Let The Games Begin

Chapter 3: Part 2

I knocked on the door long enough to develop a cramp in my upper arm.

The stars in the night sky were the only witnesses to my shame as I kept banging on a door that likely wasn't going to open anytime soon because the person behind it hated the sight of me.

Finally, I heard the door being unlatched, and it blessedly swung open.

"Helena?" Alistair was rubbing his eyes, a yawn escaping his mouth. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?" I was shivering, my hair whipping about in the cold air, my cheeks cold to the touch.

Alistair visibly hesitated, and for one devastating second, I was sure that he wouldn't let me into his home, that he was done with me for good. I didn't deserve to have him as well, but damn it, I did.

He didn't say a word; simply stepped aside to allow me in and closed the door behind me.

I rubbed my hands together, looking around me. Alistair's home was a tiny one-bedroomed cottage about fifteen minutes from my house. The place was lived-in, rustic and so familiar that it hurt my chest to look at the worn couch that we'd made love on so many times before.

His armchair was pushed in front of the fireplace, a blanket on the floor from when he must have abruptly gotten up to get the door.

"What are you doing here, Helena?" he repeated, his voice rough.

His hair was standing up at odd ends, his stare half-lidded. The flannel shirt he was wearing was rolled up to his elbows, and his faded jeans were unbuttoned. I couldn't stop looking at him.

"I wanted to see you."

"After you've seen the king?" The bitterness in his voice was like salt in an open wound. "How was today's party, anyway?"

"Don't be like that, Alistair," I said in a small voice.

We were only standing a foot apart, yet it felt like we had the whole of Europe between us.

"Don't be like what? Confused? Angry? Heartbroken?" His voice broke on the last word, utterly destroying me, and when I closed the space between us, I breathed a sigh of relief when he allowed me to touch him.

I cupped his cheeks with my hands, the heat of his skin transferring to mine. "My love for you is as strong as it was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, and−"

"Helly," he said on an exhale, "stop."

"I can't stop," I said to him, and it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to do this to him, to do this to myself, when I could offer him absolutely nothing.

Alistair let out a soft groan, mirroring me by putting his hands to my face, and then lowering his mouth to mine. He captured my lips in a kiss that started off slow and gentle, like the lapping waves of the sea, and then built up in momentum to a ferocious fire that consumed the both of us.

I was pressed against one wall, caged in by his body and heat, our tongues twisting together. The inferno was raging, raging between us, and I couldn't remember the last time I had felt this alive. Everything around us was dead, and we were the only things that lived and breathed and loved. It was a physical pain in my heart when he pulled away from me, gasping for air the same way that I was.

"I was trying to convince myself to forget you, Helly," he murmured in a sad voice. "You've broken my heart and I don't know how to fix it again."

I felt tears prickling my eyes. "I have to do this, Alistair. For my mother's sake. Only for her sake. I don't love Simon. I can't. Not when I still love you."

Alistair's face twisted into a scowl. "Simon, is it? Not King Simon? Just Simon?" He turned away from me, and it wasn't just physically.

"My mother... I need to take care of her. She's all I have left."

Alistair let out a bitter laugh, fixing his angry stare on me. "Your mother is a selfish woman who should really look into getting a job and making an honest living like the rest of us, instead of whoring her only child out to get ahead in life."

I surprised myself by quickly recovering from the shock of his words. "Alistair−"

"No, Helly," he said in a low voice, staring me down. "You're sacrificing your own happiness for hers. She can't imagine a life with no money to do her nails, so she's using you. Can't you see that? You're nothing but a means to an end."

"That's not fair to say. I have to take care of her. She's my mother. I'm all she has left, Alistair. If I become Queen−"

"I can't listen to you justifying this nonsense."

He was walking away after making me feel lower than the bottoms of the boots he wore.

"Simon doesn't love me," I blurted out, my heart racing. "He's in love with someone else. Honestly, I can't compete, and I don't even want to."

Alistair paused. He turned around. "You don't care?"

I smiled at him. "I don't care, Alistair," I answered truthfully. It was the truth. I didn't care that King Simon loved someone else, because I did, too.

"But you'll still marry him," said Alistair in a monotonous voice.

I nodded because I didn't trust myself to speak. I nodded because I felt it would hurt less.

It didn't.

"You're the only man who's ever made me feel like this," I said instead. "Completely and utterly crazy."

Alistair didn't say a word, advancing towards me with eyes full of intent. I couldn't look away even if I wanted to.

"Does Simon make you feel like this when he touches you?" he said softly, his fingers tracing my jawline before trailing down my throat.

I swallowed quickly, my eyes closing. "No."

"Does he make you feel like this when he kisses you?" Alistair's lips touched my collarbone, just above the neckline of my blouse.

I shivered from the sensation, my fingers threading his thick hair. My heart was thrumming erratically, as if it wanted to escape and splatter against Alistair, declaring him to be the man I loved unequivocally.

"Does he, Helly?" Alistair wanted to know, his mouth on my neck, kissing my beating artery.

"No," I whispered.

"Does he make you feel like this when he says your name, when he groans it, like it hurts to say it?" He groaned my name right then−Helena−and I could feel his pain as if it were the third person in the room.

"No, Alistair." My voice was breathless. "I want you."

He raised his head, a storm darkening his eyes. "I need you."

"Take me," I murmured, and in the blink of an eye, we were a frenzy of hands.

Hands unbuttoning jeans.

Hands removing tops.

Hands exploring skin.