Claiming The Remnant

Chapter 77

[ Ethyn ]

"Shall we?" I offered my arm, polite but presumptuous. Warm but not intimate. My heart danced when she accepted it but my mind was anxious. Had I been too bold? Did she want to take my arm or was it from social obligation? Stressing, I turned to look at her. Try to read her face. Anything to calm my fears that she felt pressured by my title.

My worry was for naught. Expressive blue eyes peered up at me and my anxiety became like a rock that had tumbled in the ocean for millennia. She smoothed it right out with nothing more than a look; crumbled me to sand. A timid smile on her cracked lips became a wave of feeling through me, pulling at every grain of my being.

“Which one…” She paused. Mon foudre looked guilty before an almost imperceivable frown crossed her brow and she continued. “Which one is your favourite?”

“That wasn’t what you were going to ask.” I teased. It was meant in light jest but she looked mortified. Ethyn, Ethyn, Ethyn, when will you learn? I admonished myself. Ye Gods my Bless’d hair. Poor Esther thought I was calling her on a lie of some sort when it had been no more than observation and curiosity. Her delicateness was showing. It encompased all the beauty and fragility of a petal rendered transparent by the full face of the sun. “Mon foudre,” I moved before her, taking both her hands in mine, “please, I’m not…” I hunted for the words before I could be haunted by the stirring of fear in the depth of her eyes. She gasped as I sank to my knees.

I would render us a new line. Draw with words a space just for us and should I, just as the sun had to rise everyday, have to carve a horizon everyday so that mon foudre could see how perfectly equal we should be - then I would. I would carve until my hands bleed so that this unwitting holder of my heart could see how the earth and sky pressed against each other in harmony. A harmony that we should claim for ourselves.

“Mon foudre, before you I am enrapt.” I smiled at her shocked face. My heart was bursting in my chest as I knelt in submission to this unexpected love. “The slightest quirk of your lips, the most miniscule twitch of your brow in thought, the roaring sparkle of your oceanic eyes has me overflowing with pure emotion. My heart is soaring like a curious Redbreast wanting to investigate the way a Gardener tends to the earth. I am inquisitive. You are a blossom stirring, filling my gaze. I long to see the petals unfold but I am not here to pry them from the bud. Please, Esther, cast aside my Shade just as I have asked you to keep my title from your tongue.” Placing her soft, elegant hand over my heart I brought forth a vow. It was as empty as it was full. “Under the Sky and upon the Earth, Ye Gods hear my vow, I, Crown Prince Ethyn Lystra, shall never call upon my magic where you are concerned. Should you wish to tell the tiniest fib or the most humongous lie then you are free to do so without fear of discovery.”

“But, but…” She protested.

“If my Shade still bothers you then I shall shave it all off.” I grinned stupidly. For a moment her baffled expression lingered but when it softened and a smile, a genuine, perfect, radiant smile adorned her face making my heart squeeze with happiness.

“Perhaps just a hat…” Esther giggled, slipping her hand from mine and tentatively touching my hair.

“If it pleases My Lady then a hat I shall wear.” Rising to my feet I leant in a little, hovering over her small frame. The moment was beckoning me towards a kiss but I refrained.

“I was going to ask which was the most expensive painting.” Esther blushed, looking as if she had been found with her hand in the biscuit jar. “What?” She demanded as I laughed. The criminal in her was still lurking there somewhere. If riches were what interested her I had no quarrel - that would play right into my hands. Afterall I was a Crown Prince; with all the riches that came with it. Mon foudre would be showered in gifts.

“You surprise me, mon foudre.” I brushed the paleness of her cheek.

“I know,” She looked down, “it was not a Ladylike question.”

“No, it was an Esther question.” With a chuckle I tucked her aurburn hair back behind her ear. “I would rather have a thousand of those than a carefully crafted ‘proper’ question.”

“Then I shan’t disappoint you, My Prince.” Mischief was hung on every word. I could have reached out and plucked it from the air if I weren’t so busy melting on the inside. My Prince. She called me ‘My Prince’ and it was as though my soul was cradled by the words.

“This way, mon foudre.” Taking to her side I led Esther further down the viewing hall. “Here, the most expensive painting in the collection.”

“I… really? This is the most expensive? It’s so…”

“Boring?” I finished for her.

“Yes, so plain.” She cringed.

“It’s pre-Fae, oil on canvas by Jean Fortin, a depiction of one of the Apostles. Not sure which one. Very little pre-Fae art or literature pertaining to the Old Gods has survived. It is part of what makes this so valuable.”

“Is it not blasphemous?” With big questioning eyes she looked up at me.

“To remember who we were and where we came from? I don’t think so.” I found my fingers weaving themselves between hers. “It’s a reminder; a piece of history. There is no altar here, no worshipers, nothing beyond the image of a man.”

“Humm,” She gave it one last look, seemingly rounding off her thoughts in some way, “show me your favourite.” Esther demanded.

“Let’s tour the gallery and I will show you my favourite when we get to it. If not we will be walking up and down the hall more than looking at the art.” I squeezed her hand and she squeezed mine back.

“Well, if you insist, My Prince.” She was grinning while my stomach did flips.

After touring half the gallery I heard her stomach grumble and a light blush bloomed on her cheeks.

“Care for some afternoon tea?”

“Isn’t it impolite to comment on such things?”

“Comment on what?” I played dumb, teasing her. “It was an entirely unrelated question, nothing to do with your rumbling belly…”

“Cheeky!” Esther wacked me on the arm with the back of her hand. Before she could register what she had just done I took her hand, span her so she fell into my arms and planted a kiss upon the top of her head.

“This way mon foudre.” I soothed, taking a quick inhale of her scent (sea spray and mountain breeze) before guiding her to an alcove. “Voila!” With careful hands I removed the cloth to reveal the afternoon tea. The general expectation of excitement was missing from Esther’s face, instead she looked a little confused. “What is it?” Worry was churning in my gut. Had I done something wrong?

“What does ‘voila’ mean?” Deep lapis eyes looked to me for answers.

“Oh, it just means there we go or here it is.”

“How silly of me, that’s quite obvious.”

“I don’t think it is silly at all.” I pulled a chair out for her to sit. “If you didn’t know you didn’t know. The old language isn’t very widely used.” After she was seated I could help but trail a finger down the side of her delicate neck, tracing the vein so plainly seen under her skin, before making my way to my own seat opposite her.