Caeruleus

I freeze at the sound of my name, my breath catching in my throat. This was the first time she had ever called me by my name after so long of miseries and begging, and the simple word hung in the air between them, laden with meaning. The familiarity of it felt strange yet intimate, a bridge across the chasm that had always separated them. I drag her closer to me wanting to feel more of my little wife, my heart pounding with a mix of surprise and hope, as if that one small word had the power to change everything.

"Can you say it again?" I whisper, releasing my hold on her as painfully as if I were withdrawing from the only thing I needed at that moment. Sitting on the floor, I remain in a trance, not yet recovered from the melodious sound of her voice.

"Your eyes are..."

"No, after that, repeat what you said, after that" I try, but find it hard. How long has it been since she last pronounced my name, or has she ever? Ever since we met, I've had this strange urge to stay away from her, yet at the same time, something was pulling my attention back to her. I even left for an unknown mission as soon as that marriage was over, just because of the unwelcoming feeling, which I somehow welcome now. I try everything; the moon knows I try, but the kind of attraction I feel towards this little ignorant girl is unhealthy for both of us.

"Caeruleus," she whispered, her breath quivering as she drew nearer, her lips parting ever so slightly. The sound was a mere murmur, nearly swallowed by the shadows, yet it was clear—a gentle, trembling whisper laden with her emotions. She spoke, her voice soft and breakable, as though the very act of speaking could fracture the silence. Her eyes, wide and filled with uncertainty, met mine, searching for some sign of reassurance, while her words hung in the air like an ephemeral secret. "So... what's wrong with your eyes... are you... trying to read my mind?" she asked, one eyebrow arched in a mix of curiosity and reproach, as if my actions were illicit or indefensible. Such an enigmatic girl.

I rose to my feet, the cool tiles anchoring me as I calmed my breathing. Gradually, I moved to the end of the bathtub, taking measured steps. My hand extended towards the soft fabric of her towel, its texture both familiar and soothing. As I took hold of it, she spun around, her eyes wide with astonishment, a silent query hanging between us. I took the towel and gently offered it to her. Her eyes, filled with curiosity and uncertainty, met mine. I presented the towel, a simple act yet heavy with unspoken meaning.

"Here," I murmured, my voice even as I held it out to her. For a brief moment, the only sound was the whisper of fabric as she paused, then her fingers lightly touched mine as she accepted the towel. The touch was fleeting, yet it stirred the stillness around us. She accepted the towel from my grasp, her fingers briefly touching mine before she redirected her focus to the water. Maintaining eye contact, she methodically wrapped the towel around her, the plush material soaking up the droplets on her skin. As she secured the towel around her form, the water around her stirred softly.

With the towel wrapped securely around her, she began to rise slowly, water cascading down her legs in shimmering rivulets. The soft sound of water splashing back into the tub broke the silence, heightening the tension between us. She stood upright, her stance shy yet wary, as the towel clung to her form and she locked eyes with me.

Droplets followed the contours of her skin, glistening in the light as she stepped from the tub, closing the distance between us to merely a whisper.

"Your silence says everything, Your Highness," she utters, persisting with the honorific. Why is she so insistent on calling me that? She takes a small step back, her shyness overtaking her as she gazes at me. "Why do you want me to learn about that Ignis of yours? What relevance does it have to me?" I understand this question has been troubling her since she found out about it, and I can't help feeling enraged that her family attempted to conceal it from her. I'm aware of her mother's actions, but everything about her is just too peculiar, and her oblivious ex-husband didn't notice a thing. Calm down, one step at a time for now.

"I thought we agreed to dispense with the honorifics. Why do you insist on calling me that?" I asked, though I knew she would likely not answer. As she stood there, the towel wrapped tightly around her, the conflict in her eyes was apparent. She avoided my gaze, her lips pressed together as if restraining words, she wasn't ready to share. The silence stretched between us, laden with words unspoken. I took a step closer, searching her face for any hint of an answer, but she merely looked away, her hold on the towel growing firmer. She was trying so hard not to respond, her silence speaking volumes more than any words could.

She shifted slightly, her eyes lowering to the floor as she pondered her next words. When she spoke, her voice was soft, almost breakable. "It just... feels right," she whispered, her fingers nervously playing with the towel's edge. "I don't want to upset you, but it's... simpler this way. It's a reminder of the distance I need to maintain." She looked up at me, her eyes a complex blend of apology and a deeper, concealed emotion. The honorific was more than a mere title; it was a shield; one she was not yet prepared to relinquish.

A knot tightened in my chest at her words. Her reluctance to close the distance stung more than I cared to admit. I sighed, reigning in my frustration as I took a step closer, my voice growing softer. "I do understand," I said, the words weighing heavily on my tongue. "But I wish you didn't feel the need to maintain this distance between us. I'm not just a title, especially not to you. There's no need to be afraid." Yes, the man who sought to bridge the gap and its cause pondered, what else can I do? This is my way of mending. And with raised brows, she finally grasped my clumsy attempts to project my faults onto her.

I extended my hand, pausing briefly before gently touching her arm, wishing for her to sense the honesty in my gesture. "I aspire to be more than just a person you feel obliged to respect. I desire to be someone you can rely on."

She arched an eyebrow, a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. The mockery in her expression was palpable even before she uttered a word, the mischievous sparkle in her eyes signaling that her forthcoming words would be far from simple.

"Trust?" she repeated, her tone laced with a touch of irony. "Is that genuinely what you desire? Or is it merely a word you wield because it seems... virtuous?"

"Saltanat," I call out, but she turns her back to me. The motion is sudden and unexpected. A jolt of surprise and a sharp pang of discomfort strike me as I watch her retreat. This is the first time I've witnessed such defiance from her, leaving me momentarily stunned.

The usual serenity of her demeanor had given way to something raw and uncharted. I grappled with understanding this transformation. Her stance was tense, as if she were guarding against a vulnerability that had momentarily shown itself.

"But aren't you the one who left me to visit that woman of joy?" Her accusation hit me forcefully, yet as the initial shock dissipated, I grasped the misinterpretation.

"What?" I uttered, my voice growing firmer as I stepped closer. Extending my hand, I gently coaxed her to face me. Her eyes brimmed with pain and bewilderment, signaling that my prior deeds had indeed caused a profound divide. "What woman of joy?" I inquire, and the question seems to trigger something within her. She pushes my hands away and storms out. I follow closely behind. As we near my drawer, I pass her, pull out one of my tunics, and offer it to her, but she refuses and walks towards the door, perhaps to summon a maid. This woman always seems to invite force upon herself. "Do not test my patience; wear this," I threaten, and she complies, donning the tunic with a pout. She then walks to the bed. "Which woman of joy are you referring to?"

She released a bitter laugh, turning to face me, her eyes shimmering with anger and pain. "Oh, so His Grace has so many he can't even keep track?" Her words cut through the air, dripping with sarcasm and hurt. My stomach sank. This was more than a misunderstanding—she genuinely believed the worst of me. I opened my mouth to object, but the heaviness of her accusation hung between us, dense and oppressive.

I took a step forward, my voice escalating with frustration. "No! That's not it at all," I protested, running a hand through my hair as the tension mounted. I swallowed hard, struggling to keep my voice steady. "You're mistaken about this. Let me explain—" but she interrupted me.

Her eyes flickered briefly, doubt mingling with the pain she clung to so fiercely. She folded her arms, maintaining a defensive posture, yet her anger appeared to soften marginally. Her lips twisted into a taut, sardonic smile. "Really? It sure seems that way from my perspective. I'm not blind, nor am I a fool."

"I never said you were," I replied, my voice softening, attempting to alleviate the tension. "I know you're not a fool. But you've misunderstood the situation. It wasn't meant to hurt you."

She scoffed; arms crossed in defense. "Not meant to get hurt? Then why did you leave me in doubt? Why did you make me feel... as if I didn't matter?" Her voice cracked, revealing the pain beneath her defiance. "I already know how this works; I was married, remember? You have every right to sleep with whomever you want. I am just a mere title for you to present in front of your public, but at least have the courage to tell the truth," She spat out, and all I could do was stare at her outburst. "I smelled the perfume on you the day you came back from that supposed to be important mission of yours and... and..." she couldn't complete her sentence as she passed out. I was quick enough to catch her before she fell, unfolded her crossed arms, and placed her in bed.

She looked so vulnerable, nothing like the fiery woman who had confronted me moments ago. As I stood there, watching over her, guilt and worry flooded my mind. That perfume... I didn't even remember it until now. How could something so small have spiraled into this? "She must have been so hurt," I whispered, the words barely escaping my parched throat. The scent wasn't my fault, but that didn't matter. The damage was done. I had seen it in her eyes—the hurt, the betrayal, as if every doubt she'd ever harbored was confirmed in that single moment. My thoughts raced, each memory of her fragile smile, the one she usually wore when scared or uncomfortable, now replaced with the image of her recoiling in pain. I wanted to reach out, to explain, but what could I say? The scent of another woman was an accusation louder than any words I could muster.

Having confirmed her well-being, I exited, my thoughts in turmoil. I sought clarity of mind, yet, above all, I required assistance to resolve this predicament. I traversed the hallways until I encountered my first-in-command by the courtyard, the epitome of reliability and calm.

"I need to speak with you," I uttered, the tension in my voice betraying my composure. He pivoted to meet my gaze, his intuition alert to the disarray.

"I know, anyone looking at you now would understand, but spare me the details; I already know. so, she is the one," he says, the sly fox. I knew he was enjoying listening to that with the way his face lit up. I could tell he was enjoying this far more than he should. The smirk on his lips was all too familiar, the way he always seemed to find amusement in my struggles. It was infuriating, but I needed his help, so I would have to endure his jabs for now. "What are you going to do then?"

"That is the question I'm asking you," I say, and he raises an eyebrow. I know all too well he isn't that confused, but I still swallow my pride. "What are you going to do? I mean, how will you convince her that we were just trying to trace her without actually telling her that we were trying to trace her?"

"Your Majesty," he calls, and with the idiotic smile plastered on his face, I know his words will make me yearn to see his head on a silver platter. Yet, I feign attention. "As a mere commander, it is not my place to disagree with Her Highness. She stated she smelled the perfume on you; how could I argue? I, too, smelled it on you. In fact, everyone present could only concur with her. That night, we nearly came to blows when I tried to prevent you from drinking further. You told me, and I quote, 'As a king, and yours on top of that, the next time you act this disgracefully towards me—cough... cough—you will spend three days with those very people you sent to the dungeon.'" He repeats, his face composed and relaxed, the imbecile even mimicking my coughs of drunkenness. Why did I—no, how was I influenced to choose this joker as my first in command with the kingdom in his hands we are doom

"The threat is still looming, and if you fail to find something to occupy yourself, as in finding what to do, not only will you be sent to the dungeon, but I will also cease to assist you," I advise. Indeed, it is advice. I would rather lose him than my Saltanat. He clearly isn't even a consideration, yet the fool seems unfazed, as his smile broaden.

"So, this is the great Caeruleus smitten with love. Saltanat must be quite the woman to have you threatening people in the dead of night. Poor Eres, thinking she did everything to prevent what you're facing, but then, we can't escape what the moon has in store for us. Anyway, your wife, your problem, your perfume, and your solution. I already have enough on my plate with this kingdom to even consider finding a solution for something I clearly warned you about before. And with your graceful presence, Your Highness, you'll have to excuse me," he says, turning to leave but halts abruptly as if sensing something. He turns to me with that devilish smile he knows annoys me. "I think you should check on your wife, she..." I didn't wait for him to finish speaking. As soon as he began, I turned on my heel, my patience already frayed. His distinct laughter followed me as I walked away, a sharp and grating sound. I clenched my jaw. That cunning trickster. I should have let him go back to where he came from instead of enduring his antics. He had a knack for turning every situation into a farce, as if my frustrations were a source of amusement for him. But at that moment, I had no time to engage with him, especially with her still upset over the misunderstanding.

I dashed through the corridor, oblivious to the maids' startled gazes. Their bewilderment was of no consequence—I had neither the time to elucidate nor the inclination to concern myself with it. My sole focus was to reach my chambers where she awaited, or I try to convince myself. Each stride seemed to stretch into infinity, the weight of guilt hastening my pace as I pondered why I had ever departed. I was desperate to rectify the situation, to make her comprehend before it became irreparable. Upon opening the door to my chamber, I was met with profound misfortune—the room was barren. Initially, I braced for fear to seize me, for the dread that calamity had befallen her. Yet, what surged within was not apprehension but an incandescent wrath. Fury engulfed me, eclipsing any prior concern. How could she depart? Never in my existence had I endured such torment, not even at the hands of my own mother, yet she dared to inflict it. I stormed out, certain of her whereabouts. As I retraced my steps through the hallways, the maids paid me no heed, as if accustomed to the spectacle from my initial passage. Approaching her chambers, I halted at the sight of her, laboring towards her quarters. In that instant, all fury dissipated as if it had never existed.

"Where do you think you're going?" I call out. and at the sound of my voice without turning, she dashes past her own room and heads for the passage I know head directly to the kitchen. Knowing she has nowhere to go, I follow her in the same direction. She reaches the kitchen and is hastily conversing with Manta. Upon seeing me, she lets out an involuntary shout and starts running in the opposite direction from where I stand.

"You have no right," she tells me, bizarrely grabbing a spatula as if to defend herself from the monstrous beast of her nightmares. I glance around; every maid pretends not to watch us, but I can tell they're pleased to see her in this state. Yes, I know we are both involved, but she is the one throwing a tantrum, not me. I'm just standing here, not shouting or waving a spatula like a deranged lunatic. I'm simply observing, arms at my sides, as she allows her emotions to overflow for all to see.

"Of what, dear wife?" I ask, approaching her, but she shouts another 'stop' from beside the boiling pot of soup. To my surprise, I halt mid-step as if obeying her command, yet I can't suppress the smile on my face, seeing her desperate search for an escape. "My wife is so thoughtful, coming into the kitchen to help out. Look, she even has a... what do you call it? Oh, a spatula in her hand. Please, give her something to do. Oh, are you planning on stirring the boiling soup? What a queen we have here," I say. While some may wish to bury themselves, others find it cute or entertaining. But what makes it truly delightful is my Saltanat's face, beautifully confused and worried, eyeing everyone as if they can't be trusted.

"Saltanat, dear," Manta, our savior, the only one I know can put her heavy heart into our business, walks toward her. Saltanat, who was startles, turns the spatula toward Manta, who also startles. She quickly regrets her action and drops her only weapon to the floor. "Why don't you go with him and have a good conversation instead of giving everyone here the gossip of the day?" she whispers, meant only for Saltanat's ears, but Saltanat seems to dislike the idea of conversation. I've had enough. Just as I was about to move closer, Manta's piercing gaze catches mine, and I pause once more. What power does this woman have to make me stop at will? She walks Saltanat away from the pot and leads her through a door I never knew existed until today.