Wickedly Yours

Part 96

As the brisk morning air greeted you, the castle's ancient stones seemed to whisper secrets of their own. You wrapped your arms around yourself, pulling the zip of your jacket a bit tighter as you stepped out into the cool dawn. 

The routine of your morning runs had become a cornerstone of your daily life, a ritual that grounded you in ways you hadn't expected when you first begrudgingly laced up those running shoes beside Lucius months ago.

Christmas had been a blur of warmth and intimacy, spent wrapped in Lucius's embrace or wandering the sparkling streets of New York, the city dressed in its festive best. It felt like a dream, a perfect bubble where the complexities of your usual world were muted, softened by the glow of holiday lights and the privacy of shared whispers.

Now, with March unfolding its chilly petals, Scotland was shaking off the last vestiges of winter, and you found yourself cherishing these morning runs more than ever. They were moments of clarity, of purpose. Each step was a reaffirmation of your control over your life, your body responding to your demands with strength and resilience. It was a daily victory, a small conquest against the inertia of easier choices.

Today, however, as you exited the castle, a flicker of something else intruded upon your peaceful routine. Severus Snape, usually the epitome of solitude, was standing with Miss Pembroke, a younger professor known for her vivacious spirit and keen intellect. They were deep in conversation, their heads bent together in a way that spoke of shared confidences. As you approached, the air shifted, their conversation pausing, and you felt their eyes on you, weighing your reaction.

Miss Pembroke, ever graceful, offered you a warm smile, her voice light. "Good morning, Beatrix. Lovely day for a run, isn't it?"

You returned her smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes, a ripple of unease disturbing the calm waters of your morning. "It is," you agreed, nodding. "Enjoy your day," you added, before turning to jog down the path that skirted the lake, the ground still firm with the night's chill.

As you ran, the rhythm of your feet slapping against the path couldn't drown out the whirl of thoughts. Was this encounter staged? Severus's involvement in your life had always been complex, layered with a blend of professional concern and personal connection that was often hard to untangle. His presence in your life had diminished somewhat since things with Lucius had deepened, but the sight of him with Miss Pembroke stirred a familiar pang—jealousy, perhaps, or the remnants of a connection that refused to quietly dissolve.

Had he wanted you to see him this morning? Was this a silent signal, a reminder that he was still very much a part of your world, even as you carved out new routines and relationships? Or perhaps it was simpler than that—maybe it was just two colleagues sharing a moment of conversation, with no hidden agendas, no messages in the stillness of the early morning.

Pushing the pace, you let the cold air fill your lungs, focusing on the burn in your legs, the steady beat of your heart. You would deal with Severus, with whatever might be unfolding there, when you had to.

For now, you had your run, your clear mind, and a day full of potential waiting for you. And somewhere, a city that never truly slept, where a man who called you his princess was likely thinking of you at this very moment, wondering how your morning was unfolding across the ocean.

You made your way back to the castle, the early morning run leaving a satisfying ache in your muscles and a sheen of sweat across your skin. Just as you reached the entrance, you spotted Severus waiting, arms crossed and a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"Congratulations, Beatrix," he said, his voice carrying that familiar low, steady authority.

You blinked, pausing mid-step. "For what?"