Episode 9
1001 Words
Hands That Hesitated
Hyacinth hadn’t been expecting him that night.
She’d just finished brushing out her hair when she heard the soft knock—not at the door to her chambers, but at the connecting door that led to his. She turned toward it slowly, brush still in hand, lips parted slightly.
“Come in,” she called, not trusting her legs to move.
The door creaked open. Edger stepped in quietly, wearing a plain white shirt tucked loosely into his dark trousers. He looked tired—he always looked tired—but there was a tenderness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.
“You’re still awake,” he said.
She nodded, brushing a curl behind her ear. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“I saw the light,” he said, taking a few steps forward. “I thought I should check.”
She laughed softly. “You’ve been gone for days, and now you check.”
His jaw twitched, but he didn’t speak. He looked around the room instead—at the vanity, the rose curtains, the laced pillowcases. His gaze finally settled on the wall behind her.
“You still hate the pink,” he murmured.
Hyacinth smirked. “More every day.”
“I’ll change it.”
She blinked. “You remember?”
“I remember everything you say.”
There was something in the way he said it—low and unguarded. Like an apology wrapped in silk. She stood slowly, still holding her brush.
“You never told me why you left so suddenly.”
“I had things to handle,” he replied, stepping closer.
“With Adelaide?”
He stopped, face unreadable.
“She came to the estate.”
“I know.”
“She told me things.”
Edger nodded. “I expected she would.”
“She said you still loved her.”
He took another step. She didn’t move.
“Do you?” she whispered.
“No.”
Her eyes searched his face. “Then why does it feel like you’re hiding something?”
Edger lifted a hand but stopped halfway, like he wasn’t sure she’d let him. When she didn’t flinch, he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“There are things I haven’t said,” he admitted. “But not because I love her. Not anymore.”
“Then why?”
“Because I didn’t think you’d want to know who I used to be.”
Hyacinth’s breath hitched. She looked away, suddenly overwhelmed by how close he was, how gentle his voice had become.
“You always look at me like I’m some kind of puzzle,” she said.
“You are,” he replied. “But I like puzzles.”
Silence settled between them, thick and humming.
She stepped closer. “You’re not allowed to leave again without telling me.”
“I won’t.”
“Even if it’s something painful.”
He nodded slowly. “Even then.”
Her fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, right above his heart. He looked at her, eyes deep and searching, like he was trying to memorize her face.
When he kissed her, it was careful—like a man returning to something fragile he didn’t want to break.
Her hands slid up to his collar, pulling him closer. His lips moved slowly over hers, as if they had all the time in the world. His fingers traced the curve of her jaw, then her neck, lingering there like they were afraid to let go.
Hyacinth melted into him. There was no rush—only warmth, only breath, only heartbeats.
He kissed her again, deeper this time, and when his hands slid to her waist, she didn’t stop him. She felt herself being lifted onto the bed, one hand tangled in his hair, the other pressed against the back of his neck. Her robe slipped off her shoulder.
He paused.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m sure.”
He lay beside her, not on top. He kissed her collarbone, her wrist, the inside of her elbow—each movement slow and reverent, like he was discovering her for the first time.
Their clothes came off in soft layers. There were no hurried movements, no desperate grabbing—just skin against skin, warm and slow and real.
When he entered her, she gasped softly, but not from pain. She clutched at his back, her body arching to meet him, and he held her like she might disappear.
They moved together, like waves rolling over the shore, like music with no end. He whispered her name between kisses, and she whispered his against his neck. Their breaths mingled in the dim candlelight, rising and falling, rising and falling, until everything else slipped away.
After, he held her close—her head on his chest, his fingers tracing patterns down her spine.
Neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t heavy anymore. It was safe.
Hyacinth stirred in the middle of the night, reaching out for the warmth beside her.
But the bed was empty.
She blinked.
The candle had burned down to its last stub. The air felt cooler. She sat up, hair tousled and eyes heavy.
“Edger?” she called softly.
No answer.
She wrapped the blanket around herself and slid out of bed. She hummed as she walked down the hallway, the song low and familiar. The same one her mother used to sing when the waves were calm.
“Your Grace?” a servant said from the staircase.
Hyacinth turned.
“There’s a woman downstairs. She says she’s here to see you.”
Hyacinth frowned. “At this hour?”
“She wouldn’t give her name. Only said... you know her.”
Hyacinth walked slowly to the top of the stairs.
At the base, dressed in ivory lace and a crimson shawl, was a woman with cold eyes and a prettier smile than Hyacinth remembered.
Adelaide.
- Writer
