The Tyrant's Queen

22: the merciful (+author's note updated)

Craning her neck, Thalia looked up from the man's chest, to his face. It was Lucien, fast asleep.

What in the gods of Aesna was this?

Her body was locked in his grasp, her face to his chest. The usual miasma of cigar and wine had faded, replaced by a stronger smell of clean soap.

She'd never been so close to him, not since... Her heart beat a thick, violent rhythm in her chest.

Could he hear her pulse, up this close?

They weren't merely near, but were completely folded into each other.

So tightly enfolded into each other, that she felt the hard muscles of his arms and chest.

That when she looked up, she saw the details of his face.

The contours from below his ears, to his jaw and chin. The tightly closed lips and aquiline nose, and the long lashes of his closed eyes-

A small frown wrinkled his forehead, as Lucien grunted, stirring.

The possibility of locking eyes with him when he awoke, slapped Thalia cold out of her examination of his features.

Gasping, Thalia wriggled her limbs, trying to push him away. His rigid, thick arms didn't budge.

She kicked, squirmed and twisted her arms, only in vain.

His eyes still closed, Lucien groaned, as if in protest, and pulled her- if that was even possible- closer to him.

Thalia froze, her breath caught in her throat as coughs. Her face was nearly buried into his robe, the stitchings of the lining rough against her cheek.

"Your Majesty!" Her voice was a muffled objection against his robe.

First it'd been been strangling her by the neck. Now was he planning to suffocate her in an embrace?

Embrace? Was this really- an embrace?

"Shh, let me sleep."

His voice, a lethargic, husky murmur, came from above her, as he rested his chin against the crown of her head. "...I haven't...slept well in so long..."

He hadn't woken up screaming in pain or rage last night. What had made the difference?

Locked in the inescapable grasp, Thalia lay quietly, only taking in the smell and texture of his robe.

She was glad. Glad that she was unable to extricate herself from her grasp.

Able to make the feeble excuse to herself, lie to herself that she tried, tried to pull herself away but failed.

An amount of shame that dwarfed the pleasure in size, came immediately after.

To enjoy being in the unconscious, meaningless embrace of a man whom she could not respect, who did not respect her. 

He stirred, and slowly, pulled himself away from her. It had been the first time she'd been so close to him.

Yet, the moment he put distance between them, Thalia felt an awkwardness, an emptiness.

Without any discernible reaction to their state of being on the same bed, Lucien only regarded her serenely.

Then, a frown forming on his forehead, he stretched out his hand.

Finding herself harden and still, Thalia felt his fingers twirl a curl of her hair, then, let go of it as quickly as he had touched it.

Something like surprise registered on his face, as he looked around, mumbling. "This isn't a dream?"