The Frost of Springtime

by Rachel L. Demeter

  And so Aleksender was in no way surprised when Sofia murmured, “I often come up here when I need to clear my thoughts. And sometimes, if I close my eyes and concentrate hard enough, I feel as though I’m on top of the entire world.”

  He stood beside Sofia, taking delight in the serene smile that had claimed her lips. Moonlight danced across the material of her cloak, brightening the dark hue to various shades of gray.

  A gust of wind swept away her hood and sent an abundance of auburn curls flowing behind her. In the same breath, the breeze parted Aleksender’s dress shirt and exposed one of many scars. Jarred by the sight, a faint gasp emerged from Sofia’s lips. She turned to Aleksender, aligning her body with his own, and carefully traced the slight indention with an index finger.

  When she at last spoke, her voice was soft, serene and overflowing with compassion. “They say the Prussians captured Napoleon’s entire army at Sedan—seventeen thousand men died on that battle, and those who survived were taken as prisoners. Only after the siege were they to be returned home.”

  Aleksender swallowed. He nodded and returned his stare to the night sky. High above, Orion floated against the endless horizon, ready to ward off all evils, his bow drawn into a taut arch.

  “You were there. You were at Sedan.” Sofia reached for Aleksender’s face and gently cradled his cheeks. Day-old stubble pierced her palms as the tips of her fingers drew invisible circles along his weathered skin. She followed the stubborn curve of his chin, caressed each cheek, brushed the forelock from his eyes. “You were a prisoner of the war.”

  Aleksender considered her words for a moment. “We were all prisoners of the war. And none of us have yet to be freed.”

  Sofia’s hands slid away and fell despairingly to her sides. She withdrew a scarlet ribbon from her cloak and thoughtfully meddled with the fabric. She wound it about her fingertips till they grew white from a lack of circulation. She was visibly wrestling with herself—aching to comfort Aleksender, but unsure of how to approach such a delicate issue. Finally, she eased into conservation by reducing the matter to small talk. “Tell me. What was it like? At the war?”

  Aleksender shook his head in silent contemplation. A shiver coursed through his body as both eyes squeezed shut, remembering … reliving. “Lonely. Long. Not much to be said.”

  Sofia tucked the ribbon back into her cloak. She aligned their bodies and ran her fingertips down the length of Aleksender’s torso, deftly brushing the folds of his cloak aside. She paused on top of the dress shirt’s golden claps. Their gazes came together. She questioned him with her eyes. His face dipped into a subtle nod. Swallowing, she deftly unfastened the row of buttons. Aleksender’s breath hitched. The beat of his heart thundered beneath her fingertips. Each snap sounded unnaturally loud within the quiet din.

  She peeled the material aside, exposing a slate of sculpted muscles. Spanning from neck to abdomen, every inch of Aleksender was peppered with black hair and reeking of masculinity. And, as she’d expected, faint scars wove in and out his flesh. Unshed tears clouded Sofia’s vision. She covered the middle of his chest with her palm.

  The simple gesture was beyond beautiful—beyond moving. Aleksender felt something open up inside his heart.

  As if reading his thoughts, she tentatively murmured, “Let me in. Let me take some of your pain. You don’t have to be alone, don’t have to be lonely. Let me help you heal.” A gentle smile curled her lips. “Let me be there for you as you have been there for me all these years. Please, Alek, just free yourself.”

  Aleksender stepped intimately near to Sofia. Lost in her closeness, he curved his hand and gently stroked the side of her face. A wisp of air escaped from her lips as she dipped into his touch. Aleksender felt his heart skip several beats. He removed both gloves and set them atop the stone banister. Free from barriers, he touched Sofia once more, allowing his callused skin to slide across the smooth surface of her flesh. His fingertips trembled in time with his racing heart.

  Sofia swallowed, eyes sparkling with deep emotion. “Alek …” She cocked her head back the slightest bit, causing their lips to align. They shared the same intakes of air, mouths mere inches apart.

  Dipping into a bow, Aleksender surprised Sofia and outstretched his hand. “Care to dance, mademoiselle?”

  With a defiant pout, she folded both arms over her chest. “Dance? Why, I thought you had no desire to do such a thing,” she teased, referring to their tender evening at Voisin.

  Tension furrowed Aleksender’s brow. He swallowed and hung his face in despair. “I had my reasons for distancing myself.”

  “And now?” Sofia finally gripped onto his hand, eyes never parting from his steady gaze.

  “Now I’m afraid I could never have it any other way.”

  Without another word, Sofia smiled and stepped onto his toes, wrapping Aleksender within her embrace. He swayed back and forth, to and fro, carrying her body in sync with his own. Smooth baritone spilled from his lips as he sang into Sofia’s ear. Her heart grew heavy with nostalgia and warm memories; it was the precise lullaby he’d often sing when she was a child:

  “Sleep, my child, peace attends thee …

  All through the night, Guardian angels God send thee …

  All through the night, while the weary world is weeping …

  Love, to thee my thoughts are turning …

  All through the night, though a sad fate our lives may sever, our parting shall not last forever …

  There’s a hope that leaves me never … all through the night …”

  Everything fell into place as they held each other beneath the eternal sky. Sofia dropped her chin a few inches, leveling her lips with the arch of Aleksender’s chin. She pressed a kiss against the rugged flesh, then rose a centimeter and kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek—one and then the other.

  A tortured groan emerged from Aleksender’s throat. Their lips crashed together in a movement neither of them was able to control. Sofia grasped onto Aleksender’s shoulders as her nails dug into the muscles that sculpted his forearm. He slanted his face and deepened their kiss to impossible limits, drinking in her very spirit.

  And then it all ended.

  Aleksender pulled back, breathless, head spinning. He deftly lifted Sofia off his feet and raked a hand through his hairline. “Damn myself. I’m sorry. Wasn’t thinking. Again.” Face sunken, he spun on his heels and gripped the banister. Frustration and a potent self-loathing pumped through his veins. The cold stone was coarse beneath his fingertips—a powerful contradiction to Sofia’s warmth and delicate beauty. He steadied his body weight with his palms and glanced at the stars.

  Roses and wintertime whispered against Aleksender’s back. Sofia joined him at the railing and folded both hands atop the stonework. She pointed at the sky, gesturing the brightest star to be found. When she spoke, her voice was soothing and wonderfully calm. “Many think that Venus is just another star. But she’s so much more than that.”

  Aleksender finally managed to catch his breath. Finding comfort in her peace, he gazed at Sofia’s serene expression. “I see. And who is she?”

  “Why, the goddess of love and beauty, of course.”

  Aleksender had known the story longer than Sofia had been alive. Regardless, he feigned a look of surprise. Sofia played along in turn, her consciousness fading into fantasy. Within her mind’s eye, she was sprawled before a hearth and relaxing in the arms of her guardian’s voice.

  “There was only one more exquisite than Venus. Her name was Psyche and she was a mere mortal … earthbound. Throughout the land she was revered for her beauty. Forgotten by the people, Venus’s temples quickly fell to ruin. Jealously twisted her soul and warped it into something monstrous.” Aleksender leaned against the banister and studied Sofia’s bright and beaming face. It had come to life with her storytelling. “So, she called upon the services of her son Eros, the God of Love. Venus ordered that he strike a monster with one of his golden arrows and sentence a demon to fall i
n love with Psyche. But even Eros was swept by her beauty. He’d often gaze upon Psyche from afar knowing they were from different worlds, knowing they could never be together.”

  Sofia brushed the voluptuous material of her skirts aside and knelt to the ground. She patted the empty space beside her, gesturing Aleksender to take a seat. He obeyed. An aura of warmth swept over Sofia. His nearness stirred all five of her senses to life.

  “Where was I? Oh, yes—amidst Eros’s infatuation, one of the arrows fell forward and pierced his heart. Panicked, he soared back to his home. Time passed and Psyche was still immaculately beautiful, still praised by everyone. Burning with vengeance, Venus stranded Psyche on top of Mount Olympus, waiting for either a demon or Death to claim the poor girl. But Eros spotted Psyche from the skies. Cloaked in the dark of night, he took her into his wings flying her into the heavens—”

  Sofia paused as Aleksender stripped away his cloak. Each movement sent muscles straining against the material of his dress shirt. Claiming a seat, he smoothed out the wool and arranged it across the cold flooring.

  “Do continue, ma chérie,” he said, ushering Sofia down onto the makeshift blanket. “You have me quite intrigued.”

  Heart banging against her ribs, Sofia scooted close to his body. Tension flared like a tangible force. Moonlight caressed the raven locks of Aleksender’s hair with enchanting highlights.

  “Eros and Psyche soon wed. But he would visit her only in the darkest nights. She pleaded that he reveal his identity. Psyche was with child and longed to know her husband more than ever before. But he sadly shook his head and explained how ‘his home was her home, and that he loved her dearly.’ See, if she were to look upon him before their child was born, the baby would grow to be mortal. Within the darkness, Psyche came to be very lonely.”

  Sofia’s storytelling stalled to a halt. A sigh fled her lips as she reclined on Aleksender’s cloak. Head cradled in his lap, she stared at the immeasurable night sky. A mild breeze swam through her hair and tossed flurries of curls against her cheeks. Fingertips lingering against her flesh, Aleksender deftly tucked them behind each ear. Sofia swallowed and gazed into the haunted depths of his eyes.

  “Psyche was lonely, you say?”

  “Yes, she loved her husband, but missed her mortal sisters terribly. Eros took pity on his wife and allowed them to visit one evening. They grew jealous of their beautiful sister—jealous of her wealth and her heavenly home, her husband. They formed a plot, finding a way to take Psyche’s lover and fortune as their own. They warned that she was in great danger and needed to know her husband’s identity, that he must be a demon—having come only in the night and never showing himself. And if he was indeed a demon, Psyche must kill him before he killed their babe.”

  “Ah. That’s women for you.” Sofia balled a hand into a fist, reached behind herself, and blindly socked Aleksender’s torso. He caught her wrist in a suave motion. Before lowering it to the ground, he awarded her flesh with a small kiss.

  Sofia continued the story with a laugh. “Terrified, Psyche decided to act on the advice of her sisters. One night, Eros slept, spent from their love. Psyche lit an oil lamp, knife in hand. She was determined to know the truth—prepared to plunge the knife deep into her lover’s sleeping chest. But what she saw wasn’t a horrifying demon. No. It was a beautiful young man, donning wings of gold.”

  Aleksender absently ran his fingertips through her curls and sifted the fine silk with reverence.

  “Taken by the immaculate sight, Psyche forgot about the lamp and spilled oil onto Eros’s shoulder. He woke in pain. Saw his wife had betrayed him. The God of Love left Psyche. She was heartbroken. Having learned of her son’s love for Psyche, Venus took the girl as a slave. Psyche obliged, praying it’d win back Eros’s trust. But she was sent on a death quest into the Underworld, where Venus demanded that she fetch a small box. Psyche arrived and found it with little trouble. But a sly demon beckoned her to open it, saying it held beauty remedies. Unable to resist such temptation, she opened the box and descended into a deep and unnatural slumber. Eros vowed to find his love, looking everywhere—even the Underworld. His divine touch woke Psyche. Eros flew her into heaven, begging Jupiter to make her immortal so they never again could be forced apart.”

  Aleksender leaned forward just as the last word of Sofia’s words faded.

  He split the upside-down seam of her lips with his tongue. Sofia obliged with a soft sigh, matching each of Aleksender’s thrusts with one of her own. Large hands grasped onto her face and cradled the curve of her cheeks inside his palms. Delicious chills shot up and down Sofia’s spine.

  He tipped Sofia’s face ever so slightly, drank in her essence, and deepened their kiss. She moaned inside the dewy heat of his mouth and floated into oblivion. Aleksender’s hands slid down her cheeks, wound through the mass of curls and ventured down the elegant column of her neck, slinking over the cloaked rise of her breasts.

  He parted the material, exposing the swell of her cleavage to the elements.

  The feeling of absolute security, true happiness and belonging was undeniable. Their hearts burned with an overwhelming affection, which felt remarkably like love.

  It was a relief unlike any other, and difficult to ignore. Defeated, entirely at her mercy, Aleksender shook his head. Inhaling a shaky breath, he traced crescent circles upon Sofia’s flushed cheeks and lost himself in her eyes. He curved his neck till their foreheads gently pressed together. Wisps of his breaths fanned against Sofia’s skin, caressing her. His words were barely audible and spoken more to himself: “This is how I can heal.”

  Aleksender knew that his fate lay entirely in Sofia’s hands. She held the power to destroy him forever, should she so much as please. Though, he doubted she was capable of destruction. Sofia’s unabashed innocence, her unconditional if not blinded faith, did wonders upon the tattered depths of his soul. Aleksender gathered Sofia’s arms and angled them behind her reclined form. One by one, he guided her hands below the material of his dress shirt and wound them about his torso.

  The realization sliced through Sofia.

  Tears instantly spilled down the slope of her cheeks. “No, no. What did they do to you?” She trembled, flooded with a violent degree of anger. He’d been branded by cruelty. She could feel it. His scars—those scars—were deep and gruesome. By comparison, the injuries on his chest were mere scratches. The epiphany was a knife in Sofia’s heart. He’d been tortured. Brutally tortured.

  “What did they dare do to you?” Sofia demanded once more, choking on sobs and staring into his eyes. Anger coiled through her body like a palpable force.

  The broad expanse of Aleksender’s back inflated and deflated beneath her fingertips … inflated … deflated …

  For countless moments, only the faint breeze and Sofia’s weeping could be heard. When Aleksender finally spoke, his voice was cryptically monotonous and dry as if the very topic bored him to tears. “We’d been in the camp for weeks. As you said, those who survived at Sedan were taken as prisoners.”

  Aleksender crawled from her arms and hugged onto his legs, every inch of his body convulsing. Sofia saw the memories buried within his eyes. Gunshots. Screams. Rolling cannons and the faded cries of despair. They lodged inside Aleksender, battling for his soul.

  Sofia rose from the ground and tentatively crouched behind him. Remaining silent, her hands sunk below the material of his dress shirt and encouraged him with gentle caresses.

  “Disease and death were everywhere. Men with boils and rashes the size of saucers. Anyway, we almost managed to escape. It was a good mile away that we were spotted. They were corrupt soldiers, nothing but hungry dogs with a taste for blood-lust. We were tied at the wrists and ankles, crammed inside a tent. Whether it was days or weeks, I cannot say.” Scoffing under his breath, he spat, “The fools demanded answers. They demanded our plans. Strategies. We refused each time. Even so none of us knew anything.”

  “Oh, Alek. Why didn’t you tell them? To
think you could have avoided so much pain.”

  His shoulders lifted into a dry shrug. “I suppose we took a morbid delight in their frustration.” His voice was icy and harsh and void of all emotion. “And besides—it was the prospect of whipping information from our skin that kept us alive. But we were eventually returned to the camp. Bloodied, battered and burned—but alive.” Aleksender passed fingertips through his hairline. “Till this day, I have no idea what changed their minds …” Aleksender sighed and gave an afterthought, “Word had spread of their rather unorthodox methods, so to speak. According to rumor, they’d paid dearly.”

  “I pray they burn in hell,” Sofia gasped. “Every last one of them!”

  Aleksender laughed, amused by her goodhearted blasphemy. “Ah, Sofia, ma chérie. You do wonders for me.” And then a sudden thought came to his mind. “Christophe was there with me.”

  “In the tents?” Sofia murmured, her heart reaching out to both heroes.

  Aleksender merely nodded.

  Although she’d never had the pleasure of meeting Monsieur Cleef, his name inspired a strange twinge of nostalgia inside her gut. Aleksender had often spoken of his dear friend—a rather admirable man of big ideas and too little restraint. From what she knew of the roguish skirt-chaser, she’d always admired him very much.

  “Such wonderfully brave men,” she crooned, caressing one of many scars. “You have a soldier’s heart.”

  Cloaked beneath the darkness, Sofia’s fingertips moved over his back in hypnotic motions, not leaving an inch of him unloved. “Do they pain you much?”

  “No,” he hoarsely answered, “they are no bother.” His body trembled within her arms. “Not any longer.”

  Between tentative kisses and muffled sniffles, she whispered, “To think of the pain you endured. The cruelty—your suffering.”

  Aligning their two bodies, Aleksender cradled Sofia’s face between his palms and sweetly stroked her skin. Sofia’s toes curled against the barrier of her slippers. It was intoxicating. By far the sweetest moment in her nineteen years of life. With a last kiss, he whispered into her mouth, “Pain is in the mind. And, in my mind, ma chérie … I was with you.”