A Tale of Crowns and Stars

Dukes & Duchesses

      Day after day, new royals arrived at the Southern Court, and they slowly but surely filled up the remaining guest rooms with ease.

      Part of Cyra wanted to stay in her room until Yuletide officially began, but Halewijn made it a point to get her out of her room at least twice a day. He disguised his true intentions with innocent activities, like reading in the hedge maze or watching the sunset. But everyone, including Cyra, knew that he was parading her about. Hal wanted to show her off, and for a moment, she was glad for the attention and enjoyed spending time with him. But after a few days, Cyra began to feel like the other courts looked upon her as an accessory and not a Princess, which was irritating.

      On the fourth day of their stay, Cyra found that she couldn't get out of bed. No matter how much coaxing Mirabel did or how many times she made a note of the sun's rising, Cyra couldn't move a single limb to get up. All she could do was stare out of the windows, looking upon the glassy moat with little interest. Instead of leaving her alone, Mirabel went to find Halewijn, who cradled a book in his hand as he entered Cyra's room. Mirabel did not return with him; she noticed as she peeked out from beneath the covers and watched him cross over to the bed.

      He wore a dark grey tunic and pant set, the long sleeves of the tunic brushing against his wrists. The silver laurel crown he wore sat neatly upon his head, and she squinted as the sun glinted off of it when he crouched before her.

      "You look pale." He mentioned, reaching up to stroke her face tenderly. Cyra blinked at his observation, not bothering to answer. "Do you feel unwell?" She shook her head, no. The truth was that she didn't want to leave her room anymore, not for anyone or anything. Not even Halewijn. "I've been flaunting you around too much, haven't I?" When she met his eyes, she saw the worry in them, so she shook her head yes. "That's my fault. I let my pride get the better of me sometimes..." He sighed, looking down at the book. "I won't bother you if you wish to rest. Mirabel came to me and told me you wouldn't leave the bed, and so I thought -" Cyra knew what he thought. He thought she might be having another breakdown about Gunnar. "But if you wish to be left alone, I'll go." He stood, but before she knew what she was doing, her hand shot out and touched his.

      "Stay." She whispered hoarsely, and he obliged, pulling a chair from the fireplace up to the bed.

      "Shall I read you something? Or would you like to rest?"

      "Read to me," Cyra replied, and he opened the book, reading some story about a king who angered the gods and was punished harshly for it. The deep bass of his voice lulled her to sleep again, and she closed her eyes.

~~~~

      When she awoke, Halewijn was still in the chair with his bare feet propped up on the side of the bed. The book lay in his lap, yet open with his hand pressed against the page, but the High Prince was asleep. His other hand propped up his head, and his mouth was slightly agape, soft snores emanating from his throat. Cyra observed the sleeping man for the first time and noted his expression; his entire body relaxed on the velvet chair. Impulsively, she reached out to him and tapped him on the leg. His eyes flicked open, and he looked over at her, bleary-eyed.

      Cyra patted the bed twice, and he hesitated. The moment quickly passed, though, and he climbed into the bed beside her, allowing her to cover him with the heavy comforter fully. Hal reached an arm around her shoulders, letting Cyra rest her head and left arm on his chest. He sighed heavily, then placed his right hand on her left after closing his eyes.

      "You're warm." She breathed, and he chuckled softly.

      "I'm covered in things to keep me warm. You, however, are only in a linen nightgown." Cyra blushed as he ran his hand over her waist and hummed in approval. The proximity between them added to the feeling of heat elsewhere, and she adjusted herself slightly to alleviate the pressure between her thighs. "Don't," Halewijn warned, his eyes still closed.