Disobedience [h.s.]

Nineteen

Brielle's fingers are numb against the harp's strings. She has not yet mastered the delicacy needed to produce the soothing sounds Harry adores. His laughter reverberates deep in her chest as his hands rest atop hers, tracing over her fingers like each contains a masterpiece. "They are not much different from your roses, love."

The muscles in her face react with confusion, her eyes narrow alongside the scrunch of her nose. "That is where you are wrong. Have you ever felt a rose with such rigid edges?"

Harry presses his lips to her neck, his smile igniting lanterns beneath her skin. "No, but the petals are just as delicate as the strings, and just as beautiful."

She hums, her body welcoming his embrace as if his body is part of her own. "I will have to re-train my fingers to share the sentiment. Perhaps you will teach me?"

"Of course, but you will have to teach me how to tend the roses."

Brielle weaves her fingers through his, a wave of warmth flooding through her veins. "You are already quite good at that."

An unfamiliar guard walks through the open doorway. His dark eyes shift between the two of them, unsure of where to rest them without being inappropriate. They settle on the sunlit windows as he addresses Harry, "The Council requires your presence in the Throne Room, your Highness."

Brielle is not accustomed or comfortable with the weight of masked observation and detaches herself, her cheeks a brightening pink. Tension snakes into Harry's smile and she cannot will herself to ignore it. This time it has nothing to do with his lineage. She allows her fingers to drift to the soft material of her dress that she cannot seem to grow comfortable in. Harry insists that she wear something above the obscenely rough texture, but she likes her old dresses. The dresses he's given her are simple but they are still far too nice and she is afraid that she will never be able to conform to even a small level of luxury.

Harry tells the guard that he will head there shortly and allows the heightened silence to force his exit before he steps toward her and reclaims her hands. His smile is no longer strained, "We will have to finish this lesson later, perhaps in our home? I would like to make it a proper home, not just the intent of one." The green in his eyes is replaced by stars as he swings their hands between them, a childish habit that still retains its grasp. "And...I thought it would be pleasant if we were to have dinner there and spend the night within its walls."

A dream she's had every night since he spoke reality and showed her the home she never thought she would have. She is certain the constellations in her eyes have given her answer away before her voice can bring the words to life, "I would love to."

Harry kisses her, the tip of his tongue running over her lips. Something about the open door and the possibility of onlookers makes her feel like she is fourteen again with the desire to return his affections overruling all sense of caution. She welcomes him as quickly as she allows the memory to paint a scene behind her closed eyes. Time stops all measurement until her lungs strain to force the oxygen through her chest. Brielle's body becomes part of the sun as he smiles.

"Until tonight, culver."

His lips do not leave her thoughts for hours, a gentle melody that refuses to lose its hold. The ring on her finger is a strange kind of comfort despite the promise it holds. No one outside of the castle knows of their planned engagement. Catherine is still expecting and if word of another affair spreads, the King is certain it will escalate the increasing rates of violence. Harry disagrees, but his parents wear bigger crowns.

Catherine's stomach feels like a rock as she intentionally bumps into Brielle. She is too caught up in conversation with herself to react fast enough to avoid losing her balance entirely.