Breath and Burn [Kaldin!]

[Anonymous]

[Not really IN the town of Cerenis by near there, so I thought I'd post the thread here anyways. ;) ]

"Never do I want to see you performing such an act in my presence again!" Cyrus scolded at Maichello who solemnly embraced the sore cheek.

"Aye, sir."

"What by heavens' name were you thinking?! Disrespecting those women.  Taunting and teasing them like worthless scum.  Now I apologize for striking you, Maichello, but you must learn that such conduct in unacceptable whether or not I am around," he respired slowly, calming with every sweep of breath.  Swiping his unruly hair back, he continued, "I can tolerate a number of usually intolerable behavior but that was where I draw the line.  Do you fathom these words I speak?

"Aye, sir," Maichello replied, not even thinking of looking up at Cyrus.  "I understand, my lord.  I shan't vocalize a cruel or false word to another lady; no matter a harlot she may be.  But if she be a man, I'll have me vengeance."

Cyrus shook his head and chuckled at his man's comment.  "Very well, Maichello.  If she be a man, you may have your vengeance.  We only know too well the tidal waves that roar in men's hearts," he mentioned bluntly and allowed his weary body to slump into an armchair at the corner of the library.  The dust pillowed from the fabric of years without use and was illuminated by the light of the flickering flames within the fireplace.  

Gazing out through the window of the vacant East Tower, he sighed forlornly somberly regarding the hazy rain that continually pestered the transparency of the glass.  It was an afternoon at Tower Medirein that reeked of melancholy.  But not due to a seen suffering, but one rather unseen and quite intangible to anyone but Lord Cyrus himself.  The heartache in his chest set his eyes to a sorrow even a beggar could cry for.  A love sickness driving him to restless nights and wallowing in his own misery.  Or at least what he perceived to be a misery; living without that of which completed his very being.

Oh, damnation!  Why did I leave without telling her? was the badgering thought running rampant in Cyrus' mind ever since he had departed from Arca just a week ago.  Leaving Lady Kisa Alberich without much more than a hug and a memory of a kiss.  Not a kiss to boast about; not more than a brush of lips.  Timid but fueled by a blazing burn.  Cyrus shook his head at the memory of his action.  Whispering to himself, "Oh what a fool I've been.  How will she ever know?"  And sank deeper into a state of distant wondering.

"My lord!" Maichello shouted, interrupting Cyrus' train of thought.  He burst  from his seat and moved towards the fireplace, stopping short when he remember the words he was to speak, also apparently forgetting the scolding he was just given, "I forgot to mention earlier, sir, that you've been invited to attend a ball taking place at the Villa near Cerenis."  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out and folded paper, handing it to Cyrus.  "And emissary asked me earlier today while I was in Adalen if I be your man and, me speaking truth, replied, 'Aye, I be the man of Lord Cyrus Medirein,' and he says to me, 'Give this to him please'-and hands me the invitation.  Continuing on he says, 'Lord Crosston is holding a ball by Cerenis in which your lord is invited to attend.'  I nodded to him and told him that I'll be sure to tell you."

Cyrus looked at the creased parchment, the hazel-green of his eyes quickly scanning what was writ.  Reading aloud, "I, Lord Richter Crosston, am inviting Lord Cyrus Medirein to attend a great ball in honor of my daughter's marriage.  This event is to take place at the Villa nigh Cerenis tomorrow evening."  His eyes were filled with a sheer disappointment.  Sighing heavily once again, "I can't go to this ball.  Not in the wreck of a state I'm in now."

"But lord, you have to go!" Maichello retorted in surprise.  "Everyone who's anyone is to be there."

"How can say that when you can see me now?"  He thrust up from the armchair and walked towards a whiskey decanter he'd neglected to start let alone finish.  Pouring the fiery liquid into a glass, "I hardly think I would have any fun at the bash anyways.  What good would that do me?"

Suddenly an idea pushed the doors into Maichello's constantly vacant mind.  "You know, sir, you're probably right.  It might not do you any good at all.  And worst of all, you wouldn't make a very good escort to Lady Kisa Alberich, who's probably going to be there."

"Kisa's going to be there?"  He strayed his mind to the sweet sensation the name brought to his lips and paused only to drink the whiskey that rested in the glass.  He grinned slightly at the thought of seeing her again.

"Yes, sir.  I believe she's been invited as well."

"But how?  Arca is so far away."

"True.  But perhaps she got her invitation early.  In fact I am most certainly sure she's already lodging into an Inn in Cerenis right now."

"Well, I'll think about going.  But there'll be no guarantees."  Cyrus relaxed once more into the armchair pondering thoughts of wonderment as he stared into the flames.

[sorry this is so long!]

[Anonymous]

((Did you want them to meet at the ball or did you have something else in mind? I'll just make this one of her chilling at the inn with Ana, but if you want to skip straight to the ball just tell me in the next post and I'll make it happen.))

Kisa was, in fact, checking into an inn right at that moment. The most popular one in Cerenis, of course, where all the fashionable young nobles simply have to stay -- no doubt Meriel had told her where to find it. The invitation to Lord Crochton's ball had actually arrived at the Alberich estate a week before her arrival in Arca, and her mother had leapt upon the opportunity like a tiger: "Now here's a chance to put on your good dress and win suitors!"

Kisa, though, was rather nervous. After the events in Arca she wasn't sure if she was quite ready to meet any suitors at all. Undoubtedly they would all try to steal a kiss at some point, and after that brush with Cyrus... well, Kisa wasn't certain if she could withstand another one of those. A delicious shiver ran all the way down her body.

"Thinking of him again, are you?" Ana asked with an arched eyebrow and a smirk.

"No!" Kisa protested. "I mean -- well, yes -- how did you know?"

"You're as pink as a peach," Ana said, laughing. "Stop worrying about it. If you want to see him tomorrow night, you will, and if you don't want to see him there will be so many noblemen swept off their feet by your magnificent beauty that you will be able to hide yourself in their arms."

"But I don't know what I want! That's the problem!" Kisa wailed comically.

Ana laughed again, and helped the coachman carry Kisa's luggage indoors. "Stop being such a goose," she said warmly. "What you need is a real kiss, and all your problems will be solved."

"What!" Kisa cried, scandalized. She obediently followed Ana into the inn, and, what with her semi-famous looks and the new, fashionable dress (chosen with Meriel's help, of course), the innkeeper immediately realized who she was and graciously began to lead them to their rooms.

"Oh, yes," Ana said, still lugging half their baggage behind her. She was just as strong -- no, stronger -- than the boy who was struggling to keep up with the rest of it. "From what I've heard, it sounds like it was scarcely a kiss at all. Kiss him properly the next time and you'll be so happy your knickers will fall off."

"Ana!" Kisa shrieked. "Do not say things like that. I'm a lady, not a harlot!" She looked anxiously from side to side, worried that some important person heard Ana's tempting advice.

Ana burst out laughing again. "No one's here, dearest! They're all trying on their gowns for tomorrow night. As you should be, as well," she added in a more serious tone.

"I know," Kisa sighed. "I just don't want to ruin the surprise. This is my first real gown and I just -- I'm--"

"You're scared," Ana said gently. "Understandable. It's quite likely you'll look absolutely hideous in it."

"I will not!" Kisa replied haughtily. "It's quite likely I'll be the most beautiful girl at the ball!"

"Aye, until your knickers fall off," Ana said. With a squeal of laughter mixed with pure rage Kisa chased Ana to their suite, and the poor coachman was left to transport all their belongings to the room on his own, as Ana had left them scattered all over the floor.

"Nobles," the innkeeper snorted. "Glad to see they've still got some spirit in 'em."

[Anonymous]

[Meeting there is fine with me.  Oh yeah, they're allowed to bring 1 guest with them.  Of course Cyrus has chosen to bring his main valet Maichello along ~_^.]

"Ouch!  Dammit, Maichello not so tight!  Forget it, just leave me to tie it myself," Cyrus pushed away the valet's helping hands and moved in front of the mirror.  Tying the cravat himself, "Make yourself useful and grab me my boots, please."

Sighing in obvious annoyance, "I don't understand why you bother to wear that terrible piece of cloth on you.  I'm more than sure the ball will be warm enough with all of those nobles there.  You don't see me wearin' one now do ya?"  Reached for what he knew to be Cyrus' favored knee-high black leathers and returned them to the one whom desired them.

"That's because you actually enjoy looking like a wretch instead of the gentleman you should look.  Dammit! At least have the decency to tie your hair back.  I swear one of these days your hair'll become so ratted, it'll be nigh impossible to fix.  Ever."  Executing his favored tying style to pleated perfection, he sat down shoved his foot into the black leather, not minding the snugness of his breeches that hugged him like a second skin.  

Watching him tug at the boot top, Maichello winced uncomfortably.  "I don't understand how you could wear your pants so tight all the while still bein' comfortable."  Shaking his head disapprovingly, he paced towards the wardrobe and grabbed the predetermined coat of dusty black and helped Cyrus into it.

"Well, why else do you think?  I wear them because I can and they don't bother me a bit," Cyrus answered as he struggled to free his arm to the other end of the sleeve.

"To be completely honest, sir, I think you wear them to try to impress the noblewomen.  Or any woman for that matter.  Well, I can't say I blame you.   You are doing a fine job just making eye contact with them after all.  I suppose no real harm could come of accentuating below the waist."  Maichello laughed teasingly at his lord.

"Mind your tongue, man.  I have no such intentions.  You, of all people, should be well aware of that."  Cyrus rolled his eyes, fixing the collar and such with simple flicks of his hands.  Under his breath, "Mindless fool."  For once, in many a year, Cyrus coiffed his hair successfully without ruining it with any thickheaded movements.  "Have you, readied up the horses as I've asked you?"

"Of course, my lord.

"Good, now let us go."

The two man, lord and servant, made their way through the torch-lit halls and corridors of Tower Medirein, the very walls of which were written with the history of his ancestors.  Something Cyrus hardly wished to fathom.  A history too long for even his eldest of existing relatives to remember.  Luckily however his Uncle Hadrian was keeping himself occupied by trying to put together the chronicles of their family legacies.  I've got to remember to find some time to visit Casseger's brother.

~Journey to Villa~

"Lord Cyrus, may I ask about that girl you met in Arca a few weeks ago?" Maichello inquired, bouncing with the motion of the chestnut mare, rightfully dubbed Sweetmeat.  He patted the horse's neck and clicked his tongue to her ear.

"Certainly.  What is it that you wish to know?" Cyrus replied, his head bobbing gently with the familiar trot of his favored white gelding, Casa'agen.  It never failed that he chose this aged horse, who nickered at his presence, to ride to even the furthest reaches of Serendipity.  Perhaps it was his calm behavior as a more experienced ride than one of the colts that had more energy than anyone could handle.  Like Adrastos, which, ironically, was more in contrast to the meaning of his name than one would've normally thought.

"Well, lord, I couldn't help but notice the constant fire in your eyes.  And you more than often speak her name, albeit unbeknownst to you."  The birth of sly smile made it's way to Maichello's facade.  "Do you happen to like this woman more than you should?"

"What!" Cyrus' voice cracked in surprise.

"I think you've been quite taken with this Lady Kisa Alberich.  Might there be a wedding soon?  You know how me Melly simply loves weddings!"  The valet's voice squeaked in a mocking girlish tone.

"Oh shut up!  You're a thirty-six year old man.  Can you not jest for a moment's notice!  That's it I'll not speak to you again until we get to Villa,"  Cyrus turned away from his man and nudged Casa'agen into a faster pace with the heel of his boot.

Persisting with such foolhardiness, "I asked the oracle about the weather while I was in town.  She said rain would be coming later in the evening.  So if you plan to be bringing your future wife to the Tower for a pre-marital bedding, you might have to do it as soon as you see her before the rain-"

"ENOUGH! I said."

Maichello shook his head at Cyrus' conduct and merely chuckled at the look he'd caused upon his lord's face.

[Anonymous]

The next morning was mainly spent touring the village; although Cerenis was not that large, to Kisa it was still infinitely larger than her own home and it had a much more innocent and cheerful atmosphere than Arca, so she was absolutely ecstatic. Kisa had always been fond of the ocean and ships, and on her and Ana's explorations she found herself to be quite at home.

Of course, once noon hit, it was back to the inn and time to prepare for the ball. It took hours and hours of fighting and panic, but they were both appropriately satisfied just in time to leave.

Ana, having only one decent dress, looked elegant and so simple almost to be commonplace in no time; it was a dark green, with hints and snatches of cream amongst the ruffles, and was modest to the point of being an old lady's gown. Kisa, on the other hand, was wearing a luxurious royal blue and white gown; above the waist it was very tight against her skin, and as it was an off-the-shoulder, revealed her own shoulders and neck beautifully. Long trails of silk fluttered whimsically behind her, and the low, scooping neckline advertised that she was, in fact, ready for business -- as crude as that may sound. Her long chestnut hair was braided into a loose, wispy and ornate braid, and her hair stood out like a firecracker against the rich colour of the gown, as did her fair and delicate skin. And, of course, the blue of the dress made the blue of her own eyes shine radiantly from her face like stars. Ana was dressed to accompany, while Kisa was dressed to kill.

Arriving at the ball, however, Kisa felt still underdressed; her family could afford no large pieces of jewelry and yet every other woman present had diamonds and sapphires up to their ears.

"I say it's rather tacky," Ana whispered into Kisa's ears.

"They're the ones who decide what's tacky," Kisa whispered back. "It can't be tacky if they're all wearing it!"

"A necklace would hide what your dress is trying so hard to reveal," Ana said, smiling.

"Oh, alright," Kisa said. She was about to say something more but Ana had already slipped into the crowd, doing Fates know what -- although privately and while at work Ana was a dear friend, when the woman got to a social gathering or party she always disappeared for her own amusement. Kisa had tried to ask Ana about it, but Ana would never give her a straight answer.

So Kisa, alone amidst a crowd of strangers, was left standing hesitantly and wide-eyed by the entrance. How, exactly, did one approach someone one did not know? How, exactly, did one attract the attention of wealthy bachelors? How, exactly, did one become as poised and as graceful as the women sweeping past her, without even a snooty glance?

Eventually, of course, bashful and pretty and vulnerable as she seemed, she attracted the attention of eligible men. She played her part. She laughed, and smiled, and laid a delicate, trembling hand on his arm, and leaned in close to whisper a secret -- but there was something lacking. She would not admit to herself what, but all the same Kisa could not keep scanning the crowd for one familiar face, just one, to flash out of the mindless crowd like a phoenix amongst sparrows.

[Anonymous]

The chandeliers hanging on the ceiling reflected the plethora and radiancy of colors of the crowd compared to the blackness of Cyrus' attire.  He was a black sheep in a room full of peacocks, all of which were flaunting around their garb like it was the very skin upon their bones.  A hot flush rose to pinnacle of his cheeks at the realization of how much he stood out.  Oh damn them to hell!  What does it matter if I don't conform?  All the more reason to be relish at my unparalleled features.

After tipping the ostlers handsomely and housing the horses in the nearby stables, thank the Heavens Lord Crosston hired the required help of ostlers and stablehands, enough to accommodate all these guests that simply refused to use carriages and landaus, it had been a difficult task in convincing Maichello to leave Cyrus' side.  But after several minutes of childish banter and argument, the valet finally left his presence to attend upon some adventure of his own.  I hope he doesn't get so buzzed in his head he begins to start some trouble which is by far the last thing I need right now.  Sometimes Cyrus felt as if he'd have to take care of the man as if he was his own child.  Of course being a father wasn't exactly something at the peak on his list of duties and he was cocksure that it would be more than he could handle.  Having to constantly tell Maichello to shut that machine-mouth of his was difficult enough as it was.

As the music of violinists, cellists, bassists, and the players of other stringed instruments all blended together beautifully the movements of dancing couples filled the ballroom floor.  Other young gentleman flocked to the presence of available ladies, perhaps to be test the potentiality of a wife or through the pity of watching them sit or stand alone without anyone on their arm.

Deciding to move about rather than stand in that single spot that made him feel so desolate, Cyrus circled the dance floor, walking through those that chose to sit and eat and those just as lonely as he.  Light steps they were, treading softly on the marble floors, no more than taps in the typhoon of commotion.  A few women blushed at him as he passed by with his hands held neatly behind his back and returned their gestures with his trademark gentle smile, all the while his eyes searching the ghastly crowd for that one woman that made his heart skip a beat with a single glance.

Then there she was.  Kisa Alberich; like an angel in the midst of chaos.

Young bachelors gravitated toward her as moths would a flame, attempting to ignite conversations of sorts or find an excuse to laugh at anything she said.  He could see the way she timidly nudged at their arms as if fending off a pack of ravenous wolves with the most tender care.  Leaning in enticingly to convey gentle words in their ears.  It was almost as if the world itself revolved ever so slowly around her.  His eyes drifted to her dressage, admiring every ruffle, curve, and pleat there was to it, even finding his eyes dip to her cleavage.  Feeling his heart take a leap to his chest, he thought, Look at those bastards.  Flocking to her every word and movement like a bunch of ruffians.

Cyrus could feel an envy of a sort bleed into his psyche and turn his face from bright to bitter jealousy, but after closing his eyes and respiring heavily, he forced the notion from his mind.  He smiled genuinely and made his way to Kisa from behind.  Sneaking up from around her, he interrupted in the middle of a converse from an older gentleman, "Hello my lady.  It's always good to see you again, Kisa."  Once again, Cyrus lingered on the smooth feel of her name to his lips.

[Anonymous]

"Oh, Cyrus!" Kisa said gratefully; she could hardly stand the people she had encountered thus far, though she could not understand why. Welcome relief! She laid a hand on his arm to pull him gently forward, and did not care to take it away once he was at her side. Despite her efforts to remain cool and composed, a giddy smile kept cropping up on her lips, and the light in her eyes could scarcely be concealed. All of a sudden she found herself trembling again -- but not from fear any longer. It was nervous butterflies and a reckless excitement that sent the thrills along her body now.

"Lord Cyrus of Medirein, this is Lord Pelerin of Alouion," she said, performing the necessary introductions. Oh, to hell with this ball!, she thought impatiently. Here was the person she had wanted to see! Realizing how foolish and flushed she must appear, Kisa was suddenly glad that Ana was away; this was most embarrasing. And yet... "Cyrus and I met only a week ago," she explained to Lord Pelerin over her visibly rising emotion. Then, to Cyrus, with a shy smile full of unasked questions: "Lord Pelerin was just telling me of his son, who is about my age. Raoul, wasn't that his name?"

"Yes, yes," Lord Pelerin said impatiently, waving her words away. "As I was saying, Lady Kisa," and the way Pelerin spoke made clear that he was excluding Cyrus from the conversation, "Raoul is a fine, well-made gentleman, very accomplished in the management of estate and a wonderful wit. You should visit us, Lady Kisa! Your beauty and his wealth... well, Raoul would be deeply pleased to meet you, I'm sure. And have I mentioned he is yet unwed?"

"Yes, I -- I believe you have," Kisa said weakly, shrinking closer to Cyrus at Pelerin's painfully obvious match-making. She dared not look towards Cyrus's face for fear of what she'd see there; what would he think of her marriage being discussed as if it were a commodity, something to be sold and bought? Suddenly she was deeply ashamed by what had brought her to this ball -- by what had brought her to Arca at all, in fact. Cyrus's presence made her wish that true love, not status or wealth, was what constituted a marriage.

Oh, Mother will not be pleased, Kisa thought plaintively. She was all too aware of every movement Cyrus made beside her, as if each action touched her bare skin, although, apart from her hand on his arm, there was no contact at all. She blushed deeply and tried to push the inappropriate thoughts from her mind, but they were such wonderful thoughts and--

"Is something wrong, Lady Kisa?" Pelerin asked.

"Oh, no! No, nothing -- nothing at all!" Kisa responsed wildly. Slow down, my heart!, she commanded, but to no avail.

[Anonymous]

It was quite evident the look of panic in Kisa's face.  Oh, dear I have to do something, Cyrus thought in response to the plague that overcast her features.  "Well, Lord Pelerin, I'm sure your son is a fine young man who'll meet a fine young woman one of these days.  But as you may or may have not noticed she's already set to be betrothed," he smiled smoothly, pulled her hand unnoticed behind his back and slipped a silver ring from his index finger to her ring finger.  Relinquishing her hand from around him, he thrust her hand audaciously to Lord Pelerin's face exposing the silver upon it.  "Even though we met only a short while ago, we fell so madly in love that I proposed right in an instant.  Beautiful isn't it?"  Cyrus chuckled at his hoax and locked his arm into Kisa's once more.

Many of the men began to leave them, a look of despondency extremely prominent on their faces.  Taunting them, "Oh don't be so disappointed boys.  You're welcome to attend the rehearsal dinner!"  He laughed and bowed his head at Lord Pelerin, "Lord, if you may excuse us."  He dragged Kisa away from the gray-haired lord, his brow arched and his gaze obviously dumbstruck.

When they were far enough away as to the sight of him became no more, Cyrus said wryly, "I've seen those basket cases before.  Whenever they would speak in court, I swear I would have to fight just to stay awake as though for my very life.  It seems that whatever they have to say it's always so dreadfully boring.  I hope they weren't putting you to sleep as well, my lady."  He laughed once more and once again his eyes attempted to hook into hers.  To search for a missing emotion that he'd probably been too stupid to notice.  But the scarcely concealed gleam of enthusiasm was the most eye-catching.  Beholding the wonderment of snowcapped mountains.

The quivering of her body grew so powerful it began to disperse throughout his own.  To better quell the constant trembling he slipped his larger hand into her own small one and held her fingers tightly in his own.  As soon as his palm made impact with hers it was as if a bomb went off in his chest.  Sending electric sparks through his entire body.  By gods! He hadn't felt this good since his first meeting with Kisa.  Hooked upon her every word and motion, his pulse quickening with the very idea of bracing her lips to his.  Just by thinking about her did something strange to his Medrein blood and now that he'd made contact he felt as he'd just been struck by a lightning bolt.

Now he was more than sure that there was at least some hint that his feelings were mutual at the rosiness of her cheeks.  The fluttering of her eyes sent heated spasms up his spine, he almost felt himself blush in shame for a moment there.  This must be what undeniable attraction should feel like, Cyrus wondered poignantly.  There was no doubt the passion shared between his own parents.  It simply seemed that the hereditary hot-bloodedness was affecting him more now than he wanted it to.  Luckily, however, there was never a case in the Medirein family history in which love and compassion hadn't played their fair hands Medirein marriages.

[Anonymous]

Kisa stifled her gasp just in time, and instead looked over in amazement and wonder at Cyrus, who, it appeared, had just rescued her from an unwelcome onslaught of suitors. "Thank you," she breathed into his ear. The silver ring on her finger, though slightly too large, still felt far too comfortable. Kisa couldn't help but wonder if -- no, stop it, she scolded herself. Don't rise too far above your station! Kisa's lust for adventure remained, but it seemed as though the adventure she desired now was one altogether different from what she had been anticipating. Kisa bit her lip pensively, feeling like she was watching from a distance the way Cyrus proudly held her hand out on display, the way their hands fit together so perfectly as if by magic, the way the warmth of his palm sent thrills down to her core. What did it mean?

She knew very well what it meant, but it was still too hard to admit. Never in a million years did Kisa ever think she would feel this way; it went against all she was taught of duty, of carrying on the family line, of proper behaviour. Weren't women meant to marry reluctantly? Were they not meant to never feel love, or passion, or heat caused by anything other than the sun? Kisa was hot, far too hot beneath her gown, and she felt as if her heart were spinning out of control towards dizzying and elated heights -- heights that were much too high for one as inexperienced and innocent as she. And yet...

With some small breathless laughter, she allowed herself to be swept away by Cyrus into a more secluded place, practically skipping after him like any young and happy girl. She beamed at anyone who dared to meet her eyes, but most, seeing the fiercely emotional glow on her face, did their best to ignore her; those without passion are always jealous of those blessed by it.

"Oh, you woke me up just in time," Kisa said softly, with a small and secretive smile. Unintentionally, she drew closer to his side, and her grip on his hand tightened almost possessively. "Just like in a fairytale." She did not mention which particular fairytale she had in mind, but the flush of her cheeks and the way her lips remained slightly, wetly parted made her meaning all too clear.

She shook her head with an embarassed smile, to clear it of these confusing thoughts, and when she finally lifted her face back to Cyrus, it was with only an innocent smile and a composed, coquettish laugh. "What have you been doing for the past week, then? Have you missed your fiancee very much?" Her tone was casual and distant, but her eyes, as always, were a window to her thoughts: wide and fearful and stormy blue, full of conflicting emotions and driving need.

[Anonymous]

Resting vigilance upon her lips, becoming engulfed in their succulent moistness, Cyrus gulped and tightly shut his eyes.  The grip upon his hand setting his muscles to clench and nearly setting his nerve ends ajangle.  Stop that!, he thought fiercely.  He could smell the desire that poured from her eyes and face like reading a book he'd been familiar with his entire life.  Clearing his throat, he stammered, "I-I've been doing not much either than moping about."  But his train of thought came across an unexpected stop when she inquired as to how much he exactly missed her.

Hell!  He couldn't convey into words the euphoria that drenched his soul at this moment by just holding her hand.  Practically setting his psyche aflame.  This was a dream; it must be!  But then -- No, it wasn't.  This was a real moment in which he was accompanied by the woman he ached and burned for; tossing and turning late at night with an inexplicable need to feel her.  The need to hold her tight in his powerful embrace and lock her in a kiss that would wax more passionate.  How in the world could he explain to her how much he missed her?

"I've missed probably as much as you have me.  But to make words short: Very much indeed," he answered in as collected a tone as he could muster.  Slowly he raised her hand to his mouth and blessed the smoothness of her skin with a delicate kiss.  He breathed in the enticing scent of her skin that smelled of sweet flowers with something like longing.  Relinquishing his lips, he led her to a nearby table and offered her a seat.

The white lawn of the tablecloth greatly contrasted with the duskiness of his coat sleeve.  "But what does it matter how much I've missed you, Kisa.  You're here with me now and to me that's all that matters right now," he smiled alluringly and arched one eyebrow.  "I'm more concerned with as to how you've fared since the week of late.  Did any dashing young men attempt to sweep you off your feet with roguish deeds and flashing smiles, waving about swords?"  Laughing he tossed his hand into the air and made invisible circles as if brandishing a gleaming weapon.

Resting it upon the cloth once more, he persisted, "But 'tis true.  I have had a bad week since I left you in Arca.  A servant would as me a question of significance I would simply bid them to leave me be.  Staring desolately into flickering flames as if in a daydr -- er, daze!  Yes, as if in a daze.  Never have I felt so useless in my life."  He leaned his head lazily on his, his elbow resting on the table as to keep his head perfectly poised.

That's probably how Casseger felt when he first met my mother.  It was true, this assumption made by Cyrus.  Casseger had been a man with little time and little favor for a wife and hardly considered a woman his equal.  But these sexist predilections soon faded when he'd first been acquainted with Arenis Du' Renastat.  He'd suddenly found he was at a loss for words more often than desired, his heart surrendering at a single glance,  his entire demeanor altered.  It was then that he'd met the woman that he'd decided he would marry, despite her being born into a class higher than his own.

Cyrus suspected his father was more open then as a man of twenty-three then.  As for himself, however, dealing with his emotions waxed more difficult as the years progressed.  But hiding these feelings that were coming over him like a tidal wave, making his head spin, were proving more a challenge than he believed he was ready for.  I've got to tell her, he decided.  She has to know how I feel about her.

[Anonymous]

Kisa had to look away, unable to withstand the fire in his gaze. Did he really miss her so very much? 'As much as you missed me' -- did he have so keen an eye? She supposed it was obvious; Kisa was well aware of her absolute transparency when it came to her feelings. Her breath came in short, quick gasps, and her heart pounded so quickly she felt it would fly away. She knew just where it would land, too, and with that whimsical thought she mustered her courage and managed to return Cyrus's penetrating stare heat for heat. Courageous in love? Most definitely, Kisa thought. Love! The thought widened her eyes and suddenly her whole body felt light enough to soar. Don't be so brash, she chided herself.

"I missed you too," she replied after a moment, and the posturing of an unconcerned lady fell once more, leaving the heartbreakingly earnest and vulnerable emotions only too visible on her face. She missed him more than she even realized, in fact. Though Kisa was, as ever, fun-loving and optimistic through the past week, Ana had often remarked on her long, distracted gazes towards the distance -- towards where she imagined Cyrus to be, though she really had no idea. That was, of course, when she told Ana everything. She had been plagued by the lady-in-waiting's slyly ribald jokes ever since. His kiss on her hand only brought Ana's innuendo even more to memory, and she couldn't help but smile mischievously. Her eyes sparkled with forbidden ideas, and inwardly Kisa fervently hoped he would not catch the real meaning lying beneath the deep flush in her cheeks.

"Oh, many men," she replied archly, meeting his airy jest with her own exaggerations. "Too many for me to count, in fact! A few were not even satisfied with my decline and tried to take me away by force; fortunately, my lady-in-waiting is a true tigress." And my fiance a lion, she added inwardly -- but did not dare say it aloud.

His claims of melancholy over the past week touched Kisa deeply, and yet she could not bring herself to believe him. How could it be possible?, she wondered. How could any of this be possible? Perhaps, she thought, thinking on Cyrus's words, I should treat this as a daydream as well. Why resist? Why fight such powerful emotions? A wealthy, powerful lord -- why shouldn't she let herself run wild? It would be an utter lie to say she had not been daydreaming these past days, either; her first kiss, and barely a kiss at that, but already it haunted her nights. Why shouldn't she indulge...?

But what if he... No. Never. Kisa could not believe that of Cyrus, regardless of what his real affection for her was. Far too much a gentleman for that sort of deception.

But what should she tell him? How much did propriety play into this -- what was the proper response? Her mother would know, but then again that wise Alberich woman was far away from here. Ana would no doubt know, as well, but Kisa could not pull her eyes away from Cyrus's face to scan the crowd for her presence -- besides, even if she could seek out Ana from this table, what communication could she have?

Honesty? What she felt was far too raw for a civilized ball like this. What she felt was -- well, the point is that, Kisa thought, avoiding the physical implications of her emotions, this is hardly the place for any of my daydreams.

Then a flash of inspiration struck her. With that coy and intimate smile that women are so talented at, she asked Cyrus gaily, "What could have caused such an effect, I wonder?"

Let him be the first to confess to these feelings, if he indeed feels them, in the presence of these stuffy nobles!

[Anonymous]

He continued to rest his head so confidently, smiling and gazing until the reality of her inquiry struck him like a five pound stone to his skull.  Persistent is Kisa!  Trying to get me to say the words so soon.  I will say them, just not now.  But I've yet to prepare how I'll say them!  Cyrus quickly straightened and chuckled nervously, trying to gather an innocent explanation in the split-second he had left.  Reason to it was half that he didn't know what he was going to say and the other half he didn't wish to come on too strong so soon.  Fearing that he would frighten her to pieces with a single utterance of his heart's true love.

Collecting his thoughts, "Er -- Well, it's possible there could have been a number of things as to be the cause of my aches.  But one most prominent of all, my lady, was that I missed you ... dearly."  Finally, the eloquence and articulateness that came with being a natural born gentleman paid off.  His face may have been bold and still, but within he sighed the windstorm of his life.

He reached for her free hand and clasped it gently in his own, he stood.  "Kisa," he began, straining to control the breath in him that respired in low, husky sweeps.  "Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"  He pulled her to her feet and smiled encouragingly, leading her to the ballroom floor.  A shot of worry struck his eyes as he wondered about his leg and if it would pull through with the physical stamina and briskness that came with ballroom dancing.  Don't you dare fail me now!, Cyrus thought fiercely.  One of the last things he needed was to go about stumbling like a fool in the middle of a ballroom where, he was sure, more than half of Serendipities nobles were attending.  As well the pestering possibility of what Kisa would think of him if he did.

Cyrus brought her along to the middle of the crowd, the music continuing to play beautifully along to the glow practically shimmering off of their skins.  Whirling around, he faced Kisa, meeting her halfway.  Bringing her arms up to position, his left hand timidly at her waist then growing to a more asserted poise.

Then the dancing began.  It was like a dream, such a glorious union of motion between the two.  Cyrus could readily feel the magic bursting from his eyes, his heart, as well as hers.  Clearly perceiving the fluttering of her bosom from such close contact made his own cheeks flush with embarrassment.  It seemed almost innate, the combination of two souls into one.  

If there's a good as time as any to tell her, now is it, Cyrus' conscience nagged at him.  "Uh...Kisa," nearly tripping at the words he'd decided to articulate.  "There's something I've got to tell you.  Something that's been on my mind more often than not.  I-I," By gods, spit it out man!  "I adore you," he whispered faithfully into her ear.  The ends of his mouth curled into an amorous grin.

But the beatitude was withheld abrupt by the rapping of a heavy hand upon his shoulder.  "'ey, let me have a dance with 'er." slurred the voice of a husky scoundrel.  Cyrus slowly turned his head to gaze at the "gentleman" before him.

"Sir, as I'm sure you can see, I've already taken up that lead.  Now if you will excuse us."  As he motioned to lead Kisa away the same hand yanked his shoulder back.

"I don't think you understand, sir, I'm Master Aloysius, Viscount of Carrigan, son of the Duke Champlane and I've commanded you to hand over your lady this instant.  Refuse to do so and I'll simply have to make you by force," said the young duke with frightening determination.  His left hand slithered up his side to the rapier hilt, which he gripped angrily.

Cyrus then immediately realized that this was not the time nor the place to properly deal with such an unruly, swarthy man who so saucily insulted him.  In his coolest of tones, "Pleasure to meet you, Aloysius.  I'm Lord Cyrus of Medirein and this fine lady on my arm is Lady Kisa Alberich"  He shifted his look to the disgraceful and wobbly state of the man and scoffed at him.  "Drunk and tainted at a civil ball.  Your hair tasseled about like some fool.  I'm sure your father is increasingly proud of you.  So, if you are quite finished, my lady and I'll be going now.  Adieu, good sir."  He bowed his head and turned to leave again when he felt the tip of the foil at the nape of his neck.  Cyrus loosed his grip in Kisa's hand and chose to face Aloysius daringly.

"Wrong answer, fool.  I'm sorry this had to be your futile end, but no one refuses me.  Have you anything to say?"

Cyrus glared at the younger man, simply replying audaciously, "Sir, now such conduct is very unnecessary.  This is simply unfair.  You have a sword and I don't.  Now that doesn't make for a very exciting end does it?"  Laughing lightheartedly at his jest, he noticed the viscount lower the blade yeildingly as if convinced but still maintained that death grip that made him gulp.  It was than that Cyrus quickly thrust the weapon to the side with his free and and kicked Aloysius back, knocking the drunkard into an oblivious couple and to the floor.  "Come on!" cried Cyrus running to the direction of the entrance and yanking Kisa along with him.

[Anonymous]

"Oh..." Kisa breathed, eyes large and timid, not sure how to respond. Her mind was churning for the right answer when Cyrus saved her by asking for a dance; she grinned, for here was one thing Kisa was quite good at.

She decided not to think about his strained, husky voice as he asked her. That would be far too dangerous for her honour.

It seemed no more words were necessary from then on. Kisa threw herself into the music and the moment, and Cyrus's firm guidance kept her there securely. She could not look away from his eyes, lost in what she saw there, and as they spun gloriously around the ballroom she felt it such a perfect moment she could die, right then, and die happily. For what was dance but ritualized love? The small space between their bodies was painfully far, and yet such sweet shortness that Kisa felt her own body thrum and tense with each movement of his, as though she were pressed tightly against him instead of this impossible distance. Unable to speak, nor even really to think, her eyes shone with the glory of someone in love -- with a man, with the moment, with life. For that brief period of time the rules of etiquette and proper procedure and duty to one's family fled from mind and all that was left was the exquisite burn his touch left on her body, whether through clothing or not.

"Yes, Cyrus?" she murmured as he began. She was too, too far gone in the dance to pay attention to his words; instead, she was paying attention to his face, and had not his face looked so passionately faithful towards her ever since they met?

Then: 'I adore you,' he said. Kisa's heart felt like it stopped in her chest and the entire world seemed to rush, roaring, in upon her ears. She staggered into him, but caught herself quickly and held herself away from his body as rigidly as if they were still dancing -- for they were not, since Kisa had stopped stock-still. "I..." she whispered, her eyes shining with tears of joy and pain, her voice throbbing with emotion. Her whole body was on fire but she could not find the way to express it. So soon? How so soon?

She was so dreamily stunned that when the drunken brute accosted them she could hardly react; she did not even look at him, her eyes were so focused on Cyrus. Only vaguely did their interaction reach her. She was in a dream, a whirlpool of emotions and half-formed thoughts, and the roar of her body prevented anything coherent from really forming. What is going on?, she managed to think -- but the question was more directed towards the irresistible passion building up both in her heart and body, which she had never, ever felt before. If this is love, it's exhausting.

Suddenly she noticed the sword --shocking her by its bare violence as much as Cyrus's sword the week before had shocked her with its beauty -- and she almost flung herself in front of Cyrus without a second thought, but by then Cyrus had already pushed him back into the crowd, and their frantic flight from the room mimicked the frantic beating of her heart, the frantic thrills of heat and joy flooding her limbs with unspecified need.

Her reactions, to say the least, were slow.

"I'd never dance with you!" she shouted over her shoulder; a pitiful response, and normally she would do much better, but she was not the most focused of women at this moment. Or rather, she was focused on something altogether different.

Their escape was so ludicrous that by the time they exited the building, back amongst the beautifully sculpted gardens, Kisa was breathless with laughter and felt almost anything were possible; the skies were dark and dreamy and the stars lit up her face with an otherworldly glow. She did not feel as if she could move much farther, her legs suddenly being so weak and trembling, and she could only scamper a few more steps down one of the darkened garden paths before, with a peal of laughter, she collapsed onto the greens like a small girl. Her gown spread out around her in ruffles and billows, and it was as almost as if Kisa herself was a flower of the garden: the gown the petals, and Kisa the brightly shining center, her smile at Cyrus lighting up whatever the stars had missed.

[Anonymous]

It was night where anything was possible.  Far more ethereal than any figment of fantasy from the minds of juvenile children.  It was an evening more beautiful than than shimmering skies in Connaoth or the relentless sparkle of greedy jewels and Cyrus could already feel the spell of the night casting it's wicked enchantment over him.  Feeling more the rake by passage of endless time.  And to add to the majestic spirits of the evening it began to drizzle, just as the oracle had predicted.  But then again the town's oracle had never been known make a mistake.  With luck, nonetheless, they were defended from the weltering droplets by the makeshift greenhouse roof that sheltered the garden.  If one moved any further they would've surely been drenched in the increasing ruthlessness of the rain.

There wasn't a soul in sight in this beautiful night.  It seemed that everyone knew of the predetermined weather and chose to find shelter in the warmth of the Villa rather than relish in the peaceful tranquility of the garden.  Supporting the rafters, the very colonnades themselves seemed to speak naught of the perpetual quiet for fear that they would break something too precious and tender to ever come into existence again.  

Allowing himself to sink to his knees, Cyrus knelt lazily beside Kisa, observing the stagnant vulnerability as she laid there.  The coruscation once twinkling in his eyes coaxed a different set of emotion.  A new feeling of desire too poignant to ignore, a wolfish hunger to come closer to the delicate balminess of her skin.  To caress with his lips and quell all unwanted pain.  But Cyrus fought back his manly urges and wistfulness and decided not to be so overtly forward in this night.  Such a perfect evening...

No!  Dammit, he was a gentleman!  I'd never take advantage of her.  Not like this, but I just can't seem to resist.  By gods, guide me to an honorable decision!  Cyrus shook off his heaviness of his coat, for it somehow it seemed all the more unnecessary in the coolness of the evening.   Folding it to be cushion-like, he offered it to Kisa as a makeshift pillow and slumped down in the undergrowth beside her.  Propping himself up on one elbow he scooted himself closer to savor the warmth of her body which seemed to match his with equal fervor of pounding hearts and quickened pulses.  Smiling down at her, he asked, "Well, that was a close one.  I almost wanted to take that sword myself and have him done and over with, but that wouldn't have been very chivalrous of me now would it."

Cyrus found his free hand move from his side and gently brushed her cheek with the tips.  Bracing her chin lovingly in his fingers and drew closer pressing his lips to hers in a real kiss. Her lips so tempting, moist and sweet, while his persuading hers with increasing persistence, tenderly coaxing and teasing them apart as to explore further into the damp hollows of her mouth.  His body involuntarily reacting to the puzzling emotions she was arousing in him.

Suddenly, conscience getting the better of him, Cyrus jerked back, his breath coming hard and heavy, realizing what he'd just done, what he was about to do to an innocent girl who didn't deserve to be taken advantage of.  "Oh, dear," he breathed.  "I'm so sorry, Kisa!  I didn't mean to make this moment my advantage.  I beseech you."  The lament in his voice was quite evident, most certainly to him, and most visible in the stark abyss of his eyes.

[Anonymous]

Kisa stretched out her arms and rustled her hair in the grass, perfectly at ease on the ground; growing up on a poor farmyard estate had its perks, after all. The stars were so round and bright she felt as though she could pluck them from the sky just by reaching out her hand, as if they were the overripe fruits from some great dark tree. The steady rain beyond the greenhouse offered a pleasing lullaby, and it was a lush, lazy smile she turned to Cyrus with, matching her shining eyes perfectly. The whole evening slowed to this one moment in time: Kisa, spread out across the ground with her hair tumbling over her bare shoulders, looking up at a man she fearfully found herself falling in love with. She wished he would come closer -- wished she could pull him down to her level, pull him against herself, in fact, and satisfy this strangely vibrant burning in her body, and -- Kisa shook her head, terrified at these unbidden thoughts running through her mind, and laid a trembling hand over her heart. It was pounding.

If he were farther away, maybe Kisa could have withstood the feelings gushing through her body, but Cyrus was too close, dangerously close, and she could see all too well that his feelings mirrored hers exactly. Overcome by sudden brashness, she leaned forward to breathe her next words closer to his neck: "Oh, to hell with chivalry, Cyrus," she murmured, eyes wide with shock at what she just said but also sparkling with the wicked knowledge that she knew exactly what she was doing. "We don't need chivalry right--"

Kisa's breath caught and her eyes closed in scarcely-concealed desire as his fingers finally brushed her skin, trailing down her flushing cheek towards her chin, and she could only wish they would continue the progression downwards -- but instead, a thousand times better, she felt the sweet touch of his mouth on hers. A soft moan escaped her throat as finally all the powerful emotions that had been building throughout the night were given physical form. There was only a moment's hesitation, when Kisa wondered what her mother would think should she see her, but then undeniable need flooded her body and she pressed herself tightly against Cyrus, moulding her limbs to his, surrendering herself to him, with as much enthusiasm as he did her. Only her second kiss in a lifetime, Kisa did not have the time to think whether she was doing it right -- there was no time to think at all, but only to revel in this sensation and hope it lasted forever.

It did not. With a gasp, as if coming up for air after a long time spent underwater, Kisa realized in a flash what was happening -- what would happen, if she did not stop her foolishness immediately. She jerked away from his body as if stung, and although every ounce of feeling in her cried out for her to return to Cyrus's arms she kept rigidly away. "I -- I understand," she choked out, her voice throbbing with tears and desire. "It is not men's place to resist temptation. The fault is mine and I -- oh, Cyrus," she cried, "I adore you just as much, but I know not what--" Her voice broke into sobs and, leaping to her feet, Kisa threw the pillow down towards Cyrus and ran blindly into the rain. What am I doing? What is going on? How has everything become so complicated? "I am so sorry!" she cried over her shoulder. So, so sorry. She knew he must think her a harlot.

Burning with shame and blinded by tears, Kisa ran into the pouring rain and as soon as Cyrus was out of sight collapsed into the mud, wracked by sobs. "Oh, Fates, what have I done," she moaned, her hair limp and hanging in wet, dripping curls around her face, her gown ruined and clinging to her body. "What have I done!" How could she, a graceless slut, love a man of such impeccable honour that he would find more willpower to resist than she? "I've ruined everything..." Unable to think of anything else, she did not care that she was slouched in plain sight of the manor, where, when the ball ended, if she still remained she would be seen by every noble of importance in Serendipity. And Kisa did not think she would ever leave here.

I deserve this mud and rain, she thought savagely. After everything you've been taught -- and you did that? He could never love her. Not after what just happened.

[Anonymous]

Sprawling back on his bottom, Cyrus clutched the velvety smoothness of the coat of which Kisa thrust upon him.  A weighty stone made it's unwelcome way into the pit of his stomach, cold and bereft.  

Kisa's egress was so sudden, the very manner of which she'd done it left him speechless.  Unable to even call out her name.  Their short moment of requited passion seemed all too brief to be spoken of in words louder than a whisper.  Any louder and it could only prove for naught.  But Cyrus couldn't even listen to the words she shouted behind as she nimbly exited, the only thing audible was the consistency of the drumming in his chest.  Though as well as keeping in mind..., 'I adore you just as much...'  With her departure she took along with her the encroachment of his heart.

Climbing to his feet, he staggered back a bit and made a run towards the rain.  "Kisa!" he cried out in the dank distance, but to no avail.  "Dammit!" he muttered under is breath and made a mad dash towards the stables that conveniently resided near the garden.

By the time he reached the protrusion of the stable walls he was sodden through and through, breeches and all.  An ostler sat nearby, underneath the lean-to roof reading the works of Joslynn James before coming up to the sodden lord.  "'ow may I 'elp ya, sir?"

"My horse.  Give me my horse!" Cyrus' managed to utter, nigh out of breath from his hurried sprint.

"Oh, alright.  And where be this 'orse you speak of?" replied the ostler, setting down his books and opening the gate to let Cyrus in.

"Right there," pointing to the white gelding standing quietly in the corner of the holdings.  The ostler led Cyrus to the stall and said bluntly, "This 'ere's a real good 'orse, sir.  The calmest of them all, but I suppose that's due to the fact that 'e's castrated."  He laughed heartily, expecting the lord to laugh along with him but he could readily read the look of anxiety in Cyrus' face.

"Just release him," he said plainly, too strained to hassle with the ostler.  He reached into his coat pocket as the man took out Casa'agen from the stables and saddled him up.  "Here, sir.  For your troubles," Cyrus commend, handing a gold coin to him.  But the ostler generously refused him, saying that taking care of his horse was a pleasure to him.  Dumbfounded, he graciously took hold of Casa'agen's reins and led the gelding into the rain of which its body shuddered slightly with the cold. Cyrus climbed aboard the saddle, adjusting his weight and nudged the gelding into a canter, the silhouette of the stables disappearing the further they rode.

Where could she be?, Cyrus wondered desperately.  Wherever Kisa was, she couldn't have gone far.  At least not in this weather.  "Kisa!" he called out again, feeling the ever growing need to find the woman who'd abandoned him for a second time.  The stone in his stomach churning with the passage of minutes as he advanced into the darkness.  Finally, he stopped, listening to the pattering of the rain he began to hear incoherent sobs than went two in one with the precipitation.

Hurriedly he galloped in the direction of which he heard the tears and there the beholder of sorrow sat, covered in mud and drenched with the sky's melancholy, her back facing him.  Sliding off the saddle, Cyrus crept stealthily towards her, clasping the sodden coat gently in his hands.  Assuming he'd not made himself known, he unfolded the coat and placed it over Kisa's shoulders with the utmost care.  He wrapped his right arm around her front in a reassuring embrace, whispering into her ear, "Men's hearts are places of temptation by birth.  It is within this nature that they must learn to suppress themselves.  Nay, milady.  The true dishonorable act lies with me..."

[Anonymous]

She had not heard his approach, no, nor had she seen him, but somehow Kisa knew Cyrus was there even before he put his arm around her, and her sobs subsided into girlish hiccups at the comfort of his presence. The heavy weight of the coat, warm from its being held close to Cyrus, was welcome on her bare and trembling shoulders; she allowed herself to sink back into Cyrus's arms without a second thought. Her head fell onto his shoulder and it was there, pressed against his skin, that she spoke.

"I am -- I am just confused," she began, her voice quiet and shy. "Is it so dishonourable? I don't know what these feelings are or even how to deal with them." Even now, their intimacy was heating her cold, wet body from the inside out; even now, in the rain and the mud and the tears, his presence sent her reeling. "I've been taught all my life that it's a woman's duty to -- that she's not supposed to enjoy -- that she's--" Her voice broke off and with a shaking hand she pushed her clinging hair away from her face, and turned around to look Cyrus in the eyes. Taking a deep, steadying breath, her eyes as wide and guileless as they had been since her birth, she continued: "You probably think this is silly, but... I can't understand how something that feels so good, so right could be wrong. It's hard for me to think of -- of that," and she motioned back towards the greenhouse they had come from with a bashful smile, "as something to be ashamed of. And yet all my years of education tell me that it is! Or... or that it should be, at least." Truthfully, the shame that burned Kisa so badly was not because she wanted and loved that kiss so much; the real shame was that she was not ashamed of the kiss; that, in fact, she wanted much more than just that. Oh, too much. "Do you understand?"

More importantly: Did he feel it too?

She traced the firm lines of his jaw with her eyes, and wished with all her might that she had the courage to lift a hand and touch his face. Ana would, she knew, but Kisa was a simple country girl dressed up far too worldly-wise for her age, and the emotions raging through her body were too complex for her to even comprehend; she looked to Cyrus for some sort of explanation, or permission, or anything at all. What was this? She, who had never loved but only been loved, she who had never been touched or touched like this before in her life, she who felt as if her body could tear itself apart in the face of the passions that rushed through it so fiercely. I have only known him for a week!, some reasonable part of her mind cried -- but there was no reason in love. Kisa shivered not only from the cold, harsh rain, but from fear, but she could not escape either; she would have to wait for Ana to come outside looking for her, since Kisa could not return to the ballroom in such tattered rags.

[Anonymous]

"What a lady is taught and what she feels can be two entirely different things at times.  And, I believe, that this is one of those moments.  I cannot try and teach you of a different way to live, but, instead, encourage you to follow what you feel," Cyrus replied while resting his chin to the the softness of her hair.  The scent of it was enough to make his body shudder with suppressed need.  Clearing his throat when she turned to face him, he continued, "You've nothing to be ashamed of.  Not with me.  If there's anyone who should be ashamed...  It is I.  I suppose it is high time I told you."

He motioned to stand, encouraging her to stand along with him, and led her to Casa'agen.  The gelding nickered at Kisa and walked so that the saddle faced them.  "Come on.  Up," Cyrus commanded, helping Kisa into the saddle to ride astride.  Following suit, he landed right behind and clicked his tongue to get the gelding into motion.  Obeying, he stepped carefully from the sodden mud to the hardened surface of the stone path, seeking to walk upon solid footing.

The rain lessened now, to a gentle toss of heaven's tears on the wayfarers.  The wind, however, began to pick up and blow Cyrus' once kempt hair to a more disheveled state, only adding to his appearance as a warrior who had just survived the battle of his life and come to return to his beloved.  His hand supported Kisa at her hip, his lean fingers pressing against softness than made him wince with another leap of his chest, but persisted nonetheless while his other grabbed ahold of the leather reins.  The rising coldness of the wind blowing toward them highly contrasted to the incandescence he felt raging deep within.  It almost seemed to difficult to breathe.

He inhaled prepared to relinquish the news of which he'd so selfishly hid from his dear lady since the moment he realized he loved her.  "There's something that I fear I should have told you long before; when we first met," Cyrus began, hardening his muscles as to inhibit his hand from any further movement.  "My lineage is a thing very mysterious, including with it is a knack of sorcery, hysterical relatives, and, as you've already seen, a magical sword.  But one most salient of all my family's -- er, abnormalities - is the legend of the destined love for every Medirein.  The one single, perfect companion of the soul.

"Now, the ideal mate for that Medirein isn't found by efforts of their own, by rather mere coincidence or those in possession of the Blade of Medirein.  Those that wield the family sword find their true loves at much younger ages than those unaided by it and are completely oblivious to the fact as to what arouses such deep passions.  Amorous emotions that often bewilder those under the sword's magic.

"When we discover our perfect mates, us Medireins begin to find an inexplicable need to feel the presence of our destined loves.  To be close to them...feel them...embrace them," Cyrus paused for a moment discovering his mouth was coming in dangerous contact with the exposed vulnerability of Kisa's neck and drew back as if terrorized, his fingers squeezing her hip teasingly.  Restraining himself once again, he went on, "The scandalous lovers can hardly find it within their power to resist each other and thus fall dreamily in love...  Ha!  There has even been an incident in which the rueful bridegroom is distressed to keep his bride-to-be from dashing into his bed before the wedding can be carried out.  I believe it was one of my cousins of which this occurred--."  He stopped, realizing he may be releasing more information than he meant to.  "My apologies, milady.  Sometimes I speak too much for my own good."

There was a moment of silence as Casa'agen led them deeper into the darkness, silhouettes of solitary cottages and farms vaguely visible on the sides of the path.  He did not want to say more than what was necessary.  But there were words haunting him deep in the back of his mind that taunted at him, tore at his sanity, practically pleading the mercy of Cyrus to release them lest they forever perish.  As they strode nigh towards the path's destination, Cyrus prodded his heels into the gelding's sides as to persuade him to canter.  Finally the words leaped from his throat, nearly choking him as he sputtered out, "Kisa, I believe you are destined for me...  I can't seem to help myself -- I love you!"

[Anonymous]

Kisa mutely followed him to the gelding, soaking up all this new information as a new blossom soaks up the springtime rain. Everything started to make sense -- the immense feelings that had been bursting inside of her since she met him, the desires, the longings, the confusing dizziness she felt whenever he so much as brushed her skin -- finally, it was making sense, although this new knowledge did not assuage her fear so much as it confirmed the necessity of fear. She felt as if she were in a dream: magical romances, swept away on a white horse, and the hazy glow the soft rain lent every corner it touched. The steady pressure of his thighs rubbing against her made each passing moment an eternity, and she knew he felt it too from the way his hand clenched at her hip so desperately. Kisa lolled her head backwards into his shoulder, and lazily lipped at his neck; always a comfortable horsewoman, she had no issue dropping a hand from her grip on the pommel to rest it lightly on Cyrus's.

It was hard to keep focus on his words; her mouth took on a life of its own and Kisa was hard-pressed to keep herself from raining delicate kisses over every inch of Cyrus's exposed skin. Instead, she contented herself with smiling wickedly against his neck -- and did it matter if her tongue brushed against him momentarily as well?

This was the condonement Kisa had been seeking. This felt right, finally, as if she had all the answers, and as the distance fell behind the gelding's quick and nimble gait, so did her apprenhension. Instead of feeling fear or embarassment at Cyrus's frank descriptions of desire, Kisa relished them, and snuggled further backwards into Cyrus's arms, perfectly comfortable with whatever may come. Fear stripped from her face, Kisa finally was Kisa again: self-assured, cocky, playful and all too teasing. Masking it as an accidental jolt caused by the horse, she brushed her teeth tantalizingly against Cyrus's earlobe and smothered a giggle. This, then, was a game she could play well; although doubly excited for what may come when they arrived, she did not know that game well at all.

Then again, Kisa was a fast study. "Not too much... my lord," Kisa purred, breathing hard. Her willing limpness in his arms explained her emphasis on the formal address all too well.

"Kisa, I believe you are destined for me... I can't seem to help myself -- I love you!"

It was not unexpected, this confession wrenched from his body; in fact, as soon as he said it, it was as if the last piece of the puzzle slid into place and revealed the masterpiece that had been there all along. She realized that as soon as they had met, she had known this fact, somewhere deep and hidden within her heart. "I know," she murmured gently, and left a kiss wet with rain on his neck. "I feel it too." Kisa felt like a new woman, reborn into someone confident and assured, and loved; back to her normal self of wit and play but with the added bonus, of, well -- to be frank about it, with the added bonus of Cyrus's hips pressed hotly against her own.

She grinned back at him, her wet hair spilling messily down her bare shoulders. "Do you know what else I feel? Those tight pants of yours hide very little!" She laughed, and her laughter rang out huskily into the rainy night. Yes, the old Kisa was back again, comfortable in everything she felt and did -- all the more woe for Cyrus, to love such a spirited woman! Or, perhaps, not so woeful, as with another sly smile Kisa squeezed Cyrus's thigh with her spare hand.

[Anonymous]

The feel of the passage of hours seemingly had no effect on them, the ramparts and bulwark shapes of a forlorn manor coming into view.  The closer they paced, the more massive it's outline stood in the distance, the very highest and oldest part of the castle casted starkly into the powdered sky; that was the North tower.  It never seemed to fail the bleak aura that shed from Tower Medirein at night, as if a menacing beast resided within its walls.

The path's stone blocks faded to a firm, coarse path guided by the scent of sea air.  Cyrus reveled at the smells and knew exactly what it meant: Home.  Rest.  Relief from despairing for what seemed an eternity.  Though it was quite plain in bodily reactions that he'd found an alleviation with Kisa.  Blushing hotly when she noted on another feeling, Cyrus attempted to slither further back into the saddle but stopped by the electric shocks that penetrated through his soaked breeches from her fingers on his thigh.  The grip he had upon her hip lessened as his arm shifted to wrap about her entire waist, holding her tentatively against him.  He laughed in response to her remark and commended, "Then I suppose you'll have no problem marrying me."  Smiling, he steered Casa'agen towards through the gates and scarcely needed to steer him in the direction of the stable that lied not too far from the entrance.  Over the years, the gelding made it innate to turn in the direction of the familiar shelter without guidance, most likely in search of a snack.  But this time it seemed his old age was finally catching up to him and now he sought only rest.

Sliding off the back end of the saddle and helping Kisa off along with him, Cyrus led the aged horse into his favored stall and handed him an apple from the fruit basket hanging at the door.  "Finally!  A haven from that pestering rain.  But I suppose it's a thing of beauty as well as havoc," Cyrus stated while stroking the horse' massive neck.  Casa'agen nudged at Kisa to pat him, nickering in the process.  Laughing at his conduct, Cyrus gazed at some horses galloping and grazing in the nearby paddock reveling at the moisture in the atmosphere.  It was such a restful sight to see such gorgeous animals free to roam the open spaces awarded to them as carefree and spontaneous as children.

Cyrus gave the gelding a reassuring squeeze and turned to a wooden door that led within the manor.  Jamming the aged entrance to with as much strength as he could muster, it creakily gave way leading Kisa within a darkened corridor lit only by torchlight along the paved walls.  "Welcome to Tower Medirein," Cyrus said graciously.  "Please tell me, where is it that you said you were staying at?  Because you are more than welcome to stay here with me.  It's not as cozy as say some inn of fancy but there's plenty of room and the servants here will tend to you hand and foot far better than those at any inn.  I'll even have it so that they serve you breakfast in bed, if you so desire.  Just until you decide as what to do when daylight arrives."  A glint of pleading swirled helplessly in his pupils as he refused to look at Kisa directly in the eyes, only making itself known by the vice of which he held and fingered her hand.

[Anonymous]

"I..." Kisa struggled with her answer: obviously she knew which she wanted to do, but was that responsible? If, in fact, they were to be married (and that thought was a whole other mile of troubles that Kisa vowed not to think of until Ana was by her side), it would not be so bad -- but, then again, wouldn't Ana worry that Kisa did not spend the night at the inn? Ana was a clever woman, though; she would figure out where Kisa was soon enough. And yet to spend the night at Tower Medirein seemed... well. A beautiful idea but one that would make her Alberich ancestors roll over in their graves! But it was so rainy outside -- of course, Kisa's gown was so ruined anyway that it mattered little.

She noticed Cyrus's unwillingness to meet her eyes, and his strange preoccupation with her hands -- was he as nervous as she? As unsure? The shudders of need that had pulsed within her earlier seemed as if they had been washed away by the rain, but in its place was something even more dangerous: the certain warmth of adoration. Hero-worship ran through her blood.

Kisa took a step closer to Cyrus and cupped his face in her hands, gently forcing him to face her honest gaze. Her eyes, blue, wide, and fearless, were full of shining love as well. "I will stay for tonight," she said gently, quietly. "And whatever happens will happen -- but only for tonight." She lifted her face and kissed him softly on the lips, once, innocently, a shy promise for the future. After the emotional thunderstorms of the past week, the self-inflicted torture from considering obligation, propriety, and uncertainty, she could indulge herself once. Just once. One flighty, childish impulse followed in the midst of all these very, very adult decisions.

Kisa stepped back again, suddenly uncertain of what Cyrus's reaction would be, and her small hands trembled with nerves and emotion. Her face was as open and vulnerable as a child's. There was no contact between them, but all the same she felt more nakedly intimate with Cyrus now than she had ever been; it was an emotional intimacy, a surrender of everything, and Kisa was just not quite sure how matters like this were usually handled.