Chapter Text
Something seems to have changed between Rose and Cinders. Since that shameful broadcast (Cinders used the word propaganda, and Rose honestly can’t find it in herself to disagree with her), their interactions have been… different. Like some small barrier has broken down between them.
It’s not like there aren’t still plenty of others– personal, professional, and, as much as she hates to admit it, political– and Rose still tries not to visit too often. But when she does see Cinders, it feels like there’s something there that wasn’t. She doesn’t dare examine it too closely, feeling somehow that doing so would break it. But it’s something.
She talks Wharton into backing her up when, armed with some bullshit excuse Snow helps her come up with, she tells Scheherazade to stop using Cinders in Empire broadcasts. Something about Cinders being too high-profile to be paraded around the prison so often and the other prisoners getting antsy. It seems like the least she can do.
A few quiet months have passed, but today has been anything but quiet. Cinders’ stepmother and stepsisters are here to visit her, and they’ve demanded every ounce of Rose’s personal attention. The younger stepsister, who is barely eighteen, seems completely enamored with her and determined to make that her problem, and the other two are no less frustrating.
However frustrated she is, though, she can tell Cinders is much worse by the time they finally leave. Rose had eventually managed to persuade them to allow one of the guards to supervise them instead of her– she had other things to be doing than babysitting an entitled planetary governor and her daughters– but she’d had to return to escort them out at the end of the visit. Cinders had looked near tears. As soon as she manages to bundle the family onto their starship and see them off, she returns to Cinders’ cell, where the guards have returned her to.
Cinders sits on the floor, knees drawn up to her chest, in the dim corner of the cell near the bars. With the angle, Rose can barely even see her there, and she vaguely wonders about the spot as a security concern. She trusts Cinders, but if the other cells have it…
But right now, she’s here for her.
“Are you all right?” she asks.
“Fine,” Cinders grits out.
Rose waits a moment.
“They treat me as if I’m the traitor. As if they didn’t–” Cinders cuts off, buries her head back in her knees. Her shoulders shake.
“...as if they didn’t… what?” Rose asks.
Cinders is quiet for several beats. “It’s your side they sold us out to. I suppose you think they’re heroes.”
She wouldn’t have called them heroes. Papa is a hero for risking himself to save his troops. General Martha Fairfax, who held the line against a terrorist group that almost breached Zantine, was a hero. But she had thought positively of Lady Tremaine, from what she knew, before today. Suddenly she isn’t so sure, and it’s not entirely because of her behavior here. Tremaine’s wisdom is what left Cinders like this, after all. “But you feel they betrayed you?”
She laughs, strangled. “My stepmother allowed Cole’s agents to pour into the palace. She welcomed them in as they shot my father. She didn’t even try to stop them from murdering him. He was in the way of their conquest. With him dead, she had the authority to surrender.” Her voice is thick with disgust. “She didn’t give a damn about him or Perrault, because we were losing and she saw a way for herself to win. If that isn’t a traitor, I don’t know what is.”
Rose isn’t sure what to say. That sort of thing is the aspect of war she hates most. Fighting is a necessity to protect people. That’s what she does, and what she’s good at. And as much as she ribs Snow for it, the politicians and peacemakers talk and negotiate when the fighting has run its course to put an end to it. But the deception, the betrayal, the manipulation that happens in those talks… hell, she hates working with spies. At least a fight is honest and direct. “I guess you’re right.”
“They betrayed me to your side.” Cinders angles herself a bit further from Rose. “They betrayed me for the king you serve well enough to be his colonel. What does it matter to you, when you got my planet out of it?”
“The fight could have been resolved another way. There was no need for that kind of deception.”
“By your people continuing to bomb our cities and poison our fields until we knelt, you mean?” she asks sharply.
“By a fair fight and honest talks once the fight became too costly.” It’s better than subterfuge, at least.
Cinders moves from her corner, turns, and fixes Rose with a disbelieving look. “There is no fair fight with your empire. You rank high enough that you ought to know that. You can’t be that naive. You’re a giant that takes what it wants, and those you take from will continue to try to fight you. But you can never call that fair.”
“That isn’t–” It isn’t true, she wants to say, but she has to admit their forces far outnumber most of their enemies. They’re better-supplied and better-supported. “That isn’t the kind of Empire I fight for.” Of course the Empire has its flaws. She doesn’t fight for those. She fights because she believes in its strength, because she sees what it could be. What it strives to be.
Cinders laughs through her tears, harsh. “It’s the only kind of empire there is, Colonel. Do you really believe otherwise?”
The question takes her off guard. Her impulse is to say yes, of course she does. By definition, though, the Empire is a collection of planets that are stronger by being united under His Majesty’s banner. And many of those planets resisted being part of it once. Some, like the planets in the Periphery, still resist. It’s better for them to be under the protection of the Empire. But… Perrault didn’t have a choice about joining with His Majesty any more than Cinders had a choice about filming that broadcast. “...I don’t know. There could be.” Her voice is far less steady than she wants it to be.
There has to be a better kind, because that’s what she fights for. That’s why she serves His Majesty, why she maintains the lines she does of the right way to fight and the wrong way. She believes in the Empire. She believes in King Cole.
Cinders looks up at her with something like surprise. She wipes some of her tears away and seems to search Rose’s face. “What do you want, Colonel Prince?” she finally asks.
If her last question surprised Rose, this one does so doubly. “What do you mean?”
“Why are you here? Why do you come to speak with me?”
Heat rises in her cheeks. She thinks, because you’re beautiful and brave and I want to learn what else you are. But of course, she couldn’t say that. That wouldn’t be fair to Cinders. What else can she say, though? “I like talking to you,” is what ends up coming out of her mouth.
“In some contexts, listening to me the way you have could be treason. Does your king really want you questioning the righteousness of his empire?”
Rose steps back, feeling the words like a physical impact. “It isn’t–” It isn’t treason to listen. She isn’t a traitor. “Why are you asking me this?”
Cinders stares at her. “You aren’t like the other commanders of this prison. I don’t know what you are, but I want to know.” Rose feels frozen by her gaze, but it’s not entirely uncomfortable. “Under different circumstances…”
Then something between them seems to break, and Cinders turns away. “But this is all we have.”
Rose desperately wants to know what she was going to say might happen under different circumstances. The question she asks, though, is, “Do you mind if I keep visiting you?”
Cinders seems to think. “I don’t,” she finally says, slow, sounding surprised. “I don’t, but you need to remember that my father died fighting what you’ve given your life to. That will not change.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Rose murmurs. “And about your stepfamily. I wish your life had been easier.”
She sighs. “...do you know what, Colonel? I think I believe you.”
She doesn’t know what comes over her. Even as she says it, she knows it’s a colossal mistake. “You can call me Rose, if you want.”
Foolish as it is, it’s worth it when Cinders smiles– the first smile she’s seen from her, she realizes. It’s a startled expression, but warm and bright like the first tentative sun of spring.
What would it take, she wonders as she leaves the cell block, to keep seeing it?
….
Cinders is standing in the throne room of her palace. A puddle of blood, still warm from Papa’s veins, stains the floor beneath her feet. Horror and terror and grief rage in her chest, and no one holds her in place, but she cannot move, cannot speak, cannot do anything as Cole steps over his body. He crouches to pick up Papa’s crown from the floor and sits on his throne.
“Look at me, Cinders,” Cole says. Against her will, her eyes turn from Papa (Papa, who held her and taught her and loved her, whose brain has been torn apart by a bullet) and to the man who had him murdered. “He’s gone. There is no king here but me.” He stares down at her with those hateful black eyes. “So kneel to me.”
“No,” she chokes out. They are alone in the room, no guards, no stepfamily, just the two of them and Papa’s broken form. He’s dead. He’ll never play the piano or scowl over a tricky bit of knitting again, never make that funny expression he gets when he’s concentrating on something. He’s gone because this wicked man wanted him out of the way.
Cole stands, and though he should be shrivelled and wizened he somehow towers over her. “You are nothing anymore. Your pride is worthless. Your father is dead, your kingdom is mine, and I am all that is left. Kneel.”
She doesn’t want to. She wants to surge forward, see if she can break him with her soft hands. She’s never so much as slapped anyone, but perhaps the force of her fury would give her strength. Instead, her body turns against her. Her throat closes with panic as she realizes she’s falling to her knees and bowing her head. The ground is icy-hard, seeming to leach the heat from her body. “Your Majesty,” she hears herself say.
She shudders as she feels Cole’s hand tilt her chin up. If it were anyone else, the gesture might be fatherly. She wants to scream, but her traitorous mouth is locked shut now. His face and voice are both sickeningly soft as he says, “There. That’s better, isn’t it? You can’t resist. Whatever you do, you are the same as your kingdom– mine.”
Cinders still can’t move, and the scream fights up her throat until everything breaks and suddenly, she’s crying like she did the day it happened. She screams at him hard enough to tear at her throat, but all that’s there now is the dark of her cell.
She gasps for breath, gripping the thin blanket and squeezing her eyes shut. It didn’t happen like that, she reminds herself. She didn’t kneel to him. He couldn’t force her to do that. Whatever else she lost, she still has her will and her dignity.
But Papa is dead and her kingdom gone, and that part was exactly how it happened in the nightmare. How long will she have to see his corpse every time she shuts her eyes? Already her memories of him alive have begun to fade, cooling into the same haze she remembers Mama in. She isn’t sure she remembers the sound of his voice right, or the name of his cologne. Why should she have to lose those while the image of his murder is seared into her mind? It isn’t fair. She’s lost everything; that shouldn’t have to be the one thing she keeps.
“Cinders?”
She freezes, unable to respond. It’s Rose’s voice (Rose, who is part of the army who took Perrault, who wears the same red uniform of the soldiers that shot Papa). If Cinders turns around to face her, she’ll see the tears streaming down her face. If she faces her, she’ll have to divert all the willpower it’s taking to hold herself together. She curls into herself and tries to take a breath that lasts longer than a second, that’s quieter than a desperate gasp. Dimly, she hears the sound of her cell door opening behind her, but she doesn’t process it for what it is until a tentative hand brushes her shoulder. She flinches. The hand pulls away.
“Cinders? Are you hurt?”
She tries to speak, to tell her that she’s fine. It’s only a nightmare. They happen. She can’t form anything but a sob.
“Can… can I touch you?”
Cinders shouldn’t agree. She shouldn’t, but Rose, she thinks, somehow cares. It’s been years since anyone has cared, and as much hollow concern as she’s rejected, she doesn’t have the strength in this moment to push away what may be real.
She nods. Rose’s hand comes down more firmly on her shoulder, rubbing it. “It’s all right. There’s… there’s no danger. You’re safe?” She sounds terribly uncertain, almost awkward, and thinking about that combined with the grounding touch begins to pull Cinders back from the edge. (How long has it been since anyone has touched her kindly?)
She takes in a deep breath, which stutters in her chest. Then another. She focuses on the sensation of Rose’s warm hand and her warm voice. It doesn’t have to mean anything. She just has to calm down.
“I’m… I’m all right,” she says once she’s caught her breath enough to speak. “It’s only a nightmare.” She scrubs her face with her hands and sits up, turning to face Rose. She’s crouched by the bed, face a little flushed, looking both concerned and awkward. She offers a slight smile, though.
“I’m glad you’re not injured. I was worried when I heard you scream.”
Her face grows hot. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb anyone.”
“Don’t be. It happens.”
Now that Cinders feels a little more grounded, she realizes that Rose ought to be sleeping. For once, she isn’t in full uniform, just her black pants and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up and top few buttons undone. Her hair is a little mussed. Like this, she barely looks like a soldier, let alone an officer. She’s just a girl. “What are you doing here? It’s late, isn’t it?”
Rose grimaces and looks away. “Couldn’t sleep. I was… I’ve got a lot on my mind lately. I was just trying to walk it off.” She rubs the back of her neck. “Good timing, I guess.”
“I guess.” Cinders normally hates it when her guards check on her after a nightmare. They shouldn’t get to see her cry. She feels like some kind of specimen in a tank. But somehow, even though Cinders knows logically Rose must be worse than any of them, she’s less uncomfortable with her. Certainly it’s embarrassing still, but at least Rose doesn’t seem to want to ogle at her as she weeps.
“Do you… do you want to talk about it?” Rose’s hesitancy is… most of Cinders’ mind is still occupied trying not to think about Papa and Perrault. But in the corners that are left free, a soft feeling creeps in. It could almost be fondness.
She pulls her knees to her chest and leans back against the wall. “Not particularly.” Talking about it would require thinking about it, and worse, reliving again the parts of it that were true. Cinders has done that plenty over the years. She doesn’t feel like cracking open again. Besides, why would Rose care about Papa when it was her king’s conquest he was killed by?
Even so, she doesn’t want to be alone. Not right now. That would just as easily make the memories overwhelm her again. “But… if you don’t need to be anywhere else, I… I wouldn’t mind someone to speak with.”
Rose stands and crosses the cell to pull the door shut. Of course she does– she has to. For all she knows, Cinders might try to run. She’s still a prisoner under her watch. She still has her pistol at her belt.
Once the door is secure, Rose sits on the bench across from her. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know. Anything.” Anything to crowd out the grisly images her memory keeps trying to push at her. “I just don’t want to think about… about things.”
Ineloquent as the statement is, Rose seems to understand. “Have I ever told you about my sister?”
“I believe you’ve mentioned her.” From the few times Rose has brought up anything personal, Cinders has gotten the sense that Rose’s sister is important to her. “Snow?”
She smiles. Cinders notices the expression is a little lopsided, one corner of her mouth pulling up a bit further than the other. “Yeah. You kind of remind me of her. You’re both very… very poised.”
Cinders doesn’t feel poised at the moment. She hasn’t since she was brought here. “Is she older or younger than you?”
“We’re the same age. Twins.”
“And is she a soldier, too?” She must serve Cole in some way– they’re nobility. High nobility, from what Cinders has gleaned.
Rose laughs softly. “No, and she hates that I am. She’s one of the people down in Zantine trying to convince Parliament to stop funding wars.” Her expression falls a bit as she looks at Cinders. “She’s… I think you and she might get along, honestly. She thinks so, too.”
“You told her about me?” Cinders isn’t sure how that makes her feel. Certainly there’s a little thrill, a sense of… is it validation? Why should she care if Rose tells people about her? Why should she feel like that could ever be a good thing? What good reason could the commander of her prison have to tell her sister about her?
Her eyes widen slightly, face going red. “I– uh, I may have mentioned you. Snow is… she likes to know everything.” Rose laughs awkwardly, avoiding Cinders’ eyes. “And have opinions on it. I don’t usually discuss work matters with her, I promise.”
Cinders doesn’t know where she gets the boldness from– if it’s the late hour, or the exhaustion from the nightmare, or something else entirely. But she asks, “Is that what I am? A work matter?” She doesn’t know what it would mean if she wasn’t. But Rose doesn’t exactly seem professional right now.
Rose freezes, face going even redder until it nearly matches her hair. A suspicion that’s been gnawing at Cinders comes back again. Is it possible that Rose feels the same attraction as she does? Could it ever somehow be a good thing if she did?
“...do you want to be?” Rose finally asks, a little strangled.
Now it’s Cinders’ turn to blush. Stars above, that’s… there’s something there, isn’t there? She hasn’t been imagining it.
But of course, it could never work. Rose still serves Cole. She still has nearly ultimate power over Cinders. “I’m not sure it matters what I want. You’re the commander.”
Rose’s expression shutters, and something between them cools. “It probably doesn’t matter what either of us want,” she says stiffly. “I still report to my superior officer, and ultimately to His Majesty. As far as they’re concerned, you are.”
It’s true, and Cinders hates it. Whatever she feels, whatever Rose seems to feel, there’s still the reality of their situation. She told Rose not long ago that there are no different circumstances here. There’s only what is, and it’s useless to pretend otherwise. She can’t pretend otherwise without risking her integrity. Rose may be kind and thoughtful and handsome. She’s still Cinders’ enemy. She can’t forget that.
But… she can talk to her. She can take what company she offers, as long as she’s careful. She can allow herself that much. “You were telling me about Snow?”
Rose relaxes slightly, and they talk for nearly an hour. Cinders finds herself telling Rose about her own home and family– not the losses that have piled grief on her since she was a child, but the gardens, leaving the city with Mama to look at the stars, her favorite books growing up. In turn, she learns about Rose’s school sports and her starship and her childhood escapades with Snow. Neither of them mention the strange tension between them again. Perhaps it isn’t wise to ignore it, but it’s a relief. She can almost pretend, just for a few minutes, that she’s somewhere else. That this is something else.
When Cinders yawns, Rose glances at her watch and stands. “I should let you rest.” Her tone has a hint of the commander in it, that distant, businesslike quality, but it drops away as she hesitates and adds, “Do you feel better?”
She nods. “I do. Thank you, Rose.” She’s settled from the terror and grief of her dream into something almost like an exhausted peace.
She smiles that crooked smile, and again Cinders feels the ache of what could have been. In another world, maybe she could be hers. “Anytime, Cinders. Good night.”
She leaves, and Cinders finds that sleep now comes easily.
….
“You’re thinking about something,” Cinders says, startling Rose out of her reverie.
It’s late, but she’s taken to stopping by Cinders’ cell when she can’t sleep. Most of the time, Cinders is asleep, and Rose continues on her walk before returning to her quarters and fighting the need for a drink. But sometimes, like tonight, she’s awake, and talking to her is a hell of a lot more effective in driving away the fears that spin endlessly in her mind.
Tonight, though, they’d lapsed into silence, and Rose can’t quite push away the growing doubts that had been keeping her awake in the first place. More and more lately… it’s borderline treason to even think it. But she can’t help but wonder if His Majesty, her godfather, the king she’s pledged her life to is doing the right thing. If she’s doing the right thing in how she serves him.
“It’s nothing,” Rose says. Even if she dared verbalize any of her doubts, they tangle too close to the other problem, which is no less dangerous.
Lieutenant Baker had caught the footage from the security cameras of her entering Cinders’ cell a few months before. Rose has been looping the footage every time she stops for longer than she should, but she must have fucked up that one, because he’d pulled her aside about it.
“I understand you’re very fond of Miss Saint Exupéry, sir,” he’d said in an undertone, despite being alone in his office. “But you ought to be careful. The prisoners here are very valuable. You ought to be… more discreet, than you might be used to.”
Rose frowned, gut twisting. Did he know she was beginning to have real feelings for her? “The hell are you saying, Baker?”
He raised his hands. “You aren’t in trouble. Whatever you wish to do with her is your business. Just ensure you’ve covered your tracks.” While Rose stared in horrified disbelief, he’d gingerly patted her on the shoulder. “I already deleted the footage of you entering her cell a few nights ago. There’s no evidence, nothing to worry about.”
She shoved his hand away with a snarl. “I am not abusing her. How dare you accuse me of that?”
“Sir–”
“She had a nightmare and needed a friendly face. That’s all.” Bile rose in her throat. “You’re dismissed, Baker.”
She would never lay a hand on Cinders. The fact he acted as if she would… the fact he acted as if that would be acceptable! She’s been trying to find a reason to have him replaced ever since. He’s a danger to the prisoners if that’s how he handled that suspicion.
But her behavior towards Cinders has been unprofessional. She hasn’t dared enter the cell since. Right now she’s leaning against the bars, arms crossed. She can’t tell Cinders any of what she’s thinking. Not without explaining why she’s thinking it, which would mean confessing her feelings. She couldn’t take advantage of her like that. Not when Cinders might feel pressure to reciprocate. She owes it to Cinders to keep that from her. She isn’t the monster Baker thinks she is.
Cinders stands and comes up to the bars next to her. “There’s been something on your mind for a while, hasn’t there? It’s been bothering you for months.”
“You don’t know that.” It’s a weak deflection; she hears it even as she speaks.
“If I wasn’t right, you wouldn’t be acting like this. What is it?” She realizes that there’s a hint of anxiety on Cinders’ face.
Maybe she can tell her just enough to satisfy her, without giving anything too dangerous away. “I’ve been thinking about… about how we do things. In the Empire. How we could do them better.”
Cinders’ face turns guarded. “What does that mean?”
Fuck it. This isn’t treason. She can have an opinion on how better to bring glory to the Empire. God knows Snow does, and she’s just as loyal as Rose is. “Looking at the numbers, we could more than sustain ourselves at the size we are. Hell, we could lose more than a few planets and be fine, so long as we kept diplomatic ties. I don’t know how that would work; that’s Snow’s job. But we keep expanding. Malus, Wharton… they keep sending us out, taking more planets.” She sighs. “I still think it’s better for them to be with us. They’re better off. But… I’m not sure anymore whether it’s worth bringing them under His Majesty’s guidance at the cost of their choice.”
Her eyes widen, and she looks at Rose with something new in her expression. Drawing a bit closer and lowering her voice to match Rose’s, she says, “You know how I feel about it.”
“I do.” Rose turns around to look at Cinders. Her cheeks flush as she admits, “To be honest, you’re the reason I’m thinking about all this. I can’t stop thinking about that broadcast– how they took the choice from you, even if I believe in the end result. I don’t know anymore if planets are any different.”
Cinders reaches through the bars to touch Rose’s arm, and she suddenly realizes just how close they’re standing. She can nearly feel the heat from Cinders’ body. “I’m glad you think so. I… I’ve come to respect you, Rose, in a way I haven’t other commanders. You listen to me, and you care about what I have to say, and you…” She takes a deep breath. Her voice wavers a bit as she says, “You truly care about me. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve experienced that.”
Her heart pounds. Does Cinders know? God, has she already fucked this up? “You deserve to be listened to. Everyone should do that.” She wants to reach out and touch her. She doesn’t quite dare. Every breath she takes feels constricted.
“And yet you’re the only person who has. I know this is bothering you– that it scares you. But it’s the best thing about you. If you didn’t respect me like you do, if you weren’t willing to… to consider things…” She looks down. This close, Rose can see the redness in her cheeks. Cinders is quiet as she says, “I feel differently about you than I have about anyone else.”
Shit, shit, shit. Does she pull Cinders in to hug her or step back and run as far away as she can? “You aren’t just a prisoner to me. I– I hope you know that.”
Cinders smiles. “You’ve made that clear.”
“I don’t–” Everything feels so real and sharp and delicate. One wrong word could break this… this whatever it is. One wrong word could break Cinders. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to– everyone should respect you. Everyone should listen to you. I’m not special. Please don’t feel like you have to… you don’t owe me a damn thing, Cinders.”
“It isn’t just that.” Her hand is still on Rose’s arm. It’s like a point of gravity, keeping her in her orbit. “I think… I’ve been thinking about if things were different. If we weren’t… you’re thoughtful, and you’re kind, and you aren’t afraid to say what you think. To do what’s right, even if…” her face falls, and she begins to lean away. “Even if those around you are wrong.”
Rose doesn’t know what comes over her. Cinders should lean away, but she can’t bear to let it happen. She has to say something. “I think King Cole might be wrong,” she whispers. “I think–” Her pulse hums in her wrists, and she doesn’t know whether it’s fear or something else. This is wrong. This is wrong on every possible level. “I don’t know what I want to do, what I can do. But I don’t want to be the reason anyone else goes through what you have.”
Cinders’ eyes are wide, dark like the night sky. In another situation, Rose would want to stand there forever and study them, gleaning everything she could from their shine. “Your king may call that treason.”
Her breath catches. “It isn’t treason to want to do the right thing. I couldn’t abandon him, but… I’ll find a way. I’ll make it right.”
She can’t read most of the complex emotions that cross Cinders’ face, but there’s almost a smile there. A softness. “You’re really something, Rose.”
Then she leans forward, and Rose doesn’t even know what she’s doing as she does the same. They both move so achingly slowly. Their noses brush, and Rose feels Cinders’ breath soft against her lips. For a moment, she freezes, about to stop, about to ask Cinders if she really wants this.
But then Cinders closes the last of the space between them, and she can’t think of anything except kissing her. Her hands move almost of their own accord to thread her fingers tenderly through her curls, and Cinders’ hand comes to her waist to pull her closer. It feels incredible. It feels right. It feels like exactly what should be. Rose presses her body against the bars and forgets everything but her. She only wishes she could pull Cinders out of the cell to hold her with nothing between them.
But of course, there’s so much between them. It won’t go away any more than the solid steel of the bars will. Rose gasps and pulls away.
She can’t do this to Cinders. She can’t be the kind of person who would do this to her.
At first, Cinders is smiling, but her expression flickers into hurt as she sees Rose’s face. She looks like she’s about to say something. Rose can’t stand to let her.
“I’m sorry. God, Cinders, I’m so sorry.” She takes a step back, feeling sick. “I should go. I’m so fucking sorry.”
She flees.
What the fuck was she thinking? What the fuck happened to her not laying a hand on her? How could she have let it get this far? She should have known better. Fuck, she knows better than to kiss her.
She should have stopped herself before she could hurt Cinders. And god, she should have stopped herself before she knew how good kissing her would feel. Before she could have a memory of it to want to experience again. What’s wrong with her? What the hell did she do? Even if she has doubts about the Empire, even if she wants to find another way for it to thrive, even if she cares about Cinders and doesn’t want to hurt her, she is still His Majesty’s hand here. Cinders is still a woman under her power, and one who refuses to surrender to him. She can’t kiss her. She can’t be with her, no matter how much she longs to be. It isn’t right. It isn’t fair to Cinders.
Everything has spiraled so quickly out of control. How the hell does she fix this? Has she already ruined everything?
She needs to be away from Cinders. She needs to clear her head. She’d call Snow, except what the hell would Snow say? What could Rose tell her? That she was wrong about her? That she’s no better than what Snow thinks of any soldier? She couldn’t stand her reaction. She couldn’t bear to face her horror and disappointment.
What she needs is a fucking drink.
She won’t let herself see Cinders for a few days. She won’t let herself talk to her again.
She thinks if she did, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from kissing her again.
….
Cinders doesn’t see Rose again for days after the kiss, and she doesn’t understand why. Rose clearly wanted it as much as she did. When she kissed her, when she held her, it was at once gentle and fierce– like Rose was being careful with her but wanted much more. Cinders did, too. She’d thought for a moment they were on the same page, until Rose had jerked back and looked at her with that horrified expression.
It hurts that she left like that. And it hurts more with every day she doesn’t come back.
But of course, she’s still King Cole’s. Cinders doesn’t doubt anymore that Rose is genuine, that she cares, and that she’s attracted to her. But even with all that and Rose’s admission that she’s questioning the empire, she’s still deeply embedded in it. She’s still noble enough to know Cole personally, a colonel in the army that seized her planet and murdered Papa on his behalf. God only knows the things she’s done in her career up to this point. Neither of them can make any of that go away, not through doubt or desire or a kiss.
When she finally does come, though, Cinders can’t deny that she’s relieved to see her. She looks like a wreck– dark shadows under her eyes, small wrinkles in her usually immaculate uniform, an expression like she hasn’t slept in days. She can’t meet Cinders’ eyes, and her tone is more detached and professional than she’s heard in months. “Hello, Cinders. I think we should talk about… about what I did.” She flinches as she says it, like she’s expecting censure.
The hurt flickers up in her again. Even though she can guess at the answers, she’s about to ask why she stayed away for so long, what’s wrong, if she regrets it. Before she can say a word, Rose says, “I’m so sorry. What happened was… incredibly unprofessional of me, to say the least. It was unfair to you. It was…” She laughs, hollow. “I have no excuse. I’m sorry I took advantage of you.”
“You didn’t take advantage of me,” she says, stung. “I wanted it, Rose.” Cinders wants to reach for her, but she’s standing too far away.
Rose swallows. “You’re my prisoner. You’re– I could probably do all but kill you and no one would bat an eye. My conduct with you was unacceptable. Not when you’re in the position you’re in.”
Her words seem to lodge in her chest. “You told me you don’t think of me as a prisoner.”
Rose closes her eyes tightly. “I know. But I– whatever I feel about it, whatever I’ve allowed myself to feel about you, you objectively are. You are technically an enemy of King Cole, and more than that you’re my charge. It isn’t right.”
Cinders can’t help but remember what they talked about just before. About Rose wanting to do what’s right. “You did nothing wrong. I– god, of course it’s complicated. But I wanted to kiss you. I don’t regret it, and you didn’t force me into anything.”
For a moment when she kissed her, she felt like more than an imprisoned princess. She wants to be on equal footing with Rose, and she thinks Rose wants that, too. For a moment, she’d almost felt like she was. Now it’s like Rose is shoving her back in her cell.
Wanting anything is a long-atrophied muscle for Cinders, let alone wanting something for herself. She could never afford to let herself be selfish. There was always too much she needed to give. How could she want, when her people were at war? How could she want, when all she could do was drift through a haze of days and nights inside these walls?
She wants now. For the first time in years, she wants to make something hers. She’s tired of living alone, tired of carving herself into a monument to all she’s lost. She wants Rose to stop being her enemy, wants a world in which loving her doesn’t mean betraying Perrault or Papa or herself. She wants Rose. “We don’t have to be… you doubt Cole. Maybe we could…”
She doesn’t know. But the force of that want is stronger than any emotion she’s felt in a long time. After so long burying it, she doesn’t know how to deny it anymore.
Rose seems uncomprehending. “You… wanted it? Truly?”
“Yes. And I want more. I want you.” She reaches through the bars, hoping she’ll come closer. “Please.”
“Cinders–” she glances between her face and her outstretched hand. “Cinders, I swear to every god in the Empire. Tell me if I’ve put you in a bad position. Tell me if you never want to see me again. If I’ve overstepped in any way, if I’ve made you the slightest bit uncomfortable– I’m not going to hurt you if you say so. I swear to you that you can tell me honestly, and I’ll follow your wishes.”
“You aren’t listening. I have told you.” She knows how much power Rose holds over her. God, she knows, better than Rose probably does. She hasn’t ever felt the difference nearly as much as she does now, when Rose is the only one who can step closer. “If you want to honor my wishes, come closer. Believe me when I tell you you did nothing wrong.”
Rose stares at her. The step she takes forward is more of a stumble, a fall she only just catches herself from, and finally Cinders can take her hand. “If that ever changes… if you ever decide otherwise, my offer stands.”
“I know.” Rose wouldn’t hurt her. With that assurance, Rose’s shoulders finally begin to fall.
“I don’t know what we could do,” she finally says. “Even if I somehow managed to convince him and every one of his generals, every advisor, everyone with power, to stop expanding; even if you were pardoned; even if Perrault were returned to you… I don’t even think any of that is possible, and we’d still be who we are. You know what being with me would mean, don’t you? I’m a colonel, and my family has served His Majesty since the beginning. You hate him, and I… I do understand why. But if you and I were… you would have to forgive him, or act like you did. I know you don’t want that.”
“What if we left?” Cinders tries. “Both of us. We could find somewhere where it isn’t like this. Somewhere he can’t be between us.” It’s a desperate, foolish hope, no more tangible than the wish she could somehow have Papa back. They both know it.
Rose winces. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t just leave. And even if we could, we’d be found. My family would look for me, your disappearance would be publicized… we’re both too well-known.” She takes a shaky breath. “We can’t do this, Cinders. I’m sorry.”
She’s right. What did she expect? Even with everything Rose is questioning, why would Cinders expect her to drop everything for her? She’s more loyal than that. Even if she weren’t, would her king and family even let her go? Would they ever let her stop being a soldier?
Still, she can’t let go that easily. “What do you want, Rose?”
“Cinders–”
“You say we can’t, that we shouldn’t. But what do you want? Outside of your loyalty or duty, outside of what you’re told, outside of the wars. If there were nothing else, would you want me?”
Rose hesitates, expression pained. “It doesn’t matter. Like you told me, this is the situation we’re in. We can’t change that.”
“That isn’t what I asked,” she says softly.
She takes Cinders’ other hand and grasps both of them with a kind of desperation Cinders has never seen from her before. “I– yes. I would, god. But that doesn’t change the facts.”
The facts. Who they are, where they were born and to whom, the choices they’ve made since. She wishes it were different. She wishes them both wanting this was enough.
But then, maybe it could be. Maybe there’s a way forward, even if neither of them can see it now. Nothing has changed from Cinders refusing to want; maybe, she thinks desperately, this could change things. “I think you’re better than the empire you serve.”
Rose stares at their hands. “You can think that. It doesn’t change anything.”
“What if we just tried? Perhaps… perhaps we don’t have to think yet about loyalties, or politics, or even Cole. We could just see what happens.” Even that would be worlds better than going back to the way things were before.
Rose’s expression is too pained to call a smile. “I would like that, Cinders, but you know what a risk it would be. For both of us.”
“I know.” If Cole discovers Rose is questioning him, she could lose everything she has. And Cinders could lose the little she has left. If she’s not careful, this could be the compromise that finally trades away her resolve. Loving Rose could be a betrayal of everything she stands for, as long as Rose still stands in any way for Cole. “I’m not sure about any of this. Even if I was, it would be complicated.”
What would Papa think about this? Mama? Mara, or any of her people? What would they think of her feeling this way for a woman who is all of their enemy?
She’d like to think they’d want her to be happy. She doesn’t know if they would agree Rose would make her happy, and she doesn’t know yet if she does either. But she wants to find out. “I don’t know what might happen. But I think I’d like to see if there’s some way.”
Rose seems to waver. “It would be dangerous. If anyone found out… I don’t even know what would happen. And in the long term…”
“Let’s not think about the long term. Not yet.” She isn’t ready for that. “It would be a risk. But if we take it slowly, it would be worth it to me.”
Again Rose hesitates. “I can’t– I couldn’t promise you anything, other than trying. There are a million things that could happen. And I’m still pledged to King Cole.”
“I know. Right now, I’m not asking for anything else.” Months ago, Rose believed in him wholeheartedly, and now she doubts him. Maybe she’ll realize she can’t be part of his army. Maybe she won’t, but Cinders wants to find out. If there’s a chance, she wants to take it.
She slowly reaches up and tentatively cups Rose’s warm face, feels the short hair of her sideburn under her thumb. She keeps her hair a bit longer than it was now that she’s away from the front. “I just want to try.”
Rose leans slightly into her hand. Cinders isn’t sure she even knows she’s doing it. Her breath hitches slightly, a holdover from her earlier anxiety, as she says, “We’d have to be so careful.”
“I know.”
“But you think… you think you could…?” Her eyes are gray, Cinders notes for the first time as she meets her gaze.
She nods. “I don’t know. But maybe.”
For the first time since the kiss, Rose fully drops her walls. She leans the rest of the way into Cinders’ touch, stepping closer. Slowly, cautiously, she drops Cinders’ other hand to put hers on her waist. Every movement is delicate, slow, telegraphed, giving Cinders the opportunity to move away. She doesn’t.
Their second kiss starts as tentatively as the first, and it stays that way. Cinders doesn’t hasten it. It’s a quiet, cautious thing, a careful exploration. It’s still enough to make Cinders wish for more one day soon.
One day, she wants to step out of this cell and take a starship and run far away. She wants to see the sky and breathe fresh air and hold Rose’s hand somewhere they can be together without all this between them.
That isn’t possible, not yet. Maybe before then everything will go wrong. Maybe Rose will always bow to Cole. Maybe this will disgrace or kill them both. But until then, it’s the sweetest thing she’s experienced since before the war ended. And Rose, like her, is willing to take the risk to experience it together. That fills her with a warmth different from anything she’s ever felt.
Maybe one day, they’ll find a way to be together and free. Right now, all they have is maybe. But in this moment, this tiny gift of holding Rose and being held by her in return, maybe is all she needs.