Well, I'm guessing from his reaction that I've overstepped. Typical of my plan to carry me away far past what's appropriate and completely misread the situation. I had a good thing going there for a minute, but there's no way to come back from accidentally proposing a real marriage when a fake one would do. Whatever possessed me has clearly gone, leaving a gaping cold space where my insides used to be.

"I'm sorry. I meant. I only meant." I hold out my dress, hoping he'll help me into it and forget I said anything.

"You would marry me?" he whispers. "With nothing to recommend me?"

"You still believe you have nothing to recommend you?" I ask, and from the look on his face it's clear he does.

"Well," I say finally, as he seems frozen in place. "I think there is probably plenty to recommend you. And I—"

"You can't possibly trust the word of women I've never conversed with. You can't make a life-altering decision to save me from my father. I can't let you do that on my behalf."

I assumed he would have noticed by now. "You really don't remember me, do you?"

"Remember you?" His face pinches up like I've confused him or he's eaten a sour citrus.

"We met at court four or five summers ago. You had a woman on your arm I believed to be a relation but all the other ladies stayed away."

"And you did not. You just came over to introduce yourself," he whispers. "Cata..."

"Grand niece of his excellency," I finish for him. "Yes."

"You said... you said you weren't looking for a match at court."

"You said the same," I laugh. "And it seems we were both telling the truth as here we stand years later unwed still. But now it appears our hands are being forced. And if we must marry, what's to stop us from taking this decision into our hands? My great uncle still has connections with a local priest. If we're to return married, what are they going to do?"

His jaw falls. "Cata," he whispers again. "Where were you these last years?"

"School," I admit. "My father thinks I was away learning languages but my aunt arranged a thorough education. I had planned to run away from there, but my father enticed me back with the promise of choice and passing duties to my sister. As you know, she's very willing, but he doesn't mean to actually allow it. All he cares about are his pocketbook and his proximity to court."

"I bet it would really irritate him to know you've brought yourself closer to the court than he could have ever achieved with his match."

Closer to court? Closer...?

"I am to inherit my uncle's title upon his death. He has no sons living. I will use the income to provide for his daughters. My wife would have to agree to this, of course."

"Your uncle?"

A smile crawls across his face, waiting for my brain to catch up to my words. "Your uncle the Crown Princess's godfather?"

He nods. "That uncle."

"So you're—"

"Independently wealthy, guaranteed a place at court, and destined for higher status than my father?" he answers. "Yes. But only upon my uncle's death. And I wish that man a long and happy life."

"But if we were to return wed, would your father allow it?"

"He'd have to, wouldn't he? 'What God has joined, let no man put asunder' right? If there's one thing my father wants to appear it is pious. You know how Her Majesty feels about the church."

"And I have no desire to wed anyone in particular, but getting out from under my father would be most pleasant." I do not add that the thought of being wed to him is also pleasant. I do force my eyes to stay on his face and not wander where they should not.

"You should not marry me just to escape your father," he says in earnest, lifting my hands into his. "I will find a way to keep you safe from him. To give you a place to stay and a small income. At least for now."

My hands feel heavy in his, and I pull them away. "If you do not wish to marry me, you can tell me that, Marcos. I will not take offense."

Okay, I will take a little bit of offense. But the idea is extremely unorthodox so I'm sure I'll be able to accept the decision. Eventually, I won't be upset.

"Perhaps we should take time to think," is his only reply. And I have to admit I wish he were more enthusiastic. But I can't dwell on that now.

"We'll need to find new names to travel under. I don't want anyone finding us because you had the smarts to travel under your actual name. I assumed a duke would be smarter. It's why it took me so long to realize you were really you. That and..." I pause, and my eyes betray me, raking down his whole body. It seems so different from when we last met. He seems so different.

"You could say I grew up," he says simply.

"That you could." I say, allowing my hand to test the firmness of his strong bicep.

He clears his throat but doesn't brush me off. "I suppose we should decide on the names we will use."

"Indeed, we should. Are we to continue our travels as a married couple?"

"We..." he searches for the right words and I wait. "I'd like that."

I am a puddle. On the floor.

Right on cue, the men enter the car and shout down the hall. The next stop is Madrid. We can't risk going any further.

"We have to get off here." I turn to face him, urging him to help with the last piece of my dress. "Please. I can't be caught."

He bounces on his feet. "I can't be caught either and Madrid isn't far enough to be safe."

"New names and identities. We'll stay out of society spaces and be on the next train out in the morning, toward the coast."

He pauses, still holding my mantilla between his fingers.

"Please. Let's take the night to think about it. You can decide if you'd like to come with me in the morning or continue your journey without me. But right now we need to get off this train before someone tracks you here. Your real name is on your ticket." I shove the peineta into my hair, haphazardly pulled into something resembling a nest, and reach for the mantilla.

Instead of releasing it, Marcos takes a step toward me, leaving less than a foot of space between us, and drapes the delicate lace over my head, pulling it down at the sides so it sits right where it should. His knuckles ghost against my cheeks as he does.

The train slows and the wheels squeal against the track. "You ready?" he asks, picking up his bag and offering me his arm.

"I'm fine, thank you." My whole body is still buzzing from his touch.

"No wife of mine walks unaccompanied while I am present, Catalina. You should probably know that before you make any decisions."

I think my knees just broke. My legs turned to cereal. I'm incapable of fully holding myself up, so I clutch onto his strong arm and follow him through the door and out the side of the train car into the warm Madrid sunshine.

The stone is firm beneath our feet as we exit the station and enter the streets, blending in with the crowd of traffic moving between shops and heading to morning Mass at the Cathedral.

We could hide there easily enough, but it won't solve the problem. What we really need is a place to stay.

~ * ~ Author's Note ~ * ~ 

I personally love everything Mittu has ever written, so I'm super pleased to share their novella, "Till The Hawk Moth Flies" available on their profile, -dreamsinwords . 

After her silent vengeance culminates in a violent last battle, Selvali stands amidst the deadly silence of her fathers' desolate empire in Ghonami. Desolate, until a mangled, trembling hand rises from beneath the bodies — and a face looks up. A face of a person who, in just a fleeting few days, would force Selvali to face her past, her pain, and her deepest fears.

The face of Erappuyal, the cursed clairvoyant.