Chapter 7 #2
“I wouldn’t have worn such clothes if I knew I’d see anyone,” she said.
“It will be our secret,” he said. He shifted his weight, and his leg was pressed against hers.
She looked to the place they touched. Surely, it was by accident. He couldn’t know what the contact did to her.
“Philippe?” she started, speaking, saying anything to distract herself. “May I ask you something?”
He looked at her. “Of course,” he said after a moment.
His eyes were different from when they practiced—softer, warmer. She looked away but continued. “It is something I have wondered for a long time. There is no one better to ask than you—”
“Ask me, chérie,” he pressed.
Alex swallowed to calm herself. “How do I take a man,” she asked, looking back to him, “once he has put me down?”
Philippe stared at her and blinked wide eyes. “Um, what?”
“I’m not very good at grappling.” She shrugged. “You know, if I lose my sword during a spar and get wrestled to the ground. I don’t have the strength to fight them off. Do you have any advice?”
Philippe gave his head a quick shake and coughed. Then turned to her and spoke sternly. “Well, my advice would be to try and avoid being caught under the wrong man at all costs.” Then he winked. “In terms of grappling, of course,” he said with a roguish smile.
A hot fever of a blush came over her. “I didn’t mean—”
“Tell me,” he said, still grinning. “Why are you so taken with sword fighting?”
“Why?” she echoed. Did he not remember giving her her first sword? Or how he had let her win when they played as children? She couldn’t say such things. But there was another truth, and she felt a proud smile creep onto her lips as she said it. “I’m good at it,” came her reply.
He laughed again. “You are indeed.” He rested back on his elbows. “You’re different from other girls,” he said, working his eyes across her face.
“No kidding,” she said. She tugged at her pants.
“That’s not what I mean,” he said, his voice soft.
She turned to him sharply and saw a shade to his expression she had never seen before.
It was raw and indulgent and caused her to shiver in response.
What had happened? What had changed? Something spiraling deep inside her told her that he was no longer looking at her like a girl. This was a man responding to a woman.
“Alex,” he said. His voice had gone gravelly.
“Yes?” she replied, the words rushing from her lips.
"Has anyone given you your first kiss?”
“My first kiss?” she laughed. “The boys are all scared of me.”
He reached forward to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not,” he said, hesitating a moment, before he let his next words spill into the night. “Would you mind if it were me?”
The world came to a sudden standstill, sure that she was dreaming. Taking a shaky breath, Alex whispered with her eyes cast down, “I wouldn’t mind.”
“Then lie back, little fox,” he said, his eyes sparkling, “So I may find your lips.”
She leaned into the soft moss. It can’t be.
It can’t be. Her mind spun the words over and over as he placed one hand on the ground beside her.
He hovered above her, a hair's breadth away.
She looked into his eyes and felt everything else slipping away.
The water rippling beside them was gone.
The moon above them was gone. Her breath slowed; her lips tingled. And there was only Philippe.
He dropped his head, enough to make contact.
His lips teased hers apart. Then he moved closer, giving Alex her first taste of intimacy.
He stroked his hand through her hair, and took another delicate drink from her lips, lingering long enough to change Alex’s entire world.
But before pressing his body closer, like she thought he would, he stopped and pulled back.
He looked down into her eyes, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “Come now,” he said. “You must sleep if you plan to win.”
She wanted more, she wanted everything, but she would take it as a promise of what was to come. He smiled, then he rose and held his hand out. She took it, and they began the walk home.
The moonlight brought them to the back doors of the palace. As they approached, Philippe leaned in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Go in, belle,” he said, smiling. “I shall leave you here.”
She nodded and grinned, drunk on the magic of the beautiful life that had just been sworn to her.
She realized, walking up the steps in a daze, that she had always been fascinated to learn what it took to become a man.
But at that moment, and for the first time in her life, Alex wanted to know what it meant to be a woman.
Whatever it meant, giving up her sword, becoming a proper lady, she didn’t care.
She would become whatever he wanted her to be if it meant being his woman.
Odd, she thought briefly, that he didn’t come inside and go up to his own room.
The next morning, Alex stood in the preparation area next to the arena where the games were being held.
The town was alight with energy and the little practice cove set up for the juniors was filled with the sounds of clanging swords and boys shouting.
Alex stood alone, unfocused and dreamy. What better feeling was there than to be in love?
Doves in her heart! Harps strumming above her!
Then she heard a voice that could destroy her on even the best of days.
It was Emily, beautiful Emily in a lavender silk gown, with her bouncy blond hair, pouty pink lips and ice blue eyes.
She glided up to Alex with an expression Alex knew meant trouble.
Emily came from a well-known and well-connected family in Chevalerie.
She was a few years older, and everything Alex wasn’t: graceful, stylish, elegant.
Vindictive and cruel. Though Alex could knock down boys twice her size, Emily fought with weapons Alex didn’t understand, often teasing and confusing Alex to tears.
Alex hated Emily.
This time, though, Alex knew something Emily didn’t, and a newfound confidence wrapped her in knight’s armor.
“Not now, please,” Alex said, trying out a haughty air. “I haven’t the time.”
“Don’t talk to me like we are equal, are you thick?” Emily tugged Alex’s hair.
Startled, Alex lost the grip on her sword. It clattered to the ground. “Don’t touch me,” she stammered. Oh, she could not wait to see Emily’s reaction when Philippe declared his intentions.
Emily grabbed the sleeve of Alex’s dress, pulling her close. “Stay away from Philippe,” she whispered in Alex’s ear. “He is mine,” Emily growled.
Alex pushed out of Emily’s grip and backed up.
She hadn’t wanted to say anything yet, but Emily was making things quite impossible.
Really, it was her only choice. She couldn’t deny it would feel very good to put Emily in her place for once.
“I don’t wish to inform you this way,” she began with newfound sophistication.
“Philippe shall declare his intentions for me soon. Perhaps even tonight at the champions’ ball.
” The words made her feel prouder than she ever had in her life.
“Oh, you poor, silly girl.” Emily laughed mirthfully with her hands up to her lips. “Do you think you deserve a man like him?”
“But,” Alex hesitated. “It’s true.”
“He told me he practiced with you last night,” Emily said. Then she lowered her voice and leaned in. “Then he warmed my bed.”
Alex stared at her, not quite understanding. “What do you mean—”
Emily crossed her arms. “Think hard,” she said, a smirk at her lips.
It couldn’t be true. Surely Philippe wouldn’t have kissed her if he didn’t plan to pursue her formally.
But the more Alex thought about it, the more Emily’s words rang true.
Philippe hadn’t made any promises or said he had intentions for her.
He hadn’t lingered with her, stealing more kisses in the moonlight.
He hadn’t even pretended to go to his own room in the palace after they said goodnight.
Alex blinked. Her gushing happiness drained into the dirt below, leaving her stinging and parched.
“Emily,” came a commanding voice behind them. It was Philippe. He’d come around the fence and stood just a few steps away.
Emily turned to him. “There you are, My Lord,” she said in a sugary tone. She curtseyed low to the ground then rushed to take him by the arm. “Philippe, Alexandra seems to think that you have intentions for her.” Then she asked, “Is that true, Monsieur?”
The bewilderment on his face said enough. Alex looked away, the horror of her delusion becoming real.
Then Emily called to the boys around them. “Look! Look at her, everyone. This stupid girl thinks she has won the heart of the Duke’s son.” Her laugh came like a cackle.
“Emily,” Philippe hissed. “Stop it.”
But Emily wasn’t done. Her audience grew, the boys leaning against the fence or on the hilts of their swords, happy for the entertainment. “How have you won his heart, dear?” Emily continued. “With the drooping ribbons in your hair?”
Her words started a cascade of jeers, the boys taking the chance to throw out the taunts they couldn’t get away with during class.
“If I were Duke, you’d be in the stocks!”
“Leave the swords for the men!”
“Try the hilt and you won’t need a man!”
“Arrêtez!” Philippe commanded, silencing the boys, save a few coughs and chuckles.
“You’re right, Philippe,” Emily simpered. “Let us leave this child to play with her toys.” She moved towards Alex once more and whispered through her teeth, “Stay away from him, dirty girl, or I shall cut the waves from your hair and feed them to the chickens.”
That’s what it took. Something exploded inside Alex, angry and primal.
Before she could think, she had cut the distance to Emily, seized her by the throat, and slammed her against the fence behind them.
Alex didn’t know if it was this latest stunt or the years of humiliation at Emily’s hand, but something had changed inside her.
Her fear was gone. There was only instinct.