Winter Wildflowers

Chapter 26

Day 194

The second banquet was to be held that evening and Ofelia was incredibly uneasy.
Her handmaidens were dead silent, shaky handed and in constant fluttering movements, the fact evermore obvious as they tended to her throat and face. It was little Olivia, who's little hands held the steadiest, that had to line Ofelia's eyes and paint her lips. It was her too who had to clasp her necklace, stepping in after her superior had fumbled two times too many.
Ofelia glanced out to her largest bedroom window.

It was early morning, dark out and soundless when Ofelia had woken up in Knightley's arms.
It was an unmistakeable warmth, an unmistakeable scent. His sleep laden breaths swirled in the nook of her neck and his eyelashes constantly fluttered against her skin.
Never had she woken up in such a predicament.
Perhaps another would have stayed to her side or rested behind her as she'd seen her parents do. Perhaps, even if especially infatuated, held hands at the most.
Not Knightley.
No, Knightley laid over Ofelia. The entirety of his right shoulder encapsulated hers, one arm reached up behind her head, the other tangled underneath her, anchoring himself in. Even his ginormous legs suffocated hers, stretching past her toes into the quilt. Ofelia turned her head slightly to his face rested deep in her neck. At her subtle movement his hand in her hair seemed to slowly feed through, like a lazy cat making itself comfortable. It was all so easy to remember. It was like she could still feel his weight on her chest-

She shook her head lightly, dissipating her thoughts.
Back on earth, it seemed that the attacker's intrusion had had a lingering effect on Ofelia's handmaidens. Rumours were festering, whispers writhing like maggots amongst the court. Perhaps the ladies were uneasy with the idea of Ofelia presenting herself to the high people of Veralta in such a state. Perhaps hey wondered the harm it could inflict on the stability of the nation, or perhaps even the other castle staff.
But perhaps they weren't smart enough for that either.
It also occurred to Ofelia that maybe her suspicions were simply projections of her plans. Over the previous days, her demise had shown itself to be a blessing in disguise. It was easier to gather attention, to disrupt the people's thoughts, to inspire angst. Let the rumours fly, she thought, she welcomed their whispers, and beckoned their thoughts.
Altogether, it had been five days since Ofelia had been attacked. She was heavily bruised, still swollen, and weak, but she was speaking better, and finally, after days of forced silence, she could last a small speech. If her voice gave out, it would not be the end of the world, in fact at worst it would add impact.

When it came to blue or yellow jewels, it was an easy choice.
"Blue.", Ofelia hummed, watching as Olivia placed a pale blue bracelet around her wrist, "... Blue like the moon."

Knightley. He was heavy, and very, very warm.
Ofelia shouldn't have let him kiss her, she knew that, but in accurate retrospect, how could she have stopped him? How, when he'd held her so tight? How, when he'd said all the right words, when he'd acted right, when he'd looked at her right? He'd called her a wildflower, called her spring.
Her mind ran through their encounter, from how he had held her above him like he'd finally captured an angel to how he'd near inhaled her as he kissed her. How his hands had felt on her skin. How she had pulled him down to her. How he'd kissed her until she was dizzy.
How she had kissed him back.
And how she now felt guilty for it.
Had she forgotten Paulina's final words? The look on Paulina's face as she had spat them? Do not let him forget what he has done to you. Ofelia didn't owe Paulina a thing, Paulina herself was no better than Knightley, but her words had seared themselves into Ofelia's mind. Do not let him forget. Do not let him forget!
But Knightley, in their moment together, had said a sentence that Ofelia had overlooked at the time. Words that then stood out in big bold letters.
If I ever hurt you again, you have to kill me.
I can't live with this.
I would've run.
She hadn't fallen for his words. She knew what kind of a man Knightley was, who he would always be. But it was also true that Knightley had never lied to her. Amongst all his twisted actions and words, he had never, not once lied, and it made her guilty, bitter, betraying heart drop a double beat.
It was silent, and Ofelia was still. There was no other reason for Knightley to wake other than the loudness of her toiling thoughts.
As if a beast was awakening for the first time in a thousand years, Knightley slowly hoisted himself up and rested on his elbows over Ofelia's chest, looking down to her.
Through the darkness, they held each other's gaze.
Ofelia could feel his smirk, it simmered, the air wriggling away from his steaming mouth.
"... Something on your mind?" He jeeringly whispered, dark amusement lacing his tone.
Ofelia had huffed and turned her face away, moving to escape him.
He'd chuckled at her, as if he knew her efforts would be fruitless. With the mighty concoction of her injuries and his cage, she knew that he knew she would be stuck under him until he decided a fate for her.
She gritted her teeth.
He lightly chuffed before lazily lifting his hand above her hair.
With fine fingertips, he toyed with a lock before trailing it down to the end, twirling it around his finger.
Ofelia watched his face as he spun her hair.
He felt it between his fingers and the sound of her strands shifting against each other spindled through the air.
He tilted his head to the side, and though his mind felt far off, he whispered, "... Your hair is almost as dark as mine."
Ofelia squinted at him, staying still.
She wondered what was on his mind.

Perhaps an odd advancement for Ofelia, especially considering her disdain for the pastime, but a quarter hour before the banquet began she requested a bottle of spirits to be sent to her room. It came on an intricate tray, suspended in a beautiful bottle, two delicate glasses beside it. But despite the beauty of it, the loveliness of the presentation, her stomach churned. She had noticed how lively the members of the court liked to present themselves at the banquets, it seemed that socially, it was better to be relaxed. Relaxed people were likeable and though Ofelia did not like to drink, did not want to drink, she deemed it necessary to show up a little flushed and cheery to her event, to liven the spirits of those around her. It was part of the show, the image. Smiling and bruised.
She poured herself a glass.