บท 18: Plots & Plans
Celeste
In the weeks that followed, Caspian became my rock amidst the endless intrigues and cruelty permeating Oriana's court. Even as I continued playing Oriana's harmless new plaything in public, Caspian shielded me from the worst private depravities loosened by the queen's dark reign. And in turn, I offered my body and care as a balm to his conscience, though the brutality of his station weighed heavier and heavier on his broad shoulders.
Stolen moments tangled together in my opulent bedchamber became our sanctum from the storms we could feel gathering around us. In Caspian's arms, I forgot for glorious intervals that we conspired against a wrathful queen who would hound us unto the earth's bloody end for our hubris if we were caught. I thrilled at the devastating power at my fingertips to undo his stoic composure with a whisper or a stray caress. To watch his icy composure fracture into unguarded vulnerability before me caused my heart to swell for him despite my best intentions.
Still, the gilded whispers of Oriana's court still clung to me like cobwebs, even in the haven of Caspian's arms. He sprawled beside me after one such day of intrigue, a moon-kissed mountain sculpted from muscle and obsidian, his smooth chest peeking out from his partially unbuttoned shirt. His usually tightly braided hair, tamed for the dangerous courtly games he played, spilled like ink around his face, framing eyes that mirrored the dancing shadows on the ceiling.
I traced the line of his jaw, calluses meeting the unexpected softness of his five o'clock shadow. "They talk," I murmured, my voice barely a feather against the velvety silence. "Whispers like smoke, curling in the corners of the throne room."
A dry chuckle rumbled from his chest as he tucked a stray lock of my untamed hair behind my ear. "And what tales do they spin, my siren of secrets?"
I met his gaze, emerald fire dancing amidst the storm. "That Caspian the Nightblade has finally gone soft, a puppet in a doll's hands."
Pain flickered across his face, then vanished beneath his sardonic mask. "Dolls can be dangerous, love. They purr sweet nothings while sharpening the blades hidden under their silks."
His hand, rough but kind, cupped my cheek, brushing away a wild strand of my red hair. The touch was a brand, burning away the court's icy veneer, leaving only the raw truth of our bond. His eyes seared into mine with the power of our growing bond.
"But you," he breathed, his voice thick with unshed emotions, "you offer warmth where they offer frost. You see the man beneath the armor, the way my soul is crushed by my duty's cruel grip."
Tears pricked my eyes, glittering like diamonds on my lashes. "And you," I whispered, my fingers clutching at the muscle of his chest, searching for an anchor, "you see beyond the glamour, beyond the girl playing a game she didn't choose."
His lips crashed against mine, a storm of desire against a flickering candle flame. His kiss was a confession, a whispered promise of solace in the swirling storm we both navigated. His warmth washed over me, melting away the icy veneer of the court like sunlight upon frost. I tasted salt and smoke, the faint tang of guilt clinging to his tongue like a phantom memory alongside the sweetness of honeyed wine.
His hand slid beneath my gown, sending shivers dancing up my thigh. His calloused fingertips grazed up across my hip bone, mapping constellations of secrets on my flesh, each touch a trail of flame. I felt the frantic hammering of his heart beneath my palm before I let my hand travel lower, skittering across his abdominal muscles, feeling them bunch and tremor beneath my touch.
He groaned, a deep sound that reverberated through me, and deepened our kiss. His tongue danced with mine, a duet of desperate longing and unspoken truth. I lost myself in the storm of his touch, his mouth tracing a fiery path from my chin to my ear, his teeth nipping at the pulse point there, sending jolts of pleasure radiating through me.
My fingers fumbled at the buttons of his loose shirt, desperate to feel the bare heat of his skin against mine completely. They popped free, revealing a landscape of muscle I never tired of exploring, each scar drawn on his granite skin a testament to his deadly strength and the price he paid for it.
Tearing the shirt from his own back, his lips briefly left my skin, his eyes burning into mine with an intensity that mirrored the fire in my own heart. His hands cupped my face, brushing a stray strand of hair from my eyes again, his thumbs tracing the soft curve of my cheek. "My beautiful Faerie," he rasped, this voice thick with longing, "let me chase away the shadows you carry."
And in that hushed sanctuary, bathed in the pale light of the moon, I surrendered. To his lips, his touch, his very essence. Every time, I told myself it would be the last time. That getting deeper and deeper with this man was a mistake, but I couldn't seem to heed my own good advice when he touched me. All good sense and training slipped away on gossamer wings.
When his clever hands slipped beneath my gown again, he quickly rid me of it completely, throwing it into a heap on the floor, leaving me exposed before him, vulnerable and free. His touch explored my curves, dips, and valleys of my body like a blind man desiring to memorize that which he cannot see with his eyes. Every caress made me long for more. In Caspian's arms, I could be Celestina instead of Celestria for just a few stolen moments. My true self found in this man's touch.
With a final whispered cry of ecstasy, I let myself fall and revel in our unspoken vows, two souls finding solace in the shared burden of truth and the intoxicating fire of a love that dared to bloom in the very heart of danger.
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