Callidus stood outside the imposing metal door to Cressida's (and his) bed chamber, a tray bearing her dinner hovering by his side.
It was already six o'clock.
His attempts to find the missing captives had yielded nothing, and his temper hung by a thread. Nevertheless, his primary concern remained caring for Cressida, and a small glimmer of hope whispered that her anger might have mellowed into a lesser irritation.
He desperately needed to calm himself, needed to hold her, needed to bury his face in her neck, and silence the frantic pounding of his heart. (He knew he could get away with holding her when she was annoyed, but never when she was livid.)
As he entered, Callidus found Cressida standing at the window staring out at the early evening sky. She didn't turn to acknowledge him as he entered, though her tense shoulders revealed her awareness of him.
His eyes trailed to the small table, revealing the untouched lunch he had dropped off earlier in the day.
He felt a prick of displeasure.
Were they back to that?
Desperate to break the suffocating quiet, Callidus cleared his throat and softly spoke, "...my love, I brought you dinner."
Without a word, Cressida pushed past Callidus in the doorway, making her way towards the stairwell. She was clearly in no mood for pleasantries.
Unsurprised, Callidus guided the tray to the table, before immediately trailing after her. He knew where she was headed - the lavatory on the first landing. It was a practical necessity they both preferred not to openly discuss. Callidus had provided a chamber pot for her convenience, but Cressida adamantly refused to use it, turning it into a source of contention between them.
On days when he knew he wouldn't be able to visit her frequently, he would leave the metal door ajar to grant her a measure of independence. However, the current state of affairs left him unwilling to offer her unrestricted access to the stairwell.
As Cressida made her way down the stairs Callidus followed in her wake, a silent solemn shadow. With each step, the silence was only broken by the soft echoes of Cressida's slippers and the weightier thud of Callidus's boots on the stone steps.
As they passed the locked door to Callidus's makeshift greenhouse on the third landing, he felt the desire to offer to carry Cressida down, as he usually did. She often complained about the vast number of stairs to the lavatory, but the memory of her harsh slap on his hand from the previous night held his tongue.
Instead, Callidus stayed silent and maintained a respectful distance, his gaze trained on her back. Her resplendent, blazing hair cascaded down to her waist. The color that usually reminded him of a vibrant bed of marigolds, resembled a raging river of fire.
Queen Conitine's ring of fire involuntarily flashed into Callidus's mind, a vision he swiftly banished. The possibility of another monarch with abilities as powerful as his own was unsettling, but he was too preoccupied with the current crisis to delve into the implications.
As they approached the second landing and the now empty sitting room, Callidus couldn't shake a growing sense of unease. His concern deepened when he saw Cressida's back stiffen, and a knot of worry tightened in his chest. He feared that Cressida might have noticed Quail and Cilla's absence, or the visible damage to the door from his uncontrolled magic that morning.
But before he could voice his concern, an unfamiliar male voice pierced the air.
"Lady Petunia?"
Sensing Cressida's immediate discomfort, Callidus closed the distance between them and positioned himself protectively behind her, looming over her as he made eye contact with Mint's chosen scapegoat, Sir Tavian.
YOU ARE READING
Book Two: The Larkspur's Longing ~ A tale of deep obsession and devotion
Romance(Sequel to The Marigold's Larkspur) Crown Prince Callidus finds himself on the cusp of achieving his dreams. With Princess Cressida by his side, the woman he has long yearned for, their future seems promising. However, a formidable obstacle threaten...
