The Quest - *Phantom of the Opera* (a fantasy romance)

Chapter XXVII

A/N: I give you the last chapter - and, as picture above shows, this chapter is the main reason the story is rated M. Lyrics are mine, and E/C manip (above) is one I made for this story chapter.

Forever Yours

XXVII

Swept away by the enthralling excitement of Erik, Christine had forgotten all else but him in their erotic dance and impassioned kiss. Now, alone in what would become their tent, with two of the older gypsy girls and the Drabarni attending her, Christine shivered from his absence and the chill of the air upon her skin. She tried to concentrate instead on the warm parting promise Erik whispered into her mind, of the memory of his skilled hands branding her flesh and his heated mouth claiming hers.

The gypsies had removed the beautiful wedding dress Erik purchased for her, she assumed by trading rubies from his dagger. The Drabarni brushed aside all of Christine's faint objections, ordering the girls to continue in their assistance, and against their strong hands Christine could do little but endure their actions. Unaccustomed to being waited on in such a manner, she shivered as they stripped her down to nothing and sponged her skin with water combined with aromatic oils, then perfumed her hair.

She blushed anew when the Drabarni surveyed her as if inspecting a horse. "Such a tiny thing, you are! Barely enough of you for your King to hold on to." When Christine lowered her gaze to the ground in sudden concern, the Drabarni added, "Pah! Do not listen to this old woman, child. He had a good hold on you in the dance, si?" She cackled a laugh. "I think you will please him well."

The burn of embarrassment had not left Christine's face or body throughout the entire time they dressed her and combed out her hair.

Now alone, Christine swallowed over the sudden thickness in her throat and touched the fragile lace edging the low-cut gown. The sheer silk, no more than a whisper of moonlight, revealed the shadowy outline of her form. A tiny embroidered red rose rested at the point of her cleavage. She recalled with a tremulous smile the single roses he'd sent to announce a secret rendezvous between them. During their journey, even before that, she experienced no hesitation to show her desire for him, and only moments ago, her dance had been provocative before she'd thrown herself into his strong arms, forgetting all else existed but them. Now, a strange sort of anxious exhilaration made her palms damp and her shallow breaths as tattered as her nerves.

On the eve of a wedding, a mother often advised a daughter. Yet Christine had no mother to tell her of what to anticipate. Only her imagination fueled her ideas, fed by her Angel when they lived at the opera house, and the few passionate moments they shared on their journey. While those experiences taught her more than she'd known before leaving Paris, she still knew next to nothing, and she certainly never asked the Drabarni, uncertain of what gauche replies the brash woman might give.

In the glow of five candles, Christine stared at the hanging silk tapestries of ruby and emerald that encircled the marriage bed of pillows, then lowered her gaze. Numerous petals of crimson lay scattered across their satin contours. The warm air stirred, heady with the scent of similar roses upon her skin.

How long had she yearned for this moment, dreamt of it? She loved Erik desperately, but alone and faced with the vagueness of what this night would hold, an unwelcome thread of unease twined around her heart. She felt every inch the virginal girl and little like a mature woman. Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply, searching for calm.

In the distance, the musicians began a sweet, haunting melody that wafted around her. She tried to let herself float with the music as she'd always done with her Angel's majestic compositions and superlative voice, to become one with the sweet notes, but her body felt as tight and ready to snap as an over-wound string on a violin. At the sound of a footfall she turned suddenly and watched as the tent flap parted. Erik stooped low to enter, then straightened, letting the crimson and emerald striped canvas fall shut behind him.