My husband leans casually on the doorway between the bedroom and the changing room, smirking. Dressed in last night's white shirt and jacket, unbuttoned, the fabric clings loosely to his frame. With his dark hair all disheveled as if it was ruthlessly blown by the wind without restraint, as if he had been out flying.
His lips curling into a smirk, eyes locking onto mine through the mirror in that dangerous, magnetic gaze as he stalks closer, slow and deliberate. My breath hitched as his hand rises to rest on my bare shoulders. His soft touch sending shivers down my spine, making my body come to life.
"I love your dress," he murmured, brushing my curls aside, clearing a path for his desire as if he had the right. "The green suits you," he whispered, low and rough against my skin.
His hand drifts lower to my waist, lingering while I remain still. His scent of fresh pines and rough winds coiled around me, keeping me still.
Our eyes meet in the mirror when I feel his teasing warmth against my skin.
"Where were you?" I asked in a weak attempt to break this spell between us.
No matter how much I want to melt into his touch, I can't help but thought of the last memory I've had of us. This thing we created. This magical thing that we've unknowingly killed.
"I was out, riding with Vala," he replied, pressing his lips on my shoulder.
I move out of his touch just as he looks at me questioningly. I don't bother addressing it, though, positioning myself at the entrance of our bedroom. A safe distance separating us.
"Is there a problem?" he asked, crossing his arms, seeing the way I recoiled against his kiss must've bothered him. Were we really that close? Somehow I'm not entirely convinced we were.
"No," I replied, shaking my head as I shrugged. "I just feel like we're moving too fast."
His eyebrows pulled together in confusion.
"Need I remind you," he said, making his way to me while I instinctively step back, matching each step he's taking, "how many times we've fucked last night?"
I flinched, visibly, at the way he said 'fucked'. As if what we did last night was purely out of lust. Mere slaves to our bodies.
"You don't have to remind me," I muttered under my breath, trying to hide the small wound forming in my chest. "It's not like I forgot."
He stopped in his tracks. Abruptly. So sudden it made me look up, wondering what I could've possibly said to knock the wind out of him like that.
"What? What did I say?" I asked, my voice sharper now.
His brows drew together once more, studying me like a puzzle that had just shifted under his fingers. The way his eyes then flicked over to my face, searching for something. I don't know what.
My hand flies to my face, wondering if I have something there even though I've just been staring at my reflection for a long time. I know I don't. Realizing how foolish I'm becoming, I let them fall back to my sides.
"You're keeping something from me," he declared, his expression hard, tone accusatory.
His finger is raised between us, and I can't help but stare at it, confused.
"I'm going to find out what it is," he said menacingly. To anyone it would've strike fear, but to me, it's a fuel to the fire that's growing within.
"Am I not allowed to have secrets?" I challenged, swatting his finger away. All that possessiveness is starting get old.
I catch his pupils flaring at my challenge, but before I can fully decipher what it means, he steps closer, accepting the challenge. I stumble back until my back hits the wall, anger and excitement coursing through my veins.
"You're mine, remember?" Vesper's hand goes to my throat, and my hands flying to his wrist, trying to pry him off or pull him closer, I don't know.
"One night doesn't make me yours," I rasped. He loosens his grip a little, as if my words had affected him. "And I don't remember."
"Tell me what you remembered last night," he said, slamming me against the wall.
"None of your business," I bit out through gritted teeth.
"Anything that has to do with you, wife," he spat, "has everything to do with me."
"Not this one."
For a second, silence hangs between us, thick and electric.
His jaw clenches, eyes searching mine looking for something. That cruelty that lurks beneath, or weakness, regret, I don't know. Either way, I give nothing away, my expression only hardening.
He lets out a sharp breath, disgusted as his hand drops from me like I'm poison. Taking a step back, he shakes his head then turns on his heel, leaving me still with my back against the wall, more confused than ever. One moment he's treating me like a man in heat, the next, his cruelty takes over. Just what did he want from me?
I wait until he disappears through the doors leading to the bathroom before slipping away.
I may not know my way around this place, but I just had to get away. I can't be here when he steps out of that bathroom, looking all gloriously naked. I can't be around him naked. Why am I even thinking of him naked? Especially after what he had just said and done.
I shake my head, clearing those ridiculous thoughts away as I cross through the bedroom, heading towards the two front doors that I've seen Nadine and the two maidservants walked into. Being lost here surely sounds more appealing than being stuck inside here. It's starting to drive me insane, after his mood swings and whatever conversation we just had.
There are two guards stationed between the bedroom doors. I was about to take a step out further when I stumble back in surprise.
An old man appeared out of nowhere, dressed in a neat suit with his head bowed.
"Good morning, Your Grace," he greeted. "Sincerest apologies for startling you, I'm Arthur, His Majesty's most trusted steward."
With my hand still clasped on my chest, he takes my silence as his signal to continue, "His Majesty had instructed me to lead you to breakfast. He has informed me of your...condition, as well." He must be referring to my memories.
I nod in reply, still not used to all the formalities and the way they tend to cower in my presence. Arthur, despite standing right across from me and talking, still couldn't even meet my eyes. Like I'm a curse.
"Please, follow me, Your Grace," he instructed, with his head bowed low and walking right in front of me, posture straight with his hands clasped behind his back and all.
One of the guards stationed by the door trail behind us like a shadow. I fold both my hands in front of me, holding onto my elbows as I walk, taking in the beauty of the gray arches, decorated with intricate carvings of roses and dragons. These must've been the symbols of this family, for they are adorned in all the intricate edges of these walls.
Plush blue carpet lined the hardwood floors beneath our feet, decorated with golden moons and stars as we make our descent through the wide, elegant staircase. My hand glides through the smooth railings, carved from the luxurious gray marble. Admiring my pale complexion against the sunlight that streams through the tall, windows above, bathing the steps in a soft, white glow.
Arthur leads me into a hallway before we reach a dining room, framed by tall windows that overlook a courtyard. Its walls covered with blue floral patterns, making us seem like we're dining within a porcelain painting. It's breathtaking. I can't help but feel my eyes widening and my lips parting at the sight.
The guard that followed us had stationed himself outside the threshold to grant us some semblance of privacy, despite the opened doors. It's starting to make me doubt the safety of these thick, castle walls. Maybe the enemy's not out there, but within.
"Please, have a seat, Your Grace," Arthur said, gesturing at the two tall chairs already placed next to each other, right in front of the delicious food already laid out on the table.
He steps aside just as I make my way toward the chair facing the courtyard window. Something about the place draws me in. I was about to pull out the chair, when a pair of hands gently rested on top of mine. Arthur had disappeared off somewhere. I look up to see who it was.
"Allow me," Vesper said, appearing as if from thin air.
Didn't he just walk into the bathroom? How did he get here so fast?
I step back, allowing him to pull out the chair for me and settle into the seat. Our earlier conversation still fresh in my mind, so I can't help the glare that's escaping out of my eyes as he moves quietly to take his place at the head of the table. I try to quell the rage, threatening to unleash itself within me.
"I'm not apologizing," he stated, picking up his utensils to dig into his food. "So you can glare at me all you want."
"How did you get here so fast?" I asked, seeing as he was already dressed in clothes that are much more fitted for entertaining guests. A dark green doublet that matches my dress with a pair of dark slacks.
"I'm a man," he said it with a crooked grin, slicing into his eggs. "We don't spend half the morning scrubbing and fussing over tunics."
I roll my eyes, picking pieces of bread with my hand and biting into it. I could feel his eyes on me right then, looking at me strangely as if I'm growing an extra head right then and there.
"What?" I mumbled, mid-chewing.
"Nothing, it's just that..."
I look up, brushing my hair back and placing my bread back on my plate.
"You remind me of someone," he said, his voice softer, as if he's far away.
I pick up my utensils and begin cutting into my bread, just like he's doing. If he's entitled to secrets, then so am I. But the moment's gone just like that.
"Vesper..." I began, my fork poking at my egg and bread, "about what I said earlier..."
"Don't worry about it," he cut in nonchalantly, chewing.
If he thinks I'm going to apologize then he thought wrong. Arrogant bastard.
"I was going to say that I wouldn't make the same mistake twice," I replied coolly.
"Which one?" he asked, his tone flat. "The fucking, or the secret?"
"The former," I replied confidently.
He chuckled, all of a sudden, making me sit up a little straighter wondering if he'd actually lost it. This man was cycling through emotions faster than I take in my surroundings. Which is a remarkable feat, considering how I've lost all my memories and I'm literally starting with a blank canvas.
"And here I thought you love me now," he said it with a sharp edge in his voice, reminding me of the night before, when I lied to him about what I remembered.
"I never said I did," I blurted, my own chest tightening at my words. I didn't know why I said that. It just came out of me without thinking.
Now that I see the way he looks at me, it made me almost want to take it back. Almost.
"Right," he said tightly, setting his utensils down with deliberate care before rubbing his jaw with frustration.
"You never technically said it, sure. But I remember you telling me you remembered us kissing under the moonlight."
He gave me a tight, humorless smile before continuing, "So which is it now? We've kissed under many moonlights, so tell me, which is it that you remember?"
He's insane. I'm pretty sure he's going insane.
I can feel the heat of frustration, flooding through my veins, all sharp and sudden. Eyes flicking towards the butter knife, lying innocently by my hand, I itch to feel the cold silver around my hand. It would've been so easy, seeing it's just the both of us in this very room. But I still need him. There's some part of me that still gnawed relentlessly at the thought of hurting him. Even after everything, for fuck's sake.
"I saw the way you changed when the memory hit you," he said quietly, his dark eyes calculating, sweeping over me like a predator assessing its prey. "You've been through so much, Iris. Maybe we can use this as a chance to start over."
"Pray tell, dear husband," I drawled, leaning back against my chest with my arms folding over my chest, "how exactly would I start over, if I can't even remember what I'm starting over from?"
He's changing tactics. I can tell.
He's leaning back against his chair, mirroring my movements but more relaxed. "Maybe you don't have to remember anymore. Maybe we can spend time together somewhere more...alone. By the sea, perhaps? Just like our honeymoon."
The audacity of this man. I can't stand this anymore. Barely a few days together and I want nothing more than to kill him and kiss him at the same time. It's infuriating!
I push my chair back, the scraping sound it makes against the floor like a final punctuation to the moment as I stand and started to leave the room, needing a space to breathe before I do something I regret.
"Don't walk away from this," he stared at me, his gaze burning through every steps I've taken.
"Sit down. I'm sorry if I offended you."
I let out a bitter laugh, stopping in my tracks. "Seriously? After you told me you loved me, fucked me like I meant something, threatened me, then expect my full loyalty?"
I heard his chair scraping back, followed by his harsh steps as he crossed the distance between us. I turn and meet him halfway in three hard steps.
"You think that lousy apology covers suggesting locking me away like I'm some dirty secret? Or is it easier to fuck some whore when no one knows where you've stashed your beloved wife?"
"Watch your words," he bit out, his finger pointing at me, between us. It's that damn finger again. I'm starting to hate it.
"Or what?" I retorted, fists clenched, relishing at the blood roaring in my ears, making me feel alive.
He growled, his hand shot out and grip my throat hard, yanking me closer.
"Or I'll remind you what it's like to be fucked like a whore."
We're only a breath away. Our bodies pressed against each other. So close, so tight.
I clenched my jaw, biting down my lip hard, drawing blood just to smother the moan that's trying to claw its way up my throat, just by the way he's looking at me. With nothing but need. Pure, raging need.
"Well?" I gasped, the words scraping out through the pressure in my throat, causing his grip to relax a little, just a little. "Are you?"
His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring as war broke behind his eyes. He pressed his head against mine, as if he needed the touch to ground him. The frustration that passed between us so raw, it silenced us both. By then, I knew that this softer, more human part of him had prevailed. The same part that picked me up and rescued me from the prison.
I held onto his wrist, feeling his erratic pulse against my fingers as Vesper's grip loosened. I forced myself not to show my disappointment.
I didn't have to try long though, when he pulls me close all of a sudden. He brushes my hair back before pressing his lips to mind, as though I was the most precious thing in his world.
"I don't deserve you," he murmured softly against my lips, barely audible, like a terrifying secret.
"No, you don't," I replied, my voice calm despite my thundering heart.
He freezes at my words, my words hitting him harder than I intended.
Slowly he pulls back, his hand falling away from my throat, leaving a chilling emptiness in its wake. The way his eyes had darkened, there was this mix of pain and something else, some kind of resignation.
Like a fool, I just stand there watching him leave in silence, making me wonder if I truly had gone too far.
"Your Grace," someone called from behind. Arthur.
"His Majesty has asked me to show you around the castle, give you a proper tour," he said, his head bowed in a brief show of respect.
"Okay," I mumbled, feeling the way my lips are still swollen by his sudden kiss.
"And that you are to join him and the others for a picnic later, for lunch," he added.
"Okay."