The first light of dawn filtered through the stormy clouds, casting a muted glow over the garden. The relentless rain had eased into a gentle drizzle, leaving behind a world refreshed and cleansed. The air was crisp, carrying the earthy scent of saturated soil and the sweetness of rain-soaked blossoms.
Callidus stirred, awakening to the chill that permeated his damp clothes. The rough texture of the wet grass pricked against his skin and a poofy red flower swayed directly above him, occasionally brushing against the tip of his nose. His entire neck ached fiercely, and something hard dug into his upper back.
However, any discomfort faded into insignificance as Callidus became acutely aware of Cressida's body pressed against him. Curled into a ball on top of him, her hair splayed on his chest like a damp halo, she had served as his blanket throughout the night, while he had been her bed.
Shivering, not just from the cold but from the surreal intimacy of the moment, Callidus relived the night's events in his mind as if piecing together fragments of a dream. Cressida's interrogation, their journey to the prison, the letters, Jasper, their walk through the garden, his painful realization, and his subsequent loss of control.
A sudden burst of fear gripped him, and he experimentally sent a sharp breeze upwards, stirring the branches of the bottlebrush tree. Water and red fluffy petals cascaded down, prompting a displeased whimper from Cressida, who curled into him, seeking refuge from the droplets. Relief turned to remorse, and he carefully heated the air around them, creating a small pocket of comfort amidst the damp morning. As warmth enveloped her, Cressida emitted a pleasant sigh, and her forehead smoothed.
Mindful of both Cressida and his aching body, Callidus slowly sat upright, cradling Cressida in his lap. He banished the sopped puddle they had been lying in, and the world exhaled a mist in response. Sweeping warmth into their clothing, he found comfort in directing away the rising trails of steam. Gradually, Cressida's dress regained its original color, the sapphire hue lightening into a delicate powder blue.
After they were both dry and warm, Callidus's gaze swept over the untamed landscape that had long been his carefully manicured sanctuary. For the first time, Callidus discovered a peculiar beauty in its unrestrained growth. Wild Wood sorrel grew in the grass beneath them, each leaf forming the shape of a heart. Butterfly needles grew in scratchy bundles all around them, the center of each as bright as the sun.
Time lost its grip as Callidus sat against the bottlebrush tree; Cressida asleep in his lap.
Each moment felt precious.
Like a beautiful, fleeting dream.
Cressida stirred again, her eyelashes fluttering as she slowly woke.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the dream continued.
"Good morning," Callidus said softly.
"...morning," she replied, her voice equally gentle.
There was a pause as they both seemed to navigate the unspoken aftermath of the night prior.
After a beat, they both spoke, their words overlapping.
"Callidus, how are-"
"Are you alrig-"
They both stopped, waiting for the other to continue.
After neither of them spoke, Cressida's lips curled in an awkward smile. "Me first," she suggested. "How are you?"
Callidus took a moment before responding, his voice carrying a mixture of emotions. "I... I don't know how to answer that. I never expected... last night to happen like that. I lost control, and I...apologize for scaring you."
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...
