Wednesday almost fainted right
then and there. This man, whoever he
was, knew about the Shadow Kingdom, could trap people there, and wanted to kill
someone, somehow, by using Mirabel.
Wednesday’s head spun. It was so
much to clear…
She rested her forehead on
the garden pine-needled floor, her heart pulsing. From her new spot, she could
see Aurelia from between the branches, talking to seemingly nothing,
again. It occurred to Wednesday that he
could be a spirit from the Shadow Kingdom.
That would explain a lot of things.
Suddenly she realized
it. Aurelia wasn’t talking to
nothing.
Blending in almost
perfectly with the darkness around them, like a shadow itself, was a figure
wearing a flowing black cloak that swept the floor and a long, thin hood that
obscured his face. This mysterious
man…with a black cape and hood…talking to Aurelia as if she were a mere child…
Could it be the Shadow
King?
Wednesday’s breath caught in
her throat. It must be. Who else would
have such a captivating, sweet tone, mysterious and dressed in all black,
conversing with Aurelia—the Lady Aurelia—so freely? Wednesday was sure that if anyone else had acted
so disrespectfully toward her like this, Aurelia would have turned them into an
earthworm or something.
No, this had to be the
King.
Wednesday squinted. She couldn’t see him all that well. She was horrified by the fact that he was
amused at the thought of killing some poor lady, especially someone he had just
met today. In fact, what was the Shadow King doing here? He had no business in
the human world. If this truly was
him—and Wednesday was fairly sure of this—he shouldn’t be leaving his
Kingdom. He shouldn’t even be able to
leave.
“Oh.” Aurelia’s voice came out strangled. She cleared her throat, shifting her weight
from foot to foot. “Well then. That was
not the method I would have used, but if that’s what you prefer, sir, then no
objection shall cross my lips.”
The Shadow King
sighed. “You did see Mirabel today,
didn’t you?”
Aurelia was silent for a
moment. Wednesday strained to hear what was going on. Finally Aurelia slowly said, “I did
not.”
“You did know that she was
here tonight?”
“No, sir, I did not.”
“And you did know that
Mirabel is going to be very, very cross when she notices this?”
“No, sir.”
“At least she was here
tonight. That will surely help contain
her tirade to a minimum. Yet, if she is
too overwhelmed, you do know I am counting on you to guide her in the right
direction, Aurelia, yes?”
“Yes, sir.” Aurelia sounded relieved to be able to say
yes to one of the Shadow King’s questions.
“I understand sir, and if Mirabel does seem too ornery, I will inform
you at once.”
“Excellent.” The Shadow King laughed again, and it was so
sweet and gentle that Wednesday smiled.
“Okay, then, I must get going. After
all, I have…business…to conduct with the Sunlight Queen.” Was it Wednesday’s imagination, or did his
voice sound wearier than it had just before? “Interesting moon, if I do say so
myself…anyhow. Tell your sisters that I
said hello, alright?”
“Yes.” Aurelia’s skirts twisted as she
curtsied. “Oh, and Gyelle wanted to tell
you she sang today. Apparently she has
become quite the opera singer. And
Fylecia says she called someone a rotten nuffermonk for the first time today. I am blushing to shame.”
“Don’t worry about it. Your sisters are your sisters, and they’re a
very fine group, if I do say so myself.”
The King’s cloak whispered over the air as he turned. “I bid you a pleasant night, Aurelia.” Then he picked up the corner of his
cloak—Wednesday caught a glimpse of a glinting silver pocket watch—brought it
around him, and vanished. Wednesday
could just barely tell in the darkness.
Aurelia didn’t move for a
moment. Finally, she let out a soft sigh
and raised her head up at the harvest moon.
“He has to be careful,” she said to herself, voice barely intelligible. “If the curse comes into effect…” Trailing off, she picked up her skirts and
daintily started to pick her way through the gardens back to the castle.
Once Aurelia was out of
eyeshot, Wednesday dared to peek up over the rose arbor, carefully pushing
thorny branches out of her view. Aurelia
was a faint white speck bobbing up the steps to the castle by the southeast
entrance. She wasn’t looking around, so
Wednesday decided it was safe to stand.
Her mind was cloudy and her legs were wobbly. Without thinking, she
braced her arm on the rosebushes to support her, then jumped out of her skin
when it jabbed her entire hand with spiky needles. The sharp yelp that escaped her she quickly
cut off.
At least she was awake
now.
Aurelia hadn’t turned
around. She was probably too far off, and presently Wednesday cautiously
watched as she opened the large gilded doors and slipped inside.
“Great waistcoats,”
Wednesday whispered to herself, trying to process all the things she’d
witnessed in the past few minutes. The
Shadow King was here, and he could come out.
And he had a wicked plan that involved a mortal lady who couldn’t swear
an oath, Mirabel, and possible death, just so he could get what he wanted. Not even; what he might have wanted.
No, Wednesday concluded,
she did not like the Shadow King.
And not only that, but as
Aurelia had said just now…the King had to be careful because there was a curse
of some sort. All that lead
to…what? Everything was too secretive. And obviously, Aurelia was not being secretly courted. No; this was something more important,
something more personal. Since the
Shadow King was possibly in love with this unnamed lady, things could get
complicated. Judging from the
conversation, Wednesday guessed that the King couldn’t bring the lady he liked
into his kingdom because she couldn’t swear the oath of something. And if the Shadow King did try, which he very might well do, at the very least people
would notice the lady had gone missing.
___________ was a fairly small city; and in this area of the city, most
people knew each other. Surely someone
would report that she had disappeared.
And if it was more complicated than that, and the lady ended up not
liking him, and him her, he would kill her.
News of something as serious as that—an innocent civilian being murdered—would
definitely spark anger within the city.
That anger could easily evolve into full-fledged warfare, based on the
major skirmishes popping up every which way in the country.
Oh, yes, the war.
It wasn’t technically a
war; in fact, it was about as dangerous as a snowball fight at this point. Still, Wednesday and her family were
worried. For some reason, citizens were
angry at the government, and being a king, Father wished to do something about
it. Unfortunately, since he was just a
minor king of the many other minor kings in __________, there was nothing they
could do to control it. Father did his
best, though, and so did Mother—attending campaigns, workdays, events, and such
other things where government official tended to be. Not that they made much difference, Wednesday
though grimly.
At any rate, people weren’t
happy with the constitutional monarchy their country had. Fights, violent protests, and other illegal
things were becoming more and more popular, especially in urban areas where
there were others to join ranks with.
Wednesday wasn’t sure what the Monarch was doing—and hopefully that he
or she could actually do something about it.
Since the monarch had been quiet lately, she supposed, people were
getting braver and braver to stand up against it. Deep within her, she wondered if the high
ruler was even paying attention to this.
Wednesday imagined a fat old man soaking luxuriously in a bathtub with
rose petals, and grimaced.
At least the war hadn’t
evolved into a real war yet.
However, if the Shadow King
killed the young lady, certainly it would wreak havoc. In a world where the men owned their wives,
it did not seem that such a thing would cause much harm, but it was
unbelievable how much men paid attention to their women. The killing of a fair maiden would be an
enormous deal, especially if the Shadow King decided to disappear into thin air
and not claim any responsibility, leaving the population to wonder who the
murderer was. No, they couldn’t have
that.
With a start, Wednesday
jolted back from the rosebush as a bird shrieked, bringing her back to reality.
It was high time she went to the castle.
She hiked up her skirts over her ankles—no one was here to see her
anyway—and made a shortcut, stepping over a low row of winding flowers. The leaves caught the wispy ribbons of her
dress and tore them from the edge of her corset with the sound of ripping
satin, but Wednesday just picked her way to the next hedge. The green silk of
her dress wouldn’t be noticed by anyone in the tangle of plants.
As she was making her way
along the maze wall, Wednesday couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being
watched. The feeling only increased as
she reached the palace doors, and she turned back to hesitantly scan the garden
to see if anyone was there—ludicrous, of course. Just as she decided no one was there and
slipped into the palace, she thought she saw a faint figure dressed in
golden-white running along the rope bridge.
The ballroom was easy to
locate. Follow the sounds of violins,
crashing piano chords, honking trumpets.
Obviously there was some lively dance going on. Wednesday absently passed the ballroom doors,
then backtracked and entered. Sure
enough, the dancers were engaged in a dynamic polka. She watched as Fylecia and Gyelle practically
flew by, their silky slippers tripping across the floor, Gyelle’s unpinned hair
a vortex of black as they spun, Fyelica’s tightly bunched curls bouncing this
way and that. The other Goddesses were
having fun with this, apparently, from the breathless laughs and exclamations. Winter was standing deep in thought by the
wall, but Willow was nowhere to be seen.
That was fairly normal, though; Willow was always somewhere else. When Winter caught sight of Wednesday,
though, she weaved her way over, through the dancers, and halted in front of
her.
“Wednesday, where have you
been?” she said with a cool laugh, tweezing a pine needle out of Wednesday’s
hair. Mortified, Wednesday realized it had probably been from when she had been
spying on Aurelia and the Shadow king, and she hadn’t thought to brush up a bit
before coming back.
“Sorry.” Wednesday waved her hand dismissively. “If you must know, I was out in the
gardens. Got a little stuffy in here for
a moment.”
“At the New Year’s
Festival? Past midnight?” Winter grasped
Wednesday’s arm and pressed it to her lips.
“Raspberries, Wednesday, don’t you know better than to go out without a
cloak in wintertime? You’re cold as ice.”
Wednesday blushed. “I know, I’m senseless, aren’t I? Really,
Winter, you needn’t worry, I’ll be fine, I promise. Just need—ah—some, you
know, warmth to bring the color back into my cheeks.”
Laughing, Winter spun her
in a dizzy whirl and brought her into dance position on the floor. “Well, then what you need is to dance away!
Nothing like a polka to get your spirits up!” She twirled Wednesday around again, not paying
any heed to the gentleman’s actual part, and created some sort of midair plié,
ending with a graceful spin. Following the ebb and flow of the movement,
Wednesday stepped sideways, twisted in an improvised turnover curtsy, and
overbalanced and fell in a tumble of skirts.
Winter brought her up and twirled her again, but Wednesday stumbled as
her ankle gave way. Winter caught her again and brought her back into the
movement, another turn, another spin, another graceful, fast gyrate. Dizzy and
giddy, Wednesday danced alongside her sister, colors spiraling brightly in her
vision.
It was very bright. All the
sounds of the orchestra were sounding strangely muffled and distant, and
Wednesday was vaguely aware that her head throbbed. She misstepped again, and this time collapsed
on top of Winter, the silks of her sister’s ballgown sleek against her
cheek.
“Wednesday, are you okay?”
Winter’s face was oddly blurry and her voice faint. “Wednesday? Wednesday?”
“Urrrrrrrrgh.” Wednesday tried to stand. Strands of Winter’s
pale blonde hair were in her face. “I’m
fine, I think, but…ahhh.”
Winter straightened her and
started to guide her towards the ballroom stairs. “I think you’d better take some medicine. The
spinning must’ve gotten to you. You know the shortcut, right? Up the stairs,
through the servant’s staircase, and take a right for our room. Do you think you can go by yourself?”
“Yes.” They were at the stairs. Wednesday set her shoulder back and took a
deep breath. Her head was still in the
polka, spinning round and round, and a horrible sick sensation was pervading
her throat. “I’ll…I’ll manage. You keep dancing.” She tried to smile and unsteadily grasped the
banister’s carved railing for support, then planted her foot on the first stair
and commanded herself to move.
“Well…alright.” Winter didn’t look entirely convinced, but
Wednesday knew her well enough to know she’d rather dance than pull her sister
up the stairs and feed her medicine. “If
you see Willow you can ask her to help you.”
Not that Willow would ever
help her for anything, Wednesday thought to herself. She just nodded, though,
and, using the ornate espaliered rail, started to pull herself up the
stairs. The exertion was getting to her
weak body, she knew, and halfway up, she was gasping for breaths as black spots
danced in her vision. In her woozy mind she somehow remembered that the bottle
of medicine had been missing earlier, and this only added to her wobbliness. She had just leaned precariously far over the
banister to call it out to Winter when the black splotches in her vision burst,
and everything went dark.
Wednesday
suddenly awoke with a thunderbolt of pain, electrifying her and frying her to
her fingertips. The floor was hard and
wooden under her head, not the comforting fluffiness of pillows. Her reddish hair had come unpinned and
tendriled over shards of porcelain and glass on the ground. The ceiling swooped above her, and in the
upward corner of her vision was a stairway railing with latticed swirls—
She had fallen off the
stair banister—
Winter was at her side, she
dimly realized, her sister brushing sharp porcelain pieces away from her,
clearing the mess. “Wednesday. Wednesday.
Come on, you’re fine, you need to…”
“Allow me,” said Father’s
voice. His face appeared in her vision.
“Goodness, Wednesday, you need to get to bed.”
I fainted, Wednesday thought, blinking as rainbow speckles sprung
around in front of her eyes. But…only for a few moments?
Father’s steady arm
supported her, and very slowly, raised her into a sitting position. Wednesday’s
breath was coming in short pants. She
was hyperventilating from the effort.
The rainbow speckles blotched in blurry paint marks. Her mind couldn’t concentrate on Father’s
face; instead, figures in the background came into sharp focus. Aurelia, Bliss,
and all the other Goddesses were crowded among themselves at the ballroom’s
edge, Haleyana and Isterielle clasping each other’s hands as though their lives
depended on it. Esme was clutching at her skirts. Chalize’s eyes were wide with
shock. The few gentlemen invited were
staring.
And there was something
else. By Keilani stood Larissa,
stabilizing the limp form of a gentleman against the wall. Wednesday let out a choked cry. “Oh, no,” she
said, wanting to curl up and die. “Just
like…last year…I fell over the banister and on top of…”
Cassius. But this year it wasn’t Cassius, it was
someone she didn’t know. The young
gentleman had dark hair, as smooth as Cassius’s was mussed, and his stature was
somewhat finer, and more delicate somehow, yet pronounced and strong at the
same time.
“And I suppose he…” Wednesday couldn’t help being drawn to the
blood streak on the gentleman’s cheekbone. He must’ve gotten it when she fell
on top of him, presumably crashing into a breakable object. That accounted for the pieces of porcelain
and glass. Her cheeks burned with
embarrassment. Again.
“Don’t you worry, he’ll be
fine,” Father reassured her, scooping her up as though she weighed nothing more
than paper. Wednesday let her eyes
close. “Let’s get you to bed. The doctor
will see you shortly, but I think you need some rest first.” He stepped over the shards, carried her up
the stairs, took the shortcut through the servant’s staircase, and deposited
her in her bed. Wednesday let him tuck
the sheets in over her and arrange the pillow behind her head, not minding that
she was still in her dress. Rolling
over, sending sharp stabs of pain up her chest, she reached blindly for the
nonexistent medicine bottle—
—And found it.
Shocked, Wednesday’s eyes
flew open. Her fingers had indeed closed
over the cylindrical medicine bottle, the smooth coolness of smoothed glass
under her hands. She almost gasped, but
instead let out a hacking cough that had Father swiftly warming up a mug of
water and handing it to her.
“Sit up to drink, but go to
sleep,” he ordered. “You need rest. What were you thinking, dancing the polka? Do
you not know your own body?”
Wednesday took a sip of the
scalding water and nearly spit it back up.
As it was, she choked it down and laid her head back. “I’m sorry, Father. Who was that poor gentleman? I’ll need to say sorry to him…” She rested the mug on her lap, weary.
“Say sorry?” Father exclaimed,
almost violently. He righted himself and
exhaled slowly, looking like it was all he could do not to scold her. “You must do so much more than apologize. Do you realize the extent of this damage,
what happens when such a thing occurs? Last year was a fantastic example; we
were very lucky indeed that the young gentleman didn’t ask for solatium. If our
gentleman this year is not as forgiving, we may need to prorogue the renovation
of the palace…”
“We’re renovating?”
Wednesday asked in surprise. “Is there something wrong with the building
foundation?”
Father waved his hand. “You needn’t worry, Wednesday. It’s a simple thing with the roof shaft in
the west wing. Where the bell tower is.”
“Hm.” Wednesday couldn’t recall the bell tower. She hardly ventured beyond the first few
floors; she was scared of heights.
Willow relentlessly teased her and tried to persuade her to come up, but
Wednesday wouldn’t budge. For once. “Well, I’m terribly, terribly sorry,
Father.” She avoided his eyes under the
pretense of sipping more water, burning herself in the process. Father took the mug from her and blew
vehemently on it, as if he were taking out his anger on the water. In a moment it had cooled to a drinkable
temperature. Father set the mug down on
Wednesday’s bedside table with a thunk.
“I can’t say I’m not
disappointed, Wednesday,” he began, pulling a fat green armchair over and
awkwardly reclining. “But I’m not angry
with you. I know you’re…limited.”
Wednesday’s cheeks were burning
even more with humiliation.
“And just know that I love
you, all right?” he said, clearing his throat.
Wednesday stared at him. Father
had never said that to her before. She’d always assumed a mutual connection,
but this was the first time…After all, Father never paid much attention to her—or
anyone, for that matter.
“T-thank you,” was all she
could manage, and gulped down a considerable amount of water.
Father wrung his hands
lamely for a moment in silence, then rose from the chair with the sound of
creaking wood. He frowned. “Perhaps the palace is in of more renovation
than I think,” he said, and headed for the door. In his typical Father way, he didn’t look
back as he eased out and closed the door quietly behind him.
Wednesday drained the mug,
just methodically taking sips of the water.
Father had been paying more attention than she’d thought. She recalled that morning, when Winter had
said something…you know what Father said
about being fair…
And Willow hadn’t been
happy, naturally. But still…
Thoughtfully, Wednesday put
the empty mug on her bedside table and removed the medicine, taking a few
mouthfuls. It tasted more bitter than
usual, but she hardly noticed because her head was still throbbing. Come to think of it, who had taken the
medicine? And where was Willow,
anyway? It was like her to be gone, but
definitely not if people as important as the Goddesses were around. Willow loved celebrities.
After a few minutes of
uselessly pondering this, Wednesday slipped out from under the covers and
placed her feet unsteadily on the floor.
Her head was still dizzy and her stomach still unsettled, but she was
determined to apologize to the young gentleman she’d fallen on this year.
Such things were becoming a
tradition, she reflected guiltily.
Using the walls as a
counterbalance, Wednesday made her way across the room, skirts swishing the
floor. The banister proved a valuable guide as she staggered down the
steps. It was like an ectype of last
year. Halfway down the servants’ staircase, still hidden by the wall shadows,
Wednesday paused as she listened to the quiet converse of people going on in
the ballroom hardly five feet from her.
“…Hopefully, Lord
Seigfried.” That was…Wednesday cocked
her head. Bliss’s voice? Calm and cool,
it must have been. For a moment,
Wednesday wondered if Bliss was talking with the Shadow King, but that didn’t
make any sense. Lord Seigfried? Sounded out of state.
“Well, all right,
then.” The young gentleman’s voice was
polite and soft. “Thank you, Lady
Bliss. And you, Lady Chalize.”
“Just Chalize is fine,”
Chalize said. “I’m sorry about your arm,
Lord Seigfried.”
“No, it is quite all right.
I’m afraid that I’ve caused you some trouble.”
“Not at all. I am
the Goddess of healing, after all,” Chalize said with a laugh.
“Well, thank you
again.”
“You’re welcome.”
There was the pacing of
feet, possibly Bliss’s, from the sound of light footsteps. Or perhaps Daelynn. Wednesday inched downward a little farther,
and caught glimpses of pink and red and a bit of orange. Maybe Daelynn was in
the vicinity after all.
“Where is the young lady?”
the gentleman’s voice asked. Nothing
about his tone seemed to have malicious intent, but still Wednesday
stiffened.
“Upstairs, I believe.” That was Aurelia’s voice.
“Ah. I shan’t disturb her, then.”
There was quiet for a
considerable amount of time. Wednesday
considered going down but felt too self-conscious. She was sure that this Lord Seigfried was the
gentleman she fell on. Two nobles in two
years! That had to be some kind of record.
Still, she had to apologize
anyway. Might as well get it over with.
Mustering her courage,
Wednesday gripped the banister for support and deliberately stepped down. The ballroom was nearly empty. It looked like most of the guests had left,
including the musicians. Wednesday wished
there was some background music to cancel out the awkward silence sure to
happen soon.
The Goddesses were sparsely
separated around the room, some looking bored, others worried. Gyelle was holding Jewel’s hand so tightly it
was turning white. The twins, Haleyana
and Isterielle, were whispering to one another.
Esme had puddled on the floor, buttery yellow skirts spread out in a
blossom, and was picking at the hem of her dress, evidently bored. Larissa stood quietly off to one side,
observing the center of the room, where a few chairs had been set out. Most of the Goddesses had serried around
here. In one chair sat Aurelia, the next
Bliss, and then Chalize. In the chair
next to Chalize the young gentleman sat. If anything, with his
almost-androgynous stature and smooth, dark hair, he looked even sweeter than
Cassius.
“Oh, my dear Lord,” he said
as Wednesday approached. Quickly, he
stood, and hurried over. “My lady, you
shouldn’t be up. You’re hurt.”
I’m hurt? Wednesday thought, looking at him. The blood streak was still there. One arm he had wrapped a wide strip of cloth
on and over his shoulder, creating a sling.
She cringed. “No, sir, sit,
please,” she whispered, fire burning on her face.
Lord Seigfried stared at
her for a moment, then slowly backed off.
But he took her arm with his non-injured one, and led her to an empty
chair. Chalize, Bliss, and Aurelia had
surveyed this unfolding of events with little comment. Chalize blinked at Wednesday, unsure.
“I am…terribly sorry for
all this…inconvenience.” To Wednesday’s
shock, Lord Seigfried started first. And
with such a deep apology, too, especially since Wednesday had been the one to
cause all the trouble. Lord Seigfried
leaned back in his chair, but tensely, as though sensing Wednesday’s
imperceptible hesitation. Wednesday got
the feeling that Lord Seigfried was quite perspicacious, and she blushed
again. Determined to set things right,
she sat up and faced him, looking into his eyes. They were a light, crystalline blue, but dark
near his eyelids so they looked purple.
“Um…so…” Now that Wednesday had his attention, she
didn’t know what to say. Fortunately,
the clock tower chimed six in the morning, and the resulting tintinnabulation
gave her a moment to think.
“So,” Lord Seigfried
prompted, after the resonating had dissipated.
“Ah, yes.” Wednesday smoothed her skirts in her lap, not
wanting to look into those attractive, openly clear eyes. “Um…I really should be the one
apologizing. It’s my fault. I’m sorry, I should’ve known my limit,
because I was dancing the polka and started to hyperventilate.” Catching his confused look, he quickly added,
“I have medical difficulties. With my
health and respiration and circulation and all that. I’m really sorry for that. If you need compensation, we can make it up
for you. Just please, do forgive
me.” She dipped her head, which made her
dizzy all over again. “Lord
Seigfried.”
Lord Seigfried considered
her for a moment. He tipped his head to
one side as though seeing her clearly for the first time. “You…have the Shadow’s…” He stopped himself. “I’m sorry, I mean, it’s quite all
right. There’s nothing wrong with
this.” He smiled, and something about
his smile made the room’s presence lighten.
It made Wednesday feel…appreciated.
Preposterous, of course, seeing how she had hurt him.
“May I have the pleasure of
inviting you to stay in the palace for a bit?”
Father’s voice sounded from the ballroom door. Wednesday quickly glanced up. Father, looking somewhat bemused and
decidedly worried, was standing in the doorway.
He held a large book with papers under his arm, clenched very tightly as
though nervous. Wednesday glanced at his
hands, which were white. Even so, his
voice was even and smooth. He was good with
words. No wonder he was a minority
king. “After all, it is only appropriate
that we repay you in some way after all this…trouble.”
“No, it is no
trouble.” Lord Seigfried looked almost
shy. With his almost-delicate physique
and soft-looking dark hair, he seemed like a kitten. Wednesday just wanted to use him as a teddy
bear, so she could squeeze him all she wanted.
“Well, at least stay for
the morning while you heal,” Father urged.
“Anyhow, it is a storm out, and you have no horse.”
“True enough,” Lord
Seigfried said, “But I would hate to trouble you.”
“Surely you would not be
troubling us in any way,” Father pressed.
“I say, it is storming out, and you have no reason to soak in a
rainstorm after you have been injured, and you have no means of transport
besides foot. Anyhow, we all could use a
bath, and you are part. At least stay
until you have freshened up. And I do
insist.”
Lord Seigfried out his
elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands.
“Well, I suppose,” he said, relenting.
“Only because I wish to not experience your speech.”
“Lovely,” Father said
courteously, though the corner of his mouth twitched. He left.
Wednesday rose, gesturing
for Lord Seigfried to follow her. She
was still a little nauseous. “Here, I’ll
draw the bath for you.”
He protested, until
Wednesday finally marched off without him, and he trailed after her.
The storm
kept going.
Willow huddled under the
shelter of a thick, thorny bush by the omphalos of the gardens. She knew in the spring it would sprout in
golden flowers, as it did every year, but for now it was deadened and gnarled. However, it did provide a safe cover from the
unrelenting rain pouring down from the sky.
A drop of water landed on her nose.
Well, almost a safe cover.
The storm had started
twenty minutes ago, and Cassius still
wasn’t here. Willow didn’t know if he’d
even accepted her offer or not. She dearly
wished that he would. After all, he was
hers. Willow scowled as she thought of
Wednesday’s reaction to her telling Winter about Cassius. Wednesday didn’t deserve Cassius. He was too good and noble and…Willow
struggled to think of a word. Though solemn
on the surface, Willow knew very well that he was feisty. The conspiratorial wink he’d given her. The way he danced. It all seemed perfect for her— Cassius and
her, together. She smiled dreamily. If only.
“Willow.”
Willow jumped as Cassius materialized
from practically nowhere. He had no
umbrella, yet he wasn’t wet at all.
Willow’s heart sang with happiness at seeing him smile at her.
“Willow, aren’t you cold?”
he asked, gesturing at her sleeveless ballgown.
“The rain must’ve gotten to you.
You have to be careful.” He
unbuttoned his suitcoat and slipped it over her shoulders.
“I have to be careful? What about you?” Willow said, though she
accepted his coat. It was nice and soft,
and she wrapped it around herself more tightly.
“How come you’re not wet?”
Cassius seemed to realize
this the same time she said it. “Oh—uh,
it’s a magic of sorts,” he said, sounding hurried. “Anyhow.
Why did you call me here?”
“Well…” Willow twirled a finger idly in her long,
wavy hair. “I mean, Father would never
like me to be with you—he’d probably prefer me with a prince or something—but,
I meant, I don’t mind, I’d love to be with you.” Her words blustered with nervousness, and
blush heated her face. “I mean, I love
you.”
Cassius just stood there,
still in the rain. Willow scooted over
under the bush to make room for him, but he didn’t move, the rain splashing off
his head in drops.
“Well?” she asked
hopefully.
“I…don’t know,” he said
slowly. “I mean, I like you too,
Willow. However…it would be…difficult…to
live together. My household has slight
issues. Well, serious issues, if you
would have it. But…” He hesitated. “I—I mean, I’m not so sure right now, it’s a
bit of a shock to me so soon—”
“No, it’s all right, I
understand,” Willow said, something like anticipation—or maybe
apprehension—flickering within her. It
was a nervous sort of feeling that made her itchy, as though she needed to jump
around, but she didn’t want to go out into the rain. “Just—think on it, okay?”
Cassius smiled at her. Right on cue, the storm started to yield, the
rain shutting off as though with a flick of a switch. “All right, my princess,” he replied slowly. Carefully, he looked up at the sky. Willow figured it was past two; she had heard
the clock tower. It was pretty much
impossible to miss the clock tower’s peals, anyway. Since the storm had cleared up, the sun would
be coming out soon. “I’ll think on
it.”
