The Proud Princess and Her Secret Yearning

Inevitably, the last dessert crumbled to its porcelain plate, and only he and she breathed into the solitary, crackling silence.

That was when he rose, his cloak swishing, honey-gold mask reflecting the fire, and spoke. “Come, I’ll show you…”

Continuing the fairy tale which I wrote in Czech and am translating into English for fun! What’s happened so far is SO CLICHE! All the cliches, y’all. A dastardly masked mage ruins a spoiled princess’s ball with the news that she must marry him and then he spirits her away in his flying carriage to his black castle. Oh, dear, what will she do with such a cliched problem?

If you want to start from the beginning, all the previous parts are here: The Proud Princess and the Masked Mage. Otherwise jump right in lol–>

IN THE PREVIOUS INSTALLMENT:

The flying cat in the hat slapped his forehead. “My manners have fled! Master, you must be hungry as a wolf. Come along then. A dinner worthy of a king awaits!” He glanced at Princess Damarishka and winked dramatically. “And surely for a princess, too.”

Darian, wicked mage incarnate, offered her his elbow. “Dare you enter my castle?”

“Did you curse that cat from a man?” Damarishka asked outright.

“He was never,” Darian studied the creature leading them, “human.”

She opened her mouth but found that she would rather not know.

Then Darian touched his fingertips to his castle door, and the polished black wood swung inward, inviting her deeper into his realm.

The continuation:

Despite its black stones, the castle interior adhered to conventional castle aesthetics: candlelit chandeliers dangled overhead with their dewdrop crystals sparkling; tapestries vividly warmed the walls, their tassels dragging on the floor; and braces of candles infused every corner with dulcet light.

As the flying cat in the hat escorted them, he cheerfully chattered while gesturing like a garrulous guide. “This is the foyer, my lady, and that is the gallery, and I, by the by, am Whisker.”

“Damarishka,” the princess murmured politely back, honestly a bit overcome and feeling absolutely surreal, with only her hand tucked into the crook of Darian’s elbow anchoring her in this reality. (Or else she might verily float away like a disbelieving balloon, for she was to marry this man.)

“And I am Claw!” her cat dramatically pronounced, trotting along behind them.

“But I named you Snoof!” Damarishka craned her neck to look back at him.

“A reprehensible mishap,” Claw groused.

“A respectable name,” Whisker contributed.

“I am Claw!” The viably angry cat brandished said sharp appendage. “And I will apply it to anyone—”

“Snoof,” Darian interjected smoothly, “can be my dog’s name.”

“You have a dog?” Claw yowled.

“A very imaginary one.”

“He’d better be!” Claw’s hackles settled.

Damarishka almost smiled. Darian briefly set his hand over hers and smiled secretly, impishly back.

“You know,” Whisker cast a critical scrutiny over Claw, “you could learn to fly here, too, if you wanted. Almost anything is possible in this castle.”

Claw puckered his whiskers. “My walking is more than enough for me!”

“Perhaps embellish yourself with a cane?”

“I need no garnish!”

They ended up dining together, with Whisker leaning back in a chair, paws crossed and legs stretched out as though he owned the place, only lacking a pipe as a finishing touch to his arrogance.

Claw claimed a chair, too, perched upon it like a monarch, and commenced licking at a platter of shredded salmon.

The two cats engaged in passionate debates that amused Darian but which Damarishka listened to with only half an ear (not that she had half an ear; she had whole ears, but she was only halfway listening with one).

Thoughts of what would follow haunted her. Darian hadn’t shown her to a room, but neither had he requested the ceremony that would make her his wife. He’d only brought them here, to this high-ceilinged, vaulted dining hall, where heavy cream soup heated her constricting belly, and steaming delicacies tempted her to put them into her mouth despite her nerves tying her tongue and her stomach up in knots.

She kept looking at him to find him looking back, and she couldn’t help imagining him as her husband—leading her into his bedchamber, his hands slipping free her laces, his mouth touching her skin… a veritable stranger becoming…

Her mind shut down. It was beyond imagining that someone she hadn’t known this morning would become, by tomorrow, more familiar with her body than anyone had ever been before.

She had never even kissed anyone, too proud, too distant (too empty), too wary of her mother’s warning not to wish for more.

Inevitably, though, the last dessert crumbled to its allotted porcelain plate, the cats were sleeping curled up on woven rugs near the hearth, and only Damarishka and Darian breathed into the solitary, crackling silence.

That was when he rose, his cloak swishing, honey-gold mask reflecting the fire, and spoke. “Come, I’ll show you to your room.”

“My room?” Damarishka squeaked, involuntarily clenching her butter knife. “Mine alone?”

“Yes.” A frown furrowed his brow. “I would not inflict nuptials on you so soon. We may set a date later.”

“How much later?”                                                       

“When you wish.”

The reply of ‘What if I never wish?’ hovered unspoken on her lips. Instead, she nodded jerkily and stood up, shocked that her shaky limbs obeyed her.

In moments, they traversed the corridors—alone, this time—their footfalls like steps in her soul. Every step she took with him brought them… somewhere. She couldn’t think. Her mind stumbled over nothings after such a day bloated with travail.

“You know,” murmured Darian, “you could fly here, too, if you wanted. I could show you—”

She hastily shook her head, not so much a refusal as wanting to brush away any subject at all. She was overwhelmed with the reprieve he’d given her. Grateful, yes, but also resentful. She’d wanted—

“What is it you want?” He abruptly stopped walking.

“Are you reading my mind?” she asked, her tone shrewish.

“No. Your face. You yearn. It’s obvious. What is it you want?”

She swallowed hard and averted her head. “Am I so transparent?”

“I would say, instead, that your wish is that strong.” He touched his fingertips to her chin, light as moths. “Tell me.” He paused and removed his touch. “Please. I would esteem your confidence.”

“To spend time with you,” she blurted out quickly, before she lost her grip on her thready courage. Still unable to look at him, she rushed on. “If we are to—to become intimate, I want to know you first. I can’t—couldn’t abide a stranger doing to me what—what only someone at least a little loved by me should be doing.”

At last, she forced herself to look at him to find him at a visible loss for words, blinking. Then he composed himself and said, low and penetrating, “I would not deny you anything.”

How could half the things he said make her insides so jumbled?

“If you are not tired now,” he went on, “I can show you to the library. Conjure up tea and biscuits.”

She quirked her mouth in the tiniest, oddest smile. “Stolen again?”

“Stolen from my own kitchen. Is that clandestine enough for you?”

She bit her lip, which was trying to smile. “It will do.”

And so, he led her into another unexpected nook of his world.

Okay, so is this turning into a cozy fantasy or something? Lol I admit I keep audaciously adding shit to this story. The Czech version is much sparser 😀 I just can’t help myself; it’s so much fun! Thanks for reading my gothically facetious fairy tale and if you want more, you can find that here 😀

Heiress of Secrets is stalled. I don’t know why it’s so hard to get myself to work on it 😦 I guess I still feel discouraged.

Anyway, I hope everyone out there is doing FANTASTIC. Thrice the Shadow. Be kind to everyone this week, y’all!

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