BURN

under ice

Tedros wakes up before Agatha.

For a minute, he stares up at the richly decorated ceiling. A painted cherub stares back at him. There's a new weight on his left hand, even though he usually takes his jewellery and rings off before he goes to bed...

Rings. It's his wedding ring.

He rolls over.

Even in her sleep, Agatha covers her face. Her forearm is slung across her eyes, obscuring most of her features, and he suspects she deliberately lets her fringe grow too long. She doesn't look particularly relaxed-- a tiny frown plays around her mouth, and her forehead is creased. Whether it's in thought, worry, tension, or a combination, Tedros isn't sure. The scar by her mouth tends to make her look more displeased than she actually is, he thinks.

But it's better than not being able to tell what she's thinking at all, though.

He slowly sits up, trying his best not to disturb her, and freezes when she shifts--

But all she does is roll onto her side, her arm falling onto the mattress between them. Tedros stays stock-still.

He has to admit, less than 24 hours ago, he'd had some very optimistic fantasies about this morning. He'd been entertaining various mildly embarrassing romantic notions as he'd gotten ready for the wedding. Dramatic confessions of love and passionate embraces, that sort of thing.

(Embarrassing, yes, but he can't help himself.)

But the second he'd lifted that veil and seen her white face staring back at him, he'd crushed them all.

Agatha could barely stand to make eye contact with him. Tedros had never seen anyone look so terrified before, let alone a bride. For a second, he'd been truly concerned she was going to collapse, or make a run for it, so the way she'd clawed back her composure and kept it, even if it had wobbled a few times, was impressive. He'd have just cried on the spot, he thinks.

He hadn't realised everything right away. All Tedros had thought at the time was that a) she had pretty eyes and he definitely loved her and b) she looked terrified and c) he needed to kiss her and he really didn't think she was going to be impressed.

He'd tried to be less enthusiastic than he felt, so she wouldn't be uncomfortable. Still, he didn't think she'd been mad-- she'd grabbed his doublet and he'd pretended like he couldn't feel her shaking. He'd tried to look as reassuring as possible.

Then he'd looked at the crowd.

Everyone was looking at Agatha. Everyone except Callis, that was, who was looking at him. More glaring, really. Why was she looking at--

It had hit him hard.

The cradle in flames.

"They said I was really lucky to not have been cut by any of the collapsed cradle."

"Yeah. You were really lucky."

His eyes had swung to Vanessa, sat primly in the front row, hands folded in the lap of her repulsive blue gown, eyes fixed firmly on her daughter.

And if the temperature in the cathedral had dropped, no one had really noticed.

Tedros sits and stares at Agatha for a minute longer. After so long of not being able to see her face, being able to just stare at her like this feels like he's doing something wrong. He still feels as if he's not allowed. He knows he is, but at the same time... he's still not completely convinced Agatha wouldn't still prefer to be going around with the veil on.
But it's hard not to look.