Moon, Part 3
Startled, she extended her hand. He pulled her to her feet, then without any warning the world around her blurred and the ground under her feet fell away. The bottom dropped out of her stomach as she was pulled through space.
The walls of his bedroom whirled around her—they were back in the castle. She stumbled as the hard stone floor abruptly rose up to meet her feet, reeling and clinging desperately to his hand.
"Steady!" he said, jerking on her arm. He tried to help her regain her balance, but he pulled too hard, so that instead of falling to the ground she fell into him. Her head swam as she clung to his sleeves to keep from falling over, her face crushed against the cool linen of his shirt, his hands gripping her forearm and shoulder, steadying her, holding her against him. Before she could stop herself, she froze, her whole body going rigid—she only just managed to stop herself from pulling away. She felt his body tense in response and heard the soft, quick intake of his breath as if he was about to say something, but whatever it was he never said it.
Anxiously, she pulled back a little to look at his face, expecting to see the same anger he had shown before when she'd flinched away from him. Instead, he only looked startled and a bit anxious. Something about the wave of relief that spread over her to see that she hadn't pissed him off combined with how unnatural that expression looked on his face made her giggle before she could stop herself. She clapped a hand over her mouth, alarmed, but when she saw his concern deepen into confusion another giggle slipped out, then another, and in a moment she was laughing so hard she was almost bent double, her face pressed against his stomach. When she looked up again, the growing look of irritation on his face only made things worse, and when she tried to choke out some kind of explanation or apology she failed because she was laughing too hard to speak.
"Your–your face," was all she could wheeze as she gasped for breath. Her sides ached and tears were trickling down her cheeks, but she still couldn't stop.
"Charming," he said wryly. He was turning her around now, pushing her gently towards the fireplace. "I think you need to sit down."
For some reason that unleashed another flood of uncontrollable giggles, and she clutched her stomach as he dragged her over to the fireplace and plunked her down on the hearthstones. She felt lighter than she had in a long time, as though all the weird, fraught tension of the last several weeks was bubbling out of her and she could finally see how absurd it all was.
When she had finally caught her breath, his hand appeared in front of her face, holding a squat, ornate silver tankard half full of something steaming that smelled like boozy cookies.
"What is that?" she demanded, rising unsteadily to her knees and taking it from him, her eyes wide.
"Buttered brandy," he said, sitting down next to her in front of the fire. Right next to her–his leg nearly brushed hers–but the closeness was no longer as alarming as it had only a few moments ago. She settled back down cross-legged on the hearth, and when he held his own tankard out to her with an inquiring glance, she grinned and carefully clinked her own against it before burying her face in the sweet-smelling steam and letting it caress her cold cheeks. She felt like she was finally getting the hang of things now that the wine had loosened her up–she could almost believe that she was having a night out with one of her friends.
"Well," she said dramatically, gesturing with her mug in a wide arc. "What shall we talk about now?"
The firelight flickered across his wry smile. "We could ask each other some more deeply personal questions."
Sarah shook her head so hard she almost spilled her brandy. "Nuh-uh. No more of that, thank you." She wiggled her shoulders, trying to get out of the cloak that was quickly becoming oppressively hot so close the fire. He reached out, then hesitated, his hand hovering in midair. Very deliberately, Sarah did not freeze or tense up. After a moment, she lent very slightly towards him, keeping her eyes down. He helped her tug the cloak off of her shoulders, dropping his hand immediately after the heavy fabric fell away and crumpled in a pile behind her back.
In the nervous silence that followed Sarah was tempted to start giggling again, but she quickly stifled it when she glanced over and saw the tense, preoccupied expression on his face. Instead she took a sip from her tankard. The brandy was rich and sweet, and it slid dangerously smooth down her throat. She held it in both hands, feeling the warmth seep into her fingers.
"I have something to ask you," he said finally, his voice so soft that she could hardly hear it over the crackling embers of the fire. He turned towards her. "I was planning to ask you earlier, on the hill, but—" he hesitated, studying her face for a moment before continuing. "Seven days from now, I will be a hosting a dinner. A…political affair."
"Ok," said Sarah carefully, trying to conceal her curiosity. Why on earth was he telling her about it now? It would be more his style to spring it on her the night of the event itself—catch her by surprise, keep her off balance.
"It would be a—a great favor to me, if you could attend," he said. The look on his face was strained, as though it was an effort for him to say as much. "As my companion. For the evening."
The prospect of having him in her debt was tantalizing. "What would I have to do?"
He relaxed a fraction. "You would need to agree to come to the Underground several hours earlier to prepare and attend on time. The event would last longer than your typical visits. I would need your consent to extend the enchantment."
"Temporarily," she said automatically.
"Of course." She was relieved to see that he did not look offended.
"Who else is coming?"
He shrugged, as though it was not important in the slightest. "The rulers of the major fiefdoms of the realm. Some of their family members and more significant vassals."
"That sounds like a lot of people."
His smile was difficult for her to read. "It is not as many as it used to be."
Sarah hesitated. "Would I have too...I don't know...hob nob?"
He turned to her, his stiffness fading into amusement. "Hob nob?"
"You know, hob nob." She faltered. Outside the odd stiff, awkward Christmas parties her father's firm had thrown every year, she didn't have much experience with formal events. She rifled through memories of movies and the production of Pride and Prejudice she'd managed in college. "Flutter around being witty and charming, make sure everyone has a good time, flatter the important people, snub the ones who need to be put in their place, wave a fan around, that kind of thing?"
She glared when he snorted into his tankard, choking on a mouthful of brandy.. "No—no, that will not be expected of you," he said when he managed to swallow. "I will perform all the duties of the host. You need not even speak to anyone if you do not wish to."
She relaxed slightly. "Oh."
"In fact, I would prefer that you didn't."
She bristled. "What is that supposed to mean?"
One corner of his mouth was turned up into a smile. "Only that if I wished to provoke an attempt on my own life or start a war, there would be far simpler, less painful of doing so than to set you loose on my guests for an evening."
She reached out and shoved him playfully. "Whatever, Your Majesty. I'm very fun at parties."
"You certainly know how to enjoy yourself."
She glared. "You know, I remember you treat your guests. I'll bet people only show up because you're the king. If I ran your little "political" shindigs, no one would ever want to leave."
"Be merciful," he said dryly. "That would be worse than war."
There was a sour note in his voice that gave her pause, and she peeked anxiously at him over her shoulder. He was staring into the fire, his mouth drawn into a tight line. Whatever he was feeling, she was pretty sure it was not directed towards her–but still, it put her on her guard.
"It sounds pretty dull," she said sympathetically.
"Dreadfully," he agreed, not looking at her.
"Fine," she said, crossing her arms over chest. "I'll go."
He turned, his face full of undisguised surprise. "You will?"
"Yeah," she said. "Like you said: as a favor. But, I have a few conditions."
"Name them."
"Since it would take extra time," she said. "I want the next…two visits canceled."
"Very well."
"And—you have to ensure my safety."
He frowned deeply. "Do you think I would not?" he demanded.
She hesitated. "Look," she said carefully, "All I'm saying is that the prospect of being in a room full of…people like you makes me a little nervous. I know you said that any spell somebody puts on me would only last until I wake up Above, but that's plenty of time for something...unpleasant to happen. You know?"
He was not mollified. "No one," he said coldly, "In this realm or any other would dream offering insult to a guest under my roof, by magical means or otherwise. They would not dare." He turned back to the fire.
"Oh," she said quietly. "Well...good."
"Sarah." He turned to her suddenly, taking her hand. She was so surprised she didn't have time to pull away. "You must know that I would never allow anyone to harm you."
The reply "anyone else" popped automatically into her head and made it halfway to her mouth, but the warmth in his eyes and the gentleness of his fingers around hers made her feel almost ashamed of it. The same disorienting feeling she'd had in the bath came to her again, that the monster who had kidnapped her, assaulted her, and manipulated her into agreeing to stay half-trapped in his world was a different person altogether from the man sitting before her now.
"You could just loan me some powers of my own," she joked lightly, trying to cover her confusion. She took back her hand on the pretext of brushing her hair out of her eyes. "Then I wouldn't have to ask–I could protect myself."
He studied her a moment, then relaxed a fraction, clearly deciding to play along. "Turn you loose on my guests with magic at your disposal?" he said. "I do not dare. Before the night was out you would destroy the castle and incite an uprising against me."
"Again," she said smugly.
He snorted derisively, but did not bother to deny it. Pleased, Sarah sipped her drink and learned in towards the slowly dying embers of the fire. She signed. She was so warm and cozy–and, for the first time in weeks, she felt almost safe.
"I'm surprised I'm still here," she said. "It must have been at least a few hours by now."
"The effects of the spell can be...difficult to predict," he said conversationally, as though they were discussing the weather. "It could end at any moment, or last another hour."
"Another hour?" She yawned. She didn't think she was going to last another five minutes. "Tell me a story," she insisted.
He chuckled. "A story?"
"Yup."
"What kind of story?"
The fire was making her so sleepy. "I don't know," she said, stifling another yawn. "I'm tired—I don't want to talk anymore. Just…something with a happy ending."
"Very well," he said, the corners of his lips curled into a fond smile. "A story that ends happily…"
While he was thinking, she cautiously leaned towards him until her head was just barely touching his shoulder. She felt him freeze, his muscles tensing the same way they did when he grabbed her to help her regain her balance. Dimly, through the cloud of wine and exhaustion, she wondered if she had gone too far too fast.
"Once upon a time," she said lightly, hoping he didn't hear the slight quaver in her voice.
After a moment, he cleared his throat and she felt him relax against her. "Once upon a time," he began.
Later, when she woke alone in her bedroom between cold sheets, a headache throbbing in her temples, she was not able to pinpoint exactly when she had fallen asleep. She thought she could remember pieces of the story, although it all seemed so absurd that she could not tell what had been real and what she may have dreamed. A magical fish with forbidden knowledge, a king who hunted her, ancient goddesses, boons, curses. When she tried to conjure up anything more specific, all that came to her was the sound of his voice, low and musical, and the dancing pattern of light and shadow the low flames made on the hearthstones.
As her mind played over the other events of that night, she rolled onto her side and groaned aloud, covering her flaming face with her hands. Everything she had told him–the stories about her mother, the flirting, laying her head on his shoulder. Just how much of herself had she given? Had she gained anything truly worthwhile in return? She remembered the invitation she had accepted and groaned again. Had she completely lost her mind?
Sarah sat up in her bed, grunting as the headache pounded in her temples, She fumbled on her bedside table for her phone. 4:49. It was too late to go back to sleep; she was opening this morning, and she had to be at the diner by 5:30.
When she rose, she started when she realized that she was still wearing the brown woolen gown. She stared uncertainly down at the silver embroidery, gleaming uncannily in the pale, translucent pre-dawn light. She tried to reassure herself that she had nothing to be ashamed of. She'd done exactly what she'd set out to do–and she'd accomplished much more than she thought possible in only one night. She'd gotten him to let his guard down, learned a lot more about him and about the Underground, and now she had an invitation to a formal dinner with other...people like him. Maybe there would be someone there who could help her. At the very least it was another opportunity to learn more, to get him to trust her.
She found herself thinking of the way he had looked at her when she accepted that invitation, of the warmth of his shoulder against her cheek and how naturally it had come to her, the impulse to lean against him, not calculated like her gestures of affection had been earlier in the night.
Sarah scowled as she felt heat rising in her cheeks. Firmly, she swung her legs over the side of her bed, the heavy skirt catching in the bedclothes and making the movement awkward. She just needed to get a grip, she told herself. She was fine. She would be fine. Everything was going according to plan.
Sarah moved towards the bathroom, fumbling as she went with the lacing of the bodice, intending to wrestle her way out of the dress so that she could shower before her shift, but a sudden familiar tingling feeling stopped her in her tracks.
Something was happening to the gown. The fabric felt suddenly lighter. As she watched, spellbound, the tingling feeling spread over her whole body and the heavy woolen material grew less and less substantial. In little more than a moment, it had almost melted away entirely. The silver embroidery around the cuffs and hem was the last to fade, but at last it too winked out of existence, leaving her dumbstruck and stark naked in the middle of her bedroom floor, shivering in the cold light of the early dawn.