As we both sit on opposite sides of the bed, tension hangs in the air, palpable and uncomfortable. It's the first night we've decided to share a room since that incident, and the awkwardness is almost suffocating. Feeling the need to break the silence, I muster the courage to speak, my voice wavering, "So, uhm, got any plans for tomorrow?"
The words seem to linger in the space, exacerbating the unease that surrounds us. Yet, unexpectedly, a soft laugh escapes from him, a sound akin to a relieved exhale. That laugh, so genuine amidst the tension, prompts an involuntary smile to grace my lips.
The weariness of harboring anger and resentment has grown heavy, and in this moment, I realize just how tired I am of holding onto those emotions. I'm tired of angry.
He's apologized countless times, and while I can't erase the memory of what happened, I'm coming to terms with the idea of forgiveness. It's a gradual process, one that involves letting go of the past and embracing the potential for a fresh start.
"I'm sorry," the words escape my lips, laden with a weight of sincerity. "Really fucking sorry." The admission hangs in the air, a raw and vulnerable offering.
I perceive his subtle movement from the corner of my eye, and so I turn my head, shifting my body to meet his gaze. And there he is, looking at me, his face unmasked – a rare sight these days.
No mask.
Just him.
"Thank you," his voice quivers, carrying a depth of emotion. It's a voice that resonates with the authenticity of his feelings. His lips curl into a genuine smile, a fragile yet powerful expression. In that moment, it's as if a floodgate of pent-up emotions has been released, leaving behind a tall man, not burdened by his past mistakes, but visibly relieved and grateful for the opportunity to mend what had been broken.
Slowly, I pivot around and lower myself to the floor, carefully removing my heels. As they come off, a cringe escapes me, the memory of the red marks they left etched onto my feet still vivid.
With a few steps, I cross over to the other side of the bed, taking a seat beside Nikolai, my husband. In this moment, words seem to hold little importance, and an unspoken understanding envelops us.
The silence that hangs between us is no longer stifling, but rather a presence that offers comfort and serenity. I sense the touch of his hand finding mine, a gentle connection that feels reassuringly warm. My head finds its resting place on his shoulder, an instinctive gesture that signifies an unspoken reconciliation.
Amidst the absence of words, we find a sense of solace in each other's company.
And we don't say anything.
The silence just sits there, comfortable, calming. With only the touch of his hand on mine, and my head on his shoulder, that's what felt right.
It was what we needed.
As time passes, a pleasant weariness settles over me, coaxing my eyelids to droop. It's a challenge to resist succumbing to sleep, especially in this beautiful but somewhat uncomfortable dress.
"Tired?" His voice, like a soothing lullaby, breaks the silence that envelops us. I detect a hint of drowsiness in his words, mirroring my own state.
Responding with a sound of agreement, I rouse myself, determined not to doze off in my current attire. As I prepare to remove the dress, I encounter the obstacle of an unreachable zipper at the back.
But before I can ask, Nikolai if behind me, finding the top of the zip, brushing my back with his warm hands. A smile quickly faces across my face. And as he undies the zip, it's not sexual, nothing like that. Intimate, yes, but not in that way. In a way of connection.
I turn to face him, meeting his gaze that's filled with an unmistakable admiration. For a brief span of seconds, my eyes trace the features that define him – the freckles that scatter across his skin, the depth of his green eyes, and the constellation of small scars that tell their own stories, all illuminated by the soft moonlight.
He looks back at me with the same admiration.
And I can't help but lean in. He follows in tow. Our lips meet, a soft and gentle gesture. No aggression, no need for more, just a kiss. The connection between us is palpable, unspoken yet understood.
And god, I forgot how much I missed this, how much I missed us.
As we break the kiss, I find myself blushing and looking away, a bashful reaction reminiscent of a schoolgirl who's just received a long-awaited kiss from her crush.
His laughter rings out, a warm and comforting sound that fills the room as he walks off to change. I also slip out of the dress, leaving me in just my undergarments.
After we're both changed, we slip beneath the covers, finding solace in each other's embrace. The warmth of his body against mine feels reassuring and comforting.
In the quiet of the night, his voice reaches my ear in a soft whisper, heavy with remorse. "You know I still feel like shit for what I did to you." Swiftly, I respond by placing my finger gently over his lips, a gesture to halt those words from lingering. It's an unspoken agreement to move beyond that painful chapter.
Understanding my intention, he closes his eyes, and I do the same.
As I lay there, I can't help but find it strange we hadn't talked about the coronation. About us being the King and Queen of Athline. He didn't should me for being late, and he didn't mention it at all. I'm glad we didn't talk about it nevertheless, I think just for tonight, I want to just be a wife and her husband. Sharing their bed, in their own room, combing one another. Not a king and queen, not anything but lovers. And not anything more.
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thanks for reading :)
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Tied to the Throne
Romance"This marriage is nothing but an alliance to me. Don't expect anything else, because you won't get it. I will never love you." "It felt as if my parents had tied me to the throne. Tied me to him." - A princess and a prince, forced into a marriage th...
