"What about...?" the Squire extended his hand to the people frolicking and paying little to no attention to the group at the back.
"Psh, I'm old. No one's going to notice. Right, your Majesty?" At that Solona Amell turned to look right at Rosie.
"Of course not. And I'm certain father will wish to say hi."
A low grumble erupted from the stodgy commander, but the Hero took it with a sigh and smiled. "I'll flag him down once he's finished making a fool of himself."
"You'll have a long wait," Rosie whispered which brought a rare smile to Commander Cullen's face.
"Mom, I need to return to my duties..." Gavin began to dance back and forth on his feet as if he needed to use the privy. Scuttling forward and deploying a cane to make the distance, she patted his cheek.
"We understand. Go, do your job. And know that we're exceedingly proud of you."
"Mother..." his cheeks burned bright red at the motherly love.
"I know, I know. Embarrassing. When you're done, find us at the Arl of Redcliffe's estate. We have a room there."
"But it'll be very late," Gavin blinked, frozen in his tracks. He seemed to want to return to Ser Daryan's side as much as his parents wished him to.
His mother smiled a moment and tipped her head up to the commander. "I think we can keep ourselves entertained until then. Right, love?"
Cullen dipped a hand down to hold his wife close, his jaw skirting right above her head. "I believe so."
"Ugh," the child formed from their amorous affections threw up both hands and backed away, "Do not, very well. I will find you later."
"Have fun, sweetie. Oh, and try the shrimp. Very good. I need to give my compliments to the cook."
"Lana..." her husband whispered in a warning tone and she sighed.
"I don't think I know them. Maybe. Probably not. It's been a long time since the blight."
A small back and forth argument broke out between the two which Rosie began to slide away from. She stopped being able to hear but she couldn't stop watching. The love was mature, a fine wine aged with tender care instead of the rush from a grape's first bluff stuffed inside a bottle and forced down fast before summer was over. It only took a few minutes of the Commander stewing in concern before she drew her knotted fingers to his cheek to calm him and kiss it all away.
The obvious adoration stung back at Rosie like a whip and she shrunk deeper into the dance floor. Her father never loved her mother, not like that. Not even for pretend. There were a few early memories she had of the two dancing on occasion, but it seemed as if once Cailan came along even that farce stopped. The King had his part of the castle, the Queen hers, and they were both happy for it.
That was to be her destiny. Find some man who was pliable enough to be bought with a few shiny baubles and left to his own meager devices while Rosie got on with leading the country. No stroking each other's cheeks, no whispering in an ear, no tracing down her tattoos as if they formed an ouroboros hugging her body. She stumbled back, her chest cracking in two at the thought, when her mother's gloved hands caught her.
"Rosamund? What is the issue?"
"Mother," Rosie tried to straighten up, her hands racing to smooth down the white silk and lace gown they picked together. "Nothing," her lips twisted up the smile she feared would never be genuine again. "I am having a great time."
"You look as if you stepped into a bear trap and had a bucket of pitch dropped onto you," Beatrice whispered to her ear.
Rosie frowned at her obvious failure, then tried to lift her smile higher until it might reach her eyes. "Is this better?"
"It was a joke, Rose. What is wrong? This is...one of your father's more simpler parties. I thought you might be free to cut loose, but you've been haunting around the edges as if it's part of the game."
Everything was part of the game. A game that would never end because she had to be the ceramic princess. Skin as white as snow, lips as red as a rose, and a heart that beat only for her one true prince. Rosie absently picked at the sunburn across her forehead, smearing the white powder that barely set in the sticky candlelight.
Her fading lips, dimmed to a dull wine, puckered as she muttered, "Nothing, mother."
Queen Beatrice stared at her daughter as if seeing her for the first time. Had the mask wobbled so poorly in her trip? "Rose, I can tell something's wrong. You've not been yourself since you returned. I am your mother."
"It is..." her eyes slipped away from the emerald pools to hunt through the crowd. The face you want isn't there. You already foolishly flipped through the guest list twice, as if an assassin would call ahead for such a thing. She still thought, still bore a sliver of hope inside her charred heart.
In canvasing the smiling faces, Rosie's sight landed upon the last visage she ever hoped to suffer. Lord Eldon stood apart from the King's happier guests. He wasn't smirking or snarling, but he wasn't smiling either. If anything, she'd say he bore a cunning sneer, but the man was as crafty as a cake left in the rain. What it did do was remind Rosamund of her duty, and how her mother would thrum it into her skull soon enough.
Tugging her hands away, Rosie stepped back, "Excuse me, mother."
"Rose..." Beatrice turned to follow, but her aging hips couldn't keep up with a princess who barreled through the masses to find freedom. People parted with at first a shock that faded to a stitched on smile when they realized who was shoving them to the side. Rosie had no idea where she was fleeing too, aside from away. The parties, the politics, the part of her world she thought she enjoyed -- it all felt hollow and false.
How blighted long did you lie to yourself?
It wasn't just the husband issue, though she felt it pricking into her skin like a wasp's sting. She didn't realize how carefully she wrapped up her heart to place delicately on a shelf until...until someone came along to unravel all that hard work and toss it around without abandon. The various young men in their finery bore no interest to her now, but had they ever?
Why was it so hard to know?
You want to mourn, but you can't. You want to break apart, but you won't. You want to tell the world about a relationship that already died.
Damn it.
With a slow step, Rosamund wandered her way towards the front gates. As with all parties, and in general any time of the day or night, the gates were thrown wide open. They would shut the doors on occasion, if only to cut down on any escapee wild boars. It'd happened more than once. But someone thought to leave them open, the grand entrance carpet they rolled out still in the way. Her father walked up and down it for a bit, accepting gifts from people and shaking hands. He managed to make more small talk than usual, his children all trailing behind. Cailan and Myra were attempting to guess what was inside the various packages hefted from their father to a trail of advisors, Myra always getting eerily close.
One day she'd do the same, walk up and down a carpet on a day she wasn't really born pretending it was her birthday, accepting things from people she didn't know. It used to be her only endeavor in life, to become not only Queen but a good one. Proud, strong, brave. And now...even with the thrill of opening relations with the dwarves who'd shunned all else, Rosie felt empty.
Lonely.
Alone even in a room full of people. Aloof while seated next to a hundred other diners. Apart from every beat of a heart in Ferelden.
You shouldn't have let hope seep in. Her brain taunted her heart, wondering how it could even dare to roll around in such thoughts. But her heart -- her foolish, cracked and stained but still not broken heart beat on.
Clinging to the doors as if she intended to close them, Rosie glanced out into the courtyard. The night settled upon it, a chill announcing autumn whipping the flags back and forth. A great halo of the moon highlighted the walkway, when a pair of dark boots suddenly stepped into the spotlight.
Her heart leapt up into her throat as a dark woman continued to saunter into the moonlight. An illusion. She shook her head and shut her eyes. Nothing more.
> But when she risked another peek, the woman was walking closer. She didn't vanish with the realization, or transform into an unknown guard. Her form solidified into the arms Rosie remembered holding her, the legs that'd wrapped around her, the body she gave into.
"Anjali?" Rosie stumbled down a stair and froze, her voice wafting with the wind.
At that the woman paused and raised her head high. She had to cup a hand above her eyes to peer into the blazing light of the palace. "Sapheela!" A great smile broke across her cheeks and Rosamund's feet took over. She raced down the stairs, barely caring about both her shoes lost in the run.
Anjali watched, moving to fold her hands across her chest, "Forgive my delay. Traffic was a nightmare and I..."
Launching off her bare tiptoes, Rosie ensnared Anjali in her arms and crushed her lips to hers. A laugh reverberated from the assassin's gut, but Rosie didn't care as she kept kissing the smiling mouth. After a beat, Anjali cupped her hands around Rosie's cheeks, her lips softening to deepen the kiss to something more spectacular than a princess could ever hope for.
By the white of the moon, and distant sounds of revelry in a gilded ballroom, Rosamund wrapped around her beautiful assassin. With each touch of her lips, heat from her breath, and lap of her tongue, the fears of abandonment and loneliness obliterated. It struck her body so hard, Rosie emerged panting but glowing. She couldn't cease tracing the curve of Anjali's tattoo, reminding herself that this wasn't an illusion or a dream. She was here, with her, in her arms again.
"I missed you, Sapheela."
"Me too," she whispered, her painted eyes taking in the woman worn by the road. Salt and gravel stained her cheeks until they were worn to a raw state, the underside of her lids bagged from the exhaustion of barely sleeping outdoors, and her clothing smelled of horse and sweat. She'd never looked more beautiful to Rosie.
"Tenna?" Rosie whispered.
"Is gone. Far off to an island in the northern sea where I shall never have to look upon her again."
"I feared...I thought that you might," she felt stupid for thinking the words now.
"That I would remain with her? Try to save her again? I try to learn from my mistakes, and..." her hand curled against Rosie's cheek, "I had to find my beautiful princess, even if it was just for one last kiss."
Rosie's cheeks lit up red at the romantic thought, but she had no intentions of letting go now. Wrapping her arms around the small of Anjali's back, Rosamund sought out her lips once more. The wily assassin tugged upon her bottom lip, pulling it into her tempting mouth. It was heaven, the heat of their mouths lapping against each other overtaking the chill of coming winter. What Rosie wanted was to taste Anjali, but not just her tongue.
Letting her hands drift down, Rosamund gripped onto Anjali's fingers and locked them in place. The assassin smiled a moment, her head turned to the side with a question. "Come with me," Rosie said. Feeling as foolish and headstrong as a young girl, she began to tug Anjali up the stairs into the palace with her.
Anjali chuckled a moment, giving in, but she couldn't cease asking, "Are we heading into whatever got you all dolled up?"
"Nope," Rosie shook her head hard, unable to hide the rising smile.
The assassin grinned like a cat that swallowed the canary, "I like this plan."
Both women were giggling at the prospect, Rosie the one leading while her mind sparkled like bubbles in champagne. She was so enamored with the thoughts bursting from her heart, she nearly trod upon a man that stepped into her way. "Excuse me," she gasped, trying to slide away from the elderly gentleman in the robe.
"Rosamund," he began, waving a hand at her. "I need to speak with you..."
Her eyes could barely drift from Anjali for fear that if she looked away her lover would vanish. But Rosie did risk glancing over once at the mousey man, "Later. Perhaps in the morning we can reconvene, Mister..."
"Cordell," he said as if that name meant anything. "Brother Cordell."
Rosie tipped her head at his identity, the words barely sticking to her brain. She had far greater interests in mind. After hustling up the first staircase, Rosie turned right towards her bedroom. Everyone would be out at the ball, they probably didn't even notice she was gone. It was the perfect opportunity to...
Her sight drifted over to the woman's smile, umber and sparkling eyes dripping with desire. Sod if anyone was inside, Rosie would just kick them all out.
Knocking the door open, the pair stumbled inside, Rosie tripping backwards while Anjali enveloped her comforting arms around her. Lips found each other once again, Anjali's hands rippling up and down the buttons at the back of Rosie's dress. Each knock into her skin caused the princess to squirm, her skin electrified at the thought of being freed.
Anjali broke away a moment from the kiss, her eyes opening and a grateful smile lifting her lips. Rosie reached up to tug her back to it, when her eyes darted behind to find a hallway looming outside.
"The door," Rosie moved to shut it, when Anjali grabbed onto her waist.
"Concern yourself little, Sapheela," she whispered in her ear, the voice so intoxicating it nearly caused Rosie's knees to buckle. With a swing back of her foot, Anjali slammed the door shut, sealing the two of them off from the outside world.
Burying her face into Rosie's neck, Anjali breathed her in. "Our Blessed Lady, after so many days in the dark you smell of perfection." Pillowy lips began to press deeper into the side, a nip here and there causing the breath in Rosie's throat to catch. With her fingers, Anjali tugged the neckline of Rosie's dress downward as far as the modest thing could go. It barely exposed a sliver of her ice white skin hidden below.
"By all the demons in the void, how do I get you naked?" Anjali growled, her frustration from wanting Rosie driving the princess to smile.
"Like this," Rosie stepped back a bit and reached behind to begin to undo the line of buttons. She left her assassin with her arms empty, but her eyes quickly filling as the princess' dress began to come apart. It hung upon her shoulders, the neckline dipping to expose a hint of her cleavage which caused Anjali to light up brighter.
Rosie struggled to reach the last one at her waist, both arms flailing to find it, when Anjali stepped forward. Forgetting the damn thing, Rosie moved to embrace her assassin's shoulders and let the expert finish it off. But Anjali's hands dipped down the opened front of her dress and both scooped up Rosamund's breasts.
"Blessed Maker," Rosie cried, her head tipping back while Anjali's warm palms cradled the skin that'd been begging for her. She was gentle as a whisper at first, barely shifting Rosie's bosom, when the princess bit into her lip and tugged it into her mouth. Anjali responded in kind, her fingers squeezing both of Rosie's breasts at once and causing the princess to gasp in adulation.
This was foolish. With her breasts well in hand, Rosie slid her dress off her arms, revealing all of her chest to the assassin. Anjali smiled sweetly, "As beautiful as I remembered." Her dress clung at her waist, that single button the only thing keeping her halfway decent, which was not what Rosie wanted to be anymore.
She was about to direct Anjali to it, when the assassin stepped tighter. Her own chest, bound up in the leathers, knocked near Rosie's, when Anjali whispered, "You still owe me a sketch."
"I," Rosie turned to tell her... Maker's sake, she couldn't even know, when Anjali's tongue wrapped around with hers. One hand circled around Rosie's nipple while the other slipped towards the princess' back and fiddled with the cursed button. She could help, but Rosie was pudding in Anjali's grip, a warmth more reminiscent of a forest fire burning up her spine.
Forgetting that her assassin was hard at work trying to free her from the confines of a cursed dress, Rosie's libido ordered her to yank off Anjali's shirt. It took less time than before, Rosie knowing where to undo buttons and where to tug. When her hair slid against the woosh of the end of her shirt, Anjali stood up and tried to tousle through the knots practically standing up straight.
She was beyond breathtaking. It
was a wonder Rosie could even exist near someone as stunning as the woman before her. Candlelight danced against the curve of her tear-drop breasts, Anjali's brown skin glistening like a river of obsidian. Her fingers froze in the air, Rosie suddenly too startled and scared to risk touching her.
Anjali laughed a moment at the look, scooped a hand behind Rosie's, and guided it right to her breast. "Sapheela," she whispered while the swell molded into Rosie's palm, "I missed you more than you can know."
Her eyes darted up from the woman's body to find her eyes brimming in...Rosie couldn't tell. An emotion looked as if it was about to boil over and wash them both away. But Anjali blinked, shoring it far from her. "And I really missed your pert, rosy red lips," she growled, stepping closer to Rosie.
The dress fell to the ground leaving the princess fully naked, while the assassin began to advance. Anjali's nose bounced into Rosie's, and the princess puckered her lips, but she didn't kiss her. Her umber eyes burned with desire as she whispered in a throaty breath, "Not those lips."
Wrapping one hand under Rosie's bottom, Anjali hurled the princess onto her bed. A laugh reverberated up her throat, Rosie's head falling back at the rush, when Anjali began to take a knee. Her legs parted in excitement, even as Anjali kneaded her palms back and forth over the soft swells of her inner thighs. Maker's breath. Rosie began to tremble, her head tossed back while Anjali inched closer. Lips pressed against her thighs, following the curve right to the center of her being.
Ecstatic, she curled a foot around the back of Anjali's bare shoulder, trying to invite her in. A laugh bounced warm, perfect air right against Rosie's trembling lips, her assassin finding her insistence humorous. "Say no more," Anjali mumbled before lapping her tongue right along the inner folds of Rosie's lips.
"Sweet merciful Maker," the Princess cried, screwing up her eyes while her entire word shook. It was walloping her body and soul; it sounded as if the entire castle was knocking back and forth on its foundation. Anjali smiled against her, the woman's kiss turning towards her clitoris.
"Rosie?" a voice shouted from right outside the door. "You in because we need to talk..."
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