Disobedience [h.s.]

Eighteen

A leaden knock on the door wakes them before the sunlight has prodded its warm fingers through the dense curtains. Harry groans and hides his face in the soft down above Brielle's stomach. "Maybe they'll go away if I don't answer."

Brielle hums and lazily drags her fingers through his knotted curls. "No."

Harry curls his fingers in the blanket, his groan muffled by the fabric. Brielle laughs, the sound full of air and coated with sleep. Her fingers leave his hair and pinch his cheek. Keeping his smile beneath the surface proves too difficult as he lifts his hand and pushes her hand aside like children do when their mother's find the need to constantly wipe nonexistent substances from their faces. His neck is starting to feel strained and he rises to a comfortable seated position as he calls back to the guard, voice thick and riddled with cracks. "What is it?"

His thoughts and eyes linger on the woman on the other side of his bed. Brielle looks as soft as she does in his dreams. The sleep has not yet left her eyes as she smiles and wraps her arms around him, her face resting on his shoulder. "Good morning my ill-tempered Prince."

Everything about her is warm. Harry closes his eyes and hums, arms mirroring hers and palms resting above her waist. "Good morning, my culver...my Queen." She is sunlight and fire, and he cannot imagine the life he would have led without her by his side.

She smiles into his shoulder, lungs rising and deflating alongside his own. If the guard was not at the door, he would believe he was still dreaming.

"The King has sent for you and Brielle immediately."

Harry's fingers run through the fabric of Brielle's dress. A sigh interrupts the dream he was reconstructing. "We are not dressed. Tell him to wait."

The guard hesitates, his voice a low rumble through the door. "He won't be happy."

"He never is."

Brielle waits until his footsteps have receded to pull away and run a hand through her own hair, forcing him to acknowledge the day has begun. He's staring at the fullness of her lips and the sleep that clings to her eyes like morning dew. She catches him and smiles, a rose colored hue teases her cheeks. "What?"

Harry shrugs, a smile of his own peeking through his grogginess. Brielle's lips rise, a bashful smile alongside a sunset of blush. She tells him that he's full of it as she climbs out of bed and stretches to awaken her limbs. He could spend a thousand mornings with her and never tire of the lazy waves trapped in her eyes, or the faint pops that release themselves from her bones as she stretches to welcome the day.

"And you are full of wonders."

Brielle raises her arms above her head, her dress shifting to reveal a hole the size of his fist. Harry's eyebrows pull together as his eyes follow the sluggish movement of the faded fabric. "What happened to your dress?"

Her fingers trace the boundary of missing fabric, "I lost my head worrying about you. When my mind righted itself there was a loose thread between my fingers and a hole in my dress."

Harry frowns and pulls at the hem of his shirt, "I didn't intend to worry you."

She pauses her search for her corset and smiles at him, "I know."

He's across the room before she can ask for help. The night's events aren't lost on him and he finds the corset with ease, fingers hesitant to return the garment to her. "Let me replace it."

Brielle hesitates and traces the lines of her corset. Harry has attempted to present her with a number of nice dresses as gifts, but each time she has declined. He still doesn't understand why, there has never been an excess of jewels or fine silks...perhaps it was the color.