How To Love Your Archnemesis [Romance/Drama/Fantasy - Completed]

After the Accord had ended, the unexpected warmth between a Rosenthorn and a Rivain - not quite enemies, nor anything brave enough to be called friends - vanished like a dream at dawn.

They did not see one another for the next three years.

The next Accord, which should have come the following spring, was indefinitely delayed after King Ulric fell gravely ill as the first winter swept by. The same virulent disease overtook Tudor with such speed and mortality that Prince Aryn, acting in his stead, issued a full lockdown of the island to prevent the contagion from spreading to the outer regions. Trade halted. Diplomats were recalled. The island of Tudor became isolated from the nation, with the remaining four quadrants of Calypsa left to their own devices. Communication was scarce; tensions between the North and South borders dramatically increased with the lack of imperial interference to keep conflict in check.

Eventually, even the Duke and Duchess of both Rivain and Rosenthorn were caught in the jaws of fate, succumbing to the sickness. The heirs of each respective region were sent away to their own remote home where no one except a few trusted servants and guards were allowed to come and go; the loss of any successor would throw the nation into jeopardy. Tragedy thrust the now-adult heirs into the pandemonium of political intrigue and management of their nations with no parental guidance, no fallback plan. Misfortune accelerated the need for maturity far too quickly.

And so, the brief moment of something that had passed between Naomi and Cassien was quietly smothered beneath distance, duty, and silence.

**

Naomi had lived in the same manor for nearly three years now in a modest estate tucked between the gentle fog of the southern cliffs and the thistle-covered hills that rolled out toward the sea. It had been constructed decades ago as a safehouse, but now it served as her gilded cage: safe, still, and utterly removed. Only herself, Cressida and two other assistant maids, one cook that doubled as a gardener, one healer, and two guards were allowed to stay.

The days bled together in a haze of quiet routines. Letters came rarely. Visitors were forbidden. Couriers came by scarcely to provide communication between the soon-to-be-successor and the rest of the nation, who had now been struggling for years without a consistent duchy to oversee their territories efforts. The world beyond the rolling hills and weathered stone fences might as well have been a myth, and Naomi could barely remember what Rosenthorn's castle walls looked like anymore.
She stood in silence as Cressida tied the dress corset around her waist, pinching her skin. Naomi had grown taller since the last Accord; her figure had filled out to reflect her age. The softness of her face had given way to more prominence, regalness, and by now her platinum hair swayed in waves around her hips. She thought she looked like the younger version of her mother.

Her mother. Duchess Rosenthorn.

After returning home from the last Accord, their relationship deteriorated more significantly than Naomi thought was possible. She was already used to her mother criticizing her, but it increased ten-fold then. Her personal lessons increased from thrice a week to every day, from morning to dusk. Allowance was split to a fraction. Any semblance of minor affection shriveled like a worm in the heat.

When her father got sick first, the Duchess shipped Naomi off without so much as allowing her to say goodbye.
When the rare letters of transactional communication from her mother stopped, Naomi felt nothing in her heart but relief. Then came the overwhelming grief and guilt in having felt such respite at the event of a cruel death. They had cremated her parents together before burying it in the earth behind Rosenthorn Castle, but even then Naomi had not been allowed to attend. The advisors said it was too contagious, too infectious; but secretly she wondered if it had been her mother's last wish that even in death, she did not want her daughter around.

"Would you like to visit the meadows today, my lady?" Cressida's voice snapped her from her thoughts. "Ser Finneus checked the clearing this morning."

"That sounds lovely," Naomi murmured, still distracted. She wanted nothing more than to stay buried beneath her bed sheets.

The walk to the meadows from the manor was a short distance, though Cressida insisted they take a carriage. Ser Finneus - one of the knights from Rosenthorn's military - led the horse as the two women sat in shaded comfort on the journey out. The sun stretched its rays through the sheer curtains of their carriage as they watched the land before them pass by.

Eventually they reached a small clearing with a gentle current of water surrounded by a field of blue cornflowers and bright orange speckles of nasturtiums. Cressida quickly placed down a square cloth as a barrier from the grass as she laid out a bevy of fruits and cheeses. Finneus kept a vigilant watch near the grazing horses, his tanned face stern and alert at the chance of any passing hikers. His bronzed armor glinted like squares of gold around the field.

"It's nice out today," Cressida said as she spread a healthy amount of jam across a soft bun.

Naomi nodded wordlessly as she hugged her legs, head flat against her knees as she stared outwards.

"I mean it's the south. It's always nice," she continued as she placed the bun on Naomi's dish.

"That's true," Naomi said quietly, disinterested. It wasn't that she didn't care about Cressida - in fact it was quite the opposite that she was her closest friend - but today simply just was not her day.

"You'll have to eat it before the ants get to it," Cressida laughed as she reached for another.

Naomi took her portion and chewed slowly, barely registering the sweet taste of rhubarb with the savory pastry. Cressida continued babbling with usual pleasantries until a mountain of buns had stacked up in the dozens, before beginning to pluck at the flowers around them.

The red-haired maid's hands twisted stems together as she began to form the beginning of a bundle. "...Anyway, a courier came by today."

Naomi's ears perked up at her words slightly, though she immediately inwardly crushed her excitement at the thought of outside news. "Oh?"

"They said Prince Aryn will be lifting the isolation soon. Tudor's last patient just finished recovery, but they want to wait a few more weeks to be sure-"

Naomi dropped her bun, splattering purple jam across the clean picnic cloth. "What?"

Cressida dropped her bundle as she found a spare cloth to rub the jam off. "The isolation should be ending soon, my lady."

Her words echoed over and over in Naomi's mind. She sat frozen, eyes wide as the soft breeze reignited a single spark of hope within her.

"That got your attention, huh?" Cressida grinned as she resumed her flower pattern.

"Did the courier say anything else?"

"Hmm… Oh!" Cressida's tongue lolled to the side in total concentration as she finished the last twist. "The Imperial family will host an Accord this year, if things go to plan. It'll last longer than usual though, what with the mourning of the King, not to mention years of lost politicking…"

"There! All done," Cressida beamed as she held a delicately woven blue-orange flower crown, gently placing it atop Naomi's head.

Naomi sat frozen as she registered her words. "How much longer?"

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Cressida reached for her own morsel. "A full season, I heard. Funeral services. Peace talks. Rebuild trust. That sort of thing."

"The borders…" Naomi muttered as her mind flitted to the ever-increasing conflict.

The people of her land had suffered greatly in the past few years with little to guide them; it was a collective effort of Naomi's inexperience as successor, advisory councils within Rosenthorn, and the occasional response from Calypsa's royalty that had barely kept things running in the meantime. Resources were scarce among the towns that lived in close proximity to the northern lands, with people fighting for remaining reserves of food and medicinal goods - not to mention the massive amounts of fear mongering around the deadly illness. It would soon be time to address all of it; it was now her responsibility.

"A whole season of peace talks with those brutes," Cressida sighed. "I don't envy you, my lady."

Naomi touched the crown with the tips of her fingers. "Yes… Northern brutes," she whispered.

She plucked a stray petal from her hair that had loosened from the crown, and all she could think about was the raining ivy when she had fallen straight into the so-called brute's arms. Naomi hadn't told anyone about that night at the Accord; she wanted to keep the memory hidden, as if it could be stolen at any moment. Even now under the bright azure sky, she could feel the phantom touch of his arms as they caught her; the solidness of his body as she leaned against him to enjoy a single moment of bliss.

Stupid, Naomi thought. He probably doesn't even remember.

**

The two of them had stood in content silence until the last lantern disappeared into the night sky, though Naomi didn't want the moment to end. He grounded her with assurance despite being the last person she should've ever expected to share such a kind memory with, going against everything she'd ever been told. She wondered the real truth of the north, if perhaps, the grand tales of their coldness were borne from ill rumors. The man that allowed her to lean so casually against him didn't match the words of brutality and cruelty. When the last light faded, she urged herself to pull back.

Naomi felt a soft blush creep on her cheeks. Her life as she knew it would be over if she got caught. "...I should probably get going."

He had only nodded. "Alright."

In a swift motion, he gripped the railing with one hand as he swung both legs around the railing and landed on the flat surface in a low crouch. Cassien held his hand out to Naomi expectantly.

Naomi instinctively covered her mouth. "What are you doing?"

He raised a brow. "What do you mean? I'm helping you get back to your room."

"By climbing the broken vines?" She questioned incredulously, her face twisted.

He lowered his hand. "Well, I was thinking more that I would carry you up. Unless you want me to escort you up the stairs instead, which then we can explain to the guards exactly why a young man and woman were alone together at night."

Cassien's tone had been so matter-of-fact that Naomi believed he couldn't realize the implication of his own words until he registered the horrified look on her face. He covered his mouth with a cough, though she could see the pink tinged underneath.

"What I meant was - you don't exactly have another choice."

She bit her lip as she peered upwards at the daunting height. It was easily twenty feet to her balcony, though the remaining vines would help, but even then she didn't know if she could trust in its stability. But he was right - what other choice did she have?

Reluctantly, she took his hand, feeling the rough calluses beneath her smoothness. She lowered her eyes at him with a stern look. "You're not going to drop me, right?"
His hand curled around hers, enveloping it as he yanked her towards him, and whispered in her ear in a low, sarcastic voice. "You caught me. This was all an elaborate plan to take down the South."

She gasped as his right arm hooked around her hip, lifting her off the ground effortlessly. His left hand pressed against her lower back, supporting it, and she watched in wonder as his eyes began to glow. A sharp gust of icy wind burst from beneath them as he bent his knees, launching into the air. She held back a yelp as she buried her head in his chest, the two of them soaring to impossibly high heights. Broken twines of ivy brushed against the back of her head. Naomi felt the warmth of his hand leave her back, and for a brief moment she thought he had failed. But their movement stopped, and she hesitantly peered one eye back to see his hand clutched around the foot of the balustrade.

In a sheer feat of strength, his biceps bulged beneath his navy suit, pulling the two of them upwards as he lifted his legs to plant against the edge. Cassien twisted to the side to avoid pinning Naomi against the outer railing before carefully swinging his body over and planting her steadily on the ground. He didn't need to, but he kept his hands firmly planted around her waist as she kept her eyes squeezed shut, her hands flat against his chest.

"You can open your eyes now," he said.
She let out a breath of relief as her eyes fluttered open, watching the last of his magic fade from his eyes. Frozen crystals slowly began to drift from around his legs, dissipating.

Naomi let out a shaky laugh at the absurdity of his action. "How come my powers can't do that? How can you do that?"

He gave a low chuckle. "When you train every day in combat, you tend to use every advantage you have."

"Ah," she said, her eyes twinkling. "I believe that is the brutality that my mother warned me about."

"In the North, being called a 'brute' is a compliment," he replied smoothly.

The two of them smiled at the other, at first small and almost secretive; then, full blown, teeth showing and eye rolling laughs. As it faded, they realized that they were still holding onto each other - and broke away at the same time, as if they were burned.

He cleared his throat. "I should go, before someone decides to check on you to make sure you're miserable and alone."

She couldn't help but smile at his awful joke. "Probably for the best."

Cassien turned toward the railing, but her voice spilled out suddenly, surprisingly even herself. "Cassien."

He glanced over his shoulder, and she thought he looked exceptionally beautiful in the rising moonlight.

Naomi hesitated, heart leaping to her throat. She couldn't find the ways to convey how appreciative she was of his company, to say that perhaps her family was wrong about him. But in the end, she only managed a single phrase. "...Thank you."

A slow, genuine smile had curved his lips, an image Naomi had not forgotten since. "Try not to fall out off any more balconies."

He disappeared from the edge, and she was left alone with only an echo of his ice and a single, hollow feeling - nothing chilled her more than his absence.

Cassien had returned to his room that was warm with burning wood in the fireplace, but he still felt the chill deep in his bones. Not from his own magic, but the bite of leaving her alone. He swallowed hard as he brushed a hand through his hair, jaw clenched tight. He'd broken a very big rule tonight. And all for a girl that he could never be with, anyway.

He should not have lingered on her touch.

He should have called a guard.

He should have reported her escape, and let her suffer whatever pampered consequence her family would have dreamed up for their unruly heir. After all, she was the one person he had been warned long ago to stay away from.

But he didn't.

Instead, he carried her like a precious jewel as she pressed against him, and heard the soft sound she made when they burst through the air. And despite her visible terror, he felt every ounce of trust she had in him when he had done so. As much as he willingly broke the golden rule, he knew that she did too.

He had saved her. Lingered on her touch. Indulged in his desire.

And the worst part? He would do it again.

He wondered if he would regret it.