hermajestyvengeanceā:
While the stranger looked about the garden and taunted her with the lines of his jaw and the light fluttering of his shirt, Theaās eyes never left him. If he was indeed there to hurt her, she couldnāt afford to be distracted, though- though he was plenty distracting by himself. It was uncanny, his resemblance to Lamianās statue. Too many parts of him were built and dressed to draw eyes. Moonlight made everything dreamy, urged her to let her guard down.
But she couldnāt, so she watched him, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. She was hardly a rose, but she had plenty of thorns, if that was his idea of fun.Ā āThat sounds like something an Englishman would say,ā she said with a ghost of a smirk to match his. Her time with Sloane taught her well that he was definitely not English, and that there was hardly a worse insult. But then, maybe she was playing the simple gardener girl, with little experience of foreigners like him. What did he know of her?
āThey are pretty,ā she offered, playing along just a little.Ā āIf a little fragile, sometimes. I like the ones that bloom when thereās still snow on the ground.ā She shifted her weight, the leather lining of her prosthetic leg chafing against her thigh. Her skirt shifted to reveal a flash of flesh toes and steel toes alongside one another. Immediately she regretted the movement. Anyone who knew anything about Tenea had heard of its weak, clumsy little princess who was terribly injured in an accident years ago⦠Or whatever the lie was. She could hardly keep track and didnāt much care to anyway.Ā
Now it was her turn to distract him, lest he grow bored and do whatever heād come to do instead.Ā āThere are more unique flowers, though. More unusual, more decadent. If youāre here for anything, why not something interesting?ā Was she supposed to be the boring rose or the interesting flower in her extension of his flirtatious metaphor? She wasnāt entirely sure. Maybe it could be exciting to have some surprise affair with a stranger trespassing in her familyās garden. Maybe that was all a scoundrel like him came looking for.
Maybe, at least, playing to that would give her an opportunity to run inside once his guard came down. She twirled one long lock of hair around her fingers like an obsidian ring.Ā āYou look like you would be more at home with a fruit, anyway.ā Her eyes drifted to his lips in a momentary lapse. They were full and inviting. Dangerous. He served himself up for her eyes to feast on, yet he looked ravenous himself.Ā āMaybe blackberries, given your apparent fondness for drawing blood.ā And wouldnāt he look all the more charming with his lips and fingers stained deep red?
āIām no Englishman, thatās for damn sure.ā He scoffed, but his attention drifted to the movement of her skirts. Barefooted, but one foot wasnāt made of flesh and that piqued his interest, but he didnāt comment on it. No, instead he focused on what she was saying with genuine interest, eyes watching her every move. It felt like a game now, one that sheād caught onto. Maybe too well, with that last comment. Jamieās eyes narrowed briefly at the mention of drawing blood and he wondered if she was indeed more than met the eye.Ā
But he could hear her heartbeat plainly, a bird flapping around in a rather attractive cage. Wolves smelled, magic smelled, there wasnāt anything like it on her. Just lavender, hints of jasmine amongst the already present floral scents of the garden. Instead of chasing that thread, he turned his attention back to the pomegranates and he stepped closer until he was standing on the edge of the fountain and reaching upwards towards a single fruit. The branches didnāt quite hang down far enough for him to just pluck one, but his fingers just skimmed the just reddening rind. āAlways liked these. Crack them open anā they look like they have rubies spilling oot of them.ā It was an absent comment, his eyes following the tree branch upwards.Ā
And then he was in front of her, as if heād never taken the little fountain excursion at all, an easy smirk playing across his lips. āKind of a presumptuous thing tae say tae a stranger in the dark, innit? Rude if yer wrong, anā not the brightest if yer right.ā His hands were behind his back, clasped there almost in jest. Another game, one where he could scare her without even touching her. Probably not the wisest one to play within the castle walls, but who was he if not someone who enjoyed taking a few risks here and there? Bolder this one, he doubted heād really get to her. She seemed well versed in combat the way other women in his life were, her tongue a sharpened sword. Up close now, less than a foot apart, he could see a glint of fire in her eyes and for just a moment, he had an inkling to reach out and touch her cheek. See if it felt just as porcelain smooth as it looked.Ā
He was about to, fingertips were just about to curl around the edge of her jaw when he heard approaching footsteps and then he was back in the shadows. Someone had called out a name, her name? His brow furrowed, he wasnāt that far away but it wouldnāt take much to get back over the wall before anyone could spot him. Sheer curiosity kept him in the shadows of the wall, behind a couple of the lilac bushes. There wasnāt quite a lot to see, but he could hear just fine, would know whether he was able to try and approach again or disappear entirely.
Jamieās attention turned towards the sky as he listened, absently counted stars as footsteps stopped and there were now two heartbeats. In a strange way, the whole thing made him somewhat nostalgic for well over a century ago back at the manor. Someone telling him to come out of the stables and get back to the house. Never his parents, always some other member of the help. He wondered if this was the same kind of thing.Ā















