Private Tales Virtue and Valor in Shades of Scarlet

[Evadne]

Evadne froze as his fingers closed around hers... warm, steady, alive. The heat of him felt almost scalding against her cold skin, the pulse thrumming beneath his skin a rhythmic, merciless sound that filled her ears. How long had it been since she’d felt warmth like this?

Her throat tightened as he bent and pressed his lips to the back of her hand. The contact was light, chaste, but it might as well have been a brand searing through her veins. Every inch of her ached with the hunger she fought to forget, the hunger that whispered, just one taste, one heartbeat, one drop of warmth to remember what it means to live.

She wanted to pull away. Gods, she should. But instead she stood there, trembling, the world narrowing to the sound of his heart.

And yet when he lifted his gaze to hers, those soft eyes so full of sincerity, she felt something twist in her chest that was not hunger, but sorrow. He looked at her as though she were human. As though she were still something worthy of gentleness.

Her lips parted to speak, but no sound came. The silence stretched, heavy and fragile. Finally, she forced a smile, small and trembling.

“Oh… there is nothing to forgive, Sir Alaric,” she managed, her voice breaking into something breathless and too soft. “Please, think nothing of it.”

Her free hand clutched the cloak tighter around her shoulders, as if she could keep his warmth trapped there, as if it could stave off the void gnawing at her insides. She gave his hand the faintest squeeze, a human gesture, though she scarcely remembered how to be one.

“Perhaps,” she said quietly, eyes lowering, “you wouldn’t mind escorting me to my chambers. I… I feel a little unsteady on my feet.” A sigh escaped her, feather light, as though the effort of restraint alone wearied her more than centuries of solitude.

In her mind, a whisper followed, unwanted and treacherous. What harm could it do, to walk beside him a little longer?

 

[Sir Alaric]

The moment of silence felt like a physical blow. Ah. He'd offended her. But nay, then came the reassuring squeeze and her words. Alaric offered a tentative, apologetic smile. He rose to his feet, his frame once more towering over the slight woman.

He felt foolish again. Had he truly felt threatened by this trembling, pale blonde in her slip of a gown? Perhaps that spoke more of him than he would like... threatened by her beauty more like. That specter reared again as she mentioned her chambers. He quelled such thoughts and gave her a shallow bow.

"Of course, my Lady." He slid her arm through his so she might lean on him should the need arise. "The meal was quite good," he said as they walked, "As was the wine. You have marvelous vintages, Sun's truth. Your cellar must be quite legendary."

Evadne

 

[Evadne]

Evadne’s fingers curled lightly around the crook of his arm, the contrast between his heat and her cold so striking she almost flinched. His heartbeat thrummed beneath her touch and it took every ounce of control not to lean closer, not to tiptoe let her lips brush against the pulse at his throat.

Instead, she exhaled softly, her gaze lifting to his face as a faint, wistful smile tugged at her lips. “You are kind,” she murmured, her voice warm despite the chill that clung to her. “But you barely ate a thing.”

The words were a gentle chide though her eyes lingered on the plate he had pushed away, the untouched meat, the red of the wine glinting like blood beneath the candlelight. Her throat tightened. Gods, what a fool she was to let him stay this long.

“Please,” she added, the sigh that followed catching faintly in her chest, “there is plenty more. You must be hungry.” And so am I, she did not say, though her stomach knotted with an ache that had nothing to do with mortal hunger.

Her gaze drifted toward the shadowed archway at the far end of the hall. “And yes,” she went on after a beat, a faint ghost of amusement softening her tone, “I was once something of a collector.”

The corner of her mouth curved, faint but knowing. “I can show you, if you’d like.”

Inside, her thoughts twisted uneasily, a fragile dance between yearning and dread. Take him to the cellar.. keep him there, what a fine addition to her collection he'd make...

 

[Sir Alaric]

"I would be honored to look at your collection, but perhaps later. After you've rested in your chambers?"

She had already been too gracious already and apparently at the cost of her health, for as she said she was unsteady. Perhaps she was sick. That would explain why her touch felt like ice. Alaric walked with her on his arm toward the staircase.

"I fear my appetite is much repressed by long periods without food. I am quite full," he lied, "Do not worry about me, my Lady."

Honestly, the sleep had been what he needed most. It seemed she might as well.

They passed more portraits and Alaric's eyes fell on them. Unsettled. He paused outside her chambers, her hand still on the crook of his elbow.

"The lord of this place is your husband?"

Evadne

 

[Evadne]

Evadne leaned closer into his warmth, letting it seep through the thin barrier of her gown and the old cloak he’d draped around her. The ache of it almost made her dizzy. His pulse, steady against her arm, called to her like a drumbeat in the fog, and for a moment she imagined laying her head against his chest just to hear it up close. Just to remember what it sounded like.

But then his question cut through the haze. The lord of this place… your husband?

Her smile faltered. “No, not exactly,” she said softly, eyes lowering to the shadows that pooled along the steps. Her voice trembled faintly, like something fragile cracking beneath the weight of years. “He was my intended, though he left many years ago and has not returned…”

She hesitated, then forced a faint, wistful smile. “I have waited,” she murmured, “though I fear he may have found a more adequate wife.”

Her fingers slipped from his arm to the brass handle of the chamber door. The hinges creaked as she pushed it open, revealing a room that was still touched by grace.

The curtains were drawn tight, allowing only a faint spill of moonlight through the slits. A faint scent of dried lavender and lilies lingered in the air. The bed, neatly turned down, was dressed in silks the colour of dusk, soft blues and silver, and the hearth crackled quietly, a gentle glow fighting back the gloom. The furniture here was polished free of dust, and unlike the rest of the manor’s decay, this chamber had been kept alive, or at least, a memory preserved.

Evadne stepped inside but did not immediately move toward the bed. She lingered by the threshold, looking up at him. The firelight touched her pale cheek, and for a heartbeat she looked almost human again, like a woman trapped between centuries, between longing and loss.

“It does get terribly lonely,” she admitted quietly, her fingers tightening around the cloak. Her eyes flicked up to meet his.. “Even now, after so long… the silence can be unbearable. It's been nice to have some company.."

 

[Sir Alaric]

Alaric frowned. Many years ago? So… how long had she been in this place, this manor, expecting his return? He’d heard of such men, who ran off to start new lives and left their brides or brides to be at home. But surely lord would not leave his estate so… She might be right. She sounded as though he would never return. Was she really promised then, after all? This troubled the young knight.

So too did the way she looked at him with a longing in her eyes. Alaric felt a twist in his heart and could not muster the courage for a winsome smile. Not when he had forgot how to breathe.

“I enjoy your company as well,” he rasped, trying not to look beyond her to the bed blanketed in silks, nor to look at her, wrapped in that cloak and garbed only in a shift that somehow still showed more of her than she might intend… unless.

Alaric swallowed.

“I know something of loneliness on the road, though my horse keeps me company. He is not exactly talkative,” he smiled wanly, struggling not to let his eyes wander.

Evadne