NOVEL NEXT CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - GHOST
Naomi clung uneasily to Cressida's arm as they weaved through the stampede of citizens crowding around festival booths clamoring for merchandise, bursts of coloured smoke and sparklers. The sweet scent of candied fruit and baked pastries wafted through the air, nearly every stall packed to the brim with eager customers. Colourful flags hung on every street lamp streamed across the air, connecting to one another, the air filled with jovial music and street performers. The heart of Tudor's city square was simultaneously everything and nothing like Naomi had imagined.
Negotiations for the day had finished earlier than expected as they neared the end of the Accord's season, and Cressida decided it would be the perfect way to take advantage of the rest of the day. Not to mention, it was the first chance for Naomi to actually see the city that didn't involve invasion or rebellion.
Naomi felt entirely out of place despite being dressed casually in a floral soft pink sundress with an oversized floppy sun hat that obscured part of her face. A delicately thin creme scarf draped around her neck, though her bruises were almost gone. Her maid was for once, dressed in a yellow flowing dress rather than her black-white maids' outfit, her sharply cut red hair like a glint of copper in the shining late afternoon sun.
Despite the shielding of her hat, she couldn't help but feel as if every passing eye was on her. Each time she caught a stranger's gaze, their warm smiles looked more like a mocking sneer - just like her mother would've given her whenever Naomi asked for something out of place.
You are a Rosenthorn. You are to rise above the rabble, not lose yourself in it.
Cressida was practically glowing with excitement. "We have to hurry or we'll miss the performance!"
Naomi barely swung her hip out of the way of a child zipping past her. "Performance?"
"The spring dance," Cressida chirped, tugging at her. "We'll never get there if you don't pick up the pace."
Naomi let out a shaky laugh. "Sorry, just a little nervous… This is my first time. I... I don't think I'm good with big crowds, after all."
"You're doing great, my lady!" Cressida said encouragingly. "It's not too much farther ahead."
"Are you sure we're not too obvious?" Naomi leaned in, whispering as her eyes flitted across the crowd. "What if we get caught?"
"With all due respect my lady, the only obvious thing here are your nerves! And get caught by who? We're allowed to be here." Cressida grinned. "And I'm sure he'll make sure nothing goes wrong."
Cressida jerked her head back towards Cassien, who kept his distance as he surveyed the crowd, expression unreadable. He looked far too intimidating, too scrutinizing to be mistaken as a festival goer. His black V-shaped shirt exposed parts of his chest and collarbones, tucked seamlessly into dark trousers. A dark hooded cloak was secured around his wide shoulders with no insignia attached. Supple black gloves rested precariously on a blade secured to his hip - unmistakably he would be seen more as a bodyguard. The only colour to be found amongst the deep charcoals of his garbs were his eyes. He steeled his gaze at several nosy onlookers who shied away, some women giggling in whispers as they snuck longing glances at him.
He moved in open stealth - the limp in his leg having completely healed - keeping his distance from the two women to allow them their privacy. Naomi was surprised that he had agreed to attend the festival with them, though she figured he had little choice if he wanted to spare them both a headache. They locked eyes momentarily before Naomi felt her body lurch forward once more at Cressida's insistence.
"I'm not sure how he's wearing all that black and not baking to death under the sun," Cressida babbled.
Naomi gave a weak smile. "The ice magic probably helps."
"Oh! Good point," Cressida winked as she swerved the two of them around a candied fruit stall. "You know, I'm glad the two of you were able to make up. Are you sure you're not back together?"
Naomi swallowed the lump in her throat as she nodded, heart hammering with far too much anxiety to respond. She wondered if she would've been just as nervous if she and Cressida had succeeded in attending the lantern festival during their first escape. Even with her mother long buried and no longer confining her to the walls of Calypsa Castle, she felt as if her every step into the square was a shudder of rebellion. She swore she could see her mother's disapproving face in every corner that they rounded, whispering impossible standards and rules that only she could hear.
A lady has no place in the streets. The dust you stand in sullies you.
As they continued weaving through the main path, Naomi's gaze latched onto a woman raising her toddler into the air, face beaming. She was laughing, face full of affection, locks of golden spirals tumbling down her shoulders. Something about her profile and the prideful way she stood sent a pang through Naomi's chest - she had rarely ever seen her mother smile, let alone laugh, but the woman's resemblance was so similar that Naomi believed it could've been her in another lifetime.
Power and title is built on discipline and ambition, not sentiment and love.
A stubborn ache churned her stomach. In a guilty way, she felt almost glad that the late duchess was no longer around, unable to stop her from freely living her life. Other times, she mourned for the relationship that they never had; their whole lives had been enshrouded with resentment and expectations, not gentle nurturing. Naomi felt ashamed that she couldn't recall a single time that they exchanged any affections with her mother - even her father's had been rare and often clipped.
The world seemed to slow as she watched the woman and her child - transfixed - trying to recall if her mother had ever held herself as lovingly. She faltered, hand slipping from Cressida's arm as her pacing slowed to a halt. The overwhelming sensation of the crowd and familial anxiety was beginning to be too much; Naomi barely heard Cressida call out to her from somewhere ahead.
A sudden roar snapped her back. She turned her head just in time to see a vendor's cart, piled high with crates and wine barrels, hurtling violently out of control from an uphill station towards her. She was caught in the middle of its path, body frozen, shouts of warning ringing from every direction. The crowd scattered, leaving only herself in its oncoming collision. Her feet twitched, but she felt her body planted in place.
Strong arms wrapped around her, yanking her backward just as the cart thundered past and slammed into a cobble pillar. Her hat flew off, hair swept by the wind in a shower of platinum locks. Wood burst in a thunderous crack as wine sprayed wildly from split barrels, bursting at the seams. Shards of wood and dark purple droplets rained over the square, some even tilting their mouths open to catch a stray taste. People surged around the commotion, lending aid to the vendor and anyone unfortunate enough to have been caught in the path.
Naomi couldn't tear her eyes from the crash as she felt herself carried away before being steadied against the wall of a nearby building. Her breaths were deep and shaky, her face covered with more flecks of wine than freckles. Cassien's face lowered to meet her height, his hands feverishly moving over her arms and shoulders before resting on her face. He brushed the stray droplets of wine from her cheek with his thumb, his touch rough with worry.
"What were you thinking, just standing there?!" His voice was sharp - his usual demeanor cracked with a rare panic. "I looked away for one second-"
His words were a ghost of an echo in her ears as her vision tunneled past his shoulders, eyes locked onto the blonde woman. She clutched her babe tightly, shielding them from the commotion as they slipped away into the crowd, never to be seen again. Naomi felt a shiver pass through her, hands clenched so hard she could feel the crescents digging into her skin.
Cassien felt her shake, and the harsh tone of his voice died on his lips. His hands lingered on her face, gently skimming her cheek as he calmed himself. He spoke again, this time quieter, softer. "Are you hurt at all?"
Her voice was small, almost like a child's. "I'm okay."
Before he could speak, Cressida came barreling through the crowd, hat in hand, her eyes wide with panic. Cassien straightened, stepping back to give them space, though his eyes stayed on Naomi.
"My lady! Oh my - are you alright?! I felt your hand slip but when I turned back, the cart was already coming towards you!"
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The maid's hands shook as she readjusted Naomi's hat, forcing a smile on her face for master's sake. "You weren't hurt, were you?"
"I'm fine, I promise," Naomi said softly, still as a doll as Cressida dabbed at any remaining spots of wine with a handkerchief. "I'm sorry for troubling the two of you."
She began to smooth out the wrinkles from Naomi's dress with shaky hands. "Please don't apologize! I should be apologizing for dragging you out here. Maybe we should head back to the castle-"
Naomi shook her head, grasping Cressida's hands and giving her a reassuring squeeze. "No, no. Let's stay - you wanted to see the spring dance, right? I promise I'm alright to keep going."
Cressida bit her lip. "Are you sure, my lady?"
"Positive," she said, resolved to not disappoint her friend.
After the two had some time to calm their nerves, the three melted back into the crowd. Cressida chattered nervously about the dance, occasionally glancing at Naomi to make sure she was still there even with their arms tightly locked. Cassien stayed close to Naomi, body tense, as if he were ready to catch her at the slightest stumble. Attendees swerved around them with measurable distance compared to before at the sight of Cassien's icy presence.
After some time, Naomi finally let out a long, quiet breath. Her mother's image still flickered around every corner as they continued, but she forced it to the back of her mind. At least beside Cassien, she felt sturdier and less overwhelmed. She found herself sneaking glances at him, bit by bit committing every trace of him to memory. In the haze of bright lights and splendor around them, his stoic demeanor seemed so out of place, yet he alone grounded her more than anything else.
Impulsively, she reached out and wrapped her hand around his gloved palm, squeezing softly for just a moment before her better judgment urged her to pull back. Cassien tensed at her touch ever so slightly, the briefest hesitation before his hand closed back around hers before she could pull away. A flush swept across Naomi's cheeks as she caught Cressida's mischievous smirk from beside her.
"I thought you said the two of you weren't back together," Cressida whispered into her ear.
"We're not," Naomi murmured, but their hands stayed entwined.
**
In the centre of the stone square, dancers of every age, gender and vitality spun in time with the music, laughter mingling with the melody as they wove between each other. Ribbons and white floral garlands hung in twists from every lamp post; a stage of instrumental performers filled the air with energizing tunes that matched the steps of every dancer. Children sat atop on their guardian's shoulders, and some even climbed on top of vendor stalls for a better view. Spectators tossed rice grains and flower petals as others simply clapped along to the rhythm.
The three of them stood at the edge of the circle as Cressida jovially clapped and hummed off-tune to the melody. Naomi observed the footwork, comparing it to the slow, classical dances that were usually practiced in Monroe. Back home, the movement was much more controlled with gliding steps, hands held solely at the fingertips, and formal bows. Everything was tightly coordinated in a way that even a single misstep could throw the whole dance into disarray and disapproving tuts. Naomi's eyes glazed over as she recounted her own lessons; the late duchess personally oversaw every dance, unafraid to whip a flog across her calves at the slightest mistake.
But in front of her, the dance was a living, breathing entanglement of limbs and spontaneity. Some women lifted the hems of their skirts in dramatic sashays, partners swapped throughout the circle repeatedly in coordinated but quick movements - even those who misstepped would collapse in a fit of giggles, scrambling to rejoin the circle as the crowd cheered them on.
After some time, Cressida had been unable to contain her enthusiasm any longer, and skipped into the ring of dancers herself. Cassien had disappeared a short while ago, but she knew he wouldn't be far away. As the music grew louder and with the maid distracted, Naomi took the chance to slip away, eventually finding an alcove between two stone buildings. She slipped the hat off, setting it aside on a flower box just as she felt the slightest twinge of a headache.
For a long time, she simply breathed as she recollected the events of the day. It almost made her laugh that during her first outing in Tudor, she'd nearly managed to get herself flattened by a rogue cart. If her mother had been here to see it, that would've been all it took to justify locking Naomi up in the castle with no chance of reconsideration for the rest of her life. Yet… others that had been involved in the crash merely laughed it off before picking themselves up; they were more preoccupied with siphoning a sip from the raining wine than cleaning up the mess. She knew that no city was perfect, but her mother's dire warnings of the festival's 'uncouth lower class' certainly had been over exaggerated.
Why had it been so unforgivable to crave a little freedom amongst the smothering of duty and perfection?
A startling anger rose from her chest at the thought of her mother's voice having shaped far too much of her how she saw the world. She might've been able to forgive it if the late duchess had kept her away out of motherly love and concern; but it was only ever to keep her small and ignorant. It was out of necessity for something to control, and Naomi had been the perfect doll. She pressed her back flat against the stone wall of the building, controlling her breathing as the ache of anger faded in and out.
"You look lost in thought," a familiar deep voice mused.
She didn't need to turn to know that Cassien slipped in beside her. "You're supposed to be watching the dance, not me."
"Watching you is far more interesting."
She looked at him then, letting out a half-hearted laugh. "There's nothing interesting about watching someone stuck in their own thoughts."
"Maybe not just anyone," he said, the warmth of his body beside hers was palpable. "But you - you scrunch your nose, and your hands do this little fidget like you're practicing witchcraft." Cassien mimicked the motion with his hands, fingers interlocking into rings repeatedly.
Naomi scoffed, shoving him with her elbow, her momentary gloom forgotten. "I do not!"
They both looked down at the same time, catching the sight of her fingers wound in the exact tangle he had just demonstrated. For a moment, only the sound of the crowds in the distance could be heard before she quickly flattened her hands against her dress, cheeks flushing.
Cassien's lips twitched with amusement. "You were saying?"
"Oh… you be quiet," she huffed lightheartedly, and the tightness in her chest eased somewhat. "Where did you go, anyway?"
Cassien hesitated for the briefest moment. "Prince Aryn asked me to handle some business for him. This was as good a time as any, while we were here."
"You should've told me," Naomi said softly. "We had an agreement."
"We do. And you're right, I am sorry for not telling you," Cassien said sincerely. "I wasn't much further than a few minutes on foot away, but I did get the briefest pinch after sometime."
"I did as well. I guess it did help in a way, testing our theories." Naomi nodded warily. "But don't do it again."
Cassien chuckled lightheartedly, raising his hands defensively. "My apologies, Duchess Rosenthorn."
Naomi watched his body language, casual and loose, knowing he could've just as easily lied about his whereabouts. She decided to leave it for now - the brief headache having already subsided, and a small smile on her lips.
He spoke again after several moments. "You scared me earlier, you know. You could've gotten seriously injured, again." His gloved fingers brushed against the fabric of her scarf.
"I didn't do it on purpose," Naomi grumbled.
"Let's see - jumping off balconies, charging through the city during a distress signal, standing in front of an oncoming cart… If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were either the most reckless person alive or you just don't care what happens to you."
Naomi rolled her eyes, though she turned away from his gaze. "Don't be so dramatic."
"Naomi," Cassien said in a low voice, his gloved fingers tilted her chin towards him. His golden eyes scanned her face scrutinizingly. "I'm being serious."
She laughed dismissively, but it came out wrong, and she felt tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. Cassien watched her carefully, the cracks in her exterior widening and revealing the raw heartache from beneath.
"What would it even matter?" She shook her head, pushing away his hand. "Don't worry. I'm not about to make a habit of standing in front of rolling carts anytime soon."
He let her go, but didn't step away. "That's not what I'm saying and you know it."
Naomi bristled, folding her arms across her chest. "What do you want me to say, then? That I chose not to move? That I wanted to get hit?"
Cassien's brow furrowed. "I want you to be honest with me, even if that means the answer to those questions is yes."
Naomi turned to him with a retort on her lips - spiteful and petty - but she stopped herself at the sight of his eyes shining with worry for her. Their recent conversations had finally begun to push past sarcastic jabs and bravado, but even then he had always been there for her, patient and unflinching - no matter how badly she had hurt him. She didn't want to break that now, not when there was a chance to properly build something real between them.
She hugged her arms around herself, eyes fixed in the distance over his shoulder. "It wasn't on purpose. I just… I thought I saw someone who looked like my mother, and it threw me off." Her fingers tightened around her arms. "I was never really allowed to go anywhere, even back at home. She always made it clear I didn't belong in places like this."
Naomi's lips quivered. "Sometimes it feels like she's still here, just waiting for me to screw up."
Every instinct told Cassien to reach out, to hold her face in his hands and comfort her in any way she needed to soothe the ache in her heart. But he held himself back - this was about her, not him.
When he spoke, Naomi thought she had never heard his voice so softly before. "My parent's expectations weren't nearly as bad, but I know what you mean. You worry about being enough for them, for your family's name - but at some point… you just want to be enough for yourself."
He leaned a little closer, his icy scent enveloping her in a steady comfort. "I know it's different for you. I can't pretend to understand the full intricacies of your nation compared to mine. But I do know you deserve far more than just living for someone else's approval, especially for someone who isn't here anymore. You deserve to want things for yourself, without any guilt attached to it."
"Is that really what you think?" Her voice shook as hot tears began to streak down her face.
"It is," he said solemnly, slowly raising his hand.
Before Cassien could wipe away her tears, she closed the small gap between them in a sudden jerk. Her arms wrapped around his neck, clinging with a fierce desperation. He could feel the shakes from her small frame as she pressed herself against him, though every sob was silent. Without hesitation, he held her tightly as one hand rested gently at the back of her head, the other anchored around her waist.
Cassien said nothing and simply let her hold on as long as she needed. He knew he'd broken the promises he'd made to himself time and time again - but in the moment he saw her shimmering blue eyes, he knew he would never let her face the world alone again.