointed to miss assisting her in the undressing process, Guy clearly approved of her new gown. In a stolen moment before they needed to assemble for the receiving line, he lowered his head and let his lips linger on her bare shoulder. "I've been wanting to do that all day," he murmured.
"What was stopping you?" she replied.
"Only about a million pairs of eyes. Didn't think I'd make a good impression as the new prince if everyone saw me slobbering all over you like an untrained dog."
"In that case, I appreciate your restraint."
His hand squeezed her hip, then let go. "You have no idea."
Oh, she had some idea. Was this party really necessary?
Perhaps it wasn't necessary, but it was fun. Fun to celebrate, to see those who had been unable to attend her birthday ball, to be congratulated, to hear how beautiful she looked and how lucky Guy was.
If life had taught her anything, it was to take nothing for granted. To live every moment. To savor every moment.
Yes, even the moment when she had to exhibit grace and gratitude toward Zubin and Adele Creemore as they passed through the line. She smiled brightly, exchanged puffs of air kisses with the duchess's cheeks, all while remembering that she had won. The wedding had happened; the marriage would strengthen the alliance between the two countries. Everyone would prosper.
"That was quite the show," the duke said, but Natalia was too happy to bristle at his derisive tone.
"It was, wasn't it? I'm so glad you enjoyed it, Lord Zubin," she answered with honey instead of vinegar. "But now the real work begins, yes?"
"Ah, yes, the work. We are always hearing about this great work of yours." The duchess might as well have hung physical quotation marks around the word "work". "Though I imagine the work will have to wait until you've returned from your tax-payer funded vacation."
Natalia chose to smile modestly rather than engage.
"And I understand you will be taking over Sheridan." The duke's words were directed to Guy, but he neglected to address the new prince by his title. "So the king says. The Council was not provided an opportunity to weigh in on the matter."
"I'm honored by His Majesty's confidence in me, and I look forward to working with and reporting to the Council on all developments," Guy replied, likewise refusing to engage this day.
"You'll find few who know as much about fontech as Prince Gailardia," Natalia added, and Guy beamed at her in return. This was ever more pleasant with him beside her. She should have asked him to do this years ago.
"Well, we shall see," the duke said. If he wanted the last word, Natalia was generous enough to let him have it. It meant nothing anyway.
Alfred, who had been trailing behind his parents like a forgotten toddler, now took up space beside his mother as his father moved on. "I haven't given up, Your Highness," the younger Creemore said in an awkward non sequitur, like he was continuing an earlier conversation that Natalia had not been privy to.
His dark, dull eyes held hers, but before she could overcome her confusion to formulate a reply, Guy had one ready. "I'm sorry, but did you just hit on my wife in our receiving line?" he asked with enough good-natured skepticism to keep the situation light. "What's that all about, Alfie?"
The duchess took her son's arm and laughed too loudly. "Now, now, Alfred, be a good sport," she said, as if she were at all familiar with such a concept. "You're to accept that you've lost."
"Actually, Alfred, you haven't lost," Natalia replied with more kindness than he deserved, "for you were never in the game."
Lady Adele's eyes flashed angrily at the slight, but she pasted a phony smile on her face as she dragged her sluggish son away.
Guy had leaned close to Natalia to keep his next words between them. "He's sure to make some girl completely miserable someday."
"If I thought it would endear me to them, I'd match-make for him," she had answered, "but there's no one I dislike that much. And I'm not sure I wish to be endeared."
That would be the end of it, she thought now as she slowly raised herself from the tub. The barbs would continue, but they would have no sting.
Natalia wrapped a plush towel around herself and returned to her bedroom, where Sera had laid out her nightclothes. More white and lace, the princess observed with a twist of her lips. She'd never worn so much white and lace in her life.
The goddess-style silk gown had thin shoulder straps and draped dreamily to her ankles, looking quite demure. Once on and standing before the mirror, however, she could see just how high the slit went up one side, revealing the scrap of dainty, wispy lace that had barely covered anything to begin with. She bent her exposed knee in a sultry pose and tossed her head, then made a face at her silliness. She was acting like Anise.
The bath had relaxed her, but bubbles of nervousness began bouncing in her belly. To find her calm again, she sat at her dressing table to pull her brush through her hair, counting the strokes. Any moment Guy would knock on her door.
She wasn't completely unprepared for this aspect of married life. Her doctor had explained it to her long ago, and, well, romance novels filled in some of the answers for her, too. Once, when she was fourteen and bursting with adolescent curiosity, she'd asked her aunt about it, to have a woman's true perspective rather than the doctor's clinical approach.
"This is one of the most important duties you will perform for the kingdom," Susanne had told her, "and if you lay very still, it's all over quickly. I pray you'll be as lucky as I was, and it won't take many tries to produce an heir."
Young and naïve though she was, Natalia had never felt so sorry for her aunt.
Though that wasn't nearly as worrisome as what her grandmother had told her tonight.
Once the banquet was over and the speeches and champagne toasts had been delivered, after the decadent chocolate cake with apricot filling had been sliced, distributed, and devoured, the dancing had started. Natalia had been passed around the dance floor, from Guy to her father to the emperor, from her uncle to Luke to Jade—who, she shouldn't have been surprised, turned out to be a splendid dancer when he bothered to take it seriously—from Ginji to Florian and on and on until she was delightfully dizzy and in need of a pause to catch her breath.
Her grandmother had met her with a glass of sparkling lemonade. "Your prince is quite the dancer," she'd said as Natalia took a long sip, letting the cool tartness refresh her. Another glass of champagne would only make her feel more light-headed.
"He should be. I taught him everything he knows."
"It's been a long time since I've had a night like this, with all this gaiety and romance in the air," her grandmother had continued, a sprightly glow about her. "It almost makes me wish I were forty years younger."
"Why, Nanny, has some young man caught your fancy?" Natalia had teased. "You can't have mine, by the way." It had been a night for romance, she would agree. She'd witnessed the warm looks passing back and forth between Luke and Tear, the newness of possibility radiating between Jozette, Gascard, and his divine chocolates, the... the whatever it was that was going on between Anise and the emperor, which Natalia didn't like thinking too much about.
"I'm just enjoying the atmosphere and the memories. The pageantry and traditions of weddings are as much about nostalgia as they are the future." Her grandmother had smiled then, that wistful smile of remembering something special and private, and as Natalia debated whether to ask or to allow her grandmother her reverie, the older woman had asked, "Do you know of the old royal wedding night tradition?"
Many of the old traditions had been incorporated into this day, so her grandmother must have meant something else. "Which one is that?"
"It used to be that the entire wedding party would carry the newlywed couple to the bridal chamber, then wait outside for confirmation that the union had been consummated."
Natalia felt a flush of pink spread across her cheeks. Though her aunt's long ago words had been less than encouraging, her grandmother had told her that her wedding night would be the beginning of a beautiful, intimate way of expressing her love for her groom. Even Tear, in a moment of both bold honesty and adorable bashfulness yesterday, had confided, "In case you're worried about it, well... I know it seems like a strange thing to do, but it's actually really, really nice."
But no one had mentioned this tradition.
"The official reason," her grandmother continued, "was to ensure that the marriage could not be annulled, and that any heir could be proven legitimate. I think, though, that people were mainly looking for an excuse to experience some sort cheap thrill under the guise of political precaution. Some say it was an even older tradition to accompany the couple into the bridal chamber and listen beside the drawn bed curtains."
Natalia did remember reading something like that once, but the practice was considered antiquated and perverse. She hadn't been entirely sure that it wasn't an invention of fiction. However... "Nanny, you don't think anyone here would—"
"I'd suggest you sneak upstairs before anyone gets a mind to revisit tradition, yes," her grandmother replied. "As the evening grows later and your guests continue their inebriation, someone may get drunk enough to suggest it, even if in jest. There's bound to be one curator of the inappropriate in every crowd."
One thing Natalia hadn't considered in all the planning for today was how it was going to end. If there would be as much pomp surrounding their departure as their arrival. The more she thought about it, the less she wanted that sort of scrutiny. Sneaking out while everyone was preoccupied with their own merrymaking was an excellent idea.
Her grandmother watched this realization pass over Natalia's face and gave her a conspiratorial nod. "Go on," she said. "Don't speak to anyone; just go. I'll send your prince after you in a few minutes. If you leave separately, you'll draw much less attention."
And Natalia had had enough attention for one day, that much was true.
She took one last look around the room at all those she held dear for being a part of this celebration. Guy was chatting and laughing with Jozette and Gascard. Luke and Tear were discussing something with his parents; likewise her father was speaking with Jade and Nephry. Others were still drinking and dancing and carrying on. Anise, despite her resolve to stay up all night, was nowhere to be found. Well, Natalia would see her in Daath in a few weeks, anyway.
All right, no one was watching. This was her chance. She grabbed her grandmother in a fierce hug. "Thank you, Nanny, for everything," she whispered. "I love you."
Her grandmother had returned the embrace with equal strength. "I love you, too, my precious child."
And so Natalia had come upstairs to ready herself and wait.
She laid her hairbrush down and twisted her wedding band around her finger. Maybe Guy had taken a moment to relax and wash off the day like she had. Maybe he was standing under the shower, leaning his head back and reaching up to push his wet hair out of his face, the water sluicing over his lean body and—
Oh, the bubbles were back. She pulled off her ring as a distraction. After they'd chosen their matching bands, she'd sent a note to the jeweler requesting a simple engraving. Like a secret, the words "with all my love" were etched inside his ring, and she wondered when he would discover them.
She ran the tip of her finger along the inside of her own ring, then held it beneath the lamp to examine it more closely. To her delight, he had inscribed a hidden message as well.
your eternal servant
That was so much better than hers.
She replaced her ring and stood again, almost to the point of pacing now. She unlocked and opened her connecting door between the two rooms. The door on his side was closed.
Somehow she had to situate herself, didn't she? She considered sitting on her bed, but that might look too posed and overeager. Perhaps she should return to her dressing table and brush her hair again, though any more brushing would pull it right out. Standing in limbo, halfway between all options was sure to look awkward, yet that's where she was when Guy's door opened.
He walked through, wearing a set of navy blue pajamas with white pinstripes, his feet bare and his hair slightly damp. Her little fantasy had been correct.
Partly to cover her lack of poise and partly to tease him, she dipped in a low curtsy. "Your Highness," she intoned with cheeky reverence.
She raised her head to see him shaking his. "That still sounds weird," he said. "Every time Merton called me that, I turned around looking for you."
She laughed and stood once more, keenly aware of the crackle between them, the thinness of her nightgown and the heat of his gaze upon it. The silk did little to disguise the shape of her underneath.
With a nervous gesture, she smoothed her hair behind her ear, and his gaze followed her fingers. "Aw, what happened to the little braid? It was cute."
"If you like, I can call for Sera and have her recreate it for you," she replied.
"Nah," he said, stepping close to her. "Because then I couldn't do this." He repeated the same gesture she'd made, and something quivered inside her. As his fingers twined in her hair, his lips found her cheek, her ear, her neck.
She sighed and wrapped her arms around him, inhaling the fresh, soapy scent of her husband.
Her husband.
Her shoulders started to shake, and she pressed her face to his shoulder to muffle a new rush of laughter.
Her husband.
If she could go back in time and tell the child version of herself that one day she'd fall in love with the untouchable servant boy… if she'd told the boy that one day he'd marry that spoiled brat of a princess….
Her laughter couldn't be contained, and so when he asked, she revealed her thoughts aloud. "I can't believe I married you!" she said before dissolving into giggles again.
He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Hey, this was your idea, you know."
"I know," she said, and as he grinned at her, her giggles finally subsided, merriment replaced with contentment. "I'm just... I'm so happy."
"Good," he replied, and as his blue eyes held her, she had no further desire to laugh. "Me too."
"Thank you for saying yes."
"Thank you for asking me."
His arms were strong around her, his hands warm on her back through the thin silk of her nightgown, sliding up and down, then staying low to cup her bottom. Even with an additional layer of fabric there, she could feel their heat. His mouth found her neck again, and so she sighed again. Perhaps her laughter had been a symptom of her nervousness, her excitement, this knowledge that the anticipation was over, that they belonged to each other now, that no one could interrupt what would follow these marvelous kisses.
She wanted to run her hands over him, too, feel his skin beneath her fingers, and started working at the buttons of his pajama top. In her haste and excitement and lack of experience undressing a man, she accidentally pulled the second button completely off, but let it fall to the floor as she moved on.
It was his turn to laugh. "So, you're just going for it, huh?"
Her hands stilled above the middle button. "Should I not?"
"You should," he replied. "I like it."
A little self-conscious, she continued, as he returned to his task of sucking lightly at this one particular spot, this place where her neck and shoulder met. He could tease her with his words and his smile, he could tease her with his lips and his tongue; either way, she shivered and wanted more.
Her hands freed the last button and spread the striped cotton wide. Eager fingers trailed up and down his chest, along his sides, exploring, daring. That day in the whirlpool, she'd thought of doing this with embarrassment and curiosity, reminding herself that acting on the impulse would not be ladylike. So glad was she that such no longer mattered, and her mouth met his as she pushed his shirt first from one shoulder, then the other with an urgency that made him flinch.
"Sorry," he said when she stepped back. "Didn't mean to do that."
There was a blur of purple on top of his right shoulder, and she made him turn around so that she could see it continue on the other side. "Oh, Guy, my poor darling," she murmured as ginger rather than eager fingers touched him, and he flinched again. Reality came back in a flash, the attack in the coliseum, the way he'd hit the ground. She gently pressed her lips to the bruise, a time-honored way of healing. "Does it hurt?"
"Not enough," he assured her, facing her again. Worry must still have been in her eyes, along with irritation at herself for forgetting his injury. "I'm fine, I swear. I'll prove it."
Before she could protest, his arms were back around her, one beneath her knees as he swept her off her feet. Her own arms looped around his neck again for stability. In all her life as a princess, no one had ever picked her up like this. And that was unfair, wasn't it? Fairy tales were always full of romantic scenes like this, though those princesses had been a bit dippy and helpless, and she'd prided herself on being more capable and independent than those flimsy characters.
However, part of her had always longed for a prince to carry her.
If he insisted that he was fine, far be it from her to contradict him. Careful not to touch his bruised shoulder again, she nestled into him and enjoyed the ride over to her bed.
"Wait," she said as he was about to set her down. "Can we go in your room?" He hesitated, adjusting her position in his arms. She knew what he was thinking: A bed was a bed, so what was the difference? "I spent all that time decorating it, and it would be a shame to let my efforts go to waste."
"Well," he answered, pivoting toward the open connecting doors, "the last thing I want to do is spend my wedding night arguing with my wife over which room she'd prefer to ravish me in."
She nuzzled his neck in approval.
The roses and ivories of her bedchamber were replaced with the browns and blues of his, the darker woods, warm and masculine. The new pillow was plush and inviting beneath her head, the new mattress firm and solid beneath the cushy cradle of the feather duvet. A bed was not a bed, not in this case, when everything was new for them both, for them to discover together.
Her neck arched and her mouth opened to welcome his tongue, to stroke it with hers. His hands were on her waist, his fingers pressing into her hips through the silk sheath. Her own fingers danced up and down his back like she was playing a xylophone to accompany the music of their wordless murmurs and the syncopation of their heartbeats.
Her nightgown began bunching beneath his hands, sliding up over her thighs, revealing her stomach. Heat spread all though her, even as cool air tried to soothe her flesh. Each place he touched her felt marked by him, searing, an invisible brand. She squirmed, her legs kicking at the heavy duvet and pushing it out of their way, and his hands returned to her hips to hold her still. She didn't want to be still, not when his tongue was licking along her neck, then lower... until he was the one who was suddenly still.
With his mouth against her skin, he muttered, "Damn them."
She frowned at this unexpected change in events. "Who?"
He raised his head to meet her eyes. "Luke and Anise."
"And dare I ask why you're thinking about them at this particular moment?"
"It's stupid," he answered.
"Now I really must know."
His arm stayed slung across her hip as he rolled onto his side, sharing her pillow. "They said we're going to have scary little Largo babies."
"I see," she replied, even though she didn't.
"And that's okay, I mean, I don't care what our children look like, it's just..." He sighed and shook his head. "I can't stop picturing it."
"You're picturing our children?" She'd done so often since their engagement, imagining miniature versions of themselves, a blue-eyed boy with stubborn hair and a clever grin, a girl with a haughty chin and a crown of golden curls. Factoring in their predecessors, including those of imposing stature, did cause those images to distort somewhat and create a distraction not easily banished.
"Yeah," he replied sheepishly. "Quite the bucket of cold water, huh?"
"Perhaps," she said, "but I think it's incredibly romantic." She laid her hand over his heart, felt it beat against her palm. Her husband was a true romantic, and while this might have thrown cold water on the proceedings for him... "And I think I just fell a little more in love with you."
How wonderful marriage was going to be if every day they discovered more reasons to love each other.
To bring him back from his imaginings, a greater distraction was in order, and so she kissed him the way she liked being kissed. Her lips brushed over his ear, her mouth opened against his neck, a bit of flesh being sucked between her teeth. She smiled to herself when she heard him groan, when the arm across her hip pulled her more tightly to him, his hand crawling under her nightgown and his fingers pressing into her bottom, that second thin layer of silk and lace hardly a barrier to their heat. Her tongue made languid swipes along his neck like she was licking cream from a strawberry, wanting him to feel what she felt, to drive everything but this from his mind.
Her efforts must have been successful, for he pushed her down onto her back again and covered her mouth with his. Her hands went into the thickness of his hair, but this time he didn't flinch and only opened his mouth wider to slant hungrily across hers. Her body reacted as far down as her toes, which curled into the disheveled duvet like she needed to hold onto something else to keep from being drawn completely into him.
Though why that would be a problem, she was sure she didn't know.
He leaned up, but not to pull her nightgown over her head as she hoped. "I have to tell you something else," he said.
She could feel her body crying, but she did her best to focus her hazy eyes on her husband's face. "My, so much talking," she teased, her voice breathy and belying her insouciance, "I should begin to think you don't enjoy kissing me."
"After this, I won't say another word for the rest of our marriage, if you wish," he said. "But the thing is, I'm not going to be very good at this." When she opened her mouth to protest such foolishness, he laid a finger across her lips. "I'm just not," he insisted, "and I need you to know that that's no reflection on you, because I find you to be absolutely exquisite. But I promise—I promise you—I will get better."
"Well," she answered, tracing her own finger along his jaw, "if you continue to use words like 'exquisite', you shall be allowed the occasional sentence."
He chuckled at that, was chuckling still as he kissed her again.
As it was, she wouldn't know the difference, nor would she care. All she wanted was to be with him.
Her husband.