Chapter 16
Mr. Evergreen and I walked back the entire way to the Palace but I didn’t mind. He held my hand until we came too close to the grounds for his comfort, but he kissed the back of it before he let it go and apologized for the caution.
Admittedly and eerily, I was attached to him–vulnerable, and I tried my hardest to justify living at the church, but, miraculously, our horses had found their way into the Palace barn. Henry had been there to pin them.
The ostler busied himself the moment we arrived; he gave a half-hearted hello to Mr. Evergreen first, and while he looked at me as he left and offered a kind ‘good day,’ he said nothing else.
He, Ice, Edith, and seemingly the whole world remained oblivious to any change between the Sword and I, or to how the sun shined brighter than it ever had before.
Mr. Evergreen smiled. He checked the saddle bags for our things.
“You’re quiet,” he noted. “That’s a first.”
“...Can I see you tomorrow?” I asked. My hands held each other, childishly, as I waited for him to refuse, but he didn’t. In fact, based on the way his face changed with my words, I realized he had been worried himself.
“And the day after, I hope?” he asked.
When I agreed, he was pleased.
Then I felt joy, perhaps for the first time in years.
It spread infectiously throughout my core and hated how silly it must have made me look.
I hated how hot my cheeks had become. I hated how I stewed in his glow, but…
I was a different person. I was his–his person.
And all I could think about that evening, that night, and the following morning while I dressed and moseyed through my routine like nothing had happened, was how and when I would feel him like that again.
It wasn’t long before life returned to peaceful strolls through forests, or games of ‘Catch Me’ or ‘Hide and Seek’ with Ser Willoughby and Miss Jocelyn.
Between romantic rolls in haylofts, blooming fields of flowers, and on occasion, the Palace corridors, life was bright.
With every stolen kiss, we fabricated an excuse to justify it to each other, and we justified other things to other people, things like why Mr. Evergreen should be the one to escort me to and from town for my dress fittings, or to my bedchamber from our rides after the day was gone.
My handsome, belovedly talented Sword never once invited himself into my suite for more, nor did he hint that I should offer it.
He fondled my breasts over my gowns inside of carriages, then farewelled me every day with a needy kiss, always respecting that line I could not cross.
Until one evening, violating the waning boundaries of my virtue was no longer enough for me.
Not when all my thoughts were consumed by charming swordsmen and their lips.
During the middle of a ball, I made a brash, impulsive decision– to leave and see him.
It was the obvious result of listening to Aster and Agatha fawn over the men of the court but my longing was real.
I needed his sleight of hand along my gloves, or to touch his chest–anything, and by the time their attentions praised Mr. Evergreen himself, their lust surfaced something inside of me that was far worse than jealousy, far more dangerous—prideful possession.
He was alone in the yard; he was leaving for the evening without a doubt, but when he saw me, it was like he could feel my very thoughts.
He grinned, then we found a small patch of corn behind the Palace to entangle into each other.
We talked about everything from favorite books to animals.
He pointed to the stars above us, explaining constellations, and I pretended not to know their origins, just so that I could hear his perfect vowels and watch his perfect mouth as they formed.
When I corrected him, instinctively about one of the tales, he smirked.
“Oh, I see. You’re no stranger to the sky. Did Miss Hellveig teach you these things?” he asked.
“Partly,” I confessed. “Though she died during those lessons, and I do deeply prefer how you tell them, I think.”
He propped himself upon his arm. “She died during those lessons?” The fact sat between us neither heavy nor light. “I see. Was it difficult to lose her so suddenly?” he asked.
“It…” My breath caught, confused or surprised. “I suppose, yes, it was difficult. …But it was a long time ago, and she wasn’t a nice person. I didn’t mourn.”
He hooked his arm to wring his neck, then changed the subject. “You know, you’ve never sought me out past nightfall before. Careful, Princess. I might start to think you like me.”
“Never sought you out past nightfall? That’s not true. Our first ride was at night,” I said.
He chuckled. “Aye, but you were stealing my horse, not looking for me. This is a nice change. In fact, a man could get used to being the Princess’s late night companion.”
I rolled my eyes. Cheekily, he snaked his hand around my waist and drew me closer to kiss every peak of skin. We quickly knotted into each other, desperately panting.
“Swan,” he managed as my hands traveled curiously. I untied his shirt, before, “Svana.”
“Miss Aster seems to think you’re the hairy sort,” I groaned.
He made a noise. “She what?” Then he turned enough that I was forced to kiss his cheek.
“Your chest, sir. Miss Aster believes you’re hairy there. I want to know for myself. I think it should be very funny to have this secret.”
I slid my hand up his stomach, tugging at the hem of his shirt to reveal his torso. He caught it, then flipped me onto my back, lurching over.
“What are you doing?” he asked. His eyes were serious.
“What do you mean?” I muttered. “I’m undressing you.”
“Precisely. You’re undressing me,” he said.
“And you’re complaining?” I asked. “That’s upsetting.”
A smile came and went and then his eyes were darker. “Svana.”
“Cyrus.”
“Why are you undressing me?” he asked, voice soft.
“I… Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because… Because I want you to make love to me, sir,” I said.
“You what?” He frowned.
“W-What do you mean I what?” I pulled my wrist from his hand. His fingers reappeared between mine. “I said I wanted to make… to make love to you. You need an explanation?”
He exhaled. There was a long silence.
“P-Please say something,” I begged. “If you do not wish to then just-”
“That’s, uh,” he said. “That’s a lot to ask, my love.”
“Oh.” Immediately, I reached to fix the disarray of my vest. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I just thought...” I climbed to my feet and hastily swept my skirt. “Just pretend I didn’t say that then,” I tried.
“But you did,” he said. “You did say that.”
“Y-Yes, well. Then, just… Just excuse me while I go crawl into someone's grave. I saw a cemetery not far from here.”
He tsked. “It’s not… Svana, stop it. It’s not as though I’m rejecting you.” He stood to collect my glove.
“Yes, you are,” I argued. “I said, “Cyrus, do make love to me,” and you...didn’t.”
“Yes, but,” he started.
“But what?” I asked.
“But…”
“Oh, God. There is a but!” I cried.
“But,” he emphasized. “Love making is a really big …step? Commitment? Er… Act. It’s a big whatever you want to call it, but it’s not kissing in the garden. It’s…”
“It’s what?” I whined.
“It’s more,” he said. “It’s everything.”
“How is it any more than you taking care of me, except that your needs are to be met, too?” He didn’t reply and I added, “I want…We’re friends, right? Maybe more and I want… I want to make you feel as you make me feel.”
“You do make me feel good,” he said. “I feel good spending days like this with you. I feel good when you need me so much you find me instead another dance partner. You could choose to spend your time with any man, yet here we are, and that is important to me. It does make me feel good, Svana. And I don’t need you to give me that to… ”
“Why are you fighting me about this? I thought men wanted sex?”
“They do,” he said. “Believe me, they do.”
“Do you?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yes. Of course I do.”
“But not with me?”
“Svana… That’s not…”
“Just say it, then I’ll know. You do not wish to have sex with me,” I said. “Just say that. I want to hear it.”
“I don’t want to have sex with you? Is that what you think? That is incredibly false,” he explained. “But love making is–”
“You made love to Lydia!”
Cyrus scoffed. “I did not.”
“What? You said… What other woman have you known then?” I asked.
“A few too many to count, love,” he explained.
“But–” Suddenly he stopped. Canting his head as some sort of realization dawned on him.
He started, then stopped, then said, “Princess…I’ve had plenty of sex, but never did I make love to any of those women.
And Lydia, perhaps, could have been more…
once upon a time, but… she wasn’t you, and that’s the whole reason we called it off. ”
“What? What absolute nonsense is that? You had sex with her?” I asked. “Yes or no?”
His cheeks flooded crimson. “Yes. You know that.”
I replayed his answer in my head. “But–What? I beg your pardon, sir, but I’m lost.”
“There’s a difference,” he said.
“What difference?”
“There’s a difference between sex and love making,” he said.
“No there is. I’m an expert on etymology. They both mean coitus,” I said.
“Coitus? Really?”
“Yes! And I am in no mood for your dissection of my vocabulary. I am quite tired of you considering me a fool. So. Please, just be frank with me. Why do I repulse you physically, so much that you cannot–?”
“The difference is— First of all, you do not repulse me. I don’t even understand how you can think that. Do you not feel how painfully hard I am whenever we are together? I’m not some weirdo; that isn’t disgust, Princess. That’s certainly want.”
My eyes widened, traveling to his pants then back to his.
“And secondly,” he said. “I didn’t…” He stopped, then his whole body adjusted in an odd sort of posture.
“You didn’t…what?” I asked.
“We’re talking about different things,” he said. “Sex and love making. Trust me.”