Chapter 2 Paeonia #2
His hands stroked her thighs above her stockings. “Yes, my love?”
She pulled her head away so he was forced to look at her. “We shouldn’t…” Her words trailed off, a blush rising to her cheeks as she looked toward the entrance into the house.
“No? And, why not?” He tilted his head, amused by her flustered state.
“Our parents.” She bit her lip, knowing they were just a few rooms away.
“They won’t come in here. My parents know this is private, just for you and me.”
She swallowed. “We’ll miss dinner.”
“It won’t take that long,” he chuckled.
“It’s wrong. We should wait until we’re wed,” she rushed as a last effort to stop him, still trying to sound playful.
He smiled. “There are many things we can do before we’re wed.
” He pulled her head toward his, his hand lost in her curly, blonde hair, locking his mouth with hers.
Except now, she didn’t reciprocate the kiss.
But that didn’t deter him, he simply moved to work his mouth against her neck.
The mewl she let out sounded an awful lot like pleasure.
His fingers wormed their way up her skirts and between her legs, and she gasped.
Not a lustful gasp, but a distraught one.
Could Barth tell the difference? She tried to close her legs, but he was trapped between them.
“It’s okay,” he coaxed.
He fiddled with his belt, and panic began to flutter inside her chest. She could do this.
She was to marry him now; this was expected of her.
She tried to melt into his touch. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself liking this, the way his hand touched her a bit roughly, the way he groaned in his chest.
Then he whispered, “Stars, Pae. I’ve wanted you for so long. I’ve waited so long.”
The use of the nickname she never liked made her grind her teeth. Her fists clenched as he pushed her skirts all the way up her hips, a gentle breeze from one of the open windows kissed her skin with ice.
She shook her head, her voice meek. “Stop.”
But he either didn’t hear her or didn’t care. Her stomach sank, her body trying to edge away from him, to shove him off, but she was too weak.
A soft cry left her lips, and Barth’s hold on tightened, placing kisses along the collar of her dress.
Then he shrieked, falling backward.
Paeonia’s eyes widened, watching helplessly as the flora attacked Barth, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
The vines tangled with his legs, dragging him away from her.
A tulip on the closest table stretched and wrapped once around his wrist, leaving a trail of glistening sap. He flinched as if it burned.
“What is this?” he shouted.
Paeonia sat frozen on the table, her skirt slinking back down.
She reached toward him, and the flora shot forward like they were under her command. She flinched, and Barth’s eyes flared with hurt.
“What’s wrong with you?” he accused, his gaze flickering from her, to the mirroring movements of the flora.
Paeonia shook her head. “I’m not doing this!”
“Ow, fuck!” he cursed as the vines tightened.
The faster her heart raced, the quicker they moved. Oh my stars, she was doing this.
When she reached out for Barth, unsure of what else to do, the vines moved with her, roping around his limbs even tighter. His jaw hung loose in shock.
“I’m sorry, I—” she fumbled, backing away.
“Fucking witchling,” he spat, almost in bewilderment more than anger, then grunted in pain.
Paeonia’s eyes welled at the name. She already felt so alone and isolated, attempting to trick herself into thinking she was content, and knowing Barth had let this name brew over his tongue rotted her heart. But she deserved it.
She darted for the door, stumbling back into the house in a mad dash, looking frantically for a side exit. Her chest constricted, making it hard to breathe.
“Nia, is that you, dear?” her father called.
She couldn’t answer, her mouth dry. She hastily fled through a side door before her father or the Beaumonts could come investigate the sudden noise, and stumbled outside, the sun almost completely set.
She trailed down the path, holding her skirt in her hands, running as fast as she could.
She sucked in large breaths of air, letting the cold numb her lungs.
Her ears were ringing; she had no idea if her father was calling out to her or not.
She ran.
She ran for so long.
When she stopped, she’d have to face the consequences of her actions, and for once, she didn’t want to think of others. So she kept running.
She ran until her legs refused to keep going, too tired from leaping over fallen trees and rough terrain. She had stumbled her way blindly into the woods, figuring that would give her the most coverage.
She collapsed onto the hardened ground, trying to steady her breathing. Then she began to laugh wildly. The sound echoed off the trees, filling the air around her, making her whole body shake.
She just ran away from home. And it felt so good.
She fell backward, her hair tangling with a bundle of flowers, smiling at the bits of sky she could see through the crowns of the evergreen trees. She hadn’t grabbed her coat, but she felt the furthest thing from cold. Her blood ran hot, her face flushed.
Eventually, her smile faded, and the sun sank closer toward the horizon, the woods dancing with shadows. She stood, not sure where she was. Dread swiftly replaced the brief reverie. She didn’t know where to begin walking to head back.
But what would be waiting for her when she returned?
A few moonflowers sparkled in the distance like they were waving at her.
She tilted her head curiously, studying the odd flowers, walking toward them.
Every time she got closer, another flower in the distance would shimmer, waving its petals.
She walked silently as she followed the path of flowers, her footsteps leaving toadstools in their wake.
Branches seemed to bend away to make room for her to pass, thorns shrinking away so she didn’t get cut. It felt like a dream.
“Curious,” she muttered, a little smile taking over her stained lips. How powerful her hallucinations could be.
When she looked up, the trees no longer blocked the sky that looked bloody with red hues, and she realized she was led out of the woods and into someone’s magnificent garden. She slid through the open gates and gasped. “Oh my.”
The evening light made the garden glow, a small castle in the backdrop.
She moved between rose bushes and onto the pebbled path.
Her fingers delicately stroked the stems and petals of flowers she passed, in true awe of them.
Some sank heavily, their leaves and petals wilting, but they were still beautiful.
Many of the bushes were free of blooms, but she knew they must have sprouted at one point.
It seemed to be an abandoned garden. An abandoned castle.
She thought she might have been overwhelmed if the garden was at its full potential, likely cutting her vision down to only a foot in front of her.
“Oh, I wish I could stay here,” she mumbled, squatting as she stared at her reflection in a small fountain, a statue splayed in the middle of it wrapped in ivy. Perhaps she could if no one truly resided here. She continued, “I wish I didn’t have to marry Barth.”
She had never said those words out loud, and it filled her immediately with tears. Some of the flowers beside her moved as if a breeze coursed through them, but the air was stagnant.
Her mind only momentarily wondered about where she was; she had never heard of or seen a magnificent garden in the woods. And beyond the garden, a small castle stretched high into the sky. Ancient and weathered. She must have traveled farther than she realized.
A few stray tears sank down her cheeks, and she bit her lip, the icy air freezing them on her red-stained face. Paeonia strolled silently as the lingering sorrow caressed her, still gawking at the huge floral bushes. They might be underkept, but the size and expanse of them were still impressive.
Something soft tickled her calf, and her despair quickly forged into a quiet giggle. A small golden fern bush rounded her leg, under her skirt, tickling her stocking-covered calf. She squatted, untangled it, and gave a sideways smile. “Tricky little thing,” she cooed.
The stem seemed to glimmer at her as it righted itself. Paeonia knew she’d look like she’d lost her mind if there was anyone around to watch her talk to the flowers, but she was alone. She had no need to mask her hallucinations.
She had grown used to her mirages, all the strange things she’d see the flowers do around her. She had grown used to the flora reacting to her words and touch. If nothing more than a hyperactive daydream—though, not to the extent of them moving to attack Barth.
When she stood, the small bush reached out for her. “I’m sorry, little flower. I wish I could stay here, but—” Her words got lost in her throat. She found it hard to admit she’d have to go back to Barth. To go back to the mess she left behind.
A rustle by the castle’s entrance made her spin around. She held her breath, waiting, watching for something to crawl out of the depths. If someone was in the garden with her, if Barth had followed her, what would they do after seeing her talk to the flowers like a mad woman?
But the wind only roared, gently shaking the bramble. On edge, she tried to calm herself, turning back to walk through the gardens. She needed to leave; she had no business here.
A branch snapped on her flank, the opposite way from the first shutter, and she jumped. When she stumbled back from the noise, nothing moved. Her heartbeat grew weary, her breath shortening.
“Barth,” she whispered, almost afraid of what might return her call.
Something invisible made her want to continue toward the manor. It felt like the flora were tugging her heartstrings.