by H G Lynch
I shook my head, though her question was rhetorical. She was going to answer it herself whether I responded or not.
“I Saw you use your magic, in front of not just one but two people! And the Prince, at that! Do you understand how dangerous that was? Do you know what could happen if you were caught, Agatha? And for what? To light some candles, so you could dance with the Prince a little faster? I did not raise you to be this stupid or this careless, Agatha. You are a witch! The people accept me because I have helped them for many years, but your power is different. It will frighten them, and what happens when people are afraid of you, Agatha?”
I closed my eyes against the stinging tears that were building. “They hurt you. They would hurt me.”
Mother dropped to her knees, pulling me down onto the sofa. “Yes, Agatha, and what would I do then? I cannot lose you, my sweet, reckless girl. Please, you must be more cautious.”
“Yes, Mother,” I whispered. The smell of the burning candles was starting to choke me. The air was too thick with mother’s reprimands and fear.
Holding my hands tightly in hers, she said, “You will not see the Prince again, Agatha. I forbid it.”
My eyes flew open, my heart nearly jumping out of my chest. “No,” I breathed. “Mama, I must–”
“You must not!” she yelled, and I cowered into the sofa cushions. Mother never raised her voice at me. “That man is not the paragon of kindness that you believe him to be. You have heard the stories, same as I. You know what he is like with women, and you are just another pretty girl for him to use, Agatha.”
I stood, pulling my hands free of hers. “No! You’re wrong, Mama! Adam loves me, he said it himself!”
“Oh, Agatha, men will say anything to a pretty girl,” Mother said, not unkindly. “Just because he is a Prince does not mean he is not a scoundrel as much as any other man.”
Rage filled me, a tornado of emotion that made the table rattle and the flames on the candles puff out. Mother stood opposite me, her eyes wide. “Aga–”
I cut her off. “No, Mama. You Saw five minutes of our time together and decided he was too good for me, that a Prince couldn’t possibly be genuinely interested in me because I’m just the clairvoyant’s daughter! Adam told me he loves me, and I believe him! He dines with me, and dances with me, and saved me from a mugger! He doesn’t judge me for being a commoner!”
Now the lantern on the hallway table was shaking, the flame lashing dangerously high in its glass case.
Quietly, Mother said, “He doesn’t know you, cherie.”
I snatched up my bag. “Then maybe it’s time he does.”
Before she could stop me, I was out the door and running down the dark street in my heavy gown, my shoes clacking loudly on the cobbles. The wind whipped my curls around my face, turning them into a frizzy mess and knocking my bonnet askew.
The palace was further away than I’d realised in all my carriage journeys, and I was soon out of breath, tears smearing the rogue on my cheeks. My shoes chafed at my heels, meant for ballroom dancing, not running.
I was shivering, cold to the bone, by the time I reached the palace gates. They were high, arched blockades of wrought iron, sculpted to look as if metal roses climbed the bars. Through them, I could see the long, curving driveway leading up to the palace doors.
Just a few meters away, two guards stood on either side of the driveway, dressed in fine livery, each with a long rifle at their side. I called out to them desperately, “Bonjour! Please, let me in! I need to see the Prince!”
They turned in my direction, one of them curling his lip in a scoff. He muttered something I didn’t quite catch, and the other guard chided him. “Sois gentil, Armand. Do you not recognise the Prince’s new consort?”
I didn’t bother to correct him that I was not the Prince’s consort, despite the implications the word carried. I was just glad that he pulled out a large iron key and unlocked the gates to let me in.
“Merci, merci!” I gasped, hurrying through the gates.
“It is late, Mademoiselle. Is the Prince expecting you?”
“No,” I said bluntly. “But I need to see him right away.”
Armand, the other guard, stepped forward and spoke to the guard on my left. “He’s not expecting her. Jean, if we let her in–”
Jean shrugged. “And if we turn her away at this hour, and something happens to her? The punishment will be more severe, I guarantee you.”
Despite Armand’s unhappy expression, Jean turned to me and said, “Can you walk to the door?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“I shall walk you. Armand, inform the staff that she’s here.”
We began to walk up the long driveway, but Armand called us back. “Wait! Who do I say is here? What is your name, Mademoiselle?”
“Agatha,” I called back.
The guard ran off along a narrow pathway to the left of the gates, presumably a shortcut to a staff entrance. Jean walked beside me, not too close, and said nothing as we made our way up the steps to the wide palace doors.
Without hesitating, he pushed open one door, startling the doorman on the other side. They exchanged a brief look, but no words, and the doorman closed the door behind us.
I wondered what the look meant, but I was too panicked and too cold to care. My heels were pained, undoubtedly with blisters, and my ears ached with the cold wind.
A familiar face bustled into the foyer, dressed in a pink gown and matching sleeping cap. “Oh, Agatha, dearest, what are you doing here at this hour? Did you walk all the way here? You must be freezing! Oh, dear, come with me, and I’ll get you a cup of tea and light a fire.”
The sight of Mrs Potts’ friendly face calmed me right down, and I felt somewhat absurd for having rushed here at such an ungodly hour and having clearly woken half the staff. I wondered if Adam would be mad, and then decided not. Surely he would want to see me, comfort me, once he knew I was in such a state.
`Mrs Potts led me into a small, cosy room off the foyer, filled with plush armchairs and colourful tapestries. She hustled me into the armchair nearest the fireplace, and grabbed a box of long matches from the hearth-side table.
With the ease of practice, she struck the match and lit the fire before I could even think of trying to light it myself. The flames roared to life against the dry kindling, the smell of burning wood both soothing and cloying. The heat blasted against my chest and face, and I leaned toward it, rubbing my hands together.
Mrs Potts rushed to the kitchen to get a pot of tea on the hob, and I unlaced my calf-high boots, kicking them off with relief. Examining the back of my feet, I saw the shoes had chafed the skin off my heels and there was a little blood. It stung, but not for long.
I spread my fingers over the area, not quite touching the skinned spots, and let my magic heal the sores. The stinging faded as a fresh layer of skin covered my heels, and the blood faded away. It was small magic, nothing compared to the healing powers of my Mother, but it was enough.
By the time Mrs Potts returned with a trolley carrying a steaming tea pot and a plate of ginger biscuits, I was warm and comfortable, snuggled into the large, velvet-upholstered armchair.
“Oh, Agatha, dearest, what on earth inspired you to come all the way here in the middle of the night?” Mrs Potts asked as she poured some hot, brown tea into a little china cup. It smelled strongly of chamomile and ginger, and she urged the cup into my hands. “Here, drink this, it’ll warm you from the inside out.”
I took a sip. The tea was a little spicy from the ginger, and a little floral from the chamomile. A little more potent than I usually drank, but she was right – warmth flowed out from my throat and stomach as I sipped.
While she prodded the fire with a poker, adjusting the dried husks of logs, I asked softly, “Is the Prince mad I’m here? Will he see me?”
Mrs Potts turned around, poker in hand, her grey eyes a little wide. “Oh no, dearest, he’s not mad. He’s worried. He’ll be down to see you in just
a moment.”
Just as she finished speaking, I heard the door to the parlour open behind me and a familiar voice called, “Agatha?”
Hastily I put down my tea on the trolley, almost splashing myself with it, and stood up. “Adam,” I breathed, rushing into his arms as he strode toward the armchair.
His arms came around me, strong and reassuring. “Agatha, what happened? Are you alright?” He rubbed his hands briskly over me, as if checking for injuries.
“I-I’m fine,” I stuttered, taking a step back. “I just...” My voice cracked and I felt my face crumple, ready to cry.
Adam looked surprised, and pulled me close. “Shh, it’s alright, mon amour. Whatever it is, you’re safe now.”
Now that he was here, I felt stupid and embarrassed for causing such a fuss over a row with my mother, but I’d been so upset, so angry that she would dare question this man’s love for me.
“Thank you, Mrs Potts,” Adam said over my head. “You can go back to bed. I’ll take care of Agatha tonight.”
There was a shuffle of fabric as Mrs Potts curtsied and made her way to the door with a quiet, “Bon soir, Agatha. Adam.” The door clicked shut behind her.
Into the hair by my temple, the curls that had escaped my bonnet, Adam murmured, “Come. You’ll sleep here tonight.”
Chapter Five
Adam showed me to a bedroom on the third floor, his arm clasped around my shoulders the entire walk.
The room was almost as big as my house, with a four-poster bed draped in pale pink lace and white fur. A tall, oak wardrobe sat in one corner, painted in cream and pink. A pair of long, diaphanous white curtains half-covered a set of glass doors, beyond which a balcony overlooked an enormous garden of roses and animal-shaped hedges dotted with twinkling lights.
“Here,” Adam said kindly, pulling back the thick feather duvet on the bed. “There’s night wear in the wardrobe. I’ll let you get changed.”
He turned to leave, and I stopped him. “Wait!”
Adam looked at me with eyes bluer than the sea, and I only now realised he was himself in night wear. His golden hair was loose around his shoulders, his usual ribbon gone. He wore just a loose, silken shift and a pair of matching trousers under a dark blue cotton dressing gown. His feet were clad in fur-lined slippers.
Even in his sleepwear, he was glorious.
“I’m sorry,” I said, unexpectedly as it wasn’t what I’d meant to say. “I didn’t mean to wake you...and everyone else.”
He smiled, a little lopsided. “Don’t worry. I was just reading anyway, and the staff...well, it’s their job to look after guests, no matter the time of night or day.”
His assurance did the trick to assuage my guilt, but I was still uneasy. It took me a moment to summon the courage to ask what I’d originally intended.
“Could you...stay? I don’t want to be alone.”
Adam’s eyebrow went up, but he closed the bedroom door. “Of course. I can turn my back while you change.”
Relieved and nervous at once, I walked over to the large wardrobe and pulled open the doors. Inside, it was packed with silks and satins, furs and velvets, every colour of dress you could imagine, each with a matching shawl, and I didn’t doubt that the drawers contained the matching shoes on racks.
The left side held the sleepwear, from glamorous silk sleep gowns to skimpy cotton shifts. I picked something in between; a knee-length satin sleep dress in coral pink with scalloped lace around the hem.
Closing the wardrobe doors, I laid the dress on the bed and checked that Adam was indeed facing away from me, his hands folded behind his back as he swayed patiently on his heels. I reached behind me, tugging at the lacing of my dress. I had learned from a young age to tie and untie my own lacings, as Mother wasn’t always there to help me dress and we were too poor for a handmaid. Sometimes, when I felt lazy, I would use magic to make the task a little easier.
The knot came loose easily and I began to unlace the dress, pulling awkwardly at the ribbons on my back.
Adam cleared his throat. “Can I help at all? That dress you’re wearing looks very complicated.”
I threw a glance over my shoulder, but he was still looking away. “No, it’s alright, I can...” I paused, my shoulder aching from reaching behind me, and I sighed. Maybe a little help wouldn’t be a bad thing. “Actually, yes, please.”
Adam’s long fingers covered mine, pushing my hands aside gently as he swiftly unlaced the back of my dress. I clutched the front to my chest as the fabric loosened, threatening to fall around my feet.
“Thank you,” I said in a trembling voice, but he stayed close behind me. I felt his fingertips trace the bare line of my spine, sending a sweet shiver through my body. “Adam,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered back, not sounding sorry at all. He stepped away, and I felt the loss of his closeness keenly.
I will never know where it came from, but in that moment I felt a surge of bravery. I had said that I trusted this man; perhaps now was the time to prove it.
I let my dress fall to the floor in a pile of satin, leaving me standing in only my frilly bloomers. I heard Adam’s small intake of breath behind me, his murmured words of awe, and colour spread all the way from my cheeks to my chest.
My body tensed reflexively as I felt his hand skim the supple curve where my neck met my shoulder, a place no man had ever touched, not like this. The bareness of my skin was thrilling and terrifying.
Adam’s lips followed his fingertips, marking a path of tiny kisses down my arm to my knuckles. “Agatha, mon amour,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Turn around. Let me see you.”
It took all of my willpower to obey him, nervous as I was. But his expression when I did banished most of my nerves. The desire in his eyes was clear, his lids half-lowered with pleasure as he admired my mostly-naked body.
“Tu es si belle,” he said softly, trailing his fingertips over the dip of my waist, toying with the lace at the edge of my bloomers. You are so beautiful.
Right then, I believed him. I had never felt more beautiful, nor more powerful, as this strong man – a Prince, no less – dropped to his knees. He stared up at me, his hands on my hips, a silent question in his gaze.
Reminding myself I would have to be careful, that I could not lose all control in the moment, for my magic felt all too close to the surface of my skin, I whispered, “Oui.”
At first, it was a little awkward, a little painful, but Adam was a man of experience and skill. Together, we found our rhythm and I discovered pleasures I had never known my body could produce.
When it was over, and we were both sated, we lay together under the heavy goose-down duvet, naked and sweaty. A small amount of blood had stained the sheet, though when I remarked upon it, Adam had told me not to worry – it would come out.
“How do you feel, mon amour?” he asked sometime later, as I lay with my head on his chest, playing with the golden hairs that led down to his belly button.
“Mmm,” I murmured, “Sleepy. A little sore.”
He kissed the crown of my head, and made to get out of the bed. Startled, I began to stop him, but he took my hand and kissed each of my knuckles soothingly. “I am just getting a cloth so we may freshen up a bit. I will be back in a moment.”
Relaxing, I lay back on the absurd amount of feather-stuffed pillows, and admired his taut backside as he slid out of the bed and padded to a door tucked between the wardrobe and the white-painted dressing table.
Adam pushed open the door, and I caught a glimpse of a fine bathroom with a large claw-foot bathtub. I heard the brief rushing of water, and then he returned with a damp cloth in hand.
Sliding back into the bed, he rolled on to his side, his eyes probing. “May I?”
I nodded, and he ran the warm cloth over my belly and down to where a small amount of blood had dried between my thighs. I had never felt so vulnerable, but I let him clean me gently.
“We shall bathe in the morning,” he sa
id, tossing the soiled cloth aside. “For now, you should get some sleep.”
He stroked the errant curls back from my face, dropping a chaste kiss on my forehead. I smiled helplessly, so in love with this man that I was willing to risk everything.
“Adam, wait,” I said, my voice fluttering both with excitement and fear. “There’s something I need to tell you...or perhaps it would be better to show you.”
His eyebrows went up and he chuckled. “There is more of you that I haven’t seen?”
I nudged his arm playfully, but quickly sobered. “Yes. But you mustn’t tell anyone for it could mean...well. It wouldn’t be good for me, let’s say.”
Now he looked curious, his brow furrowed slightly with confusion. “I shan’t tell a soul, mon amour.”
His promise of secrecy calmed my nerves, gave me the strength to sit up in the bed, letting the duvet fall around my hips. Watching his face carefully, I said, “Do you remember the day we met? You asked then if I had abilities like my Mother, and I said I didn’t. I’m afraid that was a lie, told only to protect myself you understand.”
Adam blinked. “I see,” he said quietly. His voice was neutral.
Lifting my hands, uncomfortable with their trembling, I held my palms toward the ceiling. “My abilities are not like my Mother’s. I do not See or Scry the future. Nothing so useful, nor so tame.”
Now Adam was sitting up with me, watching my upturned hands with caution. “So what are you abilities?”
I took a deep breath. He had asked the question, and now I had to answer.
Focusing my power, I folded my hands together as if in prayer. In my mind, I pictured the rose I had left behind in the carriage what felt like a lifetime ago now. I remembered the velvety softness of the petals, their bright crimson colour, even the sting of the sharpest thorn. I recalled clearly the fragrant perfume that had lingered on my fingertips, and felt a tickle against my palms.
