29. Eveera
Eveera
The ballroom is blinding. It’s filled with masked patrons and decor ranging in various shades of dawn and gold.
The dark hue of my dress is a stark contrast to everything and everyone around me. I look like an ink blot on a fresh piece of paper.
At the center of all of it is the royal family. Mareese’s gown is various shades of orange; layers of silk draping down her thin frame, similar to petals. Eiser’s wearing an equally gaudy outfit in the colors navy and gold; the two of them stand waving and greeting their guests with tight smiles on their faces.
Meanwhile their son, Rorin, is spread out on his throne. His hair is tousled, the crown on his head the only thing taming his brown curls. The golden doublet he’s wearing is undone revealing a billowy white undershirt that has the barest little bit of his chest showing.
He is the picture of disorder and chaos next to his parents.
Their stares switch over to where I am as the crowd parts for me to approach them. “I’m not in the right color.” I whisper down the seal .
“Mm. Vellaran colors wash you out.” Rorin replies while his gaze drags down my body slowly, drinking me in.
“I don’t think it’s really your business to pay attention to what colors wash me out.” I chide.
He smirks, resting his chin in his hand . “I think it was when I was choosing the dress that’s on your body. ” Of course he chose the dress. When I get to the bottom of the dais Rorin hops up from his seat, extending out his hand. Gingerly I slip mine into it and he brings my knuckles up to his lips brushing them against the soft skin there. He then tugs on my arm, bringing me side to side with him on the steps, leaning in his breath is warm against my ear, “play along.” We walk up the rest of the stairs until I am standing level with his parents. His rough hands move up to my shoulders and he gently sits me down into the seat of his throne. Mareese releases a choked sound as she watches him do it.
Rorin winks and then sinks to a knee in front of me.
“Oh bleeding gods.” Mareese snaps.
One of his hands slips underneath my skirts and wraps around my calf, his long fingers moving quickly to undo and redo the laces of my heel. “Just fixing the Queen’s shoe.” He announces, winking at me again. Damn my stomach if it didn’t drop a little. He stands back to his full height, straightening his clothes to take up a spot next to me. A possessive hand cupping my shoulder and collarbone as we notice Baelor and his daughter approaching us.
“Thought we almost had a proposal there, prince. What a shock that would have been. Pruella would have been crestfallen.” My lips thin at the disturbing image of Rorin with Pruella and I reach my hand up to lace my fingers through his. “Giving out thrones there as well, I see.” Baelor’s proclaims stepping up to shake Eiser's hand.
“A royal deserves a throne at a celebration.” Rorin quips and Baelor’s beady eyes spark.
“Well, by that notion my daughter and I would be in need of one too.” His lips curling into a devious grin.
Rorin huffs out a strained laugh, “yes well, maybe if you weren’t waging a war against us, I would. Now if you’ll excuse us, it's getting a little crowded up here.” He snaps, pulling me up, and leading us down away from the other royals. The barest amount of magic is trickling between his fingers as he reaches back for my hand.
I look up at him, “What was all of that?”
His face is stoic as he moves us through the fray. " We’re playing a part, remember? Have to make it convincing.”
Things returned to normal quickly enough after Rorin and I stopped making such a spectacle of ourselves. The celebration melting away into all of its expected finery and debauchery. Performers, court jesters, and enough food to probably feed both the war fronts for weeks. The look on his face is all I need to know that seeing all of this wealth being flaunted about haunts him.
I finally spot our companions huddled tightly in a booth with one another. My men opted to skip the masks it would seem and because of that Millicent looks like an absurd decoration next to them. Bennett too, with his pale green outfit and mask of vines. He and Axel are laughing about something while Millicent’s placed herself on Orem’s knee. Mousy, Armond, and Ezra are the only three missing from the group, but I can’t say I’m surprised. My stomach dips at the thought of the latter, the taste of him still sour on my tongue threatens to turn it .
Rorin grabs two drinks from a server, passing me one of them. He smirks before tipping the glass to his lips, swallowing the shimmering orange drink. I do the same and grimace. “It looks good on you.” He notes gesturing a hand up and down the length of me. “The dress.”
“Did you expect me to look anything but good? Ever?”
He shakes his head laughing, “no, of course not.”
I make the same gesture at his clothes that he did to mine. “You don’t look…awful.”
His brow raises. “Mm. It’s the mask, isn’t it?”
“It helps.” I say. His face breaks into a wide grin and I have to hide my own behind the lip of my glass.
While watching the crowd we both notice a guard flagging down Rorin. The guard’s head jerks towards where an anxious looking Mousy waits. “Great. I’m sorry, Eveera. It would appear there’s Will needs help handling.”
“I’ll come with.” I state.
His eyes are apologetic. “Stay. I'm sure it’s nothing but petty noble issues. Go and sit with the rest of our group, try and have fun with Millicent, I promise I'll be back quickly." I nod, setting my drink down on passing server's tray.
“I can keep her company, prince.” We both turn our heads at the intrusion of Baelor’s voice which has Rorin quickly shooting an arm out to push me behind him.
“I’ll handle him.” I say through the seal. Rorin looks over his shoulder his mouth open to object, but the guard from the doorway has no walked over here, urging Rorin to follow him. He looks guiltily between myself and the guard.
He turns around and pulls me into his chest, letting a kiss settle on the top of my hair. “Playing a part, remember?” He reminds as the tenderness of the kiss spreads through me. He reluctantly lets me go, and when he does a cold hand quickly replaces his touch, wrapping around my wrist, directly over the rune.
“A dance shall we, Your Highness?”
“Sure. I’ll just need to melt my skin off where you touched it later.” I say off handedly to Rorin.
Baelor leads me out onto the floor, we stand uncomfortably close as he spins me into the steps of a waltz. “You certainly were a surprise for me to happen upon. In Vellar of all places.”
I give him a strained smile, my teeth clenching tight. “You’re right. I’m typically happened upon underneath beds or in closets.”
His eyes light, “ahh yes. The Queen of Nightmares. How could I forget? Your magic is legendary. ” The serpents on my back slither in response to the way he references my Wield.
“I imagine all magic is quite fascinating for you. Considering you have none of your own. Though I guess you’ve acquired quite the variety of Wielders with your occupation of Evendell. Nature magic is a unique force, to be sure. You control nature, you control the battle fields, the crops, the water supply. Funny how that is.” Baelor’s fingers twitch against me in irritation, but his smile remains on his lips. It dawned on me after fighting them in Bair and after see the almost desolate farms fields. Yes, armies drain resources but the rate at which they were depleting? It wasn’t adding up - not for petty skirmishes. But if nature Wielders were tainting the land…the pieces of the puzzle fell together much quicker with that explanation. “You may think you have them here, with your peace treaties, and your niceties. But you do not fool me, King Baelor. My power isn’t meant to be used only on the offensive. And I am not afraid of Wielding. You don’t become the boogeyman without a certain repertoire. ”
His lips turn down in a frown. Deep lines shadowing his already gaunt and sickly pallor. “Power is not just in the ley lines, Queen Eveera. It is in the devotion of men too. You’d do well to remember that.”
“It’s a good thing I have both then, isn’t it?” I warn as the music dies down the two of us separating from one another with a curt bow.
After Baelor slipped back into whatever hell hole he came from I decided to take up space in a shadowed balcony and wait for Rorin to come back. The celebration has gone on in all its grandeur in the meantime and my higher vantage point has given me the ability to overlook the whole of it. Down below me I can see everything and everyone. I lean forward on the railing watching the people come and go, my men are still in the same booth minus Millicent and Bennett. She’s off talking with a few other ladies and Bennett must have gone and joined with Rorin and Mousy.
In the far right corner I see the bright red hair of Pruella, she’s surrounded awkwardly by her guards. As if she sensed my stare, the young princess looks up into my corner, our eyes meeting from across the room. I narrow mine at her, debating on whether it would be easy to enter her mind and figure her out. It would be stupid of me to try to Wield on her in such a public setting. Especially when the people in this room save for two or three are not favored to me and by some sick twist of fate and ideals, I have a feeling they would be much quicker to defend her than defend me.
My focus drifts away from the princess and I’s staring contest when I feel the all too familiar presence of him at my back. How he got up here so quickly, or how he found me draped in shadows is a wonder to me.
I grip the edge of the balcony breaking eye contact with her and staring down at all those dancing, at the king and queen staring over the court, the all too casual behavior with Baelor amongst them. Behaving like they’re old friends or comrades.
His voice is low. “You’re hiding.” With how often he leans in to talk to me, or how frequent I feel his warm breath on my skin, I wouldn’t expect to have goosebumps rise on my flesh at it every time.
Whoooosh. My breath leaves me in one long exhale, I can feel his gaze drop to where my chest is rising and falling. I noticed awhile ago that he tends to count the motion though he hasn’t deigned to give me an explanation. Not that I’ve asked however.
“I’m not hiding. I was bored.”
“Mmm. Next time you attend, I’ll petition that they add a flogging or maybe a hanging?” His chest presses up against me and the rumbling of his quiet laughter vibrates across my back. I can feel the pads of his cool fingers brush a few rogue strands from my neck. The featherlight touch has me fighting every muscle in my body that wants to lean into him.
There’s no one to watch you now. No part to play. Remember. You. Hate. Him. I repeat in my mind, the walls closed tight to the seal so he doesn’t hear me needing to convince myself. “It’s stifling. The air of normalcy with your enemy standing in the room.”
If even possible his voice seems to get deeper. More sultry. “Ah. Well see, technically I have two enemies standing in the room with me. One dangerously close at the moment.” He mutters against my hair, the proximity between us is serving only to prove that with each day the hard lines of our partnership seem to blur more.
“I’ll remedy that.” I say, pushing off the railing and pulling myself away from his nearness. I’m hoping the distance created will give me a moment to clear him from my senses .
It doesn’t, and the distance is short lived.
Rorin’s hand meets my wrist and whips me around so that he has me caged me against the alcove wall. The two of us are now completely shrouded in shadows, away from anyone who might decide to look up into the balcony. “Eveera.” I struggle to keep my gaze cast down and sever any further progression of the two of us but it’s too late. He knows me .
His finger hooks under my chin. “Give me those eyes, Nightmare.”
Reluctantly, I look up, a war of emotions raging inside of me. His frustration mirrors my own and I see now that I am not the only one fighting this war. That I’m not alone in fighting to not lose control, to not give in. But day by day, from the moment we met, we never stood a chance at winning that war. Our chests are pressed together, both heaving in breaths. Our position is precarious against the stone.
Those molten hazel eyes drop to my lips and then my throat and before I realize what’s happening he presses his lips against my pulse and lingers there. I shift one of my hands off the cold wall and lay it on his chest. My intent was to push him away, to rebuild the walls between us…that was the intent at least…
The tension melts from his body the moment my hand touches him back and he melts into me. His right hand comes down from above my head to grip the nape of my neck while he dips mouth to my throat again, leaving a trail of hot kisses up the column of it. I can’t help the gasp that slips out as I feel the flick of his tongue back and forth against my pulse. He groans at the noise I made, his hand flexing while latching harder onto my skin.
“ What would it take to hear that again?” The velvet of his voice trickles down the seal into my mind. His hand abandons the grip on the back of my neck, dropping down to toy with the slit in my dress. Rough fingertips graze against my bare thigh. His lips find the place behind my ear that when he nips at it causes my knees to buckle. “You’re intoxicating, Nightmare.” My palm is still frozen, trapped between us. The only things leaving me are sighs that should be protests but instead are only more encouragement. My left hand at some point made its way underneath his doublet and is wrinkling the loose fabric of his shirt.
A kiss presses in at my temple and Rorin lets out a dark laugh, “oh but you hate me.” The tone of his voice is solemn, desperate. “ Fuck. You hate me.”
I stay rooted in my spot, I don’t breathe, I don’t speak. He looks at me and I can feel my face wanting to crumple at the plea in those eyes. I’m fighting the urge, with every scrap of self-resolve I have, to not throw myself at him. To not kiss him until our lips are numb and our clothes are a wadded and torn up mess on the floor. He brings both hands away from my body to cup my face, drawing our foreheads together. “I have to hear you say it, beloved. I need to hear you say it.” He pleads, his voice almost inaudible.
Beloved. The word rings through my mind as blood rushes into my ears. Beloved. It’s not the first time he’s used this endearment but, this time, it feels real. It doesn’t feel like we are playing a part anymore. “Say what?” I choke out.
He pulls back, thumb stroking my cheek. “I need to hear you tell me you hate me. Just like all those times before, I need you to tell me now. Because if you don’t, I’ll assume you’re feeling all the things I am right at this moment and take that as my invitation. Because if you don’t, I won’t be able to stop. Won’t be able to stop kissing you or needing you. I won’t be able to erase the feel of your skin underneath my fingers. Hell, I may never be able to do that last one regardless.” He’s breathing heavily, his words all rushing together. “Have mercy on me, Nightmare. Just this once, have mercy…tell me you hate me.”
He’s begging me. The taunt I made all those weeks ago, about liking the idea of him begging me for something, never did I think he would be begging for this. For the three words that I’ve been chanting in my head as a reminder for my stupid, feeble heart.
The palm I have resting on his chest slides up slowly to lay against his neck. “I hate you.” I whisper.
And I don’t mean a damn word of it.
His touch falls so quickly from my face, taking rapid steps back from me. He nods, rubbing rubbing his jaw and pressing his tongue into his cheek. “A-hem. Thank you.” Rorin turns quickly on his heel and every step he takes further away from me feels worse than the whips I’ve used across my skin.
You were supposed to hate him…
The words drift into my mind. A painful reminder.
I know I was…