Chapter 17

Into The Small Hours

Rose forced herself not to laugh at Alexander as he sat on the bed. He was stiff as a board, and even though he was sitting, he still seemed too large for the space.

He looked at her, his eyes narrowing. "And what exactly do you find so amusing?" he asked.

Rose smiled, just managing to suppress her laugh. "It is just that you look as though you are sitting on a bramble bush and fearing the thorns. I promise you, it is only a bed."

Even as she said the words, she realized that it was her bed. And that there was a man perched on the end of it, looking as though he might burst with discomfort.

We are married. And it is silly for him to remain on the floor.

Rose knew she could have asked Alexander to leave, but when he had suggested it, she had felt panic grip her. The thought of being left alone seemed to steal her breath away.

Besides, I am enjoying the company.

Alexander frowned but seemed to force himself to relax. His shoulders dropped a little, and Rose felt the bed sink beneath his weight.

Silence seemed to stretch between them, and Rose fumbled for something to say. Her eyes fell on the sword resting on the table, moonlight glancing off the blade. Alexander followed her gaze but said nothing.

"I do not think I have ever seen a short sword before. They always seemed far more elegant than pistols," Rose murmured.

"Elegance or not, it is still a weapon. Designed to cause harm." Alexander's voice was coolly detached. "Though, a sword does give one's opponent a better chance of survival. Pistols are not so accurate, and I would not use one in such close quarters, lest my aim cause harm to another."

"Is your aim so poor?" Rose asked, half teasing.

Is that what happened the night your father was killed?

Alexander shrugged, shifting on the bed. "My aim is quite accurate, but in the heat of a fight, too much can go amiss."

"I suppose that is true." Rose glanced around the room. "Though you came alone, what would have happened if there had been more than one intruder?"

"I would have fought them," Alexander said simply.

"Even if there were five? Or more?" Rose frowned. "I am sure you are skilled with a sword, but surely even you have your limits."

"It is not a question of skill. The objective would not be to defeat them, simply to allow you time to escape. That is an entirely different matter." Alexander met her gaze. "Though I confess, I am glad that it was a dream and not some group of bandits that troubled you tonight."

Rose felt her heart twist.

He would sacrifice himself for me.

"I, too, am glad that it was only a dream that troubled me."

Somewhere in the castle, a clock began to chime.

One. Two. Three. It is three o'clock in the morning.

"The witching hour," Alexander murmured.

Rose raised an eyebrow. "My mother always told me that the hour after midnight was the witching hour."

"Then perhaps she is right. I was told that from three to four is the witching hour." Alexander smiled. "As a young boy, if I woke up at that time, I would run to the window and see if I could spy some devil at work."

"You were not afraid you might come to some mischief?" Rose tilted her head.

"I had the arrogance of youth. I thought that nothing could harm me. I was so fascinated by stories of the fae, of myths and legends. In fact, I found a book of mysteries that holds all sorts of stories from across the land." Alexander smiled. "It was full of all sorts of frightful stories of wicked spirits and superstitions."

"That sounds fascinating." Rose leaned forward. "Is it in the Western library?"

Alexander tapped his chin thoughtfully. "You know, I am not sure. Mother found me reading it to Olivia when we were younger and took it from us."

"I take it that the contents of your book were not suitable for a young lady?" Rose's lips quirked up as she imagined a younger Alexander reading to his sister.

"In a sense. You see, I had been reading her stories for some weeks, and Olivia had spent much of those nights plagued by nightmares. When Mother found us reading the book, she confiscated it, and the next day, the nightmares stopped." Alexander smiled. "However, that did not stop us from searching high and low for the book—although our efforts were in vain."

Rose laughed. "Clearly your mother knows you both well."

Alexander laughed with her. "Indeed, she does. Do not let her gentle manner fool you. My mother is a most cunning woman."

"My mother is the same." Rose sighed. "She is perfectly charming and can read a room as easily as a book. She always seems to know just what to say, what to do. And she has tried so hard to pass this knowledge on to me and my sisters."

Alexander leaned back, propping himself against the corner of her four-poster bed. "Your mother sounds like a very impressive woman. Though I cannot imagine it would be easy to live in the shadow of someone so competent."

Rose shook her head. "I never felt as though I were living in her shadow. Just… well… The thing you must understand is that my mother was not born into nobility."

Alexander tilted his head. "Oh?"

"My grandfather was a wealthy merchant. Mother said he was the kind of man who could sell you anything in the world, and she was raised to do just the same." Rose smiled wryly. "All without you realizing that is what she was doing."

Alexander nodded thoughtfully. "The night we met, I think I heard you say something about her being a merchant's daughter. At least I assume it was your voice I heard in the maze."

Rose's cheeks flushed so deeply that she was sure he would feel her embarrassment.

If the ground would open up and swallow me whole, I would be most grateful.

"I had hoped you did not hear much of my outburst."

"I did not hear all of it. I tried to avoid listening, but you were quite… impassioned, and your voice does carry when you are angry." Alexander smiled. "As I well know."

Is it possible to die of embarrassment?

"Well, perhaps you should make me less angry, then," Rose quipped, attempting to hide her feelings.

"I should like to avoid making you angry," Alexander agreed. "Although I do rather like it when you stand your ground. There is something endearing about it."

"You find being shouted at endearing?" Rose gaped. "Did I hit you so hard that you have taken leave of your senses?"

Alexander laughed, the sound deep and rich. It rolled through the room and sent tiny shivers through her body.

He has the most wonderful laugh.

"It is not that I find being shouted at endearing." Alexander smiled. "It is the fact that you, who barely comes up to my chest, will stand your ground and ask for what you want. Yet, despite your small stature, you strode up to me and told me that I could not leave."

"Well, you were being most unreasonable. It was like dealing with an ox," Rose scoffed.

"You are calling me an ox?" Alexander's eyes widened in amusement.

"You are quite stubborn when you wish to be." Rose paused. "Though if I were to compare you to an animal, it would not be an ox."

"Oh? What would it be?" Alexander leaned forward.

Rose took him in. His broad shoulders, the sharp lines on his face, the power in his movement. Yet, there was also gentleness. A kind of grace that was easy to miss beneath all that muscle.

There is a wildness, and such capacity for silliness when you see beneath the mask.

"A bear." Rose nodded once.

"A bear?" Alexander frowned.

"Yes. I think if you were an animal, you would be a bear." Rose smiled. "Strong, powerful, but amusing as well. Enjoys his own company."

"I am not sure whether to be flattered or insulted." Alexander looked thoughtful. "Though, I do not feel I would mind being a bear."

"And what animal would I be?" Rose tilted her head.

Alexander stroked his chin thoughtfully, shifting on the bed as he did so, his thigh resting against her shin. His warmth was comforting, even through the bedclothes. "I think you would be a falcon."

"A falcon?" Rose crossed her arms across her chest. "Why a falcon?"

"Well, you are small," Alexander teased. "But it is more that you remind me of a falcon. Powerful, strong, but easily underestimated. You are loyal, yet you need your freedom. And if you are treated well, you will return."

Rose felt something stir within her, and she reached out and took his hand in hers. "I wish I saw myself the way you do."

"As do I." Alexander's eyes met hers, his lips slightly parted.

Rose let out a yawn, covering her mouth as she did so. Alexander smiled and covered his own yawn.

It must be late.

"I should leave." He glanced at the open door.

Rose sat up straighter. "Please, stay. I… I do not wish to be alone."

For a moment, she worried that he would leave. Instead, he nodded. He met her eyes, glancing from the bed to the floor, and she patted the space beside her.

Alexander hesitated a moment, before lying down beside her. His wintery scent filled the air, and she felt herself relax as she breathed it in. Instinctively, she moved closer to him.

"When I was young, after a bad dream, someone would hold me until I fell back to sleep," Rose murmured sleepily.

"I can hold you if you like," Alexander offered in a soft voice.

"I think I would like that."

Alexander wrapped his arms around her, and she curled into the warmth. She closed her eyes, feeling his strong body against her, and fell asleep.

When she woke up in the morning, she was confused by the heaviness around her. Alexander's arms engulfed her, and the warmth of him against her back seemed to calm her. His breath tickled the back of her neck, the sound deep and low.

She felt something stir within her. Hope. Her stomach growled.

Hope, or perhaps hunger?

She moved, trying not to wake him up as she extricated herself from his arms. His eyes opened, and he smiled at her.

"Are you sneaking away," he asked, his voice thick with sleep, "like some thief in the night?"

"Well, I am a poor thief if I am sneaking out of my own bedchamber?" Rose smiled at him. "I was simply hungry and did not wish to wake you. You seemed so peaceful."

Alexander propped himself up on his elbow. His hair was mussed from sleep, and she resisted the urge to tuck a stray lock back into place.

"That is most considerate of you." Alexander's stomach growled, and Rose laughed. "It seems we both need to eat. I shall dress and ask the servants to prepare breakfast."

Rose nodded, watching as he rose from the bed and strode towards the door, grabbing his sword as he did so. He hesitated and looked back at her, as though he might say something.

Rose raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I shall see you at breakfast," Alexander said after a moment and then left.

Rose stared after him, replaying what happened the night before. It seemed almost like a dream, and yet it was real.

He stayed with me all night.

Rose smiled but felt a swirl of nerves within her.

Did he stay only because I asked, or did he really want to?

She frowned, trying to puzzle out the maelstrom of feelings within her. She barely noticed as Abigail entered the room and helped her dress. Her thoughts were full of Alexander. His scent. His comforting presence. How kind he was when he woke her up. How nice it had been to talk to him.

I want more nights like that. And days. I did not know I could feel so cherished.

The realization brought her up short. She wanted to spend more time with Alexander. To get to know him more. To care for him.

When had this happened?

Just because they had one pleasant night together did not mean he would feel the same.

"Your Grace?" Abigail's voice broke through Rose's thoughts.

"Pardon?" Rose asked, her mind still reeling from her realization.

"I asked if that would be all." Abigail cast her a subtle look.

"Oh, yes." Rose flushed. "Thank you."

Abigail curtsied and left the room.

Rose followed after her, still in a daze. She was barely aware of where she was going and found herself in an unfamiliar corridor. Confused, she tried the door on her left, thinking it was the one that led to the back staircase.

It was not.

The door swung open, and Rose found herself standing in an ornate library. The shelves were a dark, rich mahogany. The ceiling was high. Books lined the bookshelves. Less than in the Western library, but by no means an insubstantial amount.

She was in the library in the East Wing. The place she had sworn not to go. Yet, she was unable to move. She noticed a writing desk in the corner, the only part of the room not covered in a thin layer of dust.

I should leave.

A portrait hung just above the desk. At first glance, Rose thought it was Alexander, but she realized the man was much older than him. His hair was the same dark brown as his sons'.

His eyes were a darker shade than Alexander's but seemed full of kindness and warmth. The artist had painted the man smiling, and it seemed that he was inviting Rose to join him.

The former Duke. Alexander's father.

She moved closer, wanting to get a better look at him. Her hand brushed against something cold on the desk. She jumped, glancing down. A small golden box lay beneath her hand.

Curious, she opened it. Inside was a seal. The handle was made of gold, in the shape of a thorny rose stem, though the thorns were placed so as not to cause the user pain. The head was a rose carved out of a beautiful pink stone.

Rose quartz, I guess.

Carefully, she turned the seal over in her hands.

It must be the former Duke's seal.

It was beautiful, and must have cost a small fortune.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her. She whirled around. She should not be in this room, she needed to leave. But it was too late.

Standing in the doorway, his face hidden in shadow, was Alexander.

What have I done?