Book One: The Marigold's Larkspur ~ A tale of mystery, magic, and obsession.

Chapter Thirty-three

Cressida awoke to the feeling of eyes on her.

The gentle patter of rain echoed through the chamber, creating a soothing rhythm that seemed to fill the silence. She blinked blearily, her vision adjusting to the dimly lit room. Her heart felt heavy with the events of the night, and the gentle touch and whispered words from her dream lingered in her mind.

As she lay there, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, Cressida realized she wasn't alone. The feeling of being watched persisted, and she turned her head slowly to the side. The room was cast in a soft, hazy glow, with the rain-slicked window offering a glimpse of the stormy sky outside. In the dim light, she came face to face with a tall figure sitting in a chair at the side of the bed, his face obscured by the shadows cast by the window behind him.

"Callidus?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rain.

"...good morning." His viola-like voice reached her ears. Cressida could barely see his face in the faint light, but his tone was warm and affectionate. "You slept well."

She shifted in the bed, pulling the covers up to her chest, her eyes fixed on him. "...and where did you sleep?"

Her eyes darted around the room, before landing on a smaller bed off to the side. And then they widened in surprise as she took in the transformation that had taken place in the bed chamber overnight. The once cold and imposing room now bore a touch of warmth and familiarity. Her belongings were neatly arranged on a shelf, which appeared to be dedicated solely to her, carefully curated to make her feel more at home.

On every available surface, beautiful vases displayed delicate bundles of flowers and ferns, filling the air with a pleasant and soothing aroma of petrichor and blossoms. The atmosphere seemed to have shifted, no longer feeling as ominous and foreboding as before.

"I did not sleep long." Callidus replied softly, a gentle smile tugging his lips. "But I slept well. And woke up to a dream."

Cressida felt her cheeks burn, and she clutched the covers tightly to her chest. "...yes, I remember that you like...mornings."

"You're so beautiful..." he breathed. "I can hardly believe this is real. I can hardly believe I'm able to see you like this. After so many years of just...imagining."

He reached out his hand to her.

But she just stared at it.

Memories of the previous evening rushed back, the escape, the confrontation, the interrogation, and her hasty decision. Now, being alone with Callidus in this tower, anxiety prickled her skin, causing her to grip the covers even tighter as she turned her back to him.

"...are you going back to sleep, love?"

"Have you forgotten that I asked you to address me by my proper title?" she mumbled, her voice muffled by the covers.

Cressida couldn't see him, but she imagined his mouth curving downwards in displeasure. "Back to that again?"

"You called me your prisoner last night."

Callidus sighed. "I don't want you to be."

"Then you'll let me leave?" Cressida's voice carried a glimmer of hope as she peered back at him.

His expression grew exasperated, "...Cressida."

"Your Highness." She corrected.

"Cressida" he insisted. "Let's not argue. It's a beautiful morning."

Cressida's eyes flicked to the window, "It's storming."

"Storms have their own kind of beauty." He replied earnestly, "The sky turns the same color as your eyes, and whenever I look up, I see you looking back at me."