Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
“So,” Magnus began softly, leaning closer to the pillows, careful not to startle Eugenia.
“This next story is about Clytie, a nymph who lived among the trees and rivers and flowers, tending the world around her. She was said to be gentle, kind, and beautiful. Though not a goddess, she was a spirit of nature. She loved Helios, the Sun God, with all her heart.”
The picnic had gone splendidly, leaving a lingering warmth in their hearts, and now, the hush of evening had settled over the Walford Estate.
Eugenia lay tucked in her little bed, blankets drawn snugly around her, curls spilling gently over the pillow.
Dorothy sat at her right-hand side, brushing a stray lock from her forehead, while Magnus perched on the left, leaning close as he began another story, his voice low.
The room smelled faintly of lavender and beeswax, the flickering candlelight casting gentle shadows on the walls, lending an intimacy to the moment.
Dorothy smiled faintly. “A nymph… like a little spirit of the Earth? Caring for everything around her?”
“Exactly,” Magnus said, eyes soft as he looked at her. “Clytie adored Helios. Every day, from the moment he rose in the east until he sank behind the hills in the west, she would watch him, following his chariot across the sky. She could not leave him, even though he did not return her love.”
Dorothy’s hand brushed a stray curl from Eugenia’s forehead. “She never gave up on him?”
Magnus shook his head gently. “No. Clytie adored Helios, following his chariot across the sky every day. But Helios’s heart belonged to another.
A mortal maiden named Leucothoe. Clytie, jealous and heartbroken, could not bear to see him love someone else.
In a moment of despair, she revealed the affair to Leucothoe’s father.
Tragically, the father punished Leucothoe, and she died. ”
Eugenia’s little fingers twitched at the blanket, still half-asleep, and Magnus took her hand gently. “Clytie was crushed with grief and guilt. She could not leave Helios, even though he did not return her love, and she refused food and drink, sitting upon the earth, pining for him every day.”
Dorothy’s voice was soft. “And then?”
Magnus continued. “The gods, seeing her devotion and despair, transformed her into a sunflower. Even as a flower, she could turn her face toward the Sun she loved, following him across the sky. Helios never knew the full depth of her love, but Clytie carried it with her always. So, even though her love was unreturned, it endured eternally, steadfast and unwavering.”
Dorothy’s gaze met his, and she whispered. “That’s… a heavy kind of love.”
Magnus allowed his hand to brush near Eugenia’s shoulder as he continued. “Do you think...” he asked softly, looking up at Dorothy, “... it takes courage to love so completely, even without certainty?”
Dorothy’s eyes softened. “I suppose it does. To keep caring, even when it might not be returned. That is a brave heart indeed.”
He tilted his head, studying her face. “Do you think a heart can remain steadfast even if the world changes around it? Even if the object of its devotion never notices?”
Dorothy felt a faint heat rise to her cheeks. She met his gaze briefly, then looked down at Eugenia’s peaceful face. “I think… the heart remembers what matters most, even if everything else changes,” she whispered, brushing the blanket around the child.
Dorothy shifted slightly on the edge of Eugenia’s bed. “Magnus…” she began, her voice hesitant. “Have you… ever loved anyone like that? Loved someone that intensely?”
Dorothy’s lips parted slightly, and she looked down at Eugenia’s blankets, suddenly conscious of her own pulse.
She wasn’t sure what answer she had expected, or even what kind of answer she wanted, but she found herself hoping it was no.
She could not imagine Magnus ever treating anyone else with such reverence as he did the people he cared for now.
Magnus’s gaze flicked to hers. “No,” he said after a pause. “Given the kind of person I am… or the kind of person society has carved me to be, there was no time for that sort of devotion.”
“The closest thing I’ve ever had...” he continued, his eyes softening as they met hers, “... to whatever Clytie felt… is what I feel with you.”
Dorothy’s cheeks warmed at the words, and she quickly looked away, pretending to fuss with the folds of Eugenia’s blanket, but carefully so she did not wake the girl. Her heart beat a little too fast, and the quiet of the room suddenly felt heavy with unspoken things.
Magnus, perceptive as ever, let the moment hang just long enough before easing it.
“But today,” he said, “I must tell you how much I enjoyed the picnic you organized. Truly. It was delightful. So much so that, of late, I’ve begun to feel human in a way I didn’t think possible. I owe you thanks for that, Dorothy.”
Dorothy’s gaze returned to him, her lips curving in a soft, shy smile. “I… I’m glad,” she whispered, her voice barely above the flicker of the candlelight. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
Once the silence settled, their eyes met, and both of them smiled. A small acknowledgment of the closeness that had built between them. Magnus raised his hand slowly, letting his fingers graze her arm as he gestured, a silent invitation for her to come closer.
Dorothy felt her breath catch, a fluttering warmth rising to her cheeks.
She leaned in instinctively, drawn by the magnetic pull of the moment, and Magnus followed, his own hands moving with deliberate care, cupping the back of her head as if the world had narrowed to nothing but the space between them.
Their faces were almost touching, the air thick with expectation. Then, a small movement—Eugenia stirring in her sleep, shifting slightly beneath the covers—altered the instant.
Magnus hesitated, letting the moment dissolve with a soft sigh. “Perhaps,” he murmured, brushing a gentle hand along Dorothy’s arm, “we should let Eugenia sleep and prepare for bed ourselves as well.”
Dorothy nodded, a mixture of disappointment and warmth in her chest, and allowed herself to be guided back from the edge of the moment.
After leaving Eugenia tucked safely in her bed, they lingered for a few awkward moments in the hallway, neither quite sure how to close the evening. Magnus’s hands were folded behind his back while Dorothy fidgeted slightly.
“Well… goodnight, Magnus,” she said softly, her voice carrying just enough hesitation to betray her nerves.
“Goodnight, Dorothy,” he replied, his gaze lingering on her a second longer than necessary. Then, with a careful nod, he turned and departed down the corridor, leaving her standing there in the dim candlelight.
Dorothy moved to her room, letting the door close behind her.
She changed into her night gown and prepared for bed, yet the quiet of the room seemed heavier than usual, her thoughts stubbornly replaying the evening.
The stories, the gentle touches, the near-kiss, and the warmth of Magnus beside her.
Sleep refused to come.
Finally, she rose again, quietly, and made her way down the hall to Magnus’s bedroom. She stood just outside Magnus’s door, her hand resting lightly on the polished wood, took a steadying breath, and knocked softly.
“Magnus… may I come in?”
“Of course,” his deep voice came from inside.
She took only two steps inside, her eyes catching his immediately. “I just wanted to say goodnight properly,” she murmured, her voice quiet, almost hesitant.
Magnus tilted his head, studying her for a moment as he walked over to her. “Is that all?” he asked gently, though there was a spark in his gaze that made her pulse quicken.
Dorothy shook her head, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. “No… I was thinking ahead, actually,” she said, stepping a little closer. “My family will be visiting soon, and I just wanted to remind you. I will prepare everything for their visit.”
Magnus nodded. “Ah, yes. I’ve been thinking about that as well. I look forward to it,” he confirmed, his gaze meeting hers. “I’ve never truly… willingly hosted anyone before. This will be… special.”
Dorothy’s chest warmed at his words, a soft smile spreading across her lips. “I’m sure it will be,” she said, her voice gentle. “Also, I really enjoyed your company today. Thank you for the stories. I look forward to hearing more of them during other picnics.”
Magnus remained quiet for a moment, his eyes following her as she shifted slightly. His gaze lingered, softly tracing the curve of her cheek, the sweep of her neckline, the gentle line of her arms, even the way her nightgown fell around her legs.
Dorothy felt the intensity of his attention and shivered lightly, a mix of warmth and embarrassment rising to her cheeks. She lowered her eyes briefly, then looked up with a small, polite smile. “Well… thank you, Magnus. Goodnight,” she murmured, turning toward the open door.
Magnus’s gaze darkened just slightly, intense and magnetic. “Dorothy?” he called her back quietly.
She turned around, still holding a smile. “Yes?”
Before she could step fully away, Magnus reached for the fabric of her nightgown at the waist and gently, insistently, drew her back toward him. As she followed, caught between surprise and desire, his other hand moved to close the door behind them with a soft click.
He then guided her carefully back toward the now-shut door, her back pressing lightly against the wood. The space between them contracted, leaving nothing but the warmth of his body and the quiet thrum of their breaths.
Dorothy’s chest heaved as she stood against the door, her heart thrumming with a tension she could no longer bear.
Before Magnus could move, before he could speak, she leaned in, pressing her lips to his with a sudden urgency.
Her hands went to his face, framing it, tracing the strong lines as if to memorize them in that moment.