The Cousins

"My king," Bluebell greets, attempting to pierce the suffocating silence. Manta, on the other hand, strives to maintain or regain her composure, but this time it seems futile, and she merely smiles at the king. Turning to me, she signals to keep the books while she walks back to sit on the bed, allowing the king to enter. I swiftly begin to move the book and place it behind me when he stares, puzzled by Bluebell's strange behavior — who wouldn't be, given his imposing demeanor? "I will leave Her Highness in good company then," Bluebell says, excusing herself with a steady but soft voice, discreetly placing the book on my lap before leaving.

"I will also have to leave you two; you must have many things to discuss," Manta says, following and walking towards the door but stopping midway. "Will they also be attending to us?" she asks the king, who nods in affirmation, and then she departs. So, they are still here in the palace. How will I be able to face them after what happened earlier?

"You seem stressed; is something bothering you?" Yes, you, that was the only intriguing answer I wish I could muster, simply to irk him a bit more. But let's save that for another day. I shake my head, unwilling to speak, yet he continues to gaze at me, expecting a verbal response I had already given. When I pretend not to understand him, he presses, "Can you open your mouth and give me a verbal answer?"

"I am not, the king mustn't worry about me," I tell him, avoiding any possible eye contact. His eyes, cold and calculating, scan the room with a detached air. His lips, thin and perpetually set in a stern line, reveal little. Adorned in a dark velvet robe trimmed with gold, a symbol of his absolute authority, he commands the space. Though not a large man, his posture and demeanor make him appear larger than life, an imposing figure who commands respect and obedience. Seated several seats away, my heart pounds in my chest. The weight of the small, leather-bound books hidden beneath my gown presses against my legs, a secret burden only I can bear for now. The king regarded her for a moment, his expression unreadable. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to pierce through her composed facade, his piercing brown eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her skin prickle. The stress etched into his features made him appear both vulnerable and dangerous. He regarded her for a moment, his expression unreadable but the strain clear in his eyes. His fingers drummed more rapidly on the hairdressing table, a sign of his fraying patience. After a tense pause, he gave a slow, deliberate nod.

"I came here to clear a misunderstanding. I know you wish to apologize, to lord Lokai, but you mustn't. It was his mistake to have led you astray all this time, and he now seeks and pleads for sincere apologies from you," he says. My eyebrows furrowed at the mention of this sudden person. Who is he, and why would he plead for my forgiveness? I looked up at him, who returned my gaze, my lips parting slightly as if about to ask questions, but I thought better of it. I observed the king with a mix of concern and confusion, clearly sensing that something was amiss. "He is the man you referred to as Evan, but his real identity is Lokai, and he's my cousin on my father's part. The other two are also my family; the girl is Lokai's sister, and the other one is my cousin from my mother's part. He did that just to annoy me, but you need not to worry, I'll make sure no one misleads you again in the future," he exclaimed, as if making a vow. He walked over to me and knelt down to my level, his knees brushing against the cold floor. His face was now just inches from mine, and I could see every detail—the flutter of his eyes filled with barely concealed emotion, the soft curve of his lips, and the faint blush on his cheeks. The dim light from above caught in his eyes, turning them into pools of shifting light and shadow. I could almost feel his breath against my skin, shallow and uneven. Every little twitch of his expression seemed amplified up close, each subtle movement telling a story I was desperate to understand. I couldn't look away, caught in the gravity of his presence, feeling the weight of unspoken words and the depth of the moment stretching between us. He reached out gently, his fingers grazing my cheek with a softness that contrasted his mounting concern. "Are you alright?" he inquired, his voice a hushed murmur laden with worry. His gaze delved into mine, seeking a glimmer of consciousness, yearning for the solace of my returned stare. The weakness from my recent fainting had rendered me pale and motionless, perhaps intensifying the anxiety that clenched at his heart. He observed me closely, anticipating a reply, as my heartbeat echoed his subdued, shallow breaths. The silence hung between us, laden with the significance of the moment, while he awaited the slightest movement, the sign he so desperately sought. And all I could manage was a nod, assuring him that I was indeed alright. "What did I just say about being verbal?" My eyes fluttered open to meet his intense gaze, and for a moment, an unfamiliar fear gripped me. His concern seemed to morph into something more ominous in my dazed state. The way he hovered over me, the tension in his voice—I couldn't shake the unsettling thought that he might be on the verge of anger. A jolt of panic surged through me, my mind racing with the possibility that he might lash out, that his next action could be a reprimand or worse. My breath quickened, and I instinctively flinched, bracing myself for the sting of a slap I hoped was only in my imagination. The seconds stretched taut with apprehension as I waited, eyes wide and heart pounding, for him to say or do something that would either confirm or dispel my fears.He smiled at me, sending an incomprehensible shiver down my spine, and did something unexpected. His hand moved slowly toward me, and for a fleeting moment, I thought he might be reaching out to offer comfort, though I didn't understand why I associated it with comfort. The gesture was gentle, almost tentative, as if he were unsure of my reaction. My breath caught in my throat, my eyes tracking the movement with a mix of hope and apprehension. But just as his fingertips were about to brush my cheek, he hesitated. His hand lingered in the air, the warmth of his skin barely an inch from mine. There was a subtle shift in his expression—regret, perhaps, or a recognition of the moment's significance. With a sigh, he retracted his hand, leaving the space between us charged with unspoken tension. His gaze held mine a moment longer before he pulled away, leaving me with the lingering echo of what might have been. "We will be waiting for you; take your time," he says. A shadow crossed his face, and without another word, he turned on his heel. The fabric of his regal cloak whispered softly against the floor as he walked away, each step resonating with a finality that sent shivers through the room. The weight of his departure was palpable, leaving me in solitude with the haunting sense of what could have been—a fleeting moment of comfort that had escaped my grasp like sand slipping through fingers. As I observed his diminishing silhouette, the chill of his absence wrapped around me, the silence growing dense and profound in the void he left behind. I stayed rooted to the spot he had left me, ensnared in the fog of my contemplations. The room appeared to shrink around me, yet I felt distant, cast adrift on a sea of bewilderment. My gaze was fixed ahead, unseeing, while my mind wrestled with the tumultuous emotions his leaving had provoked. The emotion gnawing at my heart was indescribable—a peculiar blend of longing and apprehension, a desire for something indefinable. The vision of his departing figure replayed incessantly in my mind. Was it love? Resentment? Or perhaps a feeling more intricate and nameless? Or was it merely a physical response to my lack of intimate connections for the past years? The questions reverberated in the stillness, each one rendering me more perplexed than the last. I exhaled, shutting my eyes to seek lucidity, but the shadows of uncertainty only intensified. My heart throbbed with the burden of these unnamed emotions, leaving me marooned in a chasm between trepidation and aspiration, pondering if I would ever truly comprehend my feelings for the man, I so call my husband. I couldn't tell how long I had been there, dazed and lost in my tangled thoughts. Time seemed to stretch and blur, with minutes slipping by unnoticed. The world outside my mind faded away, leaving only the echoes of my unanswered questions. It wasn't until the soft creak of the door and the gentle rustle of footsteps broke the silence that I was pulled back to the present. My most loyal friend and servant entered the room, her face etched with concern as she approached.

 "My lady," she says softly, her voice a lifeline anchoring me back to reality. I blinked, the haze of my daydream gradually clearing as I turned to face her, who offered a comforting smile. Drawing a deep breath, I attempted to dispel the remaining bewilderment, aware that the enigmas of my heart must be postponed. Her tender smile wavered as she observed my distant look. "My lady, are you well? Has there been an incident with the king?" she inquired; her tone filled with sincere worry. I blinked again, the inquiry anchoring me back to reality. Recollections of the king's departure and my tangled emotions surged forward. I paused, my eyes lowering to my hands, which quivered faintly. 

"I... I'm uncertain," I whispered, my voice a hushed murmur. Bluebell eyes flickered with understanding, sensing that now might not be the time for deep confessions. With a practiced grace, she shifts the conversation. "My lady," she whispers, "it might be wise to prepare for dinner. The evening meal will soon be served, and it could help clear your thoughts." I blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation yet finding solace in it.

"Dinner," I echoed, the word grounding me in the moment.

"Yes," she replied, her smile warm. "A hot bath and fresh attire might be beneficial. Manta has prepared your favored dishes tonight, perhaps because of..." Her voice faded, then she continued, "but I'm certain that some food will restore your spirits." I nodded slowly, her sensible words offering a reassuring routine to hold onto. "You're right. Thank you," I managed to say, mustering a weak smile.

Bluebell led me to the next room, where a bath had been filled. "Let's prepare you, my lady. A delightful dinner awaits, and perhaps the night will bring some clarity."

As the warm water enveloped me, I closed my eyes, allowing myself to focus on the simple act of preparing for dinner, hoping it might ease the turmoil in my heart, if only for a little while. The topic of the king's cousins arose.

As I settled into the warm bath, Bluebell continued to chat, subtly steering the conversation towards lighter subjects. "My lady, I heard that the king's cousins will be joining us for dinner tonight," she said, her voice lifting with a hint of excitement.

I nodded, trying to put our latest encounter in the king's study out of my mind. "Do you know why they've come?" I asked, seeking some insight.

She gave a light shrug. "There's talk that they're here on a diplomatic mission, though others suggest it's merely a family visit. Regardless, their presence is bound to make dinner more interesting," she remarked, as disinterested as ever.

I pondered this, finding the idea of new company a welcome distraction. "What are they like? I suppose there are rumors—I did see them—but knowing their characters will be crucial for the dinner to go smoothly," I mused, allowing the warmth of the bath to relax my muscles.

She smiles, clearly pleased to have piqued my interest. "The eldest cousin, Lord Edwin, is renowned for his sharp wit and charm. He's quite the storyteller, often leaving the court roaring with laughter at his anecdotes. Lady Celia, on the other hand, is more reserved but possesses a keen mind for politics and strategy. She has been a valuable advisor to the king on several occasions." so that was their names.

I found myself intrigued, my earlier confusion giving way to curiosity. "It sounds like they'll bring some lively conversation to the table," I remarked.

"Indeed, my lady," Bluebell agreed. "And who knows, perhaps their visit will offer you some new perspectives as well. Now, let's get you dressed and ready for the evening. The palace is buzzing with anticipation."

As she helped me out of the bath and into an exquisite evening gown of deep sapphire blue, the fabric shimmered softly in the candlelight. The gown hugged my figure gracefully; the bodice was adorned with intricate embroidery that sparkled like starlight. The skirt flowed like liquid silk, cascading to the floor in gentle waves.

As she fastened the final clasp and adjusted the gown's delicate sleeves, she stepped back to admire my hair in an elegant updo, securing it with delicate pins adorned with pearls. Each of her movement must have been so precise, a practiced routine that transformed my reflection in the mirror. "You look radiant, my lady," she beamed, genuine admiration in her eyes.

I gazed at myself in the mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back. The transformation was stunning, and for a moment, I felt a spark of confidence. The worries that had clouded my mind seemed to lift slightly, replaced by a sense of anticipation for the evening ahead.

"Thank you," I replied softly, turning to face her. "You've done a wonderful job." She bowed slightly, a pleased smile on her lips. "It is my pleasure, my lady. Now, let's make our way to the dining hall. The evening awaits, and I have a feeling it will be quite memorable."

Striding down the corridors, my gown swished elegantly with each step, instilling in me a renewed sense of purpose. The arrival of the king's cousins and the anticipation of engaging conversations imbued me with the determination to confront whatever the night held in store. Nearing the grand dining room doors, I inhaled deeply, the aroma of polished wood and candle wax enveloping me. The doors swung open, and I entered, the coolness of the marble floor seeping through my delicate slippers.

The dining room was the epitome of luxury. Crystal chandeliers dangled from above, casting a warm, golden glow that flickered across the walls and sparkled on the silverware and glass goblets that adorned the lengthy mahogany table. A soft symphony of hushed conversations, the whisper of fine garments, and the occasional chime of glass filled the room.

Upon my entrance, I became the focus of all attention. Conversations among the three halted, their eyes tracking my progress as I glided towards my seat. With my head held as low as it could possibly be, my gown cascaded around me like waves of midnight blue, the embroidered stars on my bodice twinkling with each movement.

The king's cousins, Lord Edwin and Lady Celia, were already seated near the head of the table. and the other lord was three chairs away from them. Lord Edwin, with his charming smile and sparkling eyes, offered me a respectful nod. Lady Celia, composed and tranquil, gave a slight nod in acknowledgment.

I approached my designated seat next to the king, feeling the significance of the moment weigh upon me. The king rose to welcome me, his face giving nothing away. "My queen," he greeted me formally, offering his hand.

I accepted his hand, feeling a tremor at the contact, and he assisted me into my seat. "My king," I responded quietly, locking eyes with him momentarily before diverting my gaze.

As I took my place, the buzz of conversation picked up around me, though I sensed occasional glances cast my way. I paused to gather myself, smoothing out my gown and sitting up straight. The night was just beginning, and I was aware that this evening, the intricate interplay of court politics and personal sentiments would require my utmost elegance and tact. The servants commenced serving the first course, and I let myself become immersed in the meal's progression, trusting that the animated company of the king's cousins would offer the diversion necessary to prevent my mind from drifting to the unresolved strain with my husband. As the first course was served, I absentmindedly toyed with my food, the subtle flavors failing to capture my attention. The room buzzed with lively conversation, yet I felt oddly detached, my thoughts ensnared by the earlier meeting with the king.

Abruptly, Lady Celia's voice pierced the buzz, crisp and distinct. "Your Majesty," she called out to the king, her gaze alight with inquisitiveness, "might you share more about your recent undertaking with the witches? Rumor has it, it was quite an extraordinary event."

The room descended into silence; all eyes fixed on the king. The mere mention of witches was sufficient to capture the attention of all, due to their enigmatic and frequently ominous renown. I held my breath, aware that Lady Celia was intentionally delving into a delicate topic.

The king's jaw clenched; his annoyance scarcely hidden. "This is neither the time nor the place for such discussions, Lady Celia," he responded, his tone laced with impatience.

Yet, Lady Celia remained resolute. "Oh, but Your Majesty, a tale of such intrigue might just provide a welcome diversion from today's more urgent matters," she insisted, her mouth curving into a cunning smile.

The king's eyes gleamed with irritation. "Enough," he commanded tersely. "The affairs of the state take precedence over idle chatter about witches. We must concentrate on the essential issues."

Lady Celia's smile diminished a bit, yet she stood her ground. "Certainly, Your Majesty," she replied, her voice now tempered. "I only suggested that sharing your insights could fortify the determination of those who seek your leadership."

The king's stare was so piercing it could petrify her. "My dealings with witches are not a matter for public discussion. Should you have any concerns, raise them through the appropriate channels."