She appeared in a dress of moonlight that lit up the suffocating darkness. With every step she took, the glittery white silk swished about her legs, twinkling like all the stars he spoke to for comfort on all of those long nights.
Yet she shone even brighter than that dress. Like the very first moment he ever laid eyes on Cassandra, it was as if she alone could eclipse the sun and moon and stars. And as she approached him with the slightest curve of those lips, as red as roses, he forgot how to breathe.
Past experience told him that he should wash his eyeballs, but if this was what he got from being blind, then he would gladly be blind forever. He dared not move an inch for fear that it would wake him from this dream.
Even when she came toe to toe with him and her sweet floral scent wrapped around him like a hypnotising mist, intoxicating as the milk of a poppy, he balled his hands into tight fists by his sides, resisting the urge to touch the image of his greatest desire lest it shatter right before his eyes.
"H-how..." he whispered.
"I heard you calling for me. I felt your pull. I spent the last few days with my family and said my goodbyes. They would miss me, but they also understand that my heart now belongs to a new home."
It was her voice. It was really her voice. And her words—they were too good to be true. Too good that he could not believe it. Not yet.
It wasn't until he felt the gentle fingers that caught the drops of tears on his cheeks that he choked a shuddering breath and pulled her into his arms. For an instant, he half expected to clutch at thin air, but her body was so real, so warm and so perfectly moulded to his own.
"Fuck England. Fuck Ethiopia. You're my queen. Not theirs." He held her close, tight and desperate, though it would not be enough to cure the aching loss deep in his bones. Not for a long time. Not until he was well and truly satisfied that she was here to stay.
Cassie pushed and struggled against his hold, but he wasn't letting go. She had made a habit of running away from him on ball nights, and he would never allow that again. Not even for all the threats she hissed into his chest.
Like something only Cassie would dare do to a king, she stomped a foot down on the toes of his boots. He yelped, still stubbornly grabbing onto her, but loosened his hold enough that she could lean back and look up at him with eyes that sparkled with fire.
"Ass," she scoffed.
He gave an indulgent smile. "Bitch."
"Queen, actually." With a playful tilt of her chin, she gave a mocking imitation of what he had once said to her, "It appears you've forgotten your manners."
"Well, well, well." He chuckled. "Allow me to remind you that you've not formally been crowned yet, but..."
As reluctant as Dane was to let her go, he lowered himself to one knee, relegating himself to holding her by the hands and gazing up at her shocked expression.
"I failed you, Cassie. I did not protect you well enough. If I had the choice, I would have taken your place or followed you to the end of the world."
"No, Dane." She shook her head profusely. "Don't—"
"Let me finish, Cassie. I never prepared a speech for our reunion, so you're making this more difficult if you interrupt me."
He pressed several kisses along her knuckles as she laughed at his poor attempt at a joke, the sound of that lighthearted laughter one of the greatest music to his ears, second only to certain other sounds from Cassie that were reserved for him alone.
"I am far from perfect," he continued, unable to look away from her eyes as they glimmered with mirth and affection. "I am also far from being worthy of you. I don't deserve what you've done, and I am afraid I might continue to be an ass and a pain in yours. But Cassie, love of my life, mother of my child, and the only woman I would have by my side, for as long as you will have me, I promise to put your happiness above all else. I know you must have given up much to come here, and I will spend the rest of my life to make it up to you."
YOU ARE READING
Bride to the Cursed: a Snow White retelling
Fantasy[COMPLETED] When a king makes an order, he expects it to be followed. When King Dane divorced his wife, he expected her to get out of his sight and stay out of his sight. Not reappear three months later in his bed, spouting nonsense about being a 'l...
