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I t is the fear of being unwanted, you think, that placed a bubble of anxiety in your stomach tonight. Muddied with worry, your feelings are in stark contrast to the unraveling merriment around you. Only the sense of duty that’s been put to your shoulders years ago has kept you upright, feet planted and frozen on the spotless tiled floor.
Half-hearted smiles and eager nods have been your companions, having yet to fail each time someone comes huddling close to your table with a jovial felicitation.
“You rival the stars tonight, my lady.” Lady Alena, the respectable lady from the south, has traveled a long way to personally convey her praises.
Fingers twiddling around the slender handle of your wine glass, you tip your head in recognition. “You flatter me, my lady. And much obliged for traveling far from home to be with us tonight… on this special occasion,” you respond, voice trickling lower with each word.
She releases a hearty sigh, caressing your wrist with a gloved hand. “Think nothing of it. After all, your wedding is the celebration of the decade. Never will I miss it for the world.”
Vanity will never be something you’d succumb to, but considering the prestige attached to your family and his name, it’s safe to say that most of the guests share the same sentiment. The splendid preparations for the anticipated wedding do prove everyone’s fervor toward the date. Everyone, except you and the man you have been betrothed to.
These are thoughts that have rendered your outlook on the special day unfortunately crooked. It’s a matter of duty to your families and nothing else. If ever there will blossom an affair between you and your groom, you haven’t been cherishing expectations. Not when he hasn’t failed in performing such laconic efforts for the betterment of the betrothal.
Embittered by the thought, you’ve taken a sip and swallowed a good amount of wine, rinsing the disconcertment down your throat brought about by your betrothed’s absence.
Why is he so adamant in procuring your abhorrence?
“My lady, may I have the pleasure of this dance?” A man from one of the rich families in the kingdom offers his hand to you, therefore cleaving your antagonism.
You stare at his palm for a good minute, debating whether acquiescing would deliver consequences you’d rather not go through during a revelry dedicated to you. However, for the same reason aforementioned, you clear your throat and politely declined. You couldn’t risk it. Not tonight. Not right now that your knees and joints have all teamed up to strike you down with discomfort.
“Where in the devil is he?” you mutter, combing through the throng with your eyes over the rim of your glass. You regret the motion when the door slams open, revealing the very man you’ve believed to have neglected you.
A brow pops up to your forehead. In truth, you are thunderstruck. Completely and utterly nonplussed like the rest of the guests. Who wouldn’t?
Your future husband, Kiyoomi Sakusa, pierced the crowd like a sore thumb while donned in his fighting gear amidst the ocean of tuxedos and ball gowns. A sleeveless turtleneck shirt that clings to his muscles, paired with gloves that reach up to his arms has left the guests ogling in earnest. Painting himself more like a dangerous assassin than a sworn knight to the kingdom, his nose and mouth are covered, as well. To complete his accouterments, a longsword has been strapped to his hips— are those bits of blood you see on the sheath? What sort of hell did he face on the road?
Your inspection of his physique has been severed by a twisting agony in your knee. Cursing under your breath, you’ve strived to keep your composure, which was threatening to leave. Panic begins to surge as Kiyoomi meets your eyes through the thick throng, his long legs sauntering up in your direction.
Four years ago, there was a boy who had been tied to a marriage with you. A boy whose hand quivered the first time he held yours with his cheeks and ears as red as freshly plucked tomatoes. You find it incredulous how years can alter a whole man out of a bashful young boy. He stands before you now without any traces of that lad. In those tantalizing gazes, there is only virility.
“My lady,” he greets, folding to a gallant bow. He gently captures your hand in his calloused one, like he is afraid to scratch your skin, before kissing your knuckles. “I hope you can forgive my late arrival. We have been faced with an unfortunate circumstance on the road that we had to deal with fast. Have you been well?”
Blood rushes up to your cheeks at his countenance: almost beseeching with his thick brows folded and unburdened eyes. You swallow the thickness in your throat, attempting to speak but had been jolted by a reminder of your pain. Gasping, your hand shoots to your hips, as though that would salve the twisting discomfort somehow.
“My lady? Are you alright?” the nearest woman worriedly inquired. “Shall we fetch the physician?”
“N… no,” you moan, “There’s no need—”
The next thing is a blur. Kiyoomi has scooped you up in his brawny arms without losing a beat.
Your gasp turns to a repressed shriek, baffled by his action. “S… ser,” you stutter, cheeks aflame. “I’m alright. Put me down.”
“Tell me which room to take you, my lady,” he continues, altogether impervious to your protest. “Worry not. I will not let you fall.”
“I can walk on my own,” you insist, gelid from head to toe. Having no inkling as to where should you place your hands, you keep them twiddling on your stomach. You’ve found there is a whirlpool in your belly brought by the skinship and proximity.
“I wish not to have you walking alone,” he answers with determination audible in wisps. “I wish to accompany you. Now, tell me if I should take you to your chamber or the bath.”
Abashed, you look at him in hurry and say, “To the bath?”
“Yes,” he stammers, but the words trip only for a moment before a groan betokens him clearing his throat.
You peek at him through your lashes. There is evidence painted there across his face. Evidence of that boy from years ago. Crimson crawls from the tips of his ears to his cheeks. Some things never change, you think.
“A warm bath helps alleviate the pain in your joints. It is by far the most excellent treatment for your condition,” he expounds without looking at you. “I remember you mentioning it in one of your letters.”
“Yes,” you sigh, bobbing your head slowly. “I merely… I did not think—”
“That I would remember?” His thick brow cocks up when he looks at you. “Trust me, my lady, I have the contents of your letters in my heart. If you wish me to recite them, I am confident I wouldn’t miss a word.”
“And why should you know my letters to heart, Ser?” It’s your turn to raise a playful brow. Your question is meant to tease, but you would not deny the acrimony laced with it. All this time, you have not thought that he cares about anything that has to do with you.
“Because your letters were all that had kept me alive during my time in the Militia,” he replies, smiling timidly. There is a faraway memory in his eyes when he cast you a look. Of a man pressed onto rough tree bark, sitting beside a scant fire and under the stars in hopes of reading letters shadowed by darkness.
Warmth easily blankets the bath when Kiyoomi guides you to your unsteady feet. No words have been exchanged since his revelation. Try as you might, you cannot find the right response. Is there any need for it?
The maidservants made quick work on the bath. A small pool on the floor, steaming and covered with copious amounts of rose petals enshrouding the water.
“If you need anything from me, my lady, I will be in the hall.” Kiyoomi glances at you for the last time before marching his way to the door.
You ball your hands into fists, trying to assuage the burning curiosity tempting to arise. You suppose it wouldn’t make any difference, and yet you want answers nonetheless. When will you get another chance?
“Kiyoomi.” He turns to you swiftly, a question mark hovering over his head. You twist your bottom lip between your teeth, letting the maidservants take their leave before proceeding to ask him; “Why, for a long time, did you make me feel like you don’t want me?”
The moon falls upon the windows, casting its luminescence on the floor. You can hear the rising wind, whispering gently to the thick foliage outside. Everything has been made louder by the silence. Even your heart feels as if it has been replaced by a drum, beating erratically without any sense of rhythm. And as the silence prevailed, the cracks of embarrassment slithered in your confidence.
“My lady, I…” He’s grappling for words, that you know. There is a tight line on his lips, loosening in anticipation of words that wouldn’t simply come to him. “What makes you think that way?” he finally sighs, shoulders slacking.
“The day after we were betrothed, you ran and joined the Militia.” On cumbersome steps, you narrowed the distance between you. “Were you so scared of being shackled to a marriage with me that you’d sacrifice years of your life away from your family? So, forgive me, if I have the impression that you do not want me—”
“I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.” He towers over you, sporting a determined face; jaws pulled tautly, eyebrows pinched together. He looks gutted. As if your words are punches to his stomach.
And your heart jumps.
“W… what?” You blink.
“I have burned for you ever since the first time we met. And still, right now, I burn for you with the same intensity.” He’s breathless now. Sculpted chests rising and falling. Nevertheless, he keeps talking, “I… I ran away, yes, because I was nothing when we were betrothed. I wanted to be a man for you. Not just some duke with his family name to make up for it. I want to be worthy of you.“
The proximity between you has shaken your core. His body hemmed you in without having to touch a strand of your hair. He is everywhere and you desired nothing but to consume him. With the look he’s given you, he wants to do exactly the same.
“I did not ask any of that from you,” you retort. “Knight or not, I wouldn’t have viewed you as any less of a man than you are now.”
His eyes softened. Your words served as his courage, for he reached and caressed your cheek. Rough callouses that have seen many battles touched your skin with unbelievable tenderness.
“I’ve gone in my own accord because…” he whispers, breathing close to your mouth now. “… because all I want is to lay the world on your feet if you’d ask me to.”
You are at loss for words. You watch him as he stares delicately down at your lips. And there, the distinction of feelings you believed to have torn the both of you asunder evaporated into thin smoke. Before a kiss falls upon your lips, you smile cheekily and say, “Will you help me with my clothes?”
That seems to pull him out of a daydream and into another one. This time, he regains his senses, but his cheeks are as red as they could be.
“My lady, I wouldn’t even dream of—”
You chuckle. “The look on your face is priceless. Won’t you see me on our wedding night? Treat this as some sort of a tease.”
It’s pictured all over his handsome face: the desire and restrain that takes every ounce of control from him. You revel in it, so much that a chuckle once again resonates from you.
Deciding that you have tortured him enough, you divulge, “I only jest, Ser. You can go on with your business. I will be there shortly with you in the hall.”
“Can I stay here?” he fritters away not a second to ask. “I only meant… it has been so long and I want to spend time with you.”
“You’ll watch me bathe?” You giggle.
“No,” he says in defense. “If it’s to your comfort, I can turn around while we speak.”
With a hum, you nod your head. “You can stay, but I need you to do just that so I can step into the pool.”
His shoulders remain tensed when he turned his back on you and stepped a few paces away. Standing like a jutted pillar, he appears rock solid.
Once you have fully submerged yourself in the water, a sigh is elicited from your lips. The temperature is perfect. You can almost feel the comfort coming, handing out its soothing hand to your joints.
“Won’t you join me, Ser?” you proclaim, edged with another small chuckle. “I believe you wouldn’t see a thing under all these petals— if seeing is what you’re afraid of.”
“I shall ask you one thing,” he responds determinedly instead.
You pick up a petal from the water and tear it apart. “Ask away.”
“Will you allow me to massage your joints? I can cover my eyes and you can guide my hands.”
Enough of being a jester. You have been rendered speechless by the favor delivered with absolute sincerity. It has gratified you so to jest around him, for it proves that your relationship can be light and that both of you hold the ability to forget that it is arranged in the first place.
Noticing your taciturnity, he clears his throat. “Forgive me for the bold suggestion, my lady. It is not my intention to scare or make you uncomfortable.”
“Fret not, you have done neither,” you answer almost breathlessly. “I shall take you on your offer, Kiyoomi.”
The air swiftly thickens with intimacy at your answer. More so when he dips half of his body under the water and close to you. Out of instinct, you hug your knees, the temperature rising. Kiyoomi made no exaggerated movements; the water almost looks as tranquil as before his submergence.
“May I?” If he’s nervous, his smile did not betray him. He has kept his eyes on yours, refusing to look at anything else.
“You have kept yourself hidden from me,” you say, cheeks burning while extending your leg in his direction. He catches your feet carefully, eyes still locked on yours. “Even your letters appeared mysterious, giving away nothing that might us c… closer,” you stammer, feeling his thumbs pressing on the delicate parts.
To that, he chuckles, the sound thick and smoky. He presses down your flesh, a calculated movement, and begins to massage the muscles up. “I apologize, my lady. I merely wanted us to be acquainted not through ink and paper but through flesh and bone. That’s why I bade my time.”
Apart from the relief given by the water, his hands played their part as well. The heavy yet comforting weight slowly helps alleviate the twisting pain. From your feet to your knees and up. You suck in a quick breath when his hand found the lower sides of your hips, which stirred the man up in alarm.
“It’s alright. You can continue. Just be careful not to touch higher than that…” you say, paired yet again with another airless laugh. To stir your mind away from the thought of his hand on your bare skin, you proceeded to speak, “And how do you find your future wife, Kiyoomi? Do you want to run away now?”
“Never. My opinion of you hasn’t changed, and even if it had, I don’t think there would be any force in the world to stop my feelings.” He looks at you through his lashes. The man did not stutter. Not once.
“Even with my… condition? This might be a permanent thing. Although it does not affect me, I fear that it might— where are you going?”
You watch him stand up and walk to where his sword is placed on the floor. Water cascades down his feet, silver in the moonlight and on his dark garments. When he skillfully unsheathed his sword, your throat constricts.
“W… what are you doing? You’re not planning to kill—”
Then he kneels. He kneels on one knee while raising his sword with two hands.
“I swear on this holy sword that I will not let anything or anyone harm you. Whatever it is that makes up your soul is mine, too. Allow me to share your joy and your sorrow, your sickness and health. For I am your servant. To this day, until my last.”
For a long moment, you heard nothing but the beat of your heart. And if you’d dare say it, you can hear his heart, too. Swearing on the holy sword is not to be taken lightly. One is bound to an eternity of devotion once one speaks vows while holding the sword.
Words will not suffice. Nothing will ever do, but you have to say something. And so you have emerged yourself from the water, pulled him close by the collar, and responded with a kiss. You feel him tense, unknowing what to do with himself. Though it’s taken one or two heartbeats before his fingers are laced through your hair, he deepened the kiss. Kissing is all you have done from that point forward, filling in the years you have been apart by pulling each other into an embrace until your lonely limbs finally collide.