Chapter 18 #2
He stepped closer. “If you wish to end this, then I respect your wishes, but only if that is what you truly want. If it is fear that prevents your desire, don’t let it.
Please. I am weathered and skilled enough with a blade to promise you that no one, absolutely no one is going to hurt me,” he said.
“We’ll be safe. Discreet. I’ll never breathe a word of it to anyone but you.
I will do whatever it takes to convince you of this, but I don’t wish to be without you and if you feel the same… I don’t think we should end it.”
I stuttered. I opened and closed my mouth. I failed to think. “I-I...”
“And I’m sorry about my letter,” he said. “I tried to keep it vague for the protection of your reputation, not to upset you. I was not mad; I was hoping to provide you with clear, tangible evidence of my commitment. I didn’t count how many sentences it was. It didn’t occur to me to do that.”
The water behind him screamed and then he turned to silence it, letting me simmer there like a fool.
“C-Cyrus,” I breathed, shaky.
“About that,” he started to pour us tea. “There’s something else. Something I should’ve said, something important you should know but I didn’t know how to explain…I…”
“You absolute blockheaded sap!” I yelled. He frowned, and I latched myself to the sides of his face— days without a shave and rough under my softer fingertips. Our lips fused together and, “You idiot!” I cried.
The kettle splashed at our legs as he dropped the pot to match my heated kiss. He coiled an arm around me, and knocked the counter clear with the other, dishes and objects clattering. He hoisted me up onto it and we began to strip each other.
“Such an imbecile,” I added.
“Feel free to stop insulting me anytime,” he said, laughing. “It’s not really doing it for me.”
I shook my head, sadly settling back on him, and kissing him, and sighing, and kissing. “I missed you,” I heard myself relay.
He pulled the ribbon of my blouse, watching me. “Svana,” he buzzed. “I have to tell you. I’m-”
“I know,” I moaned. “Oh, you fool. I already know!”
“You… know?” he asked.
“You’re not as sly and covert as you think you are! Of course I know.”
“You’re not angry?”
“No, I’m not angry. I just need—Oh, it’s been so long, sir. Please, I just wish to feel you.”
Mr. Evergreen's fingers snuck beneath my dress, and I shuddered as he bunched the skirt between us. “You’re truly not mad?” he asked. “You don’t hate me forever?”
“I could never hate you,” I whined. “You’re stupid and reckless and hopelessly romantic but you’re mine. Yes. I accept your declaration. Even if you are not kneeling as custom says!”
He beamed proudly. “You are too gracious, Your Highness. I don’t deserve you but I will spend our lives trying to.”
He lowered to his knees before me and then, with hungry eyes he snuck beneath my skirt and he—he kissed me.
Cyrus pushed aside the fabric that obstructed his intention, replacing it with his mouth and tongue. He was hot against my most private sect. Hot and wet. And…. And after several long, pleasure-filled moments of just being...
“Ahahh!” I cried.
Whatever grin he donned grew against my sex; I could feel his cheeks as they moved. His hands tightened against my thighs and mine slipped from his shoulders, one meeting the burner. I shrieked and drew back my hand, but it hadn’t hurt.
Cyrus stood, taking my palm and kissing it. He pulled me off the counter and set me back onto the floor, so that he could turn off the stove. Over his shoulder, he said, “The bedroom is to your right,” and he pointed.
I giggled. I bit my lip and then spun to sprint toward our destination but just past the doorway, I froze. Men. Two men I didn't recognize were waiting there; one propped against the wall. His arms were folded neatly and he was playfully bemused.
Mr. Evergreen appeared beside me.
“Lovely wife you’ve got, there, fella. Think I’ll taste her next,” the stranger said.
“Cyrus,” I whispered.
He’d brought his hand around the small of my waist and stepped in front of me. “If you want money, there’s gold in the bedroom,” he said. “It’s in a trunk beneath the mattress. Take it. It’s yours.”
The one who’d spoken to me smirked. He nodded to the other to check it out. “And if I want something more?” He eyed my chest.
“I’ll have to kill you,” Cyrus said.
“Cyrus.” I pressed into his back.
“Brave words from an unarmed man,” the man said. He drew a sword from his waistband and then pointed it toward us. “Maybe I’ll kill you first. Maybe I’ll make you watch.”
Cyrus’s weapon was near the door and impossible to reach. I held him tighter, then yet another man came from outside. He was shaking his head.
“This horse is wild! One of you, help me!” he begged.
But I recognized him, even without the uniform. “Geralt?” I asked.
The boy went pale.
“You work for my father,” I said confused. “You’re our footman?”
“P-Princess.” Geralt looked worried at his companions.
“Princess is she?” the first of the men repeated. He grinned, fiendishly. “Perfect.”
“It’s in here, boss!” the other yelled from the bedroom. “It’s a shitload, too! I’ve never seen so much coin! Gold and copper.”
The leader turned at that, and in the moment he looked away, Cyrus grabbed the kettle from the floor and whipped it across the man’s face.
I yelled as hot water spilt from it, in perfect sync with the man’s cry.
His flesh scalded terribly. He fell, clawing at his blistering cheeks, and then he thrashed to the floor, still screaming.
I puked.
“Get out of here!” Cyrus yelled at me, pulling me from where I’d bent. “Run!” He struck the man a second time, bashing the iron over his head and then again, before kicking away the sword.
The screaming stopped somewhere after the third or fourth strike, and Mr. Evergreen picked up the blade for himself.
He brandished it for Geralt, who fled for the door, but when he opened it, Ser Willoughby was already there.
With a loud grunt, the knight pierced through the boy’s gut.
Another man appeared behind him, though, yanking him out of the cottage by the neck.
Cyrus swung his blade, and the metal clanged at the other opponent charging from his room. Terrified, I shrank to the floor and crawled toward my swordsman’s bag.
“Daniel!” I cried.
Another bandit broke through the commotion and into the house.
He trampled over the footman’s body, and the torch he held glittered across the walls.
He cocked his head when he saw me, then tossed the fire far into the end of the room.
I leaped for Cyrus’s blade but he struck it away with his own, careening it too far to reach as he snatched me by the hair.
“Ow!” I clawed at his glove. “Stop it! Drop me! Drop me this instant! Do you know who I am?”
That narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you’re important, are you, kitten?” he asked.
Willoughby appeared. He swung at the man, who dropped me to return the favor.
They clashed swords only twice before, “A knight, eh?”
“Svana!” Cyrus called.
He tried to make it to my side but someone slashed at him, cutting through his shirt.
He hopped back, striking back, and with another fancy maneuver, Mr. Evergreen punctured his chest. The man dropped.
Cyrus forced his blade through, all the way to its hilt.
He tore it out, using his boot to release it.
Then he rushed the one who had threatened me, and with a solid tackle, they all fell to the floor.
I wheezed, suddenly choking on the smoke that had become thicker in the air.
I lowered myself to the ground, crawling to see, searching for anyone, anything to use.
The smog grew; there were seconds left of knowing where my Cyrus was and less before I was alone in the fog.
By the grace of God, and God alone, I found the handle of a dagger, stuck in something soft.
Evergreen and his opponent rolled in and out of the cloudy muck and in a tangled mess of desperation, I plunged the knife forward as soon as I could see the bandit’s back.
He cried out as it went into his skin. I stabbed him a second time and then a third until he slumped.
The smoke moved with the wag of the door opening again, and through a wall of light, Miss Jocelyn appeared.
“Svana!” she called.
“Josie!” I yelled back. “I’m here!” I rose to my knees, and she barreled my way to grab my arm.
“Hurry!” she cried. She dragged me out of the fire, then Cyrus followed.
Outside, I fought for air as Mr. Evergreen and Ser Willoughby chased a straggler crook. Jocelyn pressed her hands to my arms. She asked, “Are you alright?”
But then I heard her. I heard my horse.
“Isaac,” I whispered, panicking. I searched the yard to find her.
There was a man on either side of her, one held her lead, the other a torch. Two others hovering. She kicked up into the air, again and again, and they hurled insults at her. They struck her hatefully, calling her a wild thing.
“Stop it!” I screamed, starting after.
Josie caught my arm and pulled me back. “Svana, we must go!” she said.
“No!” I snapped. I tore away, hurrying.
“Daniel will help her,” she said.
“No!” I cried, determined.
Ice howled and howled for me. She was scared!
They called her names. They threatened to burn her— to make her pay for my sins.
They promised to kill her and I-I stumbled.
The flames glinted across the knife I held.
I thought to drive it through their hearts and watch them bleed to death. Every last one of them.
I sent the knife into the sky over my head and I created a near-hysterical, incomprehensible sound in place of any words, but the message was clear. Her attackers meet my eyes, both pausing in their action. One still held her reins, though the yell had scared him—the other ran.
“Svana!” Jocelyn came to my side, she picked up a rock and armed herself with it.
Someone, somewhere, called for me, but I ignored it, brutally charging the one who remained, dagger out.
The approach could only be described as deranged mania, but then Miss Josie followed suit, hurling her stone, then she found another.
The men went back. One of them tripped; the other made a snide remark.
I stood protectively in front of my mare.
“She’s mine!” I said.
He scoffed. “She’s already dead!”
“She’s mine!” I told him. “Mine! And I will gut you for even touching her! You better hope you can run faster than a horse when I come for you!”
Isaac stirred behind me, stomping. She whinnied, madly, and then did it again.
“Try and take her from me, you shit!” I dared.
“Svana!” It was Cyrus then. He was there. The bandits' eyes flickered between him and me, and then they ran.
I felt instant relief.
“Svana,” Evergreen said. He gave his hand to me like a plate. “It’s okay, Svana. It’s alright. They’re gone. Give me the dagger, love.”
His cottage burned behind him, the fire excessively high, but Mr. Evergreen remained unmoved, and set on whatever he had said to me. I hadn’t heard it, but then I realized he wanted the blade.
My eyes fell to its edge, painted with red. Blood—the same covered my hand, my blouse, my skirt and blotted the ground in random places. Someone was breathing awfully somewhere. Me.
“The dagger,” he told me.
I trembled, gripping it. “No.”
“Alright,” he said, slowly coming forward anyway. “Keep it then; it’s yours, but it’s over now. Alright? You’re safe.”
“I…”
“You’re safe,” he said. “That’s what you are— safe.” He swallowed.
“Safe?” I asked.
“Look, the first time you kill someone, it changes you. The feeling will fade in time. Just… you had to do it, Princess. Aye? You had to; you saved my life. You saved Issac’s life. You saved your own.”
I looked at the horse, stunned, and said, “It’s not the first time I’ve killed someone, Mr. Evergreen.”