Dragon Quest VIII (Eight/Medea)
Jul. 31st, 2007 09:38 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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kinkfestTitle: Stars Unbound
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ro_anshi
Rating: G (really!)
Warnings: None
Word count: ~3450
Summary: July 24, Prompt 7. Dragon Quest VIII, Eight/Medea: First kiss - awkward and clumsy under the stars.
A/N: Better late than... never mind. Eight and Medea insisted that the story be told the way THEY wanted it to be, not the way I wanted it to be, so blame it on them.
He had not seen her for months—six months, to be exact—and he did not know why this reunion should be making him so nervous, but it did. She was his first and best friend; even though he was common as well as an orphan, and she was proudly royal, that had never stood between them before.
But, truth, she was a princess who had just entered her teens, thus her betrothal to Argonia's prince had been announced; and he had just completed his guard training and now formally served the king—her father—protecting kingdom and castle and all who inhabited it. The new uniform he wore, the blade he carried, now served to remind him that it was merely his fantasy that they had ever been equals, and the wall dividing them now was insurmountable indeed.
Still, even though he had marched back into the kingdom with his regiment only two hours before and thought he wanted nothing more than to rest from the long trek, once he heard that the princess required an escort outside the walls of Trodain castle this evening, he virtually jumped at the chance. His Captain fixed him a stern look throughout his petition to take the place of the guard originally assigned to serve the princess, but the discretion he had learned during his basic training helped him maintain a professional, mildly detached attitude with his request. It was only when the Captain, after granting permission with a curt nod of his head, cracked the faintest smile and advised, “Better make sure you get a bath first,” did he sheepishly realize how transparent his request must seem.
* * *
"Eight!" The moment she saw who had entered her salon, Princess Medea rose from her seat on the piano bench and quickly toed her way—almost floating, her tread was so light—across the carpet. "You're back!—when did you get back?"
For a heartbeat he stared at her, before bowing deeply; and he hoped she didn’t notice the surreptitious swipe of his damp palms over his trouser-legs as he straightened. He was a guard—a soldier—of Trodain now, and something told him it would not be appropriate to confess how he’d raced to see her upon his return. So he replied with a calmness he did not feel in his heart, “Earlier today, Princess.”
The look on her face was so tender, her eyes so sparkling and green. “You’re grown so tall, and you’re so tan!”
When her hand settled lightly on his shoulder, try as he might, he could no longer keep his expression neutral, and instead a grin lit his face. “Well, we did spend a lot of time outdoors. And,” he reached up to adjust his regulation headgear, “I think it’s just the helmet that makes me look taller.”
“Oh, no, no,” she insisted, and she circled around and pressed close to him, back to back. “We matched shoulder-to-shoulder when you left.” She turned, one arm sliding around his waist, like old friends, like old times. “And now, we’re not.” She squeezed tighter, and murmured, “I’m so glad to see you.”
It pained him to step away from her friendly embrace, but gently he eased aside, mustering the dignity to stand straight and tall. “It’s… it’s good to see you too, Princess. And however I can help you tonight—”
“Don’t call me that,” she interrupted, her expression darkening. “’Princess. It’s always been ‘Medea’, and ‘Eight’. It shouldn’t be different now—”
“But it is. And my commanding officer was very clear about royal address—”
“For all the guards who didn’t grow up in the castle,” she insisted, those green eyes flashing. “Rules like that don’t apply to you. I’ll make sure the Captain knows that you can call me—”
“Med—Princess Medea, please don’t talk to him about that. I don’t want to be singled out for special treatment. The other guards give me enough trouble as it is, because of my background.”
“Ah.” He saw her stance change, subtly, showing that now she understood and had accepted his words. “So,” she asked softly, turning away from him to ring the small silver bell on a nearby table, “am I not to call you by your name? Just address you as ‘guard’ as Father tends to do to his protectors, whoever they might be?”
“Princess,” he promised, his voice low, “you can always call me whatever you want.”
Her maid came from the bedroom, cloak and sturdy boots in hand. Princess Medea wasted no time in slipping off the satin flats she had been wearing in her salon and replacing them with heavier leather fit for outdoors, then let the cloak be draped over her shoulders. She caught up a bag that he could tell contained a scroll—and no doubt more—then gestured at a much larger bundle resting beside the piano. “If you would carry that….”
“Of course.” Eight hefted the long, wrapped tube, wondering if it were some kind of weapon; he had his sword, of course, but wherever they were going, did the destination require additional ammunition of such size? “What is this?”
She was smiling at him again, amusement in her face. “My telescope, of course. My tutor has me studying the stars.” And then, looking up at him through a curtain of dark lashes, she added almost coyly, “And tonight’s a very good night for it.”
* * *
The moon above Trodain Castle was a mere sliver high in the sky, granting a deep and perfect darkness to the night. Princess Medea pointed out the path to him, west of the castle walls and to the top of the highest hill, where the center of a copse had been cleared of trees.
Even though he had applied more than enough holy water to provide several hours’ worth of protection from the monsters endemic to Trodain, he kept himself readied against any attack, sword balanced in one hand while the other supported the telescope propped on his shoulder. The princess seemed amused by his diligence, her voice almost teasing. “Eight, you’ve become too cautious. Remember how we used to sneak outside and go monster hunting with nothing more than cypress sticks and our imaginations?”
He did, and laughed softly in return, stealing a glance at her by starlight. “That was years ago. We were… Well, we didn’t take any threats seriously then. Even Candy Cats can kill you, you know.”
“So can the wrong kind of change,” she countered instantly, low-voiced, but then ran ahead of him, cloak flying in the darkness like the rise of wings. “We really are the same people we were six months ago, Eight,” she went on, when he’d closed the gap between them. His heart was pumping, and not from the exertion of hill-climbing and racing to reach her.
“I don’t know,” he managed, swinging into a deceptively-easy gait beside her. The trees ahead were a dark silhouette around the clearing that had been prepared, no doubt, by other castle help, for her gazing. “So much is different now.”
“But so much remains the same. Here.” She pointed to a flat platform—marble; a princess should have nothing less upon which to place her telescope—and he set his bundle down. “This is the best—and the safest,” she stressed—“spot to study this close to the castle.” She bent to unwrap her telescope; Eight stepped around her and took over the labor for her. She rolled her eyes but allowed him to fumble with the spindly stand, then try to secure the telescope in place. “My tutor says I’ll need to go further afield if I wish more advanced studies, but this will do for now.”
Eight peered down one end of the telescope, realized it was the wrong one, and reversed it before setting it atop the stand and tightening the screws. “Why didn’t he come out here with you tonight?”
“Because he’s blind.”
“Oh.” He felt his face warm with consternation at his faux pas, and more diligently applied himself to his task.
“Well, only mostly blind,” Princess Medea went on, blessedly unaware of his embarrassment. “He can’t see at all in the dark, and by day only with bright light and very thick glasses. But the charts he made years ago are beautiful.” From her bag she pulled out an enchanted candle, kindling it with a wave of her hand, and left it to float in mid-air. Then followed the scroll he’d noticed. With a tug at the ribbon, she unfurled it, and before him by the soft glow of magic light, he gazed at an embellishment of the sky mirrored above.
He pulled in a sharp breath at its beauty. The painted parchment seemed almost alive with its glimmering spots of light, its array of fanciful constellations carefully crafted by a talented pen and softened with a wash of watercolor. Across its surface, creatures danced and figures pirouetted in their heavenly ballet, each more stunning than the last.
But the Princess… Medea… his first and best friend… was lovelier by far than anything on that parchment, brighter than any star; and, transfixed, he almost spoke his thoughts out loud.
But she was suddenly oblivious to him, already applying herself to her studies, talking now as if to herself. “Studying the stars is best when there’s not much of a moon, like tonight.” By the light of the hovering candle she pulled out a little notebook, and a pencil. “I have so much to do….”
He cleared his throat and managed to offer. “Can I help?”
She smiled, just the slightest as she repositioned the chart, glancing from it to the heavens and back again, and finally nodding. “Not really. Just… ” and the smile blossomed, “keep your sharp eye out for me, Eight.”
“Always,” he managed, still caught nearly speechless by her beauty. “Always.”
* * *
“You really can relax, you know.” Princess Medea swung the telescope on its gimbal, down from the heavens, and pointed it directly into his face. He stared down the scope to see one huge green eye staring back at him. When it winked, he couldn’t hold back a laugh.
“All right.” He did then, returning his sword to its hilt; and instead of standing at attention, allowed himself to go even past at-ease. It felt good to relax like this in her presence, like the old days, before so many turns around the sun.
She pivoted her gaze back to the dark heavens. “I’ve brought a flask of cider, and some fruit and sweets if you’d like,” she murmured, engrossed on the view through her scope. “They’re in my bag.”
“I’m fine,” he replied, just as softly, entranced by the arch of her neck, the curve of her back, the fan of jet hair framing her face before it spilled over her shoulders.
She’d grown a bit too, he saw, while he’d been gone.
“Nonsense.” She withdrew from the eyepiece of the scope. “I’m thirsty and a little bit hungry, so you probably are too. Let’s take a break and….”
She settled in the grass by his feet, rooting through the bag to withdraw several small wrapped bundles and the promised flask. Again there was that upward glance, veiled by long lashes. “Please, Eight, sit. I won’t be comfortable unless you do.”
He looked around, as if expecting the Captain of the Guard to be spying on him for any violation of protocol, then realized how ridiculous that thought was and folded to the ground beside her, cross-legged. Like old times—like six months ago—the two of them sharing a private picnic, without a concern in the world. He took the tidbit she offered him, biting down on a juicy fig, and around it mumbled, “I don’t know much about the stars—well, anything other than using them and a compass to follow a course. What are you looking at?”
She spoke around a mouthful of what smelled like the ripest of strawberries. “My assignment is to locate the twin stars Regina and Rex, to describe their colors, to explain their orientation to each other, and, if we’ve time, to sketch the constellation they’re found in.”
“Oh.” He felt embarrassed again, this time by his ignorance; and this time, to his consternation, she noticed.
“Here, why don’t I show you?” She rose, catching his hand to encourage him up, and led him to the telescope. “Look through it. Do you see those two stars? Side by side? So close they look like they’re touching, even though they are probably half a galaxy away?”
He bent to gaze through the lens, blinked hard, focusing. “I think I do,” he answered dubiously.
She pressed close, as if to peer through it herself, suddenly very—too—near to him. He couldn’t help but swallow. “The scope should still be centered on them—”
“Yes. Yes.” His voice rose as the image resolved into sudden sharp focus. “I see them.”
”Two stars.” She eased him aside, so that she now took his place at the lens. “One is… green. And the other has a bit of crimson to it.”
“Stars have colors? I never knew that,” he admitted, fascinated. Now it was his turn to nudge her aside, to take another look.
In his ear she whispered, “You can’t tell what’s really there when you look at them with the naked eye, but through a telescope you’ll see there’s a lot more to the heavens than you’d think. Now, step back and see if you can see the big picture.”
She drew him away, pointing now to the sky, and he followed the line of her finger with his eyes. “They’re those two bright spots right there, see? And the stars around them make up the constellation I’m studying tonight.” She bent to pick up the chart, displaying it for him again; now her finger indicated one of the delicate traceries on the parchment. “Astra Basium. The ‘Kissing Stars’.” For some reason, she swallowed a giggle. “See?”
He stole a glance at the chart, at the careful delineation of a man and a woman, bent towards each other as if, indeed, suspended in a hesitant moment before their kiss. A look back at the sky, and he failed to see what was so clearly depicted on paper. Another back-and-forth glance, and yet a third, before he admitted, “No. I can’t.”
“Of course you can.” She lifted her hand again, index finger tracing an outline. He edged a little nearer to her, the better to see the invisible lines she scribed in the sky.
He was suddenly aware of how very close he was standing to her, how light her voice was, how wonderful she smelled.
He forced himself to focus on her gestures, her words. She was saying, “That’s the outline of the constellation. To the west is ‘Regina’, and,” she drew a sharp line dividing the sky, “to the east, ‘Rex’.
He squinted. Suddenly his arm was draped around her shoulder and his cheek was pressed to hers. Just to be able to see exactly what she was seeing, look exactly where she was looking, of course.
Another motion of her finger, tracing through the sky. “That arc of stars, that’s her hair, spilling down her back. Her coronet… there is her mouth. And that’s his head, and….” Her finger traced the final shape, not unlike what he wore upon his own head. “See?”
He swallowed, nodding. “His crown.”
“Or,” she whispered, eyes wide with wonderment, “his helmet.”
Her face turned to his at the moment he bent toward her, and his lips brushed soft and warm against hers, without a pretense of accident. She tasted like apple and berries, and more, and better.
She made a small sound—but not of surprise—and shifted, pressing closer, but as she moved, their noses bumped and they pulled away. He tried to duck back to her, but instead their heads knocked at the same time their lips awkwardly touched again. He quickly leaned in to deepen the kiss, convince her that he wanted this and that she should too, but when he pressed a little too hard her mouth shifted, and she ended up accidentally nipping his lip when she unintentionally closed her teeth on it.
“Oh!” She drew back, but she was giggling as she trailed the back of one hand quickly across her lips, as if testing… something, he didn’t know what. His own lip was smarting a bit, not that it mattered. But her hand kept moving, fluttering like a butterfly, to circle around to the back of his head. She worked fingers under the rim of his helmet, loosened it enough that a tilt of his head sent the headgear tumbling to the grass; and then her fingers tangled in his hair to pull him into her again.
“Medea,” he whispered against her mouth, and he didn’t care that he’d slipped and forgotten to call her “Princess.”
“Please,” was her only answer, more felt than heard.
With a little sigh, she closed her eyes, and that reminded him that perhaps he should close his as well; but he couldn’t stand not seeing what was going on, looking at her beloved face, and opened them again. But she’d opened hers too, and now they were staring nearly cross-eyed at each other, too close and blurrily out of focus.
It was his turn to laugh, as heat that matched hers rose into his face; not that his flush, though, would be as fetching as hers. “I’m sorry, I’m no good at this.”
“Maybe we just need to practice.” And then she shifted a bit, and he tilted his head to bring his mouth to hers again, and his arms slipped around her waist as her hands rose to his shoulders, her dainty fingers clenching, clutching.
Her body was warm enough for him to feel it through his uniform, and so soft and yielding; and her taste was so sweet and the scent of her perfume so rich. A bold flick of her tongue across his lips asked for more, and his mouth ceded to hers and deepened their kiss.
This time when he closed his eyes, they stayed closed, suspended in the best kind of forever with his princess.
A sound caught at the edge of his awareness—which, he knew, was very much farther away this moment than it should have been—and he yanked himself back, opening his eyes. He glimpsed motion following the sound, and realized—
“Medea, get back!”
The She-Slimes—a dozen at least, all bright and shimmering orange even by starlight, and goggling and grinning as slimes were wont to do—had half-encircled them while they had been… distracted. He shoved Medea behind him, so that he was between her and the danger, then drew his sword, took a deep breath, and lunged forward, shouting as he brandished his blade. He slashed at the first one, but before his blow could land, the lot bounced away, rolling and wobbling down the steep hillside and vanishing over the next rise. No bloodshed—nor slimeshed, as the Captain termed it—necessary, as he’d hoped, so that he might spare the princess the sight of such violence.
He sheathed his sword, abashed as he turned back to her, and breathed, “Princess, I’m sorry, I let down my guard, I failed you—”
But she wasn’t trembling, nor did she seem angry; instead, calm eyes met his for a moment before she bent to pick up something scarcely seen in the grass, some item one of the retreating monsters had dropped. Earrings, he noted, probably purloined in a successful attack.
She paused to fasten the blue stones at her ears before finally returning to him. “No.” Her mouth touched his again, softer than before, then withdrew. “My hero. You’re my hero, always, Eight, no matter what.” Her hand found his, squeezing it once, and then fell away. He reached out to touch one dangling earring, to send it swinging in a bright, hypnotic arc that sparked them both for a moment with tiny azure flecks.
She smiled, and turned aside, but not away.
The moment rippled past them, another change; but he knew undeniably that between them was a promise—no, a covenant—deep and strong enough that neither heritage nor position could erase, no matter their age, no matter what circumstance.
She inclined her head in silent invitation, and he followed her back to where the telescope still pointed to the heavens; and he turned his eyes to the sky as she murmured, just to him, “Let me show you the rest of the stars.”
~fin~
Author:
ro_anshiRating: G (really!)
Warnings: None
Word count: ~3450
Summary: July 24, Prompt 7. Dragon Quest VIII, Eight/Medea: First kiss - awkward and clumsy under the stars.
A/N: Better late than... never mind. Eight and Medea insisted that the story be told the way THEY wanted it to be, not the way I wanted it to be, so blame it on them.
He had not seen her for months—six months, to be exact—and he did not know why this reunion should be making him so nervous, but it did. She was his first and best friend; even though he was common as well as an orphan, and she was proudly royal, that had never stood between them before.
But, truth, she was a princess who had just entered her teens, thus her betrothal to Argonia's prince had been announced; and he had just completed his guard training and now formally served the king—her father—protecting kingdom and castle and all who inhabited it. The new uniform he wore, the blade he carried, now served to remind him that it was merely his fantasy that they had ever been equals, and the wall dividing them now was insurmountable indeed.
Still, even though he had marched back into the kingdom with his regiment only two hours before and thought he wanted nothing more than to rest from the long trek, once he heard that the princess required an escort outside the walls of Trodain castle this evening, he virtually jumped at the chance. His Captain fixed him a stern look throughout his petition to take the place of the guard originally assigned to serve the princess, but the discretion he had learned during his basic training helped him maintain a professional, mildly detached attitude with his request. It was only when the Captain, after granting permission with a curt nod of his head, cracked the faintest smile and advised, “Better make sure you get a bath first,” did he sheepishly realize how transparent his request must seem.
"Eight!" The moment she saw who had entered her salon, Princess Medea rose from her seat on the piano bench and quickly toed her way—almost floating, her tread was so light—across the carpet. "You're back!—when did you get back?"
For a heartbeat he stared at her, before bowing deeply; and he hoped she didn’t notice the surreptitious swipe of his damp palms over his trouser-legs as he straightened. He was a guard—a soldier—of Trodain now, and something told him it would not be appropriate to confess how he’d raced to see her upon his return. So he replied with a calmness he did not feel in his heart, “Earlier today, Princess.”
The look on her face was so tender, her eyes so sparkling and green. “You’re grown so tall, and you’re so tan!”
When her hand settled lightly on his shoulder, try as he might, he could no longer keep his expression neutral, and instead a grin lit his face. “Well, we did spend a lot of time outdoors. And,” he reached up to adjust his regulation headgear, “I think it’s just the helmet that makes me look taller.”
“Oh, no, no,” she insisted, and she circled around and pressed close to him, back to back. “We matched shoulder-to-shoulder when you left.” She turned, one arm sliding around his waist, like old friends, like old times. “And now, we’re not.” She squeezed tighter, and murmured, “I’m so glad to see you.”
It pained him to step away from her friendly embrace, but gently he eased aside, mustering the dignity to stand straight and tall. “It’s… it’s good to see you too, Princess. And however I can help you tonight—”
“Don’t call me that,” she interrupted, her expression darkening. “’Princess. It’s always been ‘Medea’, and ‘Eight’. It shouldn’t be different now—”
“But it is. And my commanding officer was very clear about royal address—”
“For all the guards who didn’t grow up in the castle,” she insisted, those green eyes flashing. “Rules like that don’t apply to you. I’ll make sure the Captain knows that you can call me—”
“Med—Princess Medea, please don’t talk to him about that. I don’t want to be singled out for special treatment. The other guards give me enough trouble as it is, because of my background.”
“Ah.” He saw her stance change, subtly, showing that now she understood and had accepted his words. “So,” she asked softly, turning away from him to ring the small silver bell on a nearby table, “am I not to call you by your name? Just address you as ‘guard’ as Father tends to do to his protectors, whoever they might be?”
“Princess,” he promised, his voice low, “you can always call me whatever you want.”
Her maid came from the bedroom, cloak and sturdy boots in hand. Princess Medea wasted no time in slipping off the satin flats she had been wearing in her salon and replacing them with heavier leather fit for outdoors, then let the cloak be draped over her shoulders. She caught up a bag that he could tell contained a scroll—and no doubt more—then gestured at a much larger bundle resting beside the piano. “If you would carry that….”
“Of course.” Eight hefted the long, wrapped tube, wondering if it were some kind of weapon; he had his sword, of course, but wherever they were going, did the destination require additional ammunition of such size? “What is this?”
She was smiling at him again, amusement in her face. “My telescope, of course. My tutor has me studying the stars.” And then, looking up at him through a curtain of dark lashes, she added almost coyly, “And tonight’s a very good night for it.”
The moon above Trodain Castle was a mere sliver high in the sky, granting a deep and perfect darkness to the night. Princess Medea pointed out the path to him, west of the castle walls and to the top of the highest hill, where the center of a copse had been cleared of trees.
Even though he had applied more than enough holy water to provide several hours’ worth of protection from the monsters endemic to Trodain, he kept himself readied against any attack, sword balanced in one hand while the other supported the telescope propped on his shoulder. The princess seemed amused by his diligence, her voice almost teasing. “Eight, you’ve become too cautious. Remember how we used to sneak outside and go monster hunting with nothing more than cypress sticks and our imaginations?”
He did, and laughed softly in return, stealing a glance at her by starlight. “That was years ago. We were… Well, we didn’t take any threats seriously then. Even Candy Cats can kill you, you know.”
“So can the wrong kind of change,” she countered instantly, low-voiced, but then ran ahead of him, cloak flying in the darkness like the rise of wings. “We really are the same people we were six months ago, Eight,” she went on, when he’d closed the gap between them. His heart was pumping, and not from the exertion of hill-climbing and racing to reach her.
“I don’t know,” he managed, swinging into a deceptively-easy gait beside her. The trees ahead were a dark silhouette around the clearing that had been prepared, no doubt, by other castle help, for her gazing. “So much is different now.”
“But so much remains the same. Here.” She pointed to a flat platform—marble; a princess should have nothing less upon which to place her telescope—and he set his bundle down. “This is the best—and the safest,” she stressed—“spot to study this close to the castle.” She bent to unwrap her telescope; Eight stepped around her and took over the labor for her. She rolled her eyes but allowed him to fumble with the spindly stand, then try to secure the telescope in place. “My tutor says I’ll need to go further afield if I wish more advanced studies, but this will do for now.”
Eight peered down one end of the telescope, realized it was the wrong one, and reversed it before setting it atop the stand and tightening the screws. “Why didn’t he come out here with you tonight?”
“Because he’s blind.”
“Oh.” He felt his face warm with consternation at his faux pas, and more diligently applied himself to his task.
“Well, only mostly blind,” Princess Medea went on, blessedly unaware of his embarrassment. “He can’t see at all in the dark, and by day only with bright light and very thick glasses. But the charts he made years ago are beautiful.” From her bag she pulled out an enchanted candle, kindling it with a wave of her hand, and left it to float in mid-air. Then followed the scroll he’d noticed. With a tug at the ribbon, she unfurled it, and before him by the soft glow of magic light, he gazed at an embellishment of the sky mirrored above.
He pulled in a sharp breath at its beauty. The painted parchment seemed almost alive with its glimmering spots of light, its array of fanciful constellations carefully crafted by a talented pen and softened with a wash of watercolor. Across its surface, creatures danced and figures pirouetted in their heavenly ballet, each more stunning than the last.
But the Princess… Medea… his first and best friend… was lovelier by far than anything on that parchment, brighter than any star; and, transfixed, he almost spoke his thoughts out loud.
But she was suddenly oblivious to him, already applying herself to her studies, talking now as if to herself. “Studying the stars is best when there’s not much of a moon, like tonight.” By the light of the hovering candle she pulled out a little notebook, and a pencil. “I have so much to do….”
He cleared his throat and managed to offer. “Can I help?”
She smiled, just the slightest as she repositioned the chart, glancing from it to the heavens and back again, and finally nodding. “Not really. Just… ” and the smile blossomed, “keep your sharp eye out for me, Eight.”
“Always,” he managed, still caught nearly speechless by her beauty. “Always.”
“You really can relax, you know.” Princess Medea swung the telescope on its gimbal, down from the heavens, and pointed it directly into his face. He stared down the scope to see one huge green eye staring back at him. When it winked, he couldn’t hold back a laugh.
“All right.” He did then, returning his sword to its hilt; and instead of standing at attention, allowed himself to go even past at-ease. It felt good to relax like this in her presence, like the old days, before so many turns around the sun.
She pivoted her gaze back to the dark heavens. “I’ve brought a flask of cider, and some fruit and sweets if you’d like,” she murmured, engrossed on the view through her scope. “They’re in my bag.”
“I’m fine,” he replied, just as softly, entranced by the arch of her neck, the curve of her back, the fan of jet hair framing her face before it spilled over her shoulders.
She’d grown a bit too, he saw, while he’d been gone.
“Nonsense.” She withdrew from the eyepiece of the scope. “I’m thirsty and a little bit hungry, so you probably are too. Let’s take a break and….”
She settled in the grass by his feet, rooting through the bag to withdraw several small wrapped bundles and the promised flask. Again there was that upward glance, veiled by long lashes. “Please, Eight, sit. I won’t be comfortable unless you do.”
He looked around, as if expecting the Captain of the Guard to be spying on him for any violation of protocol, then realized how ridiculous that thought was and folded to the ground beside her, cross-legged. Like old times—like six months ago—the two of them sharing a private picnic, without a concern in the world. He took the tidbit she offered him, biting down on a juicy fig, and around it mumbled, “I don’t know much about the stars—well, anything other than using them and a compass to follow a course. What are you looking at?”
She spoke around a mouthful of what smelled like the ripest of strawberries. “My assignment is to locate the twin stars Regina and Rex, to describe their colors, to explain their orientation to each other, and, if we’ve time, to sketch the constellation they’re found in.”
“Oh.” He felt embarrassed again, this time by his ignorance; and this time, to his consternation, she noticed.
“Here, why don’t I show you?” She rose, catching his hand to encourage him up, and led him to the telescope. “Look through it. Do you see those two stars? Side by side? So close they look like they’re touching, even though they are probably half a galaxy away?”
He bent to gaze through the lens, blinked hard, focusing. “I think I do,” he answered dubiously.
She pressed close, as if to peer through it herself, suddenly very—too—near to him. He couldn’t help but swallow. “The scope should still be centered on them—”
“Yes. Yes.” His voice rose as the image resolved into sudden sharp focus. “I see them.”
”Two stars.” She eased him aside, so that she now took his place at the lens. “One is… green. And the other has a bit of crimson to it.”
“Stars have colors? I never knew that,” he admitted, fascinated. Now it was his turn to nudge her aside, to take another look.
In his ear she whispered, “You can’t tell what’s really there when you look at them with the naked eye, but through a telescope you’ll see there’s a lot more to the heavens than you’d think. Now, step back and see if you can see the big picture.”
She drew him away, pointing now to the sky, and he followed the line of her finger with his eyes. “They’re those two bright spots right there, see? And the stars around them make up the constellation I’m studying tonight.” She bent to pick up the chart, displaying it for him again; now her finger indicated one of the delicate traceries on the parchment. “Astra Basium. The ‘Kissing Stars’.” For some reason, she swallowed a giggle. “See?”
He stole a glance at the chart, at the careful delineation of a man and a woman, bent towards each other as if, indeed, suspended in a hesitant moment before their kiss. A look back at the sky, and he failed to see what was so clearly depicted on paper. Another back-and-forth glance, and yet a third, before he admitted, “No. I can’t.”
“Of course you can.” She lifted her hand again, index finger tracing an outline. He edged a little nearer to her, the better to see the invisible lines she scribed in the sky.
He was suddenly aware of how very close he was standing to her, how light her voice was, how wonderful she smelled.
He forced himself to focus on her gestures, her words. She was saying, “That’s the outline of the constellation. To the west is ‘Regina’, and,” she drew a sharp line dividing the sky, “to the east, ‘Rex’.
He squinted. Suddenly his arm was draped around her shoulder and his cheek was pressed to hers. Just to be able to see exactly what she was seeing, look exactly where she was looking, of course.
Another motion of her finger, tracing through the sky. “That arc of stars, that’s her hair, spilling down her back. Her coronet… there is her mouth. And that’s his head, and….” Her finger traced the final shape, not unlike what he wore upon his own head. “See?”
He swallowed, nodding. “His crown.”
“Or,” she whispered, eyes wide with wonderment, “his helmet.”
Her face turned to his at the moment he bent toward her, and his lips brushed soft and warm against hers, without a pretense of accident. She tasted like apple and berries, and more, and better.
She made a small sound—but not of surprise—and shifted, pressing closer, but as she moved, their noses bumped and they pulled away. He tried to duck back to her, but instead their heads knocked at the same time their lips awkwardly touched again. He quickly leaned in to deepen the kiss, convince her that he wanted this and that she should too, but when he pressed a little too hard her mouth shifted, and she ended up accidentally nipping his lip when she unintentionally closed her teeth on it.
“Oh!” She drew back, but she was giggling as she trailed the back of one hand quickly across her lips, as if testing… something, he didn’t know what. His own lip was smarting a bit, not that it mattered. But her hand kept moving, fluttering like a butterfly, to circle around to the back of his head. She worked fingers under the rim of his helmet, loosened it enough that a tilt of his head sent the headgear tumbling to the grass; and then her fingers tangled in his hair to pull him into her again.
“Medea,” he whispered against her mouth, and he didn’t care that he’d slipped and forgotten to call her “Princess.”
“Please,” was her only answer, more felt than heard.
With a little sigh, she closed her eyes, and that reminded him that perhaps he should close his as well; but he couldn’t stand not seeing what was going on, looking at her beloved face, and opened them again. But she’d opened hers too, and now they were staring nearly cross-eyed at each other, too close and blurrily out of focus.
It was his turn to laugh, as heat that matched hers rose into his face; not that his flush, though, would be as fetching as hers. “I’m sorry, I’m no good at this.”
“Maybe we just need to practice.” And then she shifted a bit, and he tilted his head to bring his mouth to hers again, and his arms slipped around her waist as her hands rose to his shoulders, her dainty fingers clenching, clutching.
Her body was warm enough for him to feel it through his uniform, and so soft and yielding; and her taste was so sweet and the scent of her perfume so rich. A bold flick of her tongue across his lips asked for more, and his mouth ceded to hers and deepened their kiss.
This time when he closed his eyes, they stayed closed, suspended in the best kind of forever with his princess.
A sound caught at the edge of his awareness—which, he knew, was very much farther away this moment than it should have been—and he yanked himself back, opening his eyes. He glimpsed motion following the sound, and realized—
“Medea, get back!”
The She-Slimes—a dozen at least, all bright and shimmering orange even by starlight, and goggling and grinning as slimes were wont to do—had half-encircled them while they had been… distracted. He shoved Medea behind him, so that he was between her and the danger, then drew his sword, took a deep breath, and lunged forward, shouting as he brandished his blade. He slashed at the first one, but before his blow could land, the lot bounced away, rolling and wobbling down the steep hillside and vanishing over the next rise. No bloodshed—nor slimeshed, as the Captain termed it—necessary, as he’d hoped, so that he might spare the princess the sight of such violence.
He sheathed his sword, abashed as he turned back to her, and breathed, “Princess, I’m sorry, I let down my guard, I failed you—”
But she wasn’t trembling, nor did she seem angry; instead, calm eyes met his for a moment before she bent to pick up something scarcely seen in the grass, some item one of the retreating monsters had dropped. Earrings, he noted, probably purloined in a successful attack.
She paused to fasten the blue stones at her ears before finally returning to him. “No.” Her mouth touched his again, softer than before, then withdrew. “My hero. You’re my hero, always, Eight, no matter what.” Her hand found his, squeezing it once, and then fell away. He reached out to touch one dangling earring, to send it swinging in a bright, hypnotic arc that sparked them both for a moment with tiny azure flecks.
She smiled, and turned aside, but not away.
The moment rippled past them, another change; but he knew undeniably that between them was a promise—no, a covenant—deep and strong enough that neither heritage nor position could erase, no matter their age, no matter what circumstance.
She inclined her head in silent invitation, and he followed her back to where the telescope still pointed to the heavens; and he turned his eyes to the sky as she murmured, just to him, “Let me show you the rest of the stars.”
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