Iridescent

Chapter 9

Stasia

"Well," I released my grip from his arm as we came to my door, "Thank you for listening to me ramble."

His eyes were soft and genuine as he gave a shrug, "No need for thanks."

"Still," I insisted, knowing that there were more important things that he could possibly be doing with his life (like that little obligation of grooming himself for the Archonian throne). Yet here he was strolling through the gardens with the riff-raff.

He reached for my hand and ran his fingers across my knuckles in reassurance, "Goodnight, Stasia." His lips hovered and he softly brushed them across before turning and leaving me standing there. Momentarily, I froze, realizing that Nikolai just put his lips on my hand and I let him do it.

I was supposed to think it was just skin touching skin, a meaningless brush of the lips on my knuckles. It had been experienced time and time again when I found myself playing into my mother's game of match making.

He didn't do it any differently. There was no cringe-worthy wink or a lingering that made my skin crawl. His lips were there and then they weren't. But, that ounce of a feeling that trickled throughout my hand with a flutter kept my feet rooted outside of my door for a moment, watching Nikolai walk away.

"If my mother could see me now," I whispered to myself as he turned the corner. A tension twisted in my chest and I reminded myself that I had to allow some oxygen in my lungs. Unfortunately, I knew my someone somewhere was clicking their heels somewhere, hearing about the progression—spies are loyal and prompt.

But, a little part of me wanted to just keep that little moment for myself.

For a moment there, I almost felt something tug at my chest. A something that resembled an emotion that did not belong in the vicinity of my person. Or even between us.

I can't.

As my hand touched the chill of the door knob, I shut my eyes and pressed my forehead against the polished wood. A piece of me wished that Meredith would be standing on the other end of this door, perhaps, anticipating resuming where we left off this morning.

Unsurprisingly, my room was empty when I walked in, the ghostly drapes filtering the moonlight. The doors of the balcony were left open, allowing moments of crisp dusk air to sweep in. Usually, Meredith would be here by now, lighting a few candles and Irina would be pondering over which nightgown was more appropriate for a Tuesday.

As my feet creaked the wood floors, I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling a certain sadness weigh me down. It broke my heart that Meredith kept something from me, but as Nikolai so wisely observed—she needed space.

But, there's no such thing as space here.

Poking and prodding resided within these walls—people, unfortunately, live for the drama.

Yet, she so miraculously kept something tucked away.

Should I be frustrated, or should I be in awe?

Ridding myself of my clothes, and slowly unlacing my corset, I pulled a random nightgown from my chest and slipped it over my head. Tugging back the new weight of the winter covers, I tucked my legs under and slumped back into the fluff of the pillows.

I hoped if I closed my eyes hard enough, the thoughts that pestered me all day would eventually fade away.

"Your move," I muttered, tracing my spoon along the surface of my tea, making shapes with the small streams of cream that wondered at the surface.