Chapter Text
It was late by the time they reached the Royal Rose Garden. Late enough that several of the lanterns were waning and leaving the work of light to the fireflies. Late enough that their only company was a guard skirting the far border, dropping his eyes in the practiced manner of someone who understood discretion. Late enough that Numair realized just how much time he'd lost track of.
An easy thing to do when her hand was in his in a way that made it clear she didn't want to let go.
They'd spoken sporadically and in hushed tones during the climb to the palace. It wasn't uncomfortable—not exactly—but there was a weight between them. Something charged that, if he hadn't known better, would have him thinking that there was a storm on the horizon. It made words stick on his tongue and then tumble off in a flurry of nerves and anticipation.
She'd made a thoughtful noise low in the back of her throat when they'd entered the garden. It wasn't one of the more popular ones—not the biggest, or the showiest, or the most artfully designed—but was tucked away nicely against the Mages Wing.
"Yes?" He'd asked, casting her a sidelong glance. He'd found that he couldn't look at her straight on, or for too long. It was too direct and he felt too exposed. And it was hard enough not to kiss her then and there as it was.
"Roses." She said it as a statement—as if he should know that the statement implied—and he couldn't help but smirk.
"Yes. What about roses?"
"Just surprised this is your choice. I always thought you preferred the grove gardens—the one with the water lilies along the edge."
He did, actually, but there were benefits to this particular garden. One in particular he had hoped she'd already noticed. "I am rather fond of that one. But these are quieter and I quite like the walk. And—" he hesitated, still unsure of just how forward he could be. Or afraid of the fact that he could be.
She shifted, stepping closer and pressing her side against his. The closeness made it hard to keep their hands entwined and—with equal parts regret and trepidation—he pulled his fingers from hers and slid his hand around her waist. Lower than he usually would and far, far more lingering than he'd ever allowed himself. He paused—hand brushing the small of her back—to give her time to pull away but she only sunk deeper against him until his hand was curled around her waist.
Oh, she fit so nicely there.
"—and—" she picked up as if there hadn't been a pause, and if he hadn't just crossed another line "—it's rather a short walk to your rooms. Which is convenient. Depending on how conversation goes, of course."
They passed a lantern that was still lit and he saw her grin. It wasn't even a choice to mirror it.
"That it is." He swallowed hard and dropped his voice further. Somewhere behind them he could hear the guards footsteps against gravel. "How would you say conversation is going?"
He felt her shiver.
"Fair well, by my reckoning." There was a hesitance whens he spoke next and a vulnerability. "I think it's been going fair well for a long time, actually."
The words were sticky in his throat because he jknew they weren't just words. A decision, an admission, and an invitation were all wrapped up in them. "I'd be inclined to agree. More than inclined, really."
By then they'd reached the far end of the garden—the part that led into the breezeway, and then the curling staircase, and then to the echoing hallway of the Mages Wing. The decision had already been made, so there was nothing left to follow that path until they were at his door.
He'd never liked how sound travelled in the castle. During the day it made it hard to concentrate, and at night it made everything too sharp. He'd forsaken physical keys years ago—hated the clattering the small hours—but still, the click and creak of his door when he pushed it open felt like an accusation.
It wasn't too late to turn back. To stop this.
But then he caught her eye where she leaned against the frame, waiting patiently for him to invite her in and looking at him with unguarded affection and knew that it was too late. Far too late. He'd chosen this—he didn't know when, really. But it was only her indifference—even her revulsion—that had stayed his hand of late. Against open want he was helpless.
And he couldn't speak. He didn't have the words for how badly he wanted this even not fully knowing what this was. Whatever she was willing to give him. Anything, what little it may be or how fleeting. So he motioned for her to lead and she did with a very pretty smile and a hand that brushed against his arm as she passed.
She'd been in his study many times. She'd even been there this late, if only a handful of times.
Never without a reason—a simple, innocent reason—though.
And she'd rarely been in his bedchambers. The few times he could remember there involved Kit and some sort of mischief. His eye wandered to that door, but fell away again—too soon. Not...quite yet. He wanted her at ease. He wanted to be at ease.
And, truth be told, he wasn't particularly fixated on bedding her.
He wanted to—very much—to be sure. Would be a stone cold liar if he said otherwise, and if she offered he'd more than consider it. Was trying not to think about her offering because even though it seemed like a reasonable assumption, he didn't want to assume anything of her or from her.
And, because at the end of the day should she leave then and there he'd be smiling stupid because he held her hand.
His rooms didn't throw sound around the way the halls did. He had carpets, and bookcases, and even a dampening spell to see to that, so the doors to his balcony barely made a peep when he pushed them open.
"Should we see if the stars are out, magelet?" They'd spent plenty of evenings stargazing on this very balcony, and he winced a little to realize that each and every one of them had painted a more romantic scene. He usually made sure there was seating, and light, and blankets, and something to drink.
He hadn't been expecting company, though, so it was bare save for the small table and two chairs he'd shoved unceremoniously to one side to make room for a working that had turned out rather disappointing the week prior.
True to form, this didn't seem to bother her in the least when she slid by him. She just crossed over to the banister and leaned forward against it, arms bracing her on either side while she looked upwards.
He followed and came to rest beside her. Close enough that it would be a small thing to touch her but keeping his hands to himself.
"No stars for us tonight," she said, clicking her tongue.
He looked up and saw that she was right. The moon could just be seen peeking through a bank of clouds, but everything else was an inky expanse of dark above them.
"Ah. Shy tonight," he murmured and—with nothing left to say that didn't feel foolish—he put his hand to the small of her back. Open-palmed, thumb tracing a path along her spine, and low enough not to be chaste but high enough not to offend.
She turned to him but not just to him—into him. So that there was barely a gap between them and she had to arch back to look him in the face. His hand stayed at her waist because nothing about the way she looked at him indicated she wanted him to stop touching her, and hers came to rest on his chest.
"Looks like rain clouds to me."
"Do they?" His mouth quirked in the hint of a smile. She couldn't see anything but dark and he knew it, but he'd learned better than to try and guess her aims over the years.
She nodded and her hand idled at the laces of his shirt. "You always look nice in this shirt—it would be a shame for it to get ruined. You could take it off—" her fingers slid up just enough to run over the bare skin exposed by the V "—just to be safe."
He grinned and brought his free hand to cup her face. "I thought that was supposed to be my line."
"You took too long," she breathed and he could feel it on his lips.
He lingered there—hand threading into her curls, mouth hovering over hers—in the moment before surrender. He was trembling. Sighed when she stepped closer and pressed her body fully against his, hand not on his chest coming to grip his arm above the elbow.
"Is it too late to suggest the same, then? I think I was remiss in not telling you how lovely you look earlier—it's a rather fetching color on you—" he tugged at the blue band in her hair "—and I'd hate to see it ruined. Would you like to take it off?"
She was trembling now, but it was her full body shiver that he could feel run through her that nearly had him gasping. She nodded, and managed a few breathless words. "If you convince me well enough."
He kissed her. Gave in and crossed the final line where pretense was a thing of the past and covered his mouth with hers. If he had still had doubts she wanted him, they were erased the moment he felt her respond. Needy and giving at the same time, body melting against his and hands pulling him closer, closer, closer.
She was right. He had taken too long, and any intention of keeping to a chaste kiss—an exploration or a tentative affection—had been a fools errand at best. There was nothing chaste about it. Certainly nothing demure about the way she responded and who was he not to respond in turn?
And yes, there were things that would need to be discussed and more lines between the way her lips felt on his and how her body felt beneath his hands and the door to the bedchamber—but those were all details. Details that would be worked out sooner or later—some likely sooner with the way she tugged at the laces of his shirt—but worked out nonetheless.
So he kissed her again. And again.
And when he pulled away—for need of breath and nothing else—and she slid her arms around his neck with a whispered, "no", and drew him back down he kissed her again.