youngdesertrose-blog

[youngdesertrose-blog]

Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

[youngdesertrose-blog]

"Close your eyes, and no peeking until I say so!" Hidden behind his back is a sprig of mistletoe, with which he's been trying to steal kisses all day from female staff and guests alike to no avail. Yet, there is one lady in these walls who shan't deny him -- and he knows it full well as he lifts the mistletoe above his head, beaming from ear to ear. His presence is not her gift, of course, but he shall let her believe so for the time being. "Okay... I'm ready!"

There was nothing about Edgar that she would change. She adored him from head to toe, front and back, inside and out, as much as she did the first day he took her hand. Even the way he flit between pretty flowers like some sort of gregarious butterfly was endearing. She liked to see him so full of vigor, properly enjoying himself in the throws of festivity, and yet at the same time the situation left her pining in the shadows.

It wouldn’t do to spoil his fun when he so rarely had the chance to play. Not when his burden was so heavy, so sorrowful---  damn it why didn’t he notice her?“A-ah... Edgar...”

It seemed as though her christmas would never come. The voice she used to plead with his back was never meant to reach his ears. Time and again she accepted the sight of him slipping through her fingers. She fell against the wall, clutched at nearby curtains and suffered many a wistful sigh. Anonymity occasionally had its benefits but this was a martyrdom she could have done without. With some reluctance she reminded herself of all the reasons she had to continue holding back. 

Twas the season to be selfless. He deserved to be happy. She loved him.

Surely it wouldn’t hurt to be slightly more proactive? The young duchess spent several agonizing minutes debating the matter with herself. Unfortunately the resulting decision to begin fetchingly draping herself in rooms slightly ahead of where Edgar appeared to be venturing was easier thought than done. One attempt caused a large portrait to tilt beyond her means to correct (it was so heavy) which incurred the wrath of the coincidentally nearby Matron.

In the end she was persuaded to simply let things be. A small party of guests attempted to occupy her time. At first conversation didn’t come to her as smoothly as it should have. Whenever she caught a glimpse of bouncy blond hair it immediately drew her attention. Yet Edgar was, for better or worse, never the beholder of the vivacious locks that had beckoned. Eventually she resigned herself to the role of host that the Matron had thrust her into. At least it kept her busy enough to be a proper distraction.

Later she gathered her skirts into her hands, rose from her seat and excused herself for a breath of fresh air. She expected no one to pursue her retreat for it was obviously temporary; there were still guests to see to. Not to mention stargazing was too lonely to consider and the night air was growing cooler by the moment. The young duchess filled her lungs with the calm she had come for before turning back toward the celebration. Upon doing she found her path obstructed by someone she had desperately yearned to see all night.

And he was being so sweet to her.

The routine was one she’d already seen him perform all day but that didn’t make it any less charming. Just the thought of knowing what he intended to do scalded her features and left them scarlet. Her heart seemed to be beating a furious staccato on her eardrums while her stomach danced to the tune. She really shouldn’t have drowned her sorrows in so much chocolate (dear gods she was going to be sick) but no amount of uncomfortable sweating would compel her to flee the scene. Not even the Matron could pry this long awaited moment from her cold dead hands --- and oh, to look at him made her soul leave her body. She was absolutely certain she could feel it escaping from her gaping mouth along with her nervous stammering.

“E-e-edgar. . . Wh-what a lovely... s-surprise... I... I...”

He’s going to kiss me. He’s going to kiss me. He’s going to kiss me. He’s going tokissme he’sgoingtokissme he’sgoingtokissmehe’sgoingtokissme---

Much later that she would regret having fainted then and there.

“Its not faaaaaaair...”

[youngdesertrose-blog]

narcasse:

          “… why yes, certainly! To think a lady of your pedigree would acknowledge this sort of delicacy unfounded in the public of social norm.”  Not once in the long years since his banishment from Parsian court would Narsus consent to attend another council, but Edgar had been a dissimiliar figure compared to other kings — more humbless, less arrogant; more commoner than he is ever a king. “And who are… certainly not a mistress of his Majesty?” 

          Edgar’s reputation travels far, after all. 

“Indeed, it is something akin to fascination. Perhaps I will have the opportunity to view some of your work?” 

She politely offered her hand whist making her introduction.

“The Duchess Priscila Rini Figaro; I am his majesty’s fiancee. We have been engaged since childhood... It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, dear artist.”

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narcasse:

          “His Majesty’s indecency to acknowledge the magnanimity of art is one unforgeable even by the senselessness of fools — I do know of him, but to say I am in the man’s company is absurd.” 

“A fallacious description indeed. I can personally attest that Edgar has always loved and found beauty in even the most unlikely places, and is quite creative as well... Yet I digress. You are an artist then, sir? We so rarely have visitors to the castle these days I cannot quite contain my curiosity.”

[youngdesertrose-blog]

royalxshock:

Yes, what are they to do?

          “–Oh!? I should thank you, dear lady, for always seeing me for me.”

Edgar smiles in earnest, thinking that he should count himself so very lucky to be loved for the man he is – not for his wealth, his possessions, nor his title. None of that truly matters in her presence, and he feels as though he can relax like this ( even as ridiculous as they both must appear, so ungracefully slumped on the ground like a pair of lazy oafs. )

Her hold upon his hand is of great comfort, and he feels warmed to his core, content to sit and left to simply be. 

          “I think I could be happy, like this – just you and I…”

–And he means it, this time. He doesn’t have to worry that he’s not good enough from now on, and Priscilla no longer has the terrible burden of her secrets weighing upon her shoulders. With the slate wiped clean… Perhaps they can move on, together: a brand new start, just for the two of them.

He pauses for a moment, glancing off to one side in a thoughtful manner – before he seeks to unlink himself from her grasp, stumbling back onto his feet with sudden haste.

          “Wait here, please!”

The King very nearly trips over the rug as he rushes over to his workbench, fumbling about for something – the key to the top drawer, where all of his most important possessions lie. 

Is it daft to keep such precious trinkets so close to his messiest works? Perhaps, but he has always been the type to live dangerously, and he much prefers to keep them close and in sight, where he can be certain none would take them from him.

It takes him a good moment to locate whatever it is that he’s searching for, and after a few moments of noisy jangling and rummaging, he pulls out a neatly folded square of cloth. Discreetly does he check its contents, before he slams the drawer shut and clumsily discards the key atop the surface of the desk. It clatters and bounces a few times from the sheer eagerness with which he throws it aside, but he cares not. There will be plenty of time to reorganise later.

Like an excitable young child, he lands back at her side and skids upon his knees – he doesn’t travel very far, mind you, and it earns a slight grimace on his part as he remembers his injured knee just a little too late.

          “Now, close your eyes and hold out your hands!”

His compliments made an impression upon her fair countenance, tinting them the softest shade of pink. Setzer may have written her an enchanting letter but a single sincere line from Edgar, whom she loved most, was more than enough to touch her heart. For as long as she could remember she’d been just as enamored with him. It wasn’t only that though: in moments like these he acknowledged her as more than a child with a silly crush.

Of course she knew that Edgar wasn’t the only one she had to prove herself to. There were those who looked down on her relationship with the king because of the gap between their ages. It was also true that she hadn’t seen as much of the world, hadn’t had the same experiences, or been changed by friendships. All she knew was the life the Matron made for her in the castle (and fantastical places described in books). Being well schooled in etiquette, literature, history and politics wasn’t the same as being mature. She was trying though and she had hopes that someday, when the tension beyond the walls had settled, Edgar would be able to show her everything he’d seen.

“Yes, me too,” she said, a small simper on her painted lips.

She would have liked to sit there for a while longer, holding hands with him by the fireplace like sincere sweethearts. The ominous sounds the fire made before had been replaced by the reach of its tender warmth. How easy it was to imagine her caretaker to happen upon them sitting close and scolding them for impropriety. After all they weren’t married yet but maybe (just maybe) it could really happen now. Provided they survived whatever horror Matron unleashed as a penalty; the woman was both terrifying and endearing.

However despite her silent wish to remain as they were it was obvious Edgar had other ideas. She lay her hands to rest in her lap and nodded, sad to be parted but also a little concerned. 

“Ah! Please be careful...”

What would she do if he actually fell?

Her gaze followed him, trying to determine what he meant to do by watching his movements but to no avail. Eventually she looked toward her skits and tried to smooth them out so that the silk didn’t wrinkle too noticeably. 

Edgar returned to her side with the same suddenness that he departed and she can’t help fussing over his knee. Rather than give into her worries he excitedly bid her close her eyes. She pursed her lips, torn between her care and her curiosity, but ultimately complied. Then despite knowing she was on the verge of finding out she still felt compelled to ask.

“What is it?”

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royalxshock:

          “Of course I want you to stay.”

Oh, curse it all – he doesn’t have the heart to stay so incensed. The hand upon his shoulder does its job of soothing his upset, and his shoulders visibly rise and fall as Edgar exhales, attempting to piece together what remains of his composure. The King can be hot-tempered and impulsive, yes – but he is not a hateful person at heart, and he softens so easily under her touch.

He turns his back to the warmth of the fire, a little less red in the face, and drops to kneel at her feet. A hand gingerly stretches forth to take hers, and he pushes his lips to her knuckles in a tender show of respect, attempting to make amends for his dreadful etiquette.

It is so unlike him to lose his temper in the presence of a lady, and he knows it must have shocked her. If Matron had witnessed such unsightly behaviour, he has no doubt that she would have had him by the ear for a good scolding long before now.

          “There is nothing to forgive; you have done nothing to warrant my mistrust.”

If anything, the entire situation has made him realise his folly, for Edgar has promised himself to her, and yet he has made no effort to prove such a thing ever happened. She could claim to be his fiancée until her face went blue, but the burden of proof lies squarely upon his shoulders.

          “This, I swear: I will make all of this right. You deserve so much better than            how I have treated you thus far. Will you forgive me?”

When he knelt it tore at her heart, the strings of which already felt so tight she struggled to draw breath. Almost at once she dropped to meet him, layered skirts billowing in her haste only to settle around her in an inelegant pool. This time she was the one to hold his hand in both of hers and she squeezed it gently. How could she not? He meant everything to her. Her hero, her king, her husband to be.

She loved him; she always had. From their first promise to this latest one her heart was swollen with the mere thought of him. It was impossible to convey the depth of her feelings. Whenever she attempted to pen them down the poems always looked trite the next day. They were buried in her diary along with the rest of her affections, hopes and dreams.

Without words to aid her the young duchess tried to smile. A full tear at last slipped between her fluttering lashes. She’d been trying to blink it back to no avail. 

“I feel as though those words should be my own... What are we to do with each other?”

At least now that he knew her secret the air wasn’t as thick. She wouldn’t have to face whatever came next alone. Edgar would be there to help her, protect her, and maybe in time all would be forgotten. Things had the potential to get better, didn’t they? If nothing else at least she could hope for that.

“Thank you for always caring for me. You’ve always been sweet and treated me like a gentleman should. I could not ask for more than this happiness.”

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royalxshock:

          “This… This is…”

His hands tremble as he scans through every line – a second, then a third time – and the page begins to crinkle under his hold. For a moment he thinks to tear it up then and there, but he’s frozen stiff in his disbelief.

He shouldn’t feel as betrayed as he does. He knows this, and yet his feelings betray all logic. The heart is a terribly irrational thing, as the two of them can attest, and even he feels the twinge of jealousy rising within him. 

Edgar’s gaze shifts to the ring, now laid in his lap where it fell, fury building in him like a dangerous flame that threatens to smother all notion of reason and sense. The letter’s contents are a slap in the face – and his pride does not come out of it intact.

The entire text puts him to shame, lays his failures bare for him to see, and does it with such devastating accuracy that it can only have been written this way intentionally. Was he ever meant to read this? Edgar seems to think so, but that may very well be his own accursed paranoia at work.

          “I cannot believe it!! How dare he – that no-good, rotten charlatan!?”

Rising at last, the blond leaves her side to cross the room with furious haste, where he removes the guard upon the fireplace and thrusts both items into the flames. Disgust twists his features as he watches the letter burn, and he has to stop himself from shouting any further for fear of drawing unwanted attention from anyone on patrol nearby. Speaking instead in a low, quivering voice, he rubs at his brow in frustration, using his other hand to rest against the mantle.

          “You are forbidden from speaking with that man ever again, do you             understand?”

He’ll kill him. He’ll bloody well kill him.

Her hesitation was not because she lamented the loss of the letter by any means. Far more than it or the ring that accompanied those beguiling words was another matter. Edgar and Setzer were often at odds, she knew, but she disliked it when they fought. Being a catalyst for the destruction of their friendship was uncomfortable. Worse still was seeing Edgar so vexed and the knowledge that her admissions had spurred his temper.

A necessary evil. At least the slate was clean.

“...I do.”

She had no choice but to agree to what her scorned fiancee demanded. The sheer strength of the reprimand shocked her. Edgar had never explicitly ‘forbidden’ her to do anything. Cautioned, perhaps. Strongly advised against or even said ‘no.’ Perhaps he would change his mind once his ire had died down? It wasn’t the right moment to hope, let alone ask, so she was silent.

The sound the letter made while it burned seemed so loud. She wondered if it rung in Edgar’s ears in the same way or if it was only amplified by her woe. It hurt her to see her beloved so incensed when she knew well the weight he already carried. 

At last she too got to her feet and, after carefully gathering her skirts, she crossed to meet him by the fire. After a considerable pause she reached toward and lay her hand near his shoulder. 

“Edgar...”

With gentleness she implored him to turn and face her. The thought that his face might still be hot with rage left her timid. Not because she thought he would harm her (Edgar wasn’t like that) but because the sight of that expression made her loathe herself. Because of her the person she adored most in the world had lost face. 

“I am so sorry, truly... Do you still wish for me to stay?”

Or do you hate me for this?

[youngdesertrose-blog]

royalxshock:

          “O’, my darling girl – she could never be mine.”

It’s the first time he’s admitted it aloud, though he’s known for quite some time now. It would be unfair for him to ever expect Terra to return his feelings for her, not when her LOVE is so precious and new. She has been through the unimaginable, and she deserves to spend the rest of her days with her newfound family in peace. Nothing should ever come between that.

          “Her heart belongs elsewhere, with her children. I shall not abandon            our friendship, but I must abandon my love – for it might not ever be            returned. She and I are simply not to be, you must not blame yourself.”

He’s heartbroken, yes, but he has to move on. Edgar hasn’t the time to wait around on the hope that she might feel the same; he has a Kingdom to care for, and so many expectations to fulfill that come along with that same duty. If anything, the King should count himself lucky that he has the chance to make someone else very happy by offering his hand, for it could be much worse. 

The both of them could be caught up in some terrible, loveless marriage with other people they’ve likely never even met. At least she would be guaranteed love, security and safety by his side – and he might be much less miserable for it.

He pauses, then, momentarily perplexed as she speaks, eyelashes fluttering as he stops to listen… And he remembers. A certain scoundrel had promised to whisk her away all those years ago, and his brows furrow at the thought – concerned… Unsettled, perhaps, and even a tad angered at the thought that he might persist in using this poor girl as some sort of trophy after he’d clearly warned him otherwise.

He eyes her ( and that crumpled letter ) somewhat suspiciously, unsure of where she’s going with this, and he opens his palm to receive it with urgency.

          “Priscilla, what’s going on? What has he done to you?”

She wished she felt more relief after having heard what he had to say about Terra. Too much else mixed her feelings and the notion of being second to that woman still remained. It was like a poison she could never rid herself of, always causing her blood to run cold with every uncomfortable beat of her heart. Jealousy was never pretty.

“I am so ashamed...”

He deserves better than me; she couldn’t help think it again.

The moment the letter was relinquished she brushed her own cheeks with both her hands. Her fingertips swept weep from her lashes before any could spill. A tattered composure, one she would be scolded for if her teacher had seen it. Though she meant to correct by drawing a full breath she still suffered from nervousness. 

Every anxious knot in her stomach was an added strain on kept appearances. They tightened with the smallest of sounds: the crinkle of paper, the lifting of wax. She didn’t dare to watch him open the envelope even though it was happening right by her side. The contents were, by now, so well known to her that in her grief she could have recited every poetic line therein. 

It was such a beautiful tapestry of words, undoubtedly designed to stir a lonely heart. Her engagement had never had the thrill of the whirlwind romance the writer masterfully described. The flattery had startled her, even kept her awake at night, but it was not because she yearned for the author. Love itself was what she ached to have -- something mutual and profound, greater than her daily practicality or any of the books she’d read. And it was so difficult to grow up, away from those ideals, that she still struggled with the task.

Another temptation was due to fall into Edgar’s hands just as it had into her own when she’d first opened the letter. A beautiful trinket, doubtlessly expensive and symbolic, but nonetheless a source of turmoil. How could it be that the first ring she ever received from a man was not the one she meant to marry? So many times she’d thought of abandoning it somewhere to protect Edgar from its presence if nothing else. Yet the mention of it at the end of the letter would only harm her if the ring itself failed to be present. Her only option then was to be entirely forthcoming.

“He isn’t to blame, Edgar. I know its all my fault in the first place. I must have encouraged him somehow... and... I should have told you back then, not now...”

[youngdesertrose-blog]

royalxshock:

         “Then please, let us not keep secrets from one another, for I cannot           bear to live like this.”

In hindsight, he’s embarrassed by his own outburst – if she wanted to leave, he would NEVER demand that she stay. It is far beyond him to shackle another to this place; he would let go of those he loved a thousand times over before he would allow them to feel as trapped as he does.

         “I have only ever wanted the best for those I love. It would grieve           me to lose you, yet I would let you go in a heartbeat if need be. Of            course, I would prefer you stay, but it is not my decision to make.” 

Edgar presses his lips together, cursing the dryness in his mouth. Words have hardly ever failed him before – but they do now, and he has to think hard about what he WANTS to say instead of what is BEST for him to say. 

Never before has he felt quite as small as he does now, overwhelmed by the sheer pressure resting upon his shoulders. The task that falls to him is far more daunting than those faced by the great Kings of the past; to fix a world RUINED by destruction and chaos – reunite its people and bring hope to all who dwell there. It shall do him no good to carry on like this, moping and whining over his misfortunes.

        “I would only ever bid you follow the path that brings you the most          joy possible, be that at my side or otherwise. So – as long you’re          happy here, that would be enough.”

He lifts a hand, then, to wipe away the tears at the corners of her eyes, feeling terrible for upsetting her so, and he presses his lips to her forehead, seeking to soothe her distress.

          “–Oh, look; I’ve made you cry. I’ve tarnished my own honor as a            gentleman, for the sake of my own stupid stubbornness!”

His hand felt so warm all she wanted to do was lean against his calloused palm. It was nonetheless improper to do and the duchess refrained. 

“I want you to be happy, Edgar... There is so much demanded of you every day and I feel as though you do nothing for yourself. If I make your heart heavy at all... If it isn’t me you wished to...”

She couldn’t say any more for those last few words were like barbs in her throat. In the subsequent silence they seemed to spread down to squeeze her heart. Her breath hitched, driven up by the burst of pain, and she trembled all the more.

Of course she’d known about Terra since her days as a girl. At first she’d thought nothing of it; Edgar was often in the company of women. Only as the years went by did she notice the full extent of Terra’s impact. How it changed Edgar, how deeply he cared for her, and yet Terra was not here. Sometimes it angered her to think about how she could leave Edgar alone to face his overwhelming task. She yet felt jealousy and other selfish feelings afterwards, always hoping that Edgar would notice she loved him just as much.

Perhaps they could have somehow carried on without ever grazing the subject. That would have been the proper thing to do. Had she not reminded herself of that not moments ago? A political marriage had always been her path as a daughter of a noble house. Edgar treated her kindly, she wanted for nothing, so why spoil it? Somehow his happiness compelled her to abandon common sense. Or maybe it was because she was too young, too impulsive, too caught up in what ifs.

Only one of his hands remained with hers but it was still agony to withdraw from the touch. She needed it to take the letter from where the inside of her sleeve. It had been rolled up and flattened and folded in what seemed a hundred different ways. So many creases in such elegant paper described how many times she had discretely carried it about in hopes of presenting it to him.

“When I was little he somehow knew I placed your happiness before my own. I told him it was impossible, that I simply would not be able to leave... I told him I’d made a promise... Oh, Edgar, I was such a foolish girl, thinking I’d said enough to stay his hand. How can you ever forgive me?”

[youngdesertrose-blog]

royalxshock:

Vanished?

He’s sure he feels his heart shatter anew, deep in his chest, and the King recoils – brows upturned as he does his best to fight off the burning in his eyes. His chest feels uncomfortably tight, and for a good moment he appears to be withholding his breath, stunned.

No. No, no, no! He could not think of anything more terrible!

          “How could you say such a thing!?”

Edgar’s lip wobbles at the thought of losing her, for it would change NOTHING. Priscilla speaks as if it were somehow her presence that were the problem – and oh, how it wounds him to hear that.

          “I should count myself the luckiest man in the world to have you by my            side – and I do!”

The blond sniffles as he attempts to recompose himself at last, not wanting to say anything too stupid that he may later regret. Lord only knows that he’s done quite enough of that in his lifetime, and he should not seek to repeat those same mistakes.

          “When I talk to you, I feel… Freer. Not a single one of my friends could            relate to how I must feel, but you– You have LIVED this life alongside            me, and I would never want to throw that kinship away. Not ever!”

He has already lost so much, and to lose her too would be an unbearable blow. Who else would he confide in, if not for her? Certainly not the likes of the Matron.

          “Please – Please stay.”

“Ah--!”

He drew back from her as if bitten and only then did reality dawn on the dreamer. Those words she’d said to herself so often had crossed a line behind her wits. Now that they were given up to his ears they couldn’t ever be taken back. The damage had been done; of all the ways she could have expressed it the absolute worst scenario had escaped.

Even if he did later forgive the transgression she was angry with herself. This hurt she saw all over him, in his voice and face and posture, was all her doing. Was it any wonder that he couldn’t grow to love someone so wretched?

“Edgar, I’m so sorry,” she tried but her voice fell short towards the end.

I need you ----  that’s what he seemed to be trying to convey with his own words. A wonderful yet terrible sentiment that caused her small hand to tremble between his. She wanted to help him, to be useful, to make him proud. Yet ‘I need you’ wasn’t ‘I love you’ and therein lay the hurtful difference. Her heart ached for him to hold her and assuage guilt, doubt and fear. Such things were barred by the aristocracy that had raised them. Realistically she knew that even their present unchaperoned closeness was a scandal. Love wasn’t an essential part of marriage either; Matron had told her yet here she was being greedy. I need you ---- that would have to be good enough.

Would he know that the tears welling in her own eyes were for her own foolishness? It didn’t do to hold onto childish fantasies now that she was a woman grown.

“The fault is mine... My darling, I’ve been trying to tell you how silly I’ve been for so long, and the longer I left it the harder the confession... At the time it seemed such a small thing. I failed to realize the ramifications and now... I’m afraid for you, and for myself, so the words have come in haste and must make little sense to you, but please understand one thing.... I truly have no wish to ever be apart. Unless it was you who bid me go, of my own volition I would never... I couldn’t...”

[youngdesertrose-blog]

royalxshock:

Her hands are soft, he thinks – so very much unlike his own, now calloused and scarred from years spent sequestered away in his workshop, and then from the better portion of his war against the Empire and Kefka.

He has always been fickle and adventurous since the days of his youth; a man who cannot simply be CONTAINED to one place for too long… And yet, he must now remain trapped here forevermore, bound to this castle by his duty – and a promise he made so many years ago

He doesn’t belong here. Not truly – but he wants to, so badly. He wants to do his part and make her happy. He wants to be the King that everyone expects him to be, but…

He never talked about the time he spent with his companions, hadn’t wanted to upset her with the horrors of war, nor the suffering he’d faced in his attempts to stop it. She’d been too young, and he’d not wanted to recount every terrible thing he’d seen and done in the name of freedom, talking instead of the beauty he found on his trails… What little of it still remained.

He hates himself for how he feels, now – so very guilty for longing to return to those days, for while he had faced hardship unlike no other, he had found true FREEDOM. He had new friends who would support him. He had his brother, whom he’d thought lost forever, and he was in love. Through other people’s suffering, he had found an escape. 

But none of those things were ever meant to last. He’d been selfish to hope that it would.

She must see it in the way he stares off distantly, as he had just done before her entry. The way he anxiously wrings his hands before he faces the larger crowds. How he loses his patience just a tad more quickly with those around him. Her King is coping a little less well than anyone had hoped.

          “Ah– I have been so terrible to you, haven’t I?”

He moves, then, to press his lips against her fingers. Guilt weighs heavily upon him and his shoulders visibly sag as he thinks of his own failures to adjust back to this life. They were meant to be happy, but it seemed as though they were anything but – and he has made it worse, blissfully ignoring his commitments in favor of hiding himself away to be left with his thoughts.

Priscilla is the only one who has remained consistently loyal and true to him, long before his friends came into the picture, and yet he continually pushes her aside… Why? How is it that she puts up with such a cruel, neglectful man?

Edgar shifts, then, gently pressing his forehead to hers. It’s about damn time that he stopped dealing with this alone, like the stubborn idiot that he is, and actually talked to someone. Even Kings need someone to lean on, after all – and he chose her to take that role, so why isn’t he acting like it?

          “I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind, and perhaps too much time            on my hands to think it over. Will you aid this foolish man once more,            and help him come to terms with his thoughts?”

“No, not at all.”

Though she answered his initial question as such they both knew the truth of the matter. Even as a child she had suspected that she was not for him. Her dream was to remain a dream, regardless of how close she came. It was impossible not to work it out even without gossip nipping at her heels. She loved him and she doted on him and paid attention to a fault. Many a time Matron had scolded her for being such a foolish girl. Love was nonetheless blind to sensibilities. She adored him, yearned to understand him, and in doing so slowly destroyed her own fantasy. 

But still wished it was possible.

With his forehead pressed to hers like this the young duchess thought herself somehow connected to his suffering. It was so rare for Edgar to render himself vulnerable like this. She nodded her head without removing herself from his proximity. A wordless assurance that she would gladly support him.

He deserved better though --- that was a thought that often went through her mind late at night. Whenever she gazed upon her naked finger and turned her mind towards Setzer’s promise her whole body ached. Would he keep his word, appear some day and wrest her from a situation she lacked the strength to confront? And would she ever be able to forget her impossible love when Edgar meant everything to her? Would she ever see him again and would he marry someone else without her hindrance of a presence? There were endless possibilities and all of them haunted her mind in their own ways.

Should she have told him about what the gambler had sworn? Edgar had inquired only once, when she was younger, and she’d lied to protect the men from each other. Lately she had thought of breaking it to him a hundred times over in a hundred different ways. She was seventeen now after all; any day, any time, that familiar scarred face could reveal itself. A promise would certainly be fulfilled if she raised no voice to stop it.

“ Oh, Edgar...” a tender sigh, a near inaudible whisper, “If I vanished one day, would it make your burden any lighter? “

She hadn’t meant to speak those words aloud. They slipped by her scarcely moving lips while she gazed upon his face. Her fingers, still timid ‘pon his cheek, slowly slid towards his jaw until only the soft tips of them remained connected. They fell away one at a time to curl towards her clammy palm. It was impossible to express how much this precipice frightened her. If he bid her abandon her adulation she didn’t know what she would do with herself.

“Please don’t think me unhappy for saying such a thing. I know I cannot possibly be the only cause for your sorrow. All I have ever wanted is to be by your side... and I love you so much, perhaps selfishly. I would do anything for your sake. If you would only tell me--”

[youngdesertrose-blog]

royalxshock:

          “Of course! I always am, and I always shall be.”

Edgar breathes a sigh of relief as she moves to join him, fingers reaching to take her hand and wrap it between both of his palms. Perhaps his words might not totally fool her – for few have observed him quite as intimately as she – but he persists with his white lie nevertheless, lest the topic unman him.

Besides, it does no good to dwell on that which cannot be changed.

          “Tea does sound good, actually – but I should like to talk a while first.            We haven’t had much chance as of late, have we?”

She sat quietly while he held her hand for each warm brush of his fingertips elicited gentle palpitations. These gentle moments had a way of tainting her composure, coloring her pink from cheek to cheek. Today though she endured the surge of mixed feelings and remained the demure lady that Matron had raised her to be. Or at least outwardly she did so; no one ever said she had to keep herself composed inside.

Besides even though his gesture was endearing it was painful too. He’d proposed to her as a child and again as girl who thought herself grown up. She’d studied to be his queen and grown her hair in preparation for their wedding and her dream. 

Not his.

After all she’d no ring on her finger for him to turn while they sat like this. No proof beyond his private affections and his word. Her sixteenth, the date they’d sent, had come and went over a year ago. With its passing she had no way to argue against the unkind rumors in the castle. Wherever his heart was it certainly wasn’t here with her.

“...It isn’t your fault. These things happen easily when there’s so much work to do. If anything, I wish that I could be more help to you in these trying times.” 

For a fleeting moment she bit down on her lip.

“...Was there something you wished to speak of in particular?”

[youngdesertrose-blog]

royalxshock:

          “I insist! It was nothing of any real consequence, I assure you!”

More like a nightmare that he’s more than happy to be pried from, in all honesty – and he pats the spot on the workbench beside him eagerly.

          “It is not as though I was getting anything productive done. Come,            I think I should appreciate the company.”

“Neither is what I had to say...”

At the very least she wished that was the case. It felt so complicated to admit that she’d gone and lost her nerve. The topic had become a hard lump in her throat, one she swallowed like a bitter pill. Her smile fell away with it but as she turned to look back at him over her shoulder a new one turned up the corners of her mouth.

Even when he was flustered he was so utterly charming to the young duchess. He warmed her as easily and naturally as the sun warmed the earth. How could she refuse his words let alone her the earnest beat of her own heart? She loved him so. “Are you certain that you’re alright, Edgar?” The duchess seated herself beside him. “If you struggle to concentrate I could arrange some green tea.”

[youngdesertrose-blog]

[ @narcasse has entered the castle ]

“Oh... Might you be one of Edgar’s companions? I apologize for not expecting you “

[youngdesertrose-blog]

[youngdesertrose-blog]

“...!”

She had noticed his gaze by now and could not help but be flattered by it. For years she had been too young to warrant such a stare, having only witnessed him catch other older woman in fleeting glances across rooms. Jealously she had coveted it, felt inadequate, yearned to be on the same level and lamented their difference in age. Her cheeks flushed under the long awaited spotlight, the soft cerise tint gradually searing her features as a whole as she considered the gravity of the moment.

Never had a man combed his fingers through her hair. In fact she could recall very few being near enough to touch it at all, regardless of their gender or station. The way Matron diligently combed it, the way her ladies composed its various styles, simply didn’t compare to this brush with intimacy.

In hind sight it was perhaps a small thing to be daunted by. Yet the young duchess knew nothing of debauchery, which would surely put the present gesture to shame for its innocence was overwhelming by comparison. She could not help but think she would be flustered for weeks over the happening.

G-Gorgeous?! Ah...! And he said it with such sincerity I could die!!!

Is that really what he thinks? My heart can’t take it...!

But... Mature and feminine? I’m glad he said that, I know that’s what I wanted him to say... Yet I can never seem to hold myself well around Edgar. 

Maybe its alright... If I can be like this and still be a woman in his eyes...

I think I should go powder my nose...

“Please make yourself comfortable, my love.”

She bid him with the last of her composure the moment they reached the parlor. 

“I must excuse myself for a moment if I’m to see to our tea, among other things. I have been learning to create my own herbal blends in your absence. Its my hope that you’ll enjoy them... Should I arrange for pastries as well?”

        “Your hair, dear?” 

There’s a slight stumble in the King’s step as he thinks about the question, very briefly taking his eyes away from where he’s going to get a better look at her. He doesn’t necessarily like to stare for too long, as much as he wants to; to let one’s eyes wander for too long often earns him a scathing look from most women.

Ah. He does vaguely remember Priscilla worrying over the length of her hair quite some time ago, but the King had honestly passed it off as a bit of a phase. She should know full well that he appreciates women of many shapes and sizes, and even if he is a bit partial to longer hair, it wouldn’t make him love her any less.

        “Well. I thought it looked pretty cute when it was short. It framed your face so nicely…”

It dawns on him that her goal isn’t to remain ‘cute’ and tiny any longer, and he’s quick to stop that line of thought before it goes any further. Truth be told, Edgar had been about to reassure her that she was fine however she wanted to look, as he had done before… 

        “But it’s much better like this, I think. Very mature and feminine.” 

Better to compliment the new look, he decides. It’s obviously meant to please him, and who is he to tell the young lady that her hard efforts to grow it out for him meant nothing?

Careful not to tangle it up, he stops for a second to appreciatively run a hand through the ends of those pretty locks, letting them fall about her shoulders as he takes in all of the changes before him. Long hair, a few extra inches in height, slender facial features and the subtle curves of a lady, not a girl… 

Has it really been so long?

        “…You’re gorgeous, actually.”

It’s an unintentional and rather forward slip of the tongue, but he coolly tries to roll with it anyway as he resumes his pacing, snapping out of the funk he’s found himself in.

        “Ahem– As you always have been, of course.”

[youngdesertrose-blog]

“Yes, at once.” 

At first she was elated anew, so thrilled to be tall enough to finally link arms with Edgar. The racing of her girlish heart aside, the close proximity elicited more feelings: worry for the way he leaned, guilt for not noticing his weariness sooner, and lastly a small spark of pride that he saw fit to rely on her. Somehow knowing that every measured step they took down the castle halls was a secret between them cemented the way their bond was changing.

She would ask him later, at a more appropriate time, if he was alright. Too many ears and eyes were around them for the time being.

With her head bowed to play her part at his side she caught a glimpse of the ring on her finger. It hadn’t quite fit her as a child, when she’d received it, but now the symbol of their engagement fitted perfectly. She wore it unabashedly, showing it off to anyone who would listen to her, and wouldn’t take it off for anything. The memory of the day he had reaffirmed his promise was endlessly precious to her.

“...Edgar?”

I wonder if he thinks I’m being silly, but...

“You know, you haven’t said a word about my hair. Do you think I should keep growing it?”

My God, what a terrible joke… She’s practically made for you, Edgar.

        “Anything to avoid having my ears talked off! You and I both know what a terrible          bore our beloved Matron’s lectures can be! She’d likely scold me into my grave           if I didn’t interrupt or escape half of the time!”

Honestly, he’s surprised that old hag has hung around this long. Isn’t it about time she retired from being a full time King-harasser and moved onto more constructive things, like actually LIVING before she kicks the bucket?

Yes, tea with Priscilla sounds far less draining than any of the alternatives. His Majesty would gladly take that over anything else, particularly if there’s something sweet involved – which there will be. He’ll be damned if he had to go to so much effort for there not to be a happy ending and a good helping of cake at the end of it all.

With that on his mind Edgar shall tarry no longer and offers his arm to his good lady, though it’s more for his own benefit than for hers. Battle hasn’t left him totally unscathed, and so he must rely on a little support just to walk, as much as he loathes to do so. It’s a huge blow to his pride both as a man and a King; one that he hopes she won’t go out of her way to point out and thus spoil his good mood.

        “Shall we be off, then?”