Fated Desire

Five - Gardens

He had teased her with the kiss, taunting her with the briefest touch before withdrawing.

Then it had been torture, waiting for the time she might be alone with the red-haired Knight again. As Duchess of Khama, the King’s only niece, Sastra always had a number of guards and Knights around her, standing at a discreet distance. After returning to the Capital after being kidnapped by Ardeth and his family, she had been grateful that Jason had signed up as part of the roster of Knights to stand guard. It meant that she saw him at least every other day among the more familiar faces of the Palace guard and the Knights who chose to make Milany their base. Usually older men and women who appreciated a quieter life or wanted to spend time with their loved ones.

Now the knowledge that he was regularly close, without being in reach, only added to her impatient agony. Winter seemed to trip into Spring. Trees bloomed with tiny pink and white blossoms. The grass and hedgerows around the Palace were covered in tiny white snowdrops, then shooting purple and yellow crocuses. Bursting through as if fear of winter could no longer contain them. Spring was a riot of colour and usually at the edge of her vision was the man she could see, but not touch. His bright red hair, a beacon which never failed to capture her attention. She heard that Lady Lanai and George Thade had married. At first the news had puzzled her, she’d barely seen them interact, but then she supposed stranger matches had happened. She had never imagined her cousin Prince Ronin would fall for Grace Denare, but unfortunately for them, he had. Still, for all that it seemed strange, she felt glad for Lady Lanai and George for finding the kind of happiness that felt so far out of reach.

Sastra stood in the gardens, staring out at the wildflowers that grew in one particular walled enclosure. The thick, dark green stalks of daffodils had started to emerge, even if the bright yellow flowers were not yer visible. There was a strong breeze hufting in from the ocean, but the grey stone walls were ancient, covered in spongy moss and climbed far higher than her head, sheltering her and the carefree meadow from the worst of the weather. She struggled with her guilt, with the loss of Grace Denare particularly. Grace hadn’t deserved to die, nor had Lady Lanai. At one point, Sastra had seen the Lady Knight stabbed, bleeding to death on the tiled floor of an exotic conservatory. It was not a sight she was likely to forget. Liliana, poisoned and knowing she was dying had still faught. She’d still tried to help her, Sastra, the woman responsible for the death of her friend. It was an unfaltering loyalty to the crown, to the King that Sastra now struggled to understand. Since the death of her Father, she’d felt distant from her Uncle. Something she knew was partially her own fault, but not all.

The memory taunted her, stopped her sleeping. It twisted with her guilt about Grace and she couldn’t help but wonder if Lady Denare had suffered in the same way, Lady Lanai almost had. Sastra shivered, wrapping her arms around her chest. She wore a dark blue dress with long sleeves that covered her hands. It had a high neck but she’d pulled on a warm woollen shawl of purple, in an attempt to stay warm. Her handmaidens had been surprised, but uttered no comment. Before being entangled in treason, Lady Sastra Farview had been a lady of leisure, of tea parties, dances, balls, afternoon visits to friends and gentle excursions from one house to another. Now, she often found herself pacing back and forth in the gardens, riding out across the forests just beyond the city. Restless, unable to enjoy the pursuits that had occupied her previously.

It was something she could recognise in herself. Writing endless letters, reading the same old books, listening to the latest gossip and fashions was no longer enough. This was a life that she was willingly, gleefully about to leave behind. But when? Other than her stolen glimpses at Jason, there had been no chance to speak to the man without raising suspicion. Sastra sighed, bending at the knee to collect snowdrops.

‘I’d pay a fortune for your thoughts,’ a low voice murmured above her.

Startled, Sastra stood, spinning to face whoever had managed to move so quietly towards her. Jason. Her shock faded quickly and she smiled at the man.

‘I might be persuaded to share them with you,’ she replied. Sastra examined the flowers in her hand before hiding them behind her back. She didn’t want Jason to think she was a useless noblewoman. Not anymore than he might already. ‘For a kiss,’ she added, hoping that the suggestion would distract him from her flower picking. Sure enough, his brows raised with surprise. Colour darkened the top line of his cheeks before he took a breath.

‘Your grace,’ he lifted a hand, as though to placate her.

‘Sastra,’ she corrected him with a grin. It had been too long since she’d been able to speak with him, she was determined to torture him for every minute. Didn’t he understand how impossible it was, to have him so diligently close and not close enough? There was something poignant in it, she would have sworn to the Ancients that her attraction to the man had grown tenfold each day since he’d kissed her. Ten fold, then ten fold then ten fold again.

‘Sastra,’ he warned with a backwards glance, ‘if anyone hears us, they should hear me paying your proper respect.’

She resisted the urge to pout at the man, he was right though. Long term, they needed their plan to leave Milany behind to work. Or they’d both be killed for attempting it. She shook off her desire to taunt the man, for now.

‘We need a way to communicate,’ she resisted the urge to reach out and touch him. He was right, of course, anyone could walk past and see them. And whilst Jason was a nobleman and a Knight, she knew that technically at this moment he was her guard and should not be conversing with her. Not alone, without a chaperone. This was exactly the kind of behaviour that he was supposed to be guarding against.

‘Notes,’ he offered a brief smile, ‘I’ll leave you notes in the book in your bureaux.’

Sastra grimaced.

‘What is it?’ He tilted his head to the side.

‘There isn’t a book there,’ she admitted. Reading wasn’t something she’d been able to concentrate on recently. All the books she’d had in her possession, she had given to the Royal Library. Afterall, when she and Jason fled the city, she didn’t expect to take them with her.

‘There is now,’ he suggested. ‘I’ll write to you when I can. When you’ve read my message, burn the page. I’ll do the same with anything you return.’

‘What if I forget something?’

She could see him hold back his laughter at her honest dismay, as though they weren’t talking about matters of life and death.

‘We can’t leave a trail, your Grace. Not a written account of our plans. You will have to remember them…or at least what I’ll need you to do.’

‘I can do it,’ she assured him, her hands fell to her sides, the flowers limp in her right grip. Looking down at them, she sighed seeing how all the delicate stalks were snapped from where she’d been hiding them.

‘I know that you can,’ he assured her.

‘Jason…’ Sastra looked up at the man, watching the reflection of the clouds being buffeted across the sky in a brisk wind, ‘I don’t feel like myself at the moment,’ she admitted. ‘It’s hard to concentrate, there’s an axe hanging over my head, I’m waiting for it to fall.’

‘You feel out of control,’ he suggested quietly, ‘why would that be anything other than normal? Your life is in the hands of your Uncle.’ He looked down at his own hand, as it curved around the familiar pommel of his sword. ‘You’re waiting for news that you dread, that your marriage has been arranged.’

Sastra nodded, was it so easy? So obvious? Was the rest of the world able to read her with such fluency?

‘It won’t be long now, before we’ll be able to act,’ his voice dropped, carrying just under the whistle of wind above their heads. The blossom tree shook, casting off its petals so that they fell like snow to the ground. They covered Sastra’s slippered feet like snowflakes. ‘Waiting is awful,’ he admitted. ‘For that I am sorry. I promise, your Grace. I will have you away from Milany once I’ve been able to finalise all the details.’

‘Can I know them?’ She hardly dared to breathe. It was as though he offered her the world on an outstretched palm, one he could just as easily take away.

‘You can read them tonight,’ he gave another easy smile.

‘When are we leaving?’ She whispered, eager to know.

‘I’m awaiting word from your Aunt,’ he admitted, ‘once I have it, we go.’

Tears sprung into the back of her eyes then and she looked up at the sky, willing them to return from where they’d come. She bit her bottom lip, distracting herself with the pain. Back in control she looked back to the red-haired Knight. He stood a good head taller than she, his short hair had grown and was slicked back against his temples. He was clean shaven though, and she could smell him, the faintest smell of peppermint and soap that seemed to follow wherever he went.

‘Jason…’ how could she express her gratitude? Jason had promised to remove her from Milany before she faced an arranged marriage. He had made a promise, and she believed him. Heart, body and soul she knew that the Knight would fulfil his promise or die trying. Sastra had never believed in an all consuming love, something that could see her losing all sense and reason, but he had changed that. The time she spent with him was intoxicating and always over too soon.

He was watching her, earnest expression filled with curiosity.

‘It’s hard to see you,’ she admitted softly as the wind chose that moment to wail once more. For a moment, she didn’t think that he’d heard her. Or if he had, he hadn’t understood the meaning behind her words. But then his pale eyes started to darken with desire and she knew, without words that he experience the same torture as she.

‘I know,’ he said and didn’t move.

She wanted to close the distance between them, to be swept into his arms. To demand that he kissed her, more than just the chaste meeting of lips that had occurred in the courtroom. She’d been kissed before, and she’d never enjoyed it so much or longed for it so vehemently.

Sastra swallowed, she threw away the broken snowdrops, watching as they were caught and tossed around in the wind. His hand curled around her wrist, his fingers sliding between her own. Her heart squeezed and she watched him sidelong, silent as they stood side by side, hands outstretched and met in the middle. Blossoms swirling around them. Then the wind dropped and he was gone. Her fingers left outstretched in the air, her palm missing the heat of his against her skin. Damnit. How could she want him so badly? How could the smell of peppermint and soap leave her feeling like this, so effortlessly ardent in her desire?

The image of Jason entering her room late at night rose to mind, so that she closed her eyes savouring the idea. What would he do? Her daydream took her, where neither of them had been able to follow. To an imagination where he kissed her without stopping, where his mouth might move to her jaw, her neck and move to explore her body. Her eyes snapped open and she pulled in an uneven breath. Myst. Just the thought of him was enough to set a fire between her thighs.