REVISED The Marigold's Larkspur

Chapter Seven: Who lies in the dark

Cressida never had a reason to fear the dark.

Darkness had always been a friend. It meant the sleepy warmth of bedtime or watching fireflies dance across the sky. It meant Springtide parties lasting until dawn or whispering secrets with Cilla long after they should've been asleep. The dark was familiar. Comforting.

But now, trapped in a pitch-black corridor, surrounded by armed guards who held her responsible for poisoning their king and murdering their Crown Prince, she found reason to be afraid.

Seconds ago, Quail and the guards had been arguing, their voices sharp and heated. But now, the silence was so sudden, so complete, it felt as if the darkness itself had swallowed not just their words but the entire world.

She choked back a scream as she fought the rising tide of panic. Her eyes strained uselessly against the black, unable to see anything, not even her own hand gripping Callidus's arm, just inches away. Every instinct drove her closer to him, seeking safety, seeking warmth. Her fingers brushed against the silk of his shirt as she pressed herself against him, his pleasant scent mingling with the bitter odor of extinguished lamps.

Callidus went rigid, his body shuddering to a stop.

For a brief second, she feared he might push her away. That the kindness he'd shown her in the prison had been an act, or worse a delusion of her own desperation. But almost immediately, his arms closed around her, the movement clumsy, as though he were unfamiliar with the simple act of holding someone.

As his hands settled on her upper back, she felt his heartbeat hammering beneath her own palms. He inhaled deeply, as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, he buried his face in her hair, another shudder running through his frame. The sound that escaped him then, fanning hot against her scalp, wasn't speech at all.

It was a whimper.

The noise was so unexpected, so raw and out of character, that for a moment, Cressida wasn't sure it had come from him. It slipped from the back of his throat like an open wound, exposed and aching in the darkness.

It was unsettling.

And yet, it was oddly comforting to realize she wasn't the only one who was afraid.

Without thinking, she reached up toward him, unsure whether she was trying to comfort him or reassure herself she wasn't alone. Her fingers grazed his skin, and only when she felt the movement of his Adam's apple pressing hard against her fingertips, did she understand what she was touching. Her breath hitched; the contact was far more intimate than she had intended.

In that instant, the fear she felt seemed to mingle with something else - an unspoken thrill that was as bewildering as it was electrifying.

Suddenly, Quail's voice pierced the silence. "Princess! Are you alright?"

Cressida flinched, dropping her hand from Callidus's neck, her heart racing. "Yes," she managed to whisper, instinctively keeping her voice low. Slowly, she became aware of the world around them; the nervous shuffling of feet, hushed muttering, and then a scuffle to her right, followed by a sharp curse.

"Watch where you're stepping, damn it!" someone growled.

"Ah, sorry, but I actually can't-" Quail's apology was silenced by another guard snapping, "This is your fault, isn't it, old man? Weren't you threatening to burn down the palace?"

Quail snorted, "Then extinguishing the lamps would be a very stupid way to start, wouldn't it?"

His familiar sarcasm gave Cressida a sliver of courage. She lifted her head from Callidus's chest, trying to orient herself in the darkness. She reached out blindly, searching for Quail, but a sudden eerie whistling sound made her recoil back into Callidus.