Book Two: The Larkspur's Longing ~ A tale of deep obsession and devotion

Chapter Two: Thorns

She wasn't wearing the blue dress.

Callidus tried to quell his disappointment, but the air around him cooled as he entered their bedchamber.

Mint jumped from her place beside Cressida, quickly scooting backwards and dipping into a curtsy. Cressida glanced up from the small table, before turning her attention back to the young woman.

"...I'd always wanted a baby sister, but I think you've changed my mind on that," Cressida laughed lightly, as if continuing a conversation Callidus had interrupted, "Thanks for sharing that with me. That was fun."

"...of course, Your Highness..." Mint said, quietly. Her wide eyes flickered towards Callidus in the doorway, betraying her fear and discomfort.

Callidus felt a wave of jealousy wash over him as he noticed Cressida's warm tone and gentle demeanor with Mint. It had been a while since she'd spoken so kindly to him.

"Cressida. I brought you breakfast." Callidus interrupted (gently), the tray following him through the door and floating in front of her. The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the room.

Cressida glanced at him, her expression neutral but guarded. "Thank you," she replied briskly, her eyes avoiding direct contact with Callidus. "It's easier for you to bring it up those stairs than for poor Mint."

Callidus's eyes darted towards Mint, narrowing slightly. "I prefer it when your breakfast does not end up on the floor." He gestured for her to leave, "You are dismissed."

Mint nodded quickly, her hands trembling slightly as she curtsied again and scurried out of the room, Callidus closing the door silently behind her. (Cressida didn't like loud noises.)

Callidus took a deep breath, trying to push aside his frustration and maintain his composure. His eyes wandered to the clothing she had chosen instead - a plain, muted gown that he had chosen for her when he was playing the part of her Jailor.

He regretted that now.

(If he removed the other gowns, she would have to wear the blue one.)

Cressida ignored the food, instead turning her attention to a small collection of Eflian poetry on the table, opening the book up on a seemingly random page. He felt a twinge of disappointment, as if his efforts were being overlooked or unacknowledged.

"My love, you need to eat," he urged, his voice gentle yet firm. "You haven't been taking care of yourself lately."

Cressida sighed, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the book. "I appreciate the gesture, but I'm not hungry. You can help yourself."

Callidus's eyes flicked to the breakfast tray, picking up a lemon pastry with a tendril of air and tearing it in two. Each crumb was swept neatly away and gathered in a small pile on the tray.

"I will gladly split one with you." He murmured, attempting to compromise.

Cressida glanced at the half of the pastry he offered, and for a moment, her stoic facade wavered. She hesitated; her disappointment evident in her eyes. "I'm really not hungry," she repeated softly, her voice carrying a touch of frustration.

"Cressida, please," he implored, "Let me take care of you. I know you've been upset lately, but you must eat something."

"I'm not hungry because I'm too anxious to eat," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Every time I try, I feel sick to my stomach."

Callidus's heart sank, and he stepped closer, his concern deepening. "Anxious about what?" he asked gently, trying to understand the source of her distress.