All the Queen's Angels

Chapter 12: Sanctuary 🥀

Simmering with rage, I whip around and storm back into the manor, pushing through the crowd of guests and guards that formed at the courtyard door. I blindly make my way through the halls, eager to put space between me and and the events of the past 24 hours. I find myself taking refuge in the pantry which is filled to the brim with all kinds of foods, and I don't hesitate before I begin hauling food back up to my room. Dumping my spoils onto my dresser, I flop back onto my bed with a sigh.

Finally.  I'm so exhausted I could almost cry.

I start with the bread: fresh loaves, rolls, baguettes, croissants, all warm from the oven. Then I move on to the appetizers, devouring the dumplings and beans and shrimp cocktails. I help myself to mouthwatering meatloaf, crispy chicken, and fried fish fillets. By the time I finish, I'm so full that I'm dizzy.

But I will not rest until I eat the dessert.

I stare at the glistening fruit tarts, dozens of cupcakes, sticky sweet pastries, brownies and cookies, pies loaded with mounds of fluffy whipped cream. There's too many to choose from.

I think I ended up crying with joy.

Stuffed beyond comprehension, I sink back into the plush pillows and sigh deeply. I only managed to eat the cookies and half the cupcakes before I felt like bursting. I can't believe I just arrived here this morning. I glance at the pies and stare at them longingly. I'll save you for tomorrow, I think drowsily, before drifting into an uneasy sleep.

...

I hear him before I'm truly conscious, a soft rustling in the deep night. Jerking awake, I find myself face to face with a dark silhouette framed by feathered shadow. The curtains flutter in the soft breeze from the window.

"Hush," Ambrose says, crouching on the bed. I reach up into the darkness to find him. My hands brush his cheek and he grips my fingers tightly, holding them to his face.

"Are you alright?", he whispers.

"Of course," I say, though the words taste bitter on my tongue. He stays silent for so long I find myself wondering if I'm hallucinating again.

"Ambrose?", I call. No answer. I prop myself up on my elbows before he suddenly scoops me up and crushes me to his chest. I sink into his firm embrace, marveling at the comfort he brings.

"Don't lie," he says, his voice reverberating through my own chest. My tense shoulders slump in defeat.

"I hate him," I whisper. He pulls me into his lap and I turn my face into his neck, tracing the shadows splaying across his collarbone. "I hate that Leander thinks he can hurt me, and I hate that he's right." Ambrose's heartbeat grows faster beneath my palm.

I pull away so I can look him in the eye and find his gaze cloaked in shadow. I caress his cheek, the freckled skin soft beneath my thumb.

"I'm going to make him pay," I hiss. Ambrose still doesn't look me in the eye. I frown, shifting in his lap to press my nose to his.

"Hey, what's wrong? Why aren't you participating in my revenge speech?", I ask, poking his arm. He just shifts in place. I cock my head to get a good look at his face, but it's still too dark. Is he mad at me? I try, unsuccessfully, tickling his foot and then his jaw. Finally, I go for his sides, tickling his belly, and he suddenly squirms.

A sinister smile appears on my face. Bingo.

I tickle Ambrose mercilessly, breaking free from his grip when he tries to pry me hands away. He succumbs to the silliness and falls back on the bed as I climb on top of him, seizing the opportunity. He tries to muffle his laughter with the sheets, but the sight of him cackling uncontrollably causes me to giggle as well.

My mistake.

As I let my guard down he pounces on me, trapping me beneath him. His tickles are relentless, his strong hands withstanding my efforts to push him off of me. I wheeze with laughter, my cheeks sore from smiling. I try to back away from him and only manage to make it halfway back to the headboard before he grabs my ankles and pulls me back down the bed to him.

"S-stop!", I cackle, curling into a ball to evade his hands. Ambrose pauses and I catch my breath just in time for him to flop down on top of me, knocking the wind from my lungs.

"Ambrose, why—?", I start, but I falter when he presses his forehead to my chest, suddenly solemn again. I run my hands through his hair. "Are you alright, Ambrose?".

He looks up at me, resting his chin on my chest. "Come home with me."

"I'm home right here," I respond. His eyes widen in disbelief.

"What—here?", he asks incredulously. He almost sounds hurt.

"Here in your arms, dumbass." He rolls his eyes, fighting a grin.

"I'd much rather hold you somewhere the enemy isn't prowling around," he grumbles. I huff. Enough of this moping, I think to myself. I sit up and reach over to my dressing table where I've stacked the remaining desserts. I grab a pie and a few tarts.

"No more sad thoughts," I say, offering him the fruit tarts. He snatches the pie.

My pie.

"How dare you!", I gasp, pulling it back.

"Don't tell me you wanted to cheer me up with those sour fruit tarts?", he teases, yanking the cream pie above our heads and out of reach.

"Fine, don't eat the tarts but give me my damn pie back!", I exclaim, climbing to my knees. He snickers and stands up on the bed, towering over my frame. I get to my feet, scowling at his height.

"That's not fair. My 5 feet 8 inches can't compare with your 6 feet plus wings," I frown.

"6 feet 4 inches," he grins. Heavens above, no one needs to be that tall. I get on my tiptoes and grab his shoulders, trying to gain a bit more height to no avail.

"Okay hold on, how about we just share?", he concedes. I glare.

"There's no 'sharing' in war, my friend," I respond, before jumping on top of him and wrestling the pie out of his hands as we tumble to the ground, his legs sprawled across the bed as I straddle him on the floor. I catch the pie just in time.

"Here's your share," I laugh, wiping a dollop of whipped cream on his startled face. Suddenly, he grabs my hand and brings it to his lips, sucking the remaining cream off my fingers. My stomach somersaults, a blush creeping up my cheeks. He peers up at me, trapping me in his relentless gaze. Then he flicks the pie, splattering sweet cream all over my face.

I flinch, closing my eyes in surprise. When I try wiping the chantilly cream off my face, Ambrose sits up and pulls my hands away.

"What—?", I start when he cradles my face and leans in, kissing the cream from my nose, my cheek, my lips. Then he fits his mouth to mine. I close my eyes, savoring the sweetness of his tongue, the softness of his lips. Our lips part only to tumble back together hungrily. I suck on his bottom lip as he pulls away, inhaling sharply. I try to pull back, wondering what's wrong, but he holds me fast.

"I can't get enough of you," he murmurs, tangling his fingers in my hair.

"Well," I whisper against his lips. "The night is long."