Chapter Text
Here be the fearsome Captain King…in all of his spineless glory, Bog thought bitterly as he sat heavily upon his throne.
The fingers of his left hand grasped the edge of the roughly constructed armrest, the wood creaking and beginning to splinter under his claws, buckling under the blind strength he obliviously exerted. His elbow braced on the other rest, his palm open and cradling his face as he inwardly cringed at the fate he had intentionally lay before himself. Normally he would have expected this from his mother. She was capable of a clever plot or at least something as underhanded as forcing he and Marianne to meet at the festivities in some attempt to see something happen between them. Yet this was a foolishness all his own. Lowering his hand a little, he stared into his gray palm, claws curling in and lightly pricking the flesh the longer he stared at the misshapening of his own limb. Releasing his other hand, he raised it up, startled when he finally realized how hard he had been squeezing when he saw tiny slivers of wood fall that had been loosened by his claws.
The tiny splinters on the stone by his feet lay in waning sunlight and his eye caught the dimming light cast upon the cavern floor by the aging evening. Bog peered up towards the hole in the cavern’s ceiling where the dangling roots cast long shadows over the rock seemingly slither towards the wall. If he watched long enough he was certain he could almost see them move. The patch of sky beyond rock and tree was orange with traces of rosy and royal hues in the east, marking the blurring line between night and day. It wouldn’t be long now until the festivities began.
After the work had been done for the day, most of the crew would disperse for an opportunity to head to the springs to bathe before they attended the bonfire that night. Some waited until they had a chance to rest before they worried about cleanliness but most would be bathing by now. His own mother had taken Marianne with her to wash as well, which was one of the reasons he had decidedly remained behind. The spring was a common bathing place for many of his people and he had used it plenty of times himself, the men and women figuring it out amongst themselves a proper barrier to which one or the other should not cross. Of course, he has dealt with complaints of men and women bending the rules more than once in his time. There was no stopping curiosity or perversion, no matter what the consequences could have been.
Bog stayed behind while the others went; spending his solitude wondering what stopped him from going. There seemed to be many sides of him conflicted over the reason and they argued in his head, his hands sometimes clasping over his ears but they continued to rage in his skull without hindrance. The pirate in him jumped at the opportunity to sneak a peek, the king in him scolded the rowdy buccaneer. Then the curse in him reared its ugly head, bestial instincts conjuring visions of wading through the cold waters, hunting down his prize until he had her in his hands. The images were shaken from his eyes by the one part of him he felt he could trust, himself. Through the ever constant war between the pirate, the king, and his curse, his own sense of self somehow managed to keep the winning odds in his favor.
“I can bathe in my room whenever I please.” He growled to himself, digging his claws into the throne for leverage and pulling himself up to his feet.
“I certainly wish you would do it sooner rather than later.” A chipper voice echoed through the tunnel and Bog’s head snapped around at the sound. A blue glow illuminated the passageway and he stiffened as Aura appeared in a whirlwind of giggles and cornflower blue light. She corkscrewed through the open air of the cavern before she finally came to a halt in front of him, arms out at her sides and hair rippling around her face, casting its blue glow across the stone surrounding her.
“Aura…” he sighed, frowning up at the floating entity before him. Today she had chosen her human guise but even that was tainted by the constant blue glow that radiated from her being. She brushed her floating hair away from her face with a sniff before she reclined back in the air, arms crossed over her chest while regarding him.
“You reek of brine and your own filth, hardly fit for a king, don’t you think?” Aura tutted, shaking a finger at him. “What will that princess think of you if you go to the bonfire like this?”
“I see my mother has already filled you in.” Bog sighed, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. Griselda had found a companion in Aura since he had brought her back to the island. At the time his mother had remained behind in the archipelago to keep an eye on things in the young kingdom and after they returned from sea, Aura’s similar taste and views won her over almost instantly. The only thing they did not agree on was when it came to the details on his curse.
“I can’t wait to meet her!” Aura grinned, excited little fists dancing in front of her and she kicked her feet. She hovered so close to him so quickly that it startled him into taking a step back and practically falling back into the throne. “Do you know how long it has been since I saw anyone that might have fae blood? I can’t even remember! It’s been ages!” she threw her arms out and did a little summersault to emphasize her point.
“I never said you were going to meet the princess.” Bog sneered, earning an immediate pout from the glowing creature.
“I’ve been stuck in this cave for so long and you won’t even let me see her?” Aura whined, drifting closer to him again. “I’m not going to bite her! I just want to see what fae blood does to a human descendant is all. It might come in handy you know.”
Bog scoffed, propping his elbow upon the armrest and resting his chin in his palm. “Just how would that be of any significance to you?”
“Fairy magic does not go away just because it’s been diluted by human blood.” Aura explained, sweeping her hand up and down her arm, the veins glowing brighter briefly beneath her dark flesh. “If the legends are true and she does have heritage with the fae, I might be able to use it to help you.”
Bog stiffened, glancing up at her a little more intently, “You might be able to lift it?”
“Lift it?” Aura recoiled back from him, “Oh no!”
The hope instantly died just as quickly as it had arisen.
“No, no, no—I can’t lift the curse off of you no matter what! You know that!” It was the same old song and Bog loathed hearing it again, his fingers concealing his face as he contained the urge to growl. “Even if that princess of yours is part fae, there’s not enough magic to undue a curse sparked by that much fear and loathing. Ten full blooded fairies couldn’t handle that monster!”
His lips contorted into a snarl at the reminder and Bog jumped up from the throne, going to the drinking pool and scooping up some water with one of the goblets. He distracted himself with the icy water, drinking it down with heavy gulps that nearly choked him but he forced them down. His throat burned as he took a breath, firmly slamming the cup back down upon the wet stone and Aura flinched, fingers fidgeting together before she forced them behind her back.
The light continued to fade, the chamber darkening until Aura looked to the cold torches and waved her hand towards them, bright flames bursting to life and casting their warm glow across the cavern walls. In the shadows Bog looked to the far wall, the hanging weapons gleaming cold in the torch light, begging for a chance to be used but he resisted the siren’s call for a good practice, favoring cupping a handful of water and splashing it unto his face. He rubbed the excess off his skin, the scratch of his stubble on his palm nearly burning his chilled flesh and Aura appeared at his side, inquisitive while he wiped his brow with his sleeve.
“They should be lighting the fires soon. Are you going to go this time?” Aura asked, her previous topic forgotten.
“Yes,” he groused, “Go back to your room. I’m sure my mother will bring you some of the spoils later tonight.”
Bog didn’t linger to watch if she obeyed him or not. The shrill squeal of delight at the promise of food and drink from the festival echoed off the stone, his hands cupping over his ears to block the ringing that inevitably would follow as he hastily retreated down the tunnel to his chamber again. He shut the door firmly after him, latching it through the hollowed stone that created its lock before he sighed in relief to find peace again. It was always exhausting dealing with Aura. She was practically insane and he had thought he had done a small mercy when he stole her from the Nox naval vessel all those years ago.
Unfastening the buttons around his wings, he wriggled out of the shirt and wadded it between his hands, tossing it aside as he approached the far side of the naturally hollowed chamber. The runoff of the cavern’s dying stream trickled through from one outlet near the door of his chamber to a shallow pool that slowly drained through tiny holes deeper into the cave that none of his men could ever explore. With the convenient water, he might not have been able to immerse himself like the rest of the crew at the natural springs but it was enough to make himself a little less sea-worn.
With a cake of soap he scrubbed up his arms and neck, rubbing his fingers into the back of his neck where tension threatened to give him a screaming ache if he didn’t relax. He washed his face, scratching his claws carefully through the stubble to loosen any lingering dirt and rinsing himself off with handfuls of bone-chilling water. His trousers were soaked by the end of his rough bathing but at least he felt improved. Later he would worry about getting a full bath, for now this would do.
The gathering had probably started up by now, they always started after nightfall and he had seen the evening fall in the throne room. When he changed his clothes, pulling a gray linen shirt on, he expected Marianne would have already been brought to the village by now. His mother could have been showing her around in his absence. Would she be impressed? Was she wondering where he was?
Bog scoffed at the former thought, raking his hair back with his fingers and setting his hat upon his head, striking it down with a tap of his fingers to secure it in place. He retrieved a coat, sling it on and fixing the flipped cuff with jittery fingers than he paused and looked down upon as they trembled. The water had been cold but he didn’t think that it would still affect him with its chill at this point. He clenched them shut then released them again but the long digits continued to tremor before his eyes. It wasn’t from the cold, he admitted bitterly to himself.
He was nervous.
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When Bog said that there would be a celebration, Marianne was amazed by what it entailed when she entered the center of the village with Griselda holding her arm linked with hers, grinning from ear to ear as they arrived. A large fire was blazing, surrounded by a barrier of pale, round stones. Men, women and children of all ages were dancing around the flames in unstructured movements. They weren’t dressed in finery as would have been considered by the Mainlands but the women wore colorful skirts that billowed and flared when they moved, hands to the sky and joyful cries echoing through the canopy of the trees. Those who didn’t dance, clapped and stomped their feet to the tune of the music being played and others were eating and drinking merrily. Stuff and Thang seemed to have a drinking contest between them, several goblets and clay cups scattered around them while they leaned into one another in fits of giggles.
The air was cooling with the absence of the summer sun, the warmth not lingering like Marianne experienced back home or on the ship. The trees seemed to have sheltered them from the heat aside from that created by the flames of the bonfire. She absently rubbed at one of her arms as Griselda guided her to a log and urged her to sit down, Marianne plopping onto the wood and looking around at the familiar members of the crew seated around her. They eagerly greeted her, passing her food and drink and she accepted it graciously but soon became distracted by the dancing. It was wild, free, unrestricted by social decorum and she was mesmerized by it, smiling thoughtfully at the children weaving between the men and women, their steps chaotic but fueled by pure enjoyment.
Marianne nibbled at familiar and foreign foods alike but she was particularly fond of some berries that had been called “brambles”, the juices staining her fingers in a color that reminded her of the eye coloring paste Captain Wade had given her. She marveled at the steadfast color that didn’t fade when she licked juice from her skin, finding it no fainter than it had been before and wondered if this was one of the secrets behind the color of the make-up. She ate a few more, catching snippets of conversation here and there with the crew or watching the dancers.
The bonfire was radiant in the night, shadows cast over the village long and flickering as if they were dancing independently of their casters. Marianne set the cloth of berries down in her lap, peering around the crew and the villagers, her eyes scanning their forms, expecting to find Bog somewhere among them. There was no sign of him ever since she had parted from his side to board the longboats heading back to the Fenland to help with further repairs. She didn’t see him when the crew returned to shore, Griselda appearing with a bundle of clothing under her arm and eagerly leading her off into the forest.
They had passed through the marshes on soft but firm patches on land before they came across several cold springs where other crew members had appeared to bathe. Griselda pushed her along until they passed a few large stones where another spring was waiting, Stuff already sinking into the water with a shudder at the temperature of the water. Marianne took full advantage of the promise of a bath, eagerly stripping her sailors garb and dunking herself into the water, forsaking the cold and laughing in delight as soon as she surfaced, shaking her hair out of her face while Griselda cackled at her elation.
It felt good to be clean again, she had been deprived of a true bath for months, a few handfuls of water and a bit of soap under her pits didn’t freshen a girl up as much as a full soak could accomplish. Griselda and Stuff washed with her, the women tuning in to the rambunctious activity of the men on the other side of the stones where they were playing around in the water more than actually washing themselves. More than once Griselda chucked a stone towards the bushes where Marianne eventually discovered there were crew members trying to take a peek. Marianne derived a sort of wicked pleasure at helping in chasing off the peeping sailors, striking some with stones and shouting after them when they howled in pain and ran away. Perhaps it was a little cruel to throw rocks but Griselda insisted it was the only way to effectively chase them off.
You know there are only this many because they want to get an eye full of a naked princess. Griselda had chortled, Stuff rolling her eyes with a knowing nod of her own.
Marianne had dressed in a fresh shirt and breeches, a black waistcoat included that she fastened around herself, marveling at its flattering fit compared to the men’s waistcoat she had been wearing previously. Her hair was still a little damp but the heat of the fire was helping it along, though when she brushed a hand over it, she could feel the ends flipping and must have looked a sight. If that were so, none of the villagers or crewmen seemed to take notice.
Still, during the entire time they had bathed in the springs, Marianne heard no sign of Bog possibly being among the men bathing on the other side of the stones. She didn’t understand the strange thrill that went through her while sitting in the spring, imagining him possibly being on the other side, washing with the rest of the men. A part of her became the hypocrite to chasing off the peeping seamen when she herself contemplated sneaking a look…just to see if he was there with them.
Flushing at the boldness of her previous thoughts, Marianne stuffed another handful of berries into her mouth, shoulders hunching a bit while she scanned the dancers again, peering through the roaring flames of the bonfire. A vague form on the other side made her perk up a little more on the log, squinting through the fire and pausing mid-chew when she spotted Bog at last. He seemed to keep to the shadows of the trees, a ghostly presence lingering on the fringe of the festivities. She wasn’t particularly surprised to see that he bore his captain’s demeanor, stoic and on the brink of brooding while he watched them celebrate. Marianne wanted to go to him, wiping her fingers on her pants and setting the plate aside to get up but she was barely on her feet when Griselda was suddenly standing before her.
“Marianne!” she grinned, throwing her arms out wide, barring her from leaving. “We have something for you!”
“Something…for me?” she asked, puzzled.
“It’s a little something we’ve been working on.” She held her arm out and Brutus approached from the crowd, Stuff and Thang staggering away from their drinks to come in closer. The dancers were still dancing and the music still played but she felt eyes on her and she nearly fidgeted until she mentally scolded herself and kept still as Brutus revealed a brown parcel in his hands. He stopped in front of her, passing the present to her and she accepted it with stiff fingers, tilting her head to the side and eyeing it.
The packaging was sack cloth with a bit of rope securing it shut. A crude gift wrap but she felt a swell of admiration when she looked up at him and then the other crew members who eagerly encouraged her to open it with a series of shouts and whistles. She pulled the rope free and unwrapped the fabric, her fingers stilling when she saw cloth the color of salvia petals beneath. Warily removing the rest of the sack cloth, she found it was a garment of sorts, shaking it open in her hands and gasping at the deeply violet coat she bore by the shoulder seams. It was flared; the front cut shorter than the back and the golden buttons bore the seal of Lumine. She fretted over where they had managed to get the buttons for only a moment before she was slinging it around herself, slipping her arms through the sleeves and tugging it straight with eager hands.
She spun in a circle, the coat flaring out around her and she felt a sort of giddiness welling up inside of her when she stopped, watching the fabric sway around her legs then settle. It hung just above her knees in the front and to her ankles in the back and it fit her marvelously! She looked to Griselda, who opened her arms expectantly with a pleased smile. Marianne’s first instinct spurred her into the woman’s arms, holding her tightly even though there was a mental protest in the back of her mind. She should have flinched at the thought of being held, she who could barely even hold her own sister months ago, yet the affection was warm and her heart nearly burst at the onslaught of emotion that filled it until it swelled.
“It’s perfect!” she nearly squealed, collecting herself immediately but unable to resist the smile when she drew back, grasping the woman by her shoulders. “When did you—”
“The boys and I put it together while you were spending all your time training.” Griselda laughed, “We didn’t have Daunt to help with the stitching but a sailor needs a proper coat if they’re going to face the open sea on those cold nights! I think we did a pretty good job on such short notice and I wanted to give it a touch of class fit for a princess.”
Marianne ran her hands over the sleeves, appreciating the feel of the material and turning to face the rest of the crew. They were all smiling, pleased that she had enjoyed the gift and her heart once again swelled with affection the more faces she looked over. Tears threatened to sting her eyes. This band of pirates, men and women who had once thrown her in a cell, she now respected and admired for their acceptance of her as one of their own. Cheers broke out, glasses raised and Marianne spotted Bog again, looming behind them. She met his gaze and he gave a nod, an evident smile on his lips that shot straight to her heart, exciting her as she threw her fist in the air, joining in the revelry.
Sprouting thanks to all of them over and over again, they gradually returned to the festivities. Marianne clapped her hands and stomped her feet to the music, she cheered with the people, she ate a few more things from her plate, but her eyes continuously looked out for Bog, who seemed to be evasive even though he had invited her to the bonfire. She caught him every now and again, standing beneath a tree here, talking with someone there, he was moving constantly and Marianne eventually abandoned her plate in favor of trying to fine him. She kept to the fringes of the party, scanning over them until she spotted him slipping away from the light of the bonfire and onto the path leading back to the castle cavern.
She put the party behind her in favor of following him, traipsing through the darkness after him but without any light after the fire had been consumed by the trees and the clawing limbs in her way, she was beginning to dread not being able to find her way back. Movement in the darkness startled her and she turned, ready to strike out at the incoming threat but a familiar hand caught her fist and she gave a breathless laugh as Bog appeared in the darkness, his form looming over hers and holding up a small lantern to illuminate the night.
“Had enough?” he asked, lowering the lantern and releasing her hand.
“Surprisingly, it’s not as unbearable as the parties back home.” She breathed, smiling up at him. “Your people have no formalities to worry about, it’s raw, pure enjoyment and that was much more fun than trying to hold proper decorum among a crowd of stingy noblemen.”
“Are you sure you are ready to leave it so soon?” he asked, raising the lantern higher to illuminate the path she had just taken.
“Yes, I think your mother was going to turn me into a stuffed pig if I continued to let her pass me food much longer.” She explained, massaging a shoulder and rotating her arm where the muscles ached from the task of helping the crew. The villagers had set up for the bonfire while they had worked, surprising them with it when they trudged through, exhausted and seeking comfort in the cooling evening.
“She has a habit of doing that, I’m afraid.” He admitted, “I don’t suppose anyone has tried to find you a place to stay tonight?” He murmured, scratching at his stubble thoughtfully. “We expected you to have tried to escape by now, after all.”
“Oh ye of little faith.” She smiled, watching his claws gleam in the lantern light before his hand dropped to his side, his teeth flashing in a brief smile down at her. “I think you’re safe from any escape attempts tonight. Besides, I still have to explore these islands before I plan on how to get off of them.”
Joking about escaping left them both laughing in the night, Marianne silently admitting to herself that she doubted she would try to escape at all. The archipelago had many secrets that she had only touched the surface of and Bog seemed willing to show them to her as long as she asked. Running away barely registered when she walked with him, the music of the party dying away to make room for nocturnal sounds to permeate the night air. She could hear frogs and crickets, the shuffle of little feet in the underbrush and the rustle of unseen birds and squirrels in the canopy over their heads. The trees pressed in on them, she could feel the closeness in the dark. It forced Bog closer to her side, lantern illuminating the dark shapes around them and reflecting in the eyes of passing creatures that scampered off back into the shadows as soon as they drew near.
When they came back to the entrance of the tunnel to the underground palace, Bog’s hand extended out to her and she accepted it, savoring the feel of his fingers wrapped around hers when he helped her navigate the tree roots and stones in the dark. Her thumb absently ran over the back of his hand when they reached the entrance and he released it, eyes averted and abruptly leading the way into the tunnel without a word. Wrapping her arms around her, Marianne mentally scolded herself for making him uncomfortable but when they reached the open air of the cavern, he extinguished the lantern, no longer needing it because of the burning torches.
“Before you start your grand master plan to escape our clutches, would you like to stay in one of the chambers here for the night?” he offered, indicating the tunnel leaving deeper into the cave past the throne room. “There is plenty of room and not enough souls willing to use it.”
“You’re not trying to con me into a cell in the dungeon, are you?” she teased and he smirked.
“Whatever gave you such an idea?” he mused, “I suppose you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest.”
“Dishonest, you mean like concealing you’ve been holding back on me this entire time?”
“What do you mean?” he arched an eyebrow.
“I talked to Stuff and Thang the other night and they told me that you aren’t left handed!” she pointed at his left arm and he glanced down into the accused hand, fingers curling in and out uncomfortably and his guilt revealed it had been true. “You’ve been holding back! Bog, you could have killed me five times over by now if you used your right hand!”
“I never wanted to kill you!” Bog bit out, “You were a hostage, not a victim.”
“Then why hold back? Are you afraid I would still beat you if you used your dominant hand?”
The irritation turned to bemusement and she smirked when his eyebrow rose in interest. “Is that a challenge I’m hearing, princess?”
“Get me a sword and we’ll find out, your majesty.” She crossed her arms.
He walked away from her then, setting the lantern aside and plucking a sword from where it had been displayed on the cave’s stone wall. He flicked it around experimentally in his fingers before glancing back at her and hefting it to her in a toss, the handle aimed at her while it arched in the air and she snatched it free, swinging it in a circle before falling into her battle stance. Bog slid his sword free of the sheath, holding it in his left hand a moment before tossing it into his other hand and she noticed the immediate change in his grip, the blade keen in his hand when he held it out to his side.
Marianne charged first with an outcry that echoed off of the towering cavern walls, Bog laughing as he blocked the blow and swung at her feet, to which she dodged with a graceful leap, landing and bracing her sword up behind her to block his next blow that he tried to land during her jump. She peered over her shoulder smugly at him and his smile turned genuine.
“Not bad,” he complimented, forcing her blade away and she spun about on the ball of her foot, the coat flaring around her in the spin, Marianne swinging a horizontal cut at his side that he blocked with a chortle. The first hits turned into a flurry of movements, blades ringing out to the fencer’s song that played off the ceiling and walls and fell back on their ears like a tune only they could dance to in the solitude of the throne room.
“Have you ever tried to fight while using your wings?” she asked, swatting his next hit away.
“I haven’t had the opportunity to.” He admitted and she held her sword up vertical in front of her face, signaling a pause. “I’ve always used the element of surprise and then let the sea do the rest of the work.”
Marianne swallowed a little thickly at the off-handed comment towards the lives of who knows how many seamen he had killed. She forced the uneasiness down in favor of her prior attitude. “What say you to trying it now?”
“Is this some ploy for you to see them again?” he asked, holding the sword at his side again.
“Maybe,” she grinned. “Also, I think that flying would give you a great advantage over your opponents. You spent so much time hiding it when you could have been using it.”
“Am I receiving combat tips from someone that was supposed to be my prisoner not so long ago?” Bog appeared surprised, but he started to shrug out of the coat, pulling an arm free and switching the blade between hands to free his other arm.
“Merely making a statement,” she shrugged and he nodded but caught her off guard when he suddenly threw his coat at her and she instinctively swatted it away with a startled gasp just as she heard the rattle of his wings. She blindly swung over her head and barely managed to block his sword before she spotted him, turning around and holding her weapon at the ready.
Bog hovered well over her head now, his wings a mere blur behind him as they propelled him aloft, the rattling hiss of them turning into a low hum and the previous hesitation he bore in revealing his wings completely gone in favor of a smug expression that reeked of superiority. The confidence soured her expression and it only seemed to make him beam all the more. His body twisted and moved through the air, wings slanting back as he dove for her, Marianne raising the blade and shuddering at the impact of the blow that struck against her weapon.
He flew over her head, Marianne wobbling to regain her footing while marveling how he moved with such ease for someone that didn’t want to use his wings often. The way he moved like a fish in the sea was not something any human was naturally capable of mastering without practice. She envied him that freedom of movement, though it took almost everything she had to fend him off whenever he swept down for another go.
Bog barraged her with a series of strikes and she retreated back step by step, barely able to keep up thanks to his advantage along with the apparent strength in his dominant hand. She gasped when he knocked the sword out of her hand, her back colliding with the wall of displayed weapons, knocking a few loose from her abrupt impact. She threw her hands over her head when they rattled on their stands and threatened to fall. The loud clatter of one hitting the floor forced her to duck her head down, hands clapping over the top and bracing for the strike of one of the weapons when the hum of Bog’s wings suddenly ceased. A heavy thud in front of her sounded too dull to be a blade striking the stone but she dared not to look up. More blades struck the floor in a rain of clanks and clatters. It wasn’t until it stopped and she jolted out of her protective stance to see what had become of Bog but was startled to find that he hadn’t been taken out by the falling danger but he was standing over her, hands braced against the wall and head ducked down over hers, the weapons that had been knocked loose lay around them, cold blades gleaming along with the warm sheen of his bronze sword lying amidst the disarray.
Slowly unfurling further from her cringe, she peered up into his face and he opened his eyes, glancing over her head at the rest of the mounted weapons that had stayed fast to their stands before dropping his gaze back down at her, the concern turning to surprise as their eyes met. He huffed from the exertion of their fight and her own breath matched, practically winded in her fear inspired by the potential of harm from the rain of weapons. He had protected her though, risking himself to injury and she was left dumbstruck by the gesture.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his hands sliding down the wall to grasp her shoulders.
“I’m fine…are you?” she reached up to his face, her palms grazing over the roughness of stubble when she tried to hold his face in her hands, prepared to check for any injury. The touch of her hands on his skin startled him and his concern melted to uncertainty, hands jumping from her shoulders and pushing hers away from his face.
“I’m fine,” The words came out extremely cold compared to the playful warmth he had displayed before, his expression closed off and Marianne’s heart constricted when he turned away from her, picking up his sword from the ground and sheathing it. “That’s enough foolishness, it’s getting late.”
Glancing back at her, his features softened just enough for her to see something vulnerable, almost fearful in his gaze before they hardened again and he put his back to her. “I’ll show you a place where you can rest.”
“Bog…”
“Marianne,” he tensed up, his wings spread with a hissing rattle, exposing his irritation before they slowly slackened. The appendages slid over one another, layering down his back in expression of vulnerability that only made Marianne’s chest ache even more as he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Don’t.”
He strode towards the tunnel and she followed him, the previous light-hearted words and the playful spar forgotten and leaving them once more back in the clutches of the awkward atmosphere that always settled over them in moments like this. Bog always closed up when she touched him and now she had been as bold as to touch his face without thinking. She clutched her new coat tighter around her, ashamed of her own unfamiliar desire to touch this man before her.
Touch had come so easily with Roland, pure, innocent touches where she caressed his cheek and held his hands in the warm glow of sunlight. This sensation, this want to touch Bog, however, it didn’t feel as pure as her ignorant romance with Roland had been. There was something to it that was almost like feeling hungry but she was too full from the festival to believe it was a necessity. No, this was out of place. It was located lower and more like a craving that she didn’t know how to satisfy. Those brief touches were the closest she came to appeasing it but the lingering prickle from the scrape of his facial hair lingering on her fingertips only seemed to make the yearning worse.
The floor of the tunnel bore water from the throne room running in a constant stream down the stone. Boards had been brought down and constructed into a narrow walkway that suspended them over the flowing water and the air smelled damp the further they went but there were also smaller openings leading off of the tunnel, some bearing crude wooden doors, others left open for free entry. Bog didn’t stop until he was in front of one crafted from driftwood bound together tightly with rope and cut to settle over the mouth of another chamber. He snagged his fingers on the pale handle and pushed it inward, nodding his head inside.
“You can rest in there tonight.” He grumbled, averting his eyes as she stepped over the lip of the rock opening and into the chamber beyond.
It was a small, rounded hollow with smooth rock walls containing mismatched wooden furnishings and a lantern hanging from where it was chained to a jutting rock in the back wall. A small bed was nestled to one side along with a wardrobe and a writing desk on the other, a crate was pulled up to it to act as a seat. It was small but practical for a sleeping space. Marianne turned to thank him but he was gone, probably having made a quick escape as soon as she was occupied with the room itself. She sighed, pushing the door shut and straying further into the natural room. She didn’t bother removing her coat when she went to the bed, sitting on the edge of the thin mattress. It was better than netting but she bitterly thought of waking up in the softness of the captain’s bed and this was decidedly nothing like it.
“It’s getting serious...” She murmured, closing her eyes and remembering the concern in his eyes, the hold of his hands on her shoulders, his breathless pants so near to her, stimulating her senses. Her body ached at the memory, a hot pulse running through her and leaving her nearly whimpering when she slumped upon the bed, curling her body into a tight ball. The strange pining seemed to be stemming from the unspoken pull between them that both parties had obviously been resisting since Marianne had come face to face with her captor in a tiny brig’s cell. Blue eyes glaring at her in the darkness, snarling words challenging her in the rasp of an alien accent. Marianne loathed admitting it, but she had been compromised in her bleak outlook on the feeling of attraction. Oh no…