nooks & crannies of the castle ( odie/berlus )

[ollie]

“These are the sunflowers—one of the favorites of one of the Archdukes, with its stunning, bright yellow petals…” The leader of the small tour was one of the head gardeners, a tall man with graying hair and bright eyes, who currently held a sunflower head down so the gardeners-in-training could see it. “Now, if you go farther, you’ll find the rhododendron bushes,” he gestures forward, across a large expanse of grass with bushes and vines on small fences put around the grass, seeming to be put aimlessly. One of the newer gardeners, an apprentice, shuffled forward, heading towards the bushes of pink flowers parallel to them. “No, don’t—!” But before the gardener could pull him back, the man had turned to look towards him, ignorant to the horse charging towards him.

It was a great beast, with flaring nostrils and a copper hide, and it let out a loud screech of a neigh as it came closer, its rider not yet pulling the rein. The man scrambled back, falling on his bum in his quick attempt, and just then did the rider tighten the reins and stop her beast. The horse’s mouth foamed from the hard work, and its eyes were wide open, staring down at the man. “Now, if you’d like to be killed, go ahead and go across my course. Be my guest,” the rider said, pulling the horse around so to be able to lean down to look at the man. His eyes bulged wider as he found his eyes on Odette, wearing men’s riding garb and her dark curls braided, wisps of hair around her face. Her cheeks were flushed and she looked as if she’d been out there for hours. And she had been.

“You see, this is the schooling area, for Lady Odette’s horses… she is the kingdom’s finest horse trainer, of course,” the gardener said, fiddling with his waistcoat. She smiled at him, in way of greeting, before backing up her horse and beginning the course again. The tour went on, and the sun slowly began its descent. Finally, after walking her horse around to cool him down, she dismounted and went on for the rest of her day.

---

Odette’s mother had never liked her walking around the castle corridors wearing her riding clothes, but today Odette didn’t care much. She’d wiped off her face and braided her hair again, in the hopes of warding off an assault from her mother, but she still smelled like sweet hay, which would bother her mother (though was better than any other smell, in Odette’s opinion). She could see the looks, and after seeing one of her mother’s lady-in-waitings, Odette ducked down a different hall in the hopes of avoiding her mother.

Tugging her hair out of the braid, she went through without looking up, very accustomed to the castle since childhood. She bit her bottom lip as she turned down another corridor, pausing. Where was she? Looking around, she realized these were the visiting quarters… quarters home to people like, say, Prince Berlus of Helios.

Grinning devilishly, Odette kept walking, peeking in room to room. Then, noticing the cheerful jacket of Berlus’s visible in the open wardrobe, she stepped in, glancing around. Not in. Frowning, she closed the door in the hopes to ward anyone off, sitting on the edge of the bed. Leaning forward, she studied his temporary home, standing restlessly to look around. “Hopefully no servants come by…” she mumbled, glancing at his door before moving towards the books. Stopping in the sunlight coming in through the window, she glanced out the window before looking back at his bookcase.

[dede]

'Love is patient.'

Patient; like a hound, bereft of leadership and direction, that sits by the grave of its master? Is it bound in purgatory, subdued on the threshold of a Hell created by affection?

“Will it wait for me?” He would ask, the tranquility of his blue eyes disturbed by the sanctity of an abstraction he could not understand in his youth.

And she would smile -at his innocence, at his innate comprehension-, and shake her silver head.

'Love is kind.'

“Like… Like you?”

Snowfall upon windows of painted glass; her laughter was more delicate, the timbre that matched the basking tune of his heart.

'It does not envy.'

But he did; he scorned the chill of her lifeless skin, the sliver of a memory, charitable only on the darkest of evenings. That he could not go with her.

'Keeps no record… rejoices…'

He lost count of the husks that were once days; aligned so neatly in a row. Where he kept the ground parched, punished, and raw, seedlings sprouted, all to his unbeknownst. A new sun sparkled, tracing a phantom through the westward sky. His father smiled.

'It always protects, always trusts,'

Her had was so delicate, seated in the cradle of his palm. The reticence of their fate joined their dissatisfaction, illuminating the fury of hovering patriarchs. The future dangled like chains from her wrists, and as thorns from his. She was repulsed by the age of his manner, the fragility of his exterior.

'always hopes,'

A lavender sprig and a dark well sprung eternal by a stolen kiss. The foundations of an empire, a possibility, faded in a blood red dawn. Emerging from a horizon folded underneath the corners of a map, a spark. An idea. A danger.

'Always… perseveres?'

---

As of the events of the first night, the indifferent crease common to his daily expression had mutated into a contemplative frown. The turbulence in his blue eyes, growing distant in his continuing frustration kept most inquiries at bay, even from his own servants. The regrettable page from his entourage who offered to take a well-wishing message back to his awaiting father and king was so taken aback by the unaccustomed smolder in the Prince’s gaze that he could hardly function properly, let alone take the bundled letter from Berlus’ clenched hand.

He spent the remainder of the afternoon restlessly wandering the grounds. He visited the dogs with waning interest, unaffected by the announcement of a brimming litter of puppies or the invitation to take the fox hounds out at his leisure for a game of sport.

Avoiding the garden and additional attractions offered (he was allergic to what was left, in any case), he marched back to the castle and attempted to smother his brewing agitation in dusty tomes. After mulling over anthologies and religious texts with little acknowledgement of the consoling or educational content, he returned the books and stomped off yet again.

However, even with his senses and rationality muffled by his foul mood, his attention to his path and his surroundings was unusually heightened. Though, that always seemed to be the case when one was actively avoiding another. Disregarding meals and other arranged meetings where he was inevitably positioned in the same room as the… arrow poised over his newfound Achilles heel, he had done all in his power to run from his personified downfall.

Denying the thought or image of his stunning weakness was a challenge, spoken of readily and more easily than it was achieved. Whether meditating over a cup of tea or examining his clothes, his subconscious would waver, and suddenly he would consider the question of her taste in warmed beverages or what her favorite style of dress happened to be. Short of flagellating himself, the burning shame that usually followed quite easily chased the temptress from his mind.

Taking into account the failing sun behind the tall window, Berlus sighed to himself and turned down a relatively empty hallway, his heavy footfalls resounding listlessly in the familiarity of his surroundings. Past the other guest rooms and a lone servant, he found his designated quarter with ease. He paused for a moment at the door, poised to open it, but then retrieved his kerchief to catch an impending sneeze. Sniffling, he shouldered the door open as he single-handedly folded the cloth with years of unfortunate and unintended skill back into the pocket of his coat, which was black as charcoal, to match his attitude, offset slightly by his blindingly white cravat.

He took his eyes from the polished tips of his boots and caught a momentary sight of a younger person dressed in a smart riding outfit. Startled by the unfamiliar entity, he bowed apologetically before stepping into the hallway once again. “Oh, pardon me, I must have made a mistake, this is not my-”

But it was his room. There, peeking out of the grand wardrobe was his distastefully garish Helion costume. Unless he had stumbled into the duplicated dwelling of a thief with a horrible eye for finery, which was most unlikely, this was indeed his temporary respite.

And that rider was no thief.

Berlus froze, one hand pressed against the opened door, the other clinging to the smooth frame, as if he was resisting some invisible tide that was attempting to drag the graying Prince into his room. He did not need to move any closer to recognize the dark head of luscious hair, or catch the devious scent of horse work that trailed in her wake. The clothing seemed slightly out of place on her feminine physique, for he had never seen such an outfit on a woman, but he was merely unaccustomed to the peculiar sight, the way it hugged her frame, the shape of her legs-

“O-odette!”

He bit back the volume in his voice, suddenly aware of the cavernous hallway behind him. Against his better judgment, which had failed him so miserably in the past, he shut the door. However, he did not move any closer to his unannounced guest. “Odette, what are you- what are you d-doing here?” Even in the confines of his room, he confined his stammered question in a whisper, as if he worried that the sturdy walls were paper thin.

[ollie]

Odette turned towards the closed door when she heard the steps, biting her bottom lip. It couldn’t be servants—servants weren’t on their rounds until the morning, having already done his bed (which was unfortunately ruffled, from her taking a seat a few moments ago)—which meant that this person was going somewhere for personal reasons. And stopping at Berlus’s door—the poor soul would certainly be surprised when the prince wasn’t in. But then, she heard the sneeze, and now assured that it was Berlus, she turned back to the reading material, dismissing the previous problem.

“O-Odette!”

She smiled softly to herself, though didn’t turn quite yet. Carefully, she replaced the book, having only been skimming rather than really reading. Tucking hair behind her ear, she turned back towards him, eyes lit up from mischief and the sunlight at once. “Odette, what are you—what are you d-doing here?” he whispered, and she smiled, moving towards him. Frowning at his dark coat, she tilted her head. Why in the world would Berlus be wearing black—did he prefer blue over all other colors? It was certainly a lush coat, but lush didn’t cover the fact it was suitable for a widow rather than a handsome man like the prince before her.

“Black is good for funerals and mourning, Berlus dear,” she said, popping open the buttons of the coat and running her hands along his chest, pushing off his coat. It dropped to the floor, and she grinned mischievously, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. She hadn’t seen Berlus in a while, and she made a point of having contact—most of their torsos lined up, and were pressed together. It was slightly difficult, considering they were different heights and she had the body of a woman, but she doubted Berlus minded the fact that he currently couldn’t miss that fact. She didn’t mind that now she could feel his

“We’re in your room; with a closed door… no one would come in here, unless you sent for them. Which you haven’t, I assume, which leaves us to do whatever we please,” she whispered, the tone of a conspirator unmistakably there, and accustomed to her voice. Whatever Odette had conspired to do again… well, first you have to decide if you have the heart to hear about what Odette has done in the past. Not many do—her mother just barely did, and had only earned such a heart when she’d begun raising Odette and nearly missed many, many heart attacks.

Now, though, she did reply. “I just left my horse to graze, and I figured I should take a stroll around the castle… I promise you I hadn’t intended upon coming in your room, but I can’t say that I’m unhappy I am. Maybe we can spend part of a night together that isn’t by the ovens,” she smiled, smug at her ability to end up here without being seen and without planning it. Running a hand through his gray hair, she smiled a little softer, leaning up on her toes to kiss him gingerly. Leaning back after a moment, she stepped away, unwrapping her arms.

Stepping back, she took a seat on the bed, leaning back on her hands. “What have you seen of little Regina? Or do you spend most of your time in your room?” she wondered, glancing around. Catching sight of her favorite coat in his wardrobe, she smiled softly. She studied his face, so beautiful; noting that none of her dreams could quite get the right set of his brows, or the way his hair fell if hands were aimlessly ran through the graying mass. She liked how he looked; ruffled and informal, though she could do without his waistcoat and pants and… well, all of it, in honesty. But that wouldn’t be ladylike of her to think that, would it? She bit her bottom lip, casting her eyes down when she realized she’d been staring.

Looking down, and realizing her boots had left footprints, she grimaced and unlaced them, setting them aside and sitting with her legs folded beside her on the bed. “You know, not even the best of my dreams do you justice… especially the blue of your eyes. I’ve never seen someone with eyes as beautiful or blue as yours,” she said quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as it slid from its place. She tilted her head, studying him mutely. She had to admit, she did love Berlus, or at least as close to loving she could get in the short time they’d known each other. If love meant that she’d rather spend the rest of her life with Berlus than anyone else, she certainly did—she couldn’t imagine herself matched to whoever her father would find and call a ‘suitable husband.’ She didn’t care how suitable a husband they were; she doubted anyone could ever aspire to hold a candle to Berlus.

[dede]

The smug edge in her countenance and natural air of suavity kept him pinned to the door, manic and apprehension building behind his gaping expression as she calmly approached, mesmerized by her collected gait and the obvious satisfaction that remained in her wake. Even when she paused, disapproving of his brooding attire, there was a delicate ease in her frown, an assurance that he could only liken to the way a hungry wolf examines its cornered prey with deliberate pride.

“Black is good for funerals and mourning, Berlus dear,”

Did she not know? His bleak clothes were certainly apt for the occasion at hand; he was mourning the death of his complacent existence, the obedience and abstinent innocence bred from his pampered and controlled lifestyle. The Helion King would surely hold a grand service for the entire kingdom, and the people would weep while the dogs howled their unholy dirges. Of course, an invitation would be extended to his Reginien and Silian counterparts. Perhaps Prince Rian would even go so far as to volunteer his services as a pallbearer. Surely, that would be to his undying delight. Despite the grandiose, it would be a modest affair, lasting only for a day or-

He tensed as the sensation of her sure touch brightened his morbid fantasy, which considerably darkened a moment later as the unceremonious unbuttoning of his coat mirrored the methodic addition of nails pounding into his already-brimming coffin lid.

“We’re in your room; with a closed door… no one would come in here, unless you sent for them. Which you haven’t, I assume, which leaves us to do whatever we please.”

The silken, linen shirt underneath did little to shield him from her brazen advances, her arms entwining behind his neck, adjusting smoothly to his superior height. However, he could not find it within his capacity to marvel at her skill to adapt so fluidly to the contours of his body, for he was now solely occupied by the fact that she was so very, very close. The bitter smell of horse, and the saccharine aroma of hay, that wafted from her being, her undone hair, the ends tucked neatly behind her ears, teased his senses. Nose crinkling, he bit his lip in a desperate attempt to ward off his usual reaction to such exposure.

“I just left my horse to graze, and I figured I should take a stroll around the castle… I promise you I hadn’t intended upon coming in your room, but I can’t say that I’m unhappy I am. Maybe we can spend part of a night together that isn’t by the ovens,”

Her coy suggestion only heightened his awareness of her pleasing qualities, quietly breaching the paralyzing fear that had settled. Suddenly, he was prompted to assess the situation with a consideration that he was not only in close proximity with Odette, but he was pressed against a beautiful young lady with an insatiable eagerness to match the appetite he had discovered in the kitchens.

Yet, even as he was trapped by his temptress, wanting nothing more than to escape from her inviting clutches, the allure of her exotic beauty, the soft glow of her skin alighted from her previous work, was just as enchanting as ever.

Though, it was a heinous and impossible thought. After satisfying her personal whims, or executing her torture, Berlus could not decide which -for he failed to categorize the gentle kiss, the sentimental pass of her hands through his tousled hair-, and only when she had seated herself on the edge of his elaborate guest bed, and he could extend his hands without the fear of brushing against a lock of hair or cooled cheek, he slowly straitened.

When she had detached herself from the gangly Prince, she took with her that momentary thrill, beckoning the comfortable replacement of aghast, terror and a mounting frustration.

He sniffed.

“What have you seen of little Regina? Or do you spend most of your time in your room?”

Her enamored stare left the Prince without an absence to consider a response. When she removed her gaze, his followed to the sprawling floor, where he faintly considered the steady pattern of footprints trailing towards the wardrobe and the bed. While unsightly, they were indiscriminate enough not to cause suspicion by a maid or some servant that happened upon his quarters while he was away.

“You know, not even the best of my dreams do you justice… especially the blue of your eyes. I’ve never seen someone with eyes as beautiful or blue as yours.”

Of his own volition, he looked at woman, dressed so comfortably in a man’s riding uniform, reclining steadily on his crumpled bed spread. Then, tearing his away eyes, which were supposedly more beautiful than a lifetime of experience of a lady-in-waiting, he retrieved his fallen coat with private reverence and reflection. Folding it over his arm, he bent down once again and removed his own boots, placing them by the door, self-conscious of that possibility of adding more marks to the distinguished rugs.

Tentatively, yet purposefully ignoring the woman upon his bed, he strode to the cherry wood writing desk, situate snugly in a corner, and draped it over the back of the chair. After loosening his cravat, placing it steadily over his coat, and dabbing his nose for good measure with his kerchief, he finally turned to Odette. But he did not move any closer.

“Odette,” His shoulders drooped with an additional sigh, overcome with an unexpected exhaustion.

”What are you doing here?” He repeated softly. The gentility in his tone made no effort to mask the frank inquiry. He knew the answer already; or, partially. Obviously, she had just told him, but he needed a reaffirmation, an acknowledgement that they were in another severely incorrect and misjudged situation once again.

[ollie]

She turned her head to watch him go by, biting her bottom lip. Had she done something wrong? It seemed as though he didn’t want her there, not turning to look at her as he ridded himself of his cravat and dabbed his nose. “Odette,” and he sighed, his shoulders drooping as if her name took much effort, “What are you doing here?” He had at least turned to her now, and she searched his face for a sign of anything, her own shoulders drooping. It seemed that he wasn’t as glad as she was that she’d come; had he changed his mind about their predicament? Did he find her not worth this entire headache, now that he thought about it?

Her lips parted in surprise and she attempted to think of something to reply with—but what could she? She’d already told him, and he obviously didn’t like the answer. She closed her mouth, thinking now. Should she answer him truthfully, factually, or did he want an explanation to why she thought this was a good idea? And, was it, now that she thought about it? Her expression drooped and she pulled her knees to her body, wrapping her arms around them. She looked younger, more vulnerable—how she felt, in this bloody terrible place. The worst place she’d been in her whole life.

“I… um, I didn’t intend on ending up in your room. But I did and… I thought I could surprise you,” she looked at her knees, as if they would have the answer, before glancing up at him hopefully. Maybe he would have the answer—he always seemed to have the right words, the right assurance. She rubbed her eyes, sighing. “I guess this was a mistake… I simply… I mean, I simply wanted to see you and not be worried about being found.” She turned her head away, burying her face into her arms, which were crossed atop her knees.

Why did everything have to be so complicated in life? She had so many chances to choose a simpler life; one where she wasn’t sneaking around just to see her beloved, where she could raise children and be able to fall in love slowly and without haste, with her husband. The right man. But she couldn’t seem to choose or find the right man, and if Berlus was the right man, he was out of her reach. Just out of her reach.

“Goddamn, you don’t understand how much I wish this was easy. That you could propose and we could go to my father and it would be easy, just a matter of a ceremony and children,” she said, raising her head and propping her chin up on her arms. “But, of course, that would be too easy. So I’m just a lady and you’re a prince, the heir to your country’s throne… and we’re risking everything.”

Swallowing hard, she stood, pulling on her boots and lacing them up. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry, I just… I can’t do this to you,” she said, going to the door.

[dede]

On multiple occasions, whether perusing the pages of some bygone sentimental novel or listening –admittedly, with miniscule amounts of interest- to an esteemed orator rejoice the qualities of true love or affection, Berlus had been subjected to the peculiar description of a human heart being compared to that of a string instrument. A cheerful mandolin, or a cavernous cello of some sorts, he always presumed, but in any case, the Prince had not been wholly intrigued by the idea. Metaphorically, the thought that an emotion or idea could “pluck” ones inner stability was rather absurd, he had decided. Besides, he had never cut from an absurdly romantic or objective cloth. He had always been rather plain, strait forward, and generally uninterested in what was not subjective or concrete. Even his healthy appetite for literature or for enlightening material could not instill any sense of desire for it, at least. Perhaps it was because he had already separated himself from the prospects of actual endearment quite long ago, and had come to terms that whomever he would marry by rule of his father, the process of anything beyond friendship would be difficult, if not nearly impossibly, at best.

However, as he stood there, appearing so severe and discontent with her unintentional visit, the effect that Odette’s melting facial expression, coupled with the insecure retreat of gathering her legs so meekly against her chest, Berlus could find no other descriptor fitting than it simply, and quite unexpectedly, wrenched painfully at his heartstring. He was then filled with the sudden urge to interrupt her hasty recoil by scooping her into his arms, to comfort and reassure her by holding her tight.

“I… um, I didn’t intend on ending up in your room. But I did and…I thought I could surprise you,”

He blinked at her, tilting his head ever so slightly. But, reassure her of what? That she was not wrong? That he really was surprised, if not delighted rather than horrified? That this was a welcome sight, to find the bane of his existence previously making herself quite comfortable on his bed? No… not, quite.

“I guess this was a mistake… I simply… I mean, I simply wanted to see you and not be worried about being found.”

The Helion Prince discovered that he could not exactly describe, or indicatively point out what powered the reaction he was trying to smother, but he did realize that it was not on his behalf. In the end, he felt positively dreadful and his “heartstrings” still throbbed painfully. All he wanted to do, he realized was simply make her happy again. Regardless of his own state, he just hated seeing her like this. Which was ridiculous, it was not his place to do so, and it never would be.

…Unfortunately.

“Goddamn, you don’t understand how much I wish this was easy. That you could propose and we could go to my father and it would be easy, just a matter of a ceremony and children,”

Her yearning outburst distracted his internal debate, and he found himself looking upon her disheveled beauty once again, the watery quiver in her voice. He calculated the weight of her words with confusion. Easy? Just a matter of… ceremony and- and children? At first, even with her direct explanation, Berlus was puzzled. He did not understand; he wanted to interrupt, to ask her, who? Who would propose to you? Surely, not I. That would not solve our problem, this unending, treasonous nightmare?

Would it?

But would he be that ruthlessly heartless to do so, just to rectify the technicalities on her behalf? If he was even considering the possibility, then what did that mean? Did he even have that same amount of affection in return to do such a thing?

“ So I’m just a lady and you’re a prince, the heir to your country’s throne… and we’re risking everything.”

The whispering rustle of her clothes as she began to stand brought his attention to the external realm once again. He stared at her. They were risking quite a good deal, were they not? Though, did he not saw before, what is done, is done?

“This was a mistake. I’m sorry, I just… I can’t do this to you,”

And whatever reticence or doubt that balanced on the width of the threads extended over his heart fell away as the strings snapped noiselessly within him. He started with a jolt, stumbling after her.

By some unearthly modification, or divine intervention, in such short about of time, he did have that affection. He could give it back to her. He could love her, though that was hardly an issue. He did love with her, more than a book or an aged violin could ever express.

“No, no wait-Odette!”

Just as she was about to reach the door, he reached forward and took her hand in his. Though his grasp was tender, in consideration of her comparably diminutive size, a clinging desperation existed. Shaking his head, he looked down at her with wide eyes. “Odette,” with his unoccupied hand, he pressed it to his chest, primitively indicating himself. “I apologize. You- I just…”

He felt incredibly awkward, and shamed by his superiority, his royalty, even his height, which made him seem as if he was bearing down over her. So he steadily clambered to his knees, until it was he who had to look up into her face.

"Please, do not- do not go.”

[ollie]

She heard her name, and before she could even turn around he had her hand, gently but with obvious conviction implied. Turning now, she found herself looking up, realizing just how tall Berlus was, even for a man. Gangly bugger, he was. “Odette, I apologize. You—I just…” Her heart ached for him, especially when he moved to his knees, and she realized she cared for him more than possibly anyone else she’d ever known or met—even more than Adalia. They were both at odds with the world, in different ways, but still different—she, far too bold for a woman, and he, grayed and ridiculously tall and socially awkward with women (so she assumed that meant).

“Please, do not—do not go.”

She blushed, realizing how much of a compromising position he was putting himself in—a prince, kneeling down in front of her. She shook her head, studying him, before slipping her hand out of his, instead resting her hands along his jaw, and thusly cupping his face. Those blue eyes—such a perfect blue, she thought to herself—looking at her, waiting for something. “Berlus, why are you on your knees? I know you’re tall, but there’s no need to kneel. I mean, men don’t kneel to women.” Well, they do, but he’s not kneeling down for that, naturally. she added mentally, and ran a hand through his hair, tilting her head to study him, as if she hadn’t so many times before.

Actually, he was so tall that even on his knees she barely had to lean down to look at him, though admittedly her neck had to crane just slightly. She smiled, laughing as she realized this. “Berlus, you’re almost my height on your knees, for heaven’s sake. I don’t see the point of you kneeling, still,” she said, the hand in his hair cupping the back of his head.

[dede]

When she removed her slender hand from his, it did not drop to his side, but instead remained suspended in the air, quivering ever so slightly. Even the pleasurable excitement added by her tender touch, traveling over his face and lacing into his hair did little to ease the onslaught of anxiety, bred from an unidentifiable source. It frustrated him to no end that he should be affected by such a state of panic, which was, altogether, quite unfamiliar. While Odette had been the culprit of previous fits of shock or fear, this was entirely different, and neither her soothing voice nor inquiring fingers could ease the qualms within him.

“Berlus, why are you on your knees? I know you’re tall, but there’s no need to kneel. I mean, men don’t kneel to women.”

He blushed heatedly at her pointed statement, at the similar hue tingeing her own cheeks. No, he supposed, they did not. As certain customs dictated, by rule of heraldry and hierarchy, no Prince should bow to one beneath his rank, and simply by the definition of the current age, to a woman at that. While it was a stipulation that Berlus neglected at his fancy and hardly bothered to reflect on it, when Odette specifically questioned his act of submission, he found himself without a ready answer. Simply, or at least, at first it had been a subconscious reaction to the current standings, literally. He was so ungodly, tall, and she, at least in comparison, was incredibly small; not wanting to intimidate her, he leveled himself for her sake. However, if that was truly the case, then why was it that he could not find it within him to stand up again?

Something seemed to necessitate an additional need. She was positively correct, according to generation. Men do not kneel in front of women. But were there not special occasions?

“Berlus, you’re almost my height on your knees, for heaven’s sake. I don’t see the point of you kneeling, still.”

Her seductively charming smile, even in her misshapen state, coupled with the angelic melody of her laughter, did little to ease his agitation, or his stability. He felt shaken, faint of heart. Reaching up once again, he took her gentle hand cradling his face, and held it tightly within his own once again. Reassurance, a foundation for what little courage remained, if he was ever bestowed with any to begin with, was fading quickly.

“I-I know it seems un… unorthadox but, see it— Odette, I need to a-apologize again, it is not that… that I do not-“

In his haste, he was stammering horribly, rambling incoherently. There was no subject; his brain was fumbling with incongruence. What in the world was he talking about? He tried to laugh at his own inability to function under the pressure of his racing mind, but it came out strained and painful. Shaking his head, he tried again.

“By all accounts it is not simple, this has not only been restricted by my father, but by generations of- I am arbitrarily forced by my lineage to obey the king-“

He interrupted himself with an exasperated growl. Odette already knew this; it was, to a lesser degree, her fate as well, She would be sentenced to a life with another, by her own will or not. And so would he, to one that he would not adore as he had come to adore Odette.

“Odette, I love you- truly, I love you, but I-I simply cannot, I should not-“

Berlus was detailing the reality they both were already familiar with. The repetition drilled endlessly, painfully into his consciousness. They were at opposite ends of two vastly different worlds. And he could not save her, and nor could she save him. Not even if they fell in love. Not even if she were to wed him instead of-

If she were to wed him…

If she were to--

“--marry me”

He froze, as if stunned by the audacity of his own request. Then suddenly, he looked down at his the floor, at his knees pressed into the rug. He had never witnessed a proposal before, and by all accounts he should never have been involved with one. His birthright constituted that whatever ideal vision of such an offering would be prearranged by his superiors. He hardly knew what was customary for such an act, weather it was the right leg that should be propped, or perhaps the left- by habit of preference, he chose the right, leaning closer to Odette in his newfound energy and solidarity.

“Odette, marry me. “ The second utterance had been bolstered with emphasis, his cracked in a wild grin.

“And then- therefore, we can help each other—saveeach other.” In his revelation, he scrambled to his feet.

“Odette, marry me!”[/color]

[ollie]

Odette frowned as Berlus began rambling, wondering what he intended on meaning. If he had a meaning, he didn’t appear quite sure, at least. Her ears caught the words ‘unorthodox’ and ‘apologize,’ as well as her name, but still it brought neither rhyme nor reason to what Berlus was attempting to say. After two attempts, the second a little more clear but still, no sign of a true reason, his third made it through a bit better. “Odette, I love you—truly, I love you, but I-I simply cannot, I should not—” Again, Berlus seemed to have hit some sort of mental wall, because he plunged into silence, leaving Odette wondering what he meant.

Wait—he loved her? That sunk in, finally, and her lips parted in surprise, in a not-quite-there gasp, and she wondered what exactly had spurred this, what had unsettled this from his mind. She’d never quite been approached with the topic of her life, neither with her parents or family, or even Adalia. She’d gone to see suitors with Adalia, gone everywhere—but never had they brought up the topic of love, skirting around it by mentioning something a man said to a woman as “romantic” or “lovely,” but honestly, like any realistic young girl in this world, they didn’t have their hearts set on love. All they knew they would have were children; that was a staple of any woman’s life, otherwise you were a useless wife, declared unhealthy or unnatural—and soon your husband would be with some young girl assured to birth a child, even if it was, technically, a bastard child.

No, love was never expected in marriage. It wasn’t expected, or even something to begin a marriage—love never ended with the words—

“—marry me.”

She felt him freeze, and she did the exact same thing, her back rigid. Marry me. She watched him shift his weight, vaguely aware that that was how a man was expected to propose—though, nowadays, only peasants had their interest to do such a thing. Sometimes, she envied them; able to have children and lives with their beloved, with all the time in the world. Not given a deadline, or shoved towards each other—just given time, and chances. Endless chances.

“Odette, marry me.” he was grinning—Berlus, grinning? She blinked, stepping back, hands leaving his face. “And then—therefore, we can help each other—save each other.” He was so excited he actually stood, and she stepped back, overwhelmed.

“Odette, marry me!” She swallowed hard, somewhat panicked. She’d never considered this event to scare her—but then again, she’d never considered this event possible. A prince proposing to her—her closest friend’s suitor, a man handsome but so impossibly different than everyone else—and behind closed doors, not set up by her father as any other suitor had been, except one when she’d been fourteen and he had been fifteen, out of his mind with dreams. Odette ran a hand through her hair, combing it away from her face, as if it would help in clearing her thoughts.

Marry Berlus.

It was a quite voice, in the back of her head, that insisted upon this—until it became louder and louder, yelling it in the back of her conscience. “I-we-your—” she stammered out, as lost for words or meaning as he had been earlier. Say yes to Berlus. Say yes to a prince. Become a queen. Become a ruler.

Marry the man you love. Marry for something better than anything else, any other possibility every presented to anyone of any political importance. She swallowed nervously, vaguely aware that her legs were shaking. Wrapping her arms up and around his neck, she smiled. “Yes,” she breathed, before laughter filled her voice, “oh, Berlus, of course I will. Why would I ever say anything else?” She laughed, smiling and kissing him softly, her heart fluttering like a bird. She nipped his bottom lip, gently, before pulling out of the kiss, still pressed against him.

“You know, we can stay here all night… we would eventually have a wedding night, darling,” she whispered, mischief shining in her eyes.

[/size][/font]

[dede]

When she removed the resting hand upon his face and the other held eagerly in his own, the meager remnants of his stirring hope vanished in the sudden contortion of her expression. The same inane, psychotic fear and dread that had assaulted him that first night, bathed in the light of the ovens, when he had stolen a kiss so brazenly from her inviting lips, swamped the void his expectations had once inhabited. And even though she had miraculously recovered to return his blooming affection and desire, he could not rid himself of the image of chilling shock, of utter surprise, that had, albeit briefly, alighted her tender features. It was an image forever imprinted, scarred across the bleak ceilings of his imagination. To see it growing once more across her face was surely the bane to his undoing.

What had he done?

“I-we-your—”

Her initial reaction yielded no answer and hardly seemed inclined towards a conformation. For that moment, she seemed just as confused and desperate as he had been before, stumbling upon his reckless advance. Immediately, Berlus interpreted her hesitation as a blunt refusal, too overcome with shock to even verbally reject his sudden and, in retrospect, rushed request. His heart sank, the lithe strings sagging with unctuous grief at his error. He would not recover. He would continue on a quiet existence, unimpressive and meek, while his core rotted with the shame of his failure, that he incorrectly interpreted one of the base instincts of mankind. He would-

The smile that emerged triumphant, shattering the numbing confusion inlaid in the windows of her velvet brown eyes, which in turn, had paralyzed his senses, immediately halted his personal degradation and preparation of eternal misery. As she slipped her arms around his neck, pulling her trembling body closer, he could not have welcomed more the destruction of his drastically twisted conclusion. With a strange, yet thoroughly uplifting sense of delight, he was relieved to know that he still had so much to learn about this fantastic and completely individual young woman, his bride-to-be.

“Yes,”

Her laughter effortlessly returned the wondrous, youthful grin to his beaming features.

“Oh, Berlus, of course I will. Why would I ever say anything else?”

Though he had already begun to fathom the incomprehensible, this conformation of his eternal happiness was enough to keep him from mulling over his previous notions of cataclysmic disaster. His mouth burned as she withdrew her lips and looked up at him with that impish expression of hers that bled of wantonly abandoned innocence.

“You know, we can stay here all night… we would eventually have a wedding night, darling,”

As leaned closer, lacing his arms tightly around her back, he chuckled boisterously. It was not an unexpected suggestion, especially considering who it was coming from, and he would readily brand himself a liar for denying the existence of the small, bolstered portion of his consciousness that eagerly urged him to explore than option.

He pressed a savoring kiss to her lips, and two more upon each cheek. Between each, he responded in a humored tone of voice.“As tempting as the idea seems, dearest," The endearment was so foriegn to his tongue that even in its simplicity, he found it strangely exotic. "For the moment, I am afraid that I must decline.”

Loosening one hand, he passed his fingers through her silken and aromatic hair, parting the locks strewn across her forehead so that he was free to plant another kiss on her skin. Again, he was made aware of the earthy scents rising from her clothes, her very being.

“For now, considering the current state of affairs,” –here, he placed yet another kiss on her brow- “I think we must remain separate, as Lady Odette, and Prince- -“

His breath caught in his chest, and he withheld a stuttering cough. However, unable to restrain himself any longer, he quickly turned away from her and cornered the impending sneeze into his shoulder. When he looked at her again, his expression withdrawn into a sheepish smile, his eyes were tinged with an irritated shade of red, though even his aggravating allergies could not mask the sparkle that remained.

“I-I apologize, for that.”

[ollie]

ninnies be warned! mature content may be ahead!

Odette smiled as he wrapped his arms around her, sincerely loving him in this moment. Her eyes were half-lidded in quiet enjoyment at the feeling of his lips on hers, then her cheeks, half-listening to his words. Did he really call her dearest? The idea of Berlus, such a distant royal, calling her dearest was so strange she almost didn’t believe it. He definitely seemed intent on kissing her, as his lips paused on her forehead, she felt like he would keep going, using their time together to kiss every part of her. She almost shivered in anticipation, but then again, he’d said he declined her offer. Could he want it, too? Probably. He was a man, and however terrible it was to think that, it had to be considered.

“For now, considering the current state of affairs,” he said, pausing to kiss her brow, which made her smile and open her eyes fully to look up at him, “I think we must remain separate, as Lady Odette, and Prince—”

He stopped, though, and seemed to hold back something. A cough? Her question was quickly answered as he turned from her and sneezed into his shoulder, making her laugh softly. She ran the flat of her thumb under his eye, catching any tearing on the tip of her thumb. “I-I apologize, for that,” he said, and she smiled a little wider. This is my future husband. This is the man that will see me, all of me. The man that will know me. She almost shivered, again, surprised at how the emotion pulled at her.

“Don’t apologize,” she said, leaning up on her toes to kiss his forehead, “for your allergies. I should apologize, for irritating them.” She leaned back down on her feet, feeling so much smaller again. She slid out of his arms, with great reluctance, and wandered further into his room. Running her fingertips along the edge of his bed, she paused to pull off her boots again, this time leaning them against his bookcase. She didn’t glance back and instead explored further, pausing at the door.

It was average, but she knew exactly what it led to. She glanced at him over her shoulder, before opening the door. Sure enough, it was attached to a bathing chamber, complete with a clawfoot bathtub, a stove for the water in the corner. “Ah, a bathtub. Perfect. Let’s see if they did your water, darling,” she said mischievously, glancing at him one more time before walking further in, stopping at the stove to check the water. Hot—the castle’s maids, a silent, constantly moving group in the castle, must have stopped in before Odette had come—and she grinned as she picked up the bucket, pouring the water into the tub.

She didn’t even look up at him as she said, “Don’t waste much time getting undressed; water gets cold quick.” she said, smirking as she glanced up at him before looking back down at the water. It filled almost to the top, which was just enough; with them both in the tub, they’d make the water rise even further. Without looking at him, as if she did this every day, she undressed and stepped into the tub, sitting in it. “What soaps do you have?” she wondered, watching him, her right arm propped up on the rim of the tub. Her hair spilled over the edge of it as well, just barely, and the rest of her body was concealed by side of the bathtub. It was unnerving, being nude, but she didn’t climb out of the tub and get dressed. She had a statement to be made, and she would make it no matter what it took.

[/size][/blockquote]

[dede]

Her tenderly sympathetic and rather bemused reaction to his momentary, yet inevitable lapse in gentile repose made his heart swell happily as he basked in the angelic ring of her laughter, the soft brevity of her touch.

“Don’t apologize for your allergies”

The addition of her reassuring kiss to his brow encouraged the satisfactory return of contentment; and even though the sensation her warm lips burned his infuriated skin, he accepted her words with little consideration, if any at all. She could have thrust a stake through his chest, spited him on the slightest whim, and he would have responded with only the faintest of passing sorrows at his misfortune. Instead, he would grieve, afflicted by whatever incompetency that angered his beloved Odette, whether he knew the true reason or not. In any scenario, the resulting conclusion would have Berlus willingly fall at her feet in attempt to rectify his wrongdoing and beg for her precious forgiveness.

“I should apologize, for irritating them.”

He continued to entertain himself with mincing colorful and eloquent scenes of gushing proclamations of love (for never spending a single thought on the subject before this day, he found himself pleased with the fanciful ease at which he conjured up the chimerical submissions), while watching Odette waltz thoughtfully across his room. Though he had denied her enticingly adventurous invitation, he found no desire to part from her quite yet. It was so early; the evening had barely settled in sparse clouds beyond the velvet curtains and tall windows. Perhaps a private dining affair, where they could discuss the detailed technicalities of their proposed future together over moderated glasses of the finest wine Regina had to offer, or a moonlit stroll upon the grounds…

With a deep sigh, he concluded his hyperbolic ramblings with a final and foolishly delusional nod. He stared dreamily after Odette as she looked back at him before pushing open the door to the inner bathing chamber. Together, they were an inconceivable pair. And yet, somehow-

“Ah, a bathtub. Perfect. Let’s see if they did your water, darling,”

-They were doomed to remain as equally antithetical in mind, body, and spirit for the rest of their lives.

At first Berlus blinked, confused. What possible interest could she have in the maintenance of his bathing room? But her backwards glance, the impish gleam in her eye, the enchanting expression only fit for a vixen crooning the eggs from underneath a chicken confirmed what he believed he had folded neatly away just a few moments ago.

From his perspective, still huddled near the front of his room, he could see the excited tendrils of steam curling from the water as the bucketfull splashed into the cold basin, momentarily dousing Odette from his view in a white, swirling curtain. He took a step forward, hastily preparing another polite refusal that he heartily disapproved of a certain lady choosing to bath exclusively in his quarters; ready to cite again especially scrutinized circumstances, when her conversational tone parted the passing remains of lingering steam. Despite the new heat creeping from the open door, his blood chilled at her horrific and deviously nonchalant statement.

“Don’t waste much time getting undressed; water gets cold quick.”

Her accordingly smug expression was enough to roughly stay his advances, gaping dumbly at Odette as she turned back to the tub and, in an exceedingly calm and rehearsed manner, peeled the first article of clothing from her-

Even as he looked away, shielding his terrified blue eyes from the horrendously open display, the whispering sigh of her outfit as it crumpled to the polished floor screeched triumphantly in his ears, adding to the gathering thicket of red spreading across his face; heated so violently in his impacting embarrassment that he could feel thermal glow of his rising temperature on the back of his guarding hand, as if he had some sort of an avenging fever.

Not until the ominous sloshing settled into tranquil drips did he dare to curl a finger away and peek reluctantly through the revealing space. In doing so, he was certain that his heart had forgotten how to function properly for a second or so afterwards. Framed by the open doorway to the bathing chamber, and though he could only see her face, the rest of her… features obstructed by convenient cascades of her dark hair and the natural distortion caused by the surface of the water, the very notion that she was completely exposed in her natural state, emphasized by her lounging ease, her inexplicable poise that pervaded regardless of her presentation, made him flinch visibly as she adjusted herself so subtly in the warm bath. Out of dread, anxiety, and- and…

Somewhere, a poet was bemoaning the lost of his muse. Somewhere, an artist cursed the burglary of his subject. And everywhere else, men were toasting his magnificent fortune. The woman he so dearly loved, awaiting his company in the sultry waters of a blissful night…

The hand fell to his side. He tried to swallow, and nearly choked on his own dry throat.

Berlus would have been lying to himself, denying the uproar that accounted for more than half of sanity (or, more so, growing insanity) that eagerly consented to this wild abandon, to, for lack of a cushioned expression, rip his clothes, join Odette in the bath so delightfully fitting for a outrageously independent lady-in-waiting and a socially inadequate prince and have his perfectly inhuman, yet oh so grittily realistic way with her. Internally acknowledging this desire made the flush on his face darken a few shades more, if that was even physically possible.

But the rest of his being, the remainder that diligently protested, meekly citing his outward nature and perseverance against the excited din, while it was small, had been cultivated for a solid two and twenty years. It was no mere figment of his personality, but a solid combination of personalized mantras and the foundation of Prince Berlus, the graying Prince from Helios. A lifetime of discipline, restraint, of walking in the shadows that he had grown too tall for, though somehow still swallowed his whole existence.
In summation, he was young man man caught twixt the past and the future, and therefore, inconvenienced with the present- a particular present that would invoke the wrath of the ages if he chose, then and there, to walk or weasel away.

“What soaps do you have?”

Coupled with her contemplative gaze, he loosely translated the unassuming question as what is your final decision? Crossing his arms, he turned from her slightly, out of want of the now ridiculous and outdated notion of privacy, he awkwardly wriggled out of his shirt. He had never contemplated the process of taking his clothes off; it was as subconscious a matter as breathing. Unwarranted attention, especially from beaus (ungodly beautiful and naked ones at that, marinating in bathwater) highlighted a want of skill, as if disrobing or breathing were art forms that he was only no aware of after a lifetime of granted disinterest.

However, since he equated the last of his maintainable awareness with his clothes, he kept his breeches in place for the moment. Depositing his linen shirt on the bed, he stumbled into the bathing chambers, pointedly avoiding undue contact with the awaiting Odette for, yet again, the moment.

“S-several Castile bars- oils, liquid soaps and-” Reaching into the bath cabinet in the corner, he placed additional bars and bottles on the bath-side table, which already hosted the lavender soap he had used on previous occasions. “And b-bath salts…” Shakily, he indicated a small, opened bag on the stand. This sample had not been provided by the grace of Regina, but rather, one his servants had returned with it from the Helion kingdom. “Infused with Epsom; I-I have terrible knees.” He grinned, for he could not smile and endlessly babble at the same time. Needless to say, he was rather flustered.

[ollie]

Odette was surprised Berlus hadn’t fled the room with a full-body blush, and even more surprised when he turned away from her, out of her sight, probably to undress. She felt herself blush, now that she was out of sight as well, and glance down at herself, feeling a little too bold. But sometimes you must step out of your boundaries, she rationalized, and slid her arms into the bathtub, bending her knees to prop her wrists up. Inspecting her nails mutely, since it took her mind off the fact that she was naked and with her secret fiancé. Because that was exactly what he was, no matter how much he mattered to her. She bit her bottom lip, wondering if he really was coming back in (since it felt like every second was a minute, and every minute a half hour, and so on—forever didn’t seem to be such an impossible idea) just as he did.

He avoided her, plainly, but she didn’t mind—right now she was looking, since Odette figured she should know at least what his chest looked like bare. At least it wasn’t concave; she had to admit, she hadn’t expected much, though what she did get was better than what she was expecting. She barely listened to him, instead watching him from behind, even the slightest movement of muscle… interesting for her. The last time she’d seen a man anywhere close to bare was when a man had been locked out of his chambers in his sleeping pants, and he hadn’t been an attractive sight—drunken and wailing to his wife, sounding vastly like an abused cat. Thankfully, nothing of that was happening, but Berlus was speaking—which, admittedly, she hadn’t noticed. “Infused with Epsom; I-I have terrible knees,” and here he grinned, which was barely noticeable, as he was mostly turned from her. She smiled, too, feeling a little better.

Stretching her legs out, Odette could hardly reach the opposite short side, even with her toes reaching, and she decided they had gotten him a bathtub larger for his long legs. “I assume it has to do with your remarkably long legs, which I adore,” she said, leaning over the edge of tub and reaching so she could just barely brush him, fingertips running along the backs of his calves. Just skimming, really, and she pulled back, sinking a little deeper in the water, soaking her arms again. It came up to her shoulders, the way she was now half-lying, half-sitting, and she preferred it to fully sitting. Now, looking at the soaps he had out on display, she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Did it really matter, she wondered? She’d said it more in passing, to get him to finally get in (or at least begin undressing; any progress was good enough by now). Distractedly, as she seemed to be today, she glanced back at her feet under the water as she wiggled her toes, getting out the kinks in the muscles slowly. Sometimes work took its toll on even the smallest of things, Odette had to admit.

Returning her attention to the task at hand, she leaned her head back on the edge, brow furrowing slightly. “Darling, whichever you’d prefer,” she said, eyes closing as she relaxed, taking a breather from every last tiring part of this relationship. The fact that it was in secret at all made it tiring; to be in love and not be able to explain it to anyone. It was such an accelerated process, too, since they only had a week—and it bothered Odette that all she had was a week of doing anything other than being a maiden. Her father would certainly be overjoyed when he heard his daughter was making herself Helion queen; it was definitely a good present, after staying without engagement or true interest in her prospects until then. Though she hadn’t missed her father pushing her towards Rian in the beginning; there was an evident mindset to it. Adalia was one person, and there were two suitors; someone would loose, and losers often like to be comforted. She almost shuddered at the idea of ending up with Rian out of her father’s own pulling strings, and opened her eyes to look at Berlus, reassuring herself that she shouldn’t be afraid. She was engaged, and to the man she loved. She had to admit, love was a loaded word.

Odette ran a hand along her forehead, smoothing her hair back, before sinking her hand back into the water. She wondered mutely if Berlus could really do this—if he could take the throne and marry her without being challenged. “We’ll have to have sons for your parents not to question your decision, won’t we?”

[/color] she said quietly, realizing that it was true. That was practically the first duty of the queen—all through her childhood with Adalia, she’d heard the importance of sons, that it was a shame that the firstborn was a girl. But she was, and Regina showed the world, they did—they raised a queen, and now, they were marrying off their queen-to-be. Sometimes Odette wondered why they couldn’t just let Adalia become queen and then marry, to a royal or to a peasant alike. Whichever made her heart happy. But no, royalty couldn’t have that simplicity. Because who knew what would happen? Would the world fall into destruction just because a royal fell in love before marrying? Like her and Berlus. She sighed, running her hands along the surface, just below, watching the ripples. She decided that no matter how many children she had, she hoped to have very few girls. To have to condemn girls to this time, to hope to have a romance like their parents… it wasn’t fair. It simply wasn’t.[/size][/font][/blockquote]

[dede]

The languid chime of the water, reverberating briefly against the plain walls with crystalline poignancy as Odette adjusted to her fancy in the warmth of the shallow tub, caused the red hue on the cheeks of the Helion Prince to intensify vibrantly. Though the floundering smile remained, stretched thinly over his face, he neither needed nor requested any direct glance in her direction. Alone, the telling clarity of the echoes and the moist breath of air on his exposed skin, wafting from the heated bath, were alluring reminders of the reclining and ever-present predicament beside him.

He kept his eyes, the storming blue contrasting violently with the thorough flush creeping along his flesh, trained on the ceramic tiles and the small stove, its lingering heat encouraging the preservation of the damp air. He held little more consideration for the furnishing and décor other than they were paling distractions, especially when compared to his revealed fiancé. He ignored her with mounting guilt and rapidly corroding, feigned disinterest.

When she shifted again, the bathwater relating the motion with nameless, yet delicate notes, Berlus found he was quickly usurping the weak remainders of his reserve and once-determined chastity.

“I assume it has to do with your remarkably long legs, which I adore,”

Her partial comment on the design of the provided bathtub revived a miniscule trace of solidity; there was no doubt that the choice had been pre-meditated. Even at home, his personal bathing chamber had to have been modified according to his ungainly height. At the quiet ring of her voice, floating gracefully in its tone of eased palaver, he nearly turned to her.

But her brief touch, leaving behind startling droplets that trickled down to his ankles and slipped to the ground in miniscule pools, distracted any attempt at movement with an unexpected chill. It was a sensation not at all unpleasant, and the spark left by her gentle fingers trailing along the lean muscle of his calves relentlessly teased his platonic desperation. The absence of physical contact, however small and perhaps meaningless the passing kiss from her fingertips might have been, manifested within him as a pang of reluctant longing to sustain the connection. He recognized the growing, ravenous clamor with shame that resulted affected his outward expression to such a degree that his smile deteriorated into a cheerless grimace.

The water, once again, sung softly on her behalf, heralding more words; of more tactile intent, he was certain.

“Darling, whichever you’d prefer.”

Berlus blinked, unnerved. In reflection, it was a curious notion to dissect that what finally drew his attention to her bared splendor was not the acceptance of his desire, but rather, the sudden discord that disturbed the pacific atmosphere. The distinguishable tinge of exhaustion in her voice deafened the internal, lustful outcries with extraordinary efficiency and, instead, captured his affectionate concern. He then looked at her with all the intent and purpose of comforting her, resolving her troubles with his own affirmations, his own deprivations and weary realizations.

Needless to say, when he finally gazed upon the fully unaffected, unclothed image of her physical beauty, though abstracted and magnified by the fickle nature of the water, his reorganized priorities quickly lost their place, and were then forgotten entirely as he focused on Odette with a sudden singular, undivided, though entirely illegible concentration.

With generally facile effort, Berlus could recall his first conscious recognition and emotional realization of a naked human form. The residing Queen of Helion kingdom, his stepmother, was a loyal patron of visual art. Her private gallery contained unparallel works of marble and bronze; magnificent canvases drenched in oil paints, the colors and subjects orchestrated together in tasteful harmony, statutes and pieces of architecture from bygone centuries. Once, when he was young, she presented her latest addition to the prince; a skillful painting of a most startling subject. A woman, draped only in a thin, pervious sheet, posed dramatically on the seat of a wooden chair. Berlus had been old enough to understand the implications and inappropriateness of such striking abandon, and was heavily embarrassed by the unadulterated representation. The Queen, noticing the boy’s uneasiness, even unwillingness to view the painting, taught him to seek what was beyond the material. Indentify the technique, how the artist softened the skin with lighter tones and natural shadows. Notice the contour of her face, the mastery in the style, and so on. Berlus obeyed, and was soon entranced by the realistic palette, the individual definition of the locks of hair… He had learned to appreciate art, but certainly not for its emotional or romantic worth; the scandalously clad womaneas nothing more than an anatomical vessel for the intentions and dexterity of the artist.

Now, as a man, openly gaping at the exposed form of her feminine splendor, he still found so many of those refined descriptions applicable. His eyes traced the organic symmetry, the homely shape of her breasts, her hips… Faintly, he noted the definite change in color value of her luscious skin; the sun-drenched shade of her neck and the ivory glow of her stomach, highlighted by the glassy surface of the water. There was dimension, articulation, an undeniable attractiveness to her frame.

His heart trembled. And she was real. And he loved her. The life of Odette did not depend on the stroke of a well-kept paintbrush or in the accuracy of interpretation. He could reach out and stroke that silken flesh, press his lips to her darkened skin, and to the pearly whiteness of what modesty, what Odette was forced to hide from the world.

“We’ll have to have sons for your parents not to question your decision, won’t we?”

For a moment, he did not comprehend what she had asked of him. His eyes meandered distractedly back to her face, and he lost himself in thought again as he considered her flowing curls, how the dark strands seemed to emulate fine satin between his fingers…

Finally, his private contemplation fell away, and, after a moment of watching the expanding rings and tiny waves Odette ushered across the previously settled bathwater, he perceived Odette her question with reinvigorated intent and the confidence that came with dawning resolve.

“That is a reasonable observation” He considered calmly as he unbuttoned his breeches. Stepping out of the remainders of his outfit, he bent over, steadying himself with a hand on the rim of the tub before nestling opposite of Odette. As Odette had predicted, the level of the water, surprisingly still warm, rose, and though it was a larger tub model, by no intents and purposes was it designed for both a tall prince and his queen-to-be. He was forced to tuck his legs in slightly to fit all of his limbs in the confined space.

After adjusting, he settled completely with a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

“But what if it happens that we have a daughter?”

[ollie]

"That is a reasonable observation." His voice was calm, and she'd become so accustomed to it that it barely shifted her mindset. But then she heard him unbuttoning his breeches, and now the idea of him nude settled into her head. She was going to be in the same bathtub as a nude man, with just as little clothes on. Even if he was her fiance, her lover-to-be (or was he already, by common standards?), and many other intimate things, the realization that he would be nude, and she would be seeing him nude, was enough to make her stomach twist. She felt silly, thinking that she was so fine with being nude already, but him... seeing him nude... It unsettled something buried deep within her. It was either morality, or the rules of class her mother had taught her what felt like centuries ago.

Finally, she raised her eyes to his face as he settled in across from her. There was a strange honesty about all of this, because they were nude; everything was bared, from their feelings to their bodies. And he was smiling, that sinfully beautiful smile, and she felt all her walls fall, all the tension ebb away. This was the man she loved. She was damn lucky.

"But what if it happens that we have a daughter?" And there it was. That dreaded question. What if they had a daughter? What if they condemned another girl to this controversy, this demand of navigating a world made of social minefields. She wet her lips, stalling for an answer, searching for some sort of truth, or something of the sort, but she couldn't find it. She just couldn't -- she had never been able any earlier, either. Her eyes wandered subconsciously, trailing his lanky frame, before they returned back to his face. What if it does happen?

Odette decided against answering in general, shaking her head, and instead shifted herself onto her knees, leaning over to his side of the bath. "Why don't we just hope that we only have boys? Plenty of heirs, lots of gentlemen... and hopefully no ladies." she said quietly, smiling before lowering her lips to his, just barely brushing them over his. It was such a simple, small gesture, but it still made her heart sing, or whatever you want to call that feeling zipping through her veins. She didn't understand the need to explain it, either; that explicit desire to just feel it was enough for her.

She pulled away slightly, her hands running up along his arms, his shoulders, settling against his neck. "I love you." she whispered, eyes running over his features, cataloging them in her mind for safekeeping.