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Along that wall, passed a nightstand riddled with dust-sprinkled books and a glimmering tiara, was a door to the bathing room and another that likely led to her dressing room.
I turned to the long row of shelving behind me and a dressing table cluttered in spools of material and piles of half-mended clothes. Upon the shelves, I discovered more books, notebooks, perfume bottles, and feathered quills by a cluster of inkpots.
I plucked up a perfume bottle and uncorked it. Opal was quick to snatch it from my hand. “Careful, that’s my favorite.”
“Vanilla rose and…” I sniffed the remnants lingering in the chilled air. “Like a brown sugar. Caramel?”
Opal hid her smile behind the crystal bottle, then recorked it and gently set it back on the shelf next to the many others. “You cheat with a nose like that. Though it would be handy next time I…” She trailed off with a slight puckering of her brows.
“Next time you what?”
“I was going to say next time I make some.” She threw her hand in the air, forcing a quick smile before strutting away. “But who knows if that will happen or when. It’s stupid.”
I followed her, not liking her tone, the hint of sadness within. “It’s not stupid. You make it yourself?” I turned back to the shelves. “All of those?”
“Yes,” she said, sounding farther away.
I found her inside the doorway of her dressing room, frozen solid before a frilled gown.
A wedding gown.
Her disappointment bled into the room, made me long to tear the dress from its hanger and rip it to pieces.
“So it’s not what you would have chosen,” I said for her and moved in to place my hands upon her hips. “But you will do that gown a favor, make it all the more beautiful by allowing it to grace this body.”
I heard her swallow, and she leaned back into me slightly with a tremulous sigh.
“Come.” I turned her into the room and toward the bed. “We should sleep before someone hears and discovers us.” When she hesitated, I offered, “Or we could go find your mother and let her know of our arrival. It would be the courteous thing to do, would it not?”
Opal spun around then, gri
“So we hide until we marry,” I said, finding that humorously unattainable.
“Basically, yes.”
Stubborn, clever swan.
I kept my boots on and walked to the window seat to view what laid beyond. Mountains rippled through the dark veil of night, my brethren slumbering but on guard, not a tiny glow of campfire in sight.
The reek of too many different flowers and plants perfumed the breeze, dragging my eyes to the gardens beneath the window that stretched toward the fields and forest in the distance.
How many nights, I wondered, taking a seat upon the cushioned bench, had my swan sat right here, mending garments, reading, bottling perfume, and daydreaming while I’d been out there. While I’d been across the ravine, miles away from her castle, plotting and plundering and plucking their people off. In death or surrender, it did not matter. I’d taken and taken, and I’d felt nothing for it save for a sense of righteousness because justice was never served.
It was delivered in the dead of night by a horde of beasts and their vengeful king.
“I’ve been a king since before I learned how to say the word,” I said quietly to the window I gently pulled closed. “Yet I’ve never actually felt like one.”
I wasn’t sure she’d say anything when a minute of silence passed, but then Opal whispered, “You had no time to wrap your head around the idea of it.” The bedding rustled, and I looked that way, her golden hair spilling over the pillows. “A king is what you’ve always been.”
But was it all I’d be, and what I’d continue to be? Only the stars knew.
“I’m not fond of the idea of becoming a queen,” she shocked me by saying. “I don’t hate the thought of it, but I don’t know…”
“You’re not sold on it,” I said, smiling a little. “A ruthless queen you will make, though, my gentle swan.”
She stifled her laughter, then sighed and asked, “You think so?”
“I know so,” I said instantly. Forcing my eyes from her shifting form beneath those blankets, I looked back out the window. “Those not in power would set fire to our souls to hear us talk of such things.”
“They don’t understand.”
“No,” I agreed, watching the moon spray light over swaying sunflowers. “I don’t suppose anyone understands much of anything they’ve yet to experience for themselves.”
Opal shifted again. “Come lay with me.”
“Next to you or inside you?” I hoped for the latter all the while hoping she’d say no because I wouldn’t be able to, and it could give our presence here away.
Opal just giggled, smothering it with her hand as I rose from the window and gently kicked off my boots at the side of her bed.
Her smile drooped, teeth taking her bottom lip when I removed my vest and loosened my tunic. She lifted the bedding, and though I knew I’d overheat, I didn’t tell her not to bother.
I’d be closer to her under it.
Her hand snuck beneath her cheek, lashes shadowing them both while she surveyed me getting settled, my head upon the pillow next to hers. “You seem nervous.”
I pushed up on an elbow to better see her. “Would it make me less kingly to admit that I am?”
Her free hand tapped my nose, her eyes smiling. “It would make you honest.”
I took the opportunity to ask, “Honest answer?”
“Always,” she whispered.
“Were you afraid? Living here while I was out there…” I swallowed, unable to say the rest.
“Taking your vengeance,” she finished for me, and I could only keep my eyes locked on hers. “Yes,” she said. “Though it was more a fear from feeling helpless, my gift not really a gift at all yet still something I had to hide, and no one really knew why.”
I wondered over that for a moment, but I didn’t need to wonder long. “Because you will be my end.”
Horror engulfed those eyes, gold turning a liquid orange. “You know I ca
I bit my lip and smoothed a rogue curl from her forehead. “I do adore seeing you try.” She smacked my hand away, and we both laughed silently. I sobered, wanting to know more. An odd sense of urgency to know everything erupted, ridding me of patience. “So you were trapped in here, protected at all costs, bottling your perfumes and writing journal entries about evil young kings.”
Her flat expression said I had her pegged, and then she said, “I did not write journal entries. I sometimes draw and write stories. Fictional,” she said, and though it was dark, I saw her cheeks color, “but yes, they were fun in keeping me entertained.”
“What type of stories?” I wriggled a little closer, the bed groaning, and felt the heat rising from her face. “Oh, my. Filthy swan.”
“Not like that,” she said, laughing again. “But there was some uh, kissing and the like, I suppose.” At my amused expression, she harrumphed. “I was young, okay?”
“And extremely sheltered,” I added, to which she nodded. “Bored, too.”
Her head tilted a fraction. “Don’t you humor me, savage. I still won’t let you read them.”
I would read them. Better than that, I would convince her to let me read them. “Whatever you say.”
Our hands brushed, and I threaded our fingers, watching her as she watched me. “What do you think tomorrow will bring?”
“Me in a hideous fluffy gown for one.” The humor faded, apprehension creasing her eyes and thi