Anne

As Elliot and I finally reached our chamber, the late hour whispered of the impending dawn, the clock on the wall ticking steadily towards the birth of a new day. Typically, I retired early, but tonight held an unusual weight, a solemnity that belied the festivities outside our door. Though my friends reveled in joy, I found myself unable to share in their merriment.

As we bid our farewells to our companions, Elliot spun a white lie, attributing my absence to a sudden bout of illness. In truth, the only ailment I suffered from was a mild intoxication. Guiding me into the room, Elliot settled me gently onto the bed before bustling off to fetch a glass of water.

"Here, drink this. It will help," he offered, pressing the cold glass into my trembling hands.

I couldn't help but chuckle, the edges of my speech tinged with a slight slur. "Water will not mend the wounds of my heart and soul, Elliot," I replied wistfully, my words heavy with the weight of sorrow.

Elliot remained silent, as I had anticipated. His stoic presence offered little solace in the wake of my turmoil. With a heavy sigh, I rose from the bed and returned the untouched glass of water to him, my movements listless as I wandered aimlessly around the expansive room.

Eventually, I halted, turning to face Elliot with narrowed eyes. The words spilled from my lips before I could halt their momentum, fueled by the reckless abandon of alcohol. As a child, I had been taught the importance of measured speech, yet the intoxicating haze blurred the boundaries of my restraint.

"You never offered your condolences to me after Andrew's murder, Elliot," I accused, the bitterness of betrayal lingering on my tongue. It was a truth I had long harbored, a silent grievance festering beneath the surface. Elliot's silence on the matter had been deafening, his avoidance a stark reminder of Andrew's absence.

Once again, the weighty silence enveloped us, a familiar companion in our shared solitude. I had grown accustomed to its presence, resigned to its unyielding grip. There was little use in pressing further, little hope of coaxing words from Elliot's guarded lips. So, with a resigned sigh, I abandoned any notion of salvaging a conversation and resigned myself to the solace of my thoughts.

As exhaustion began to weigh heavily upon my limbs, I made the decision to bring the evening to a close. Weariness tugged at my senses, urging me towards the sanctuary of sleep. A bath, a change of clothes, and the promise of oblivion beckoned me with their soothing embrace.

Just as I prepared to retreat into the water closet, Elliot's unexpected question shattered the silence, catching me off guard. "Would that matter?" he inquired softly, his words piercing through the stillness like a whisper in the night.

Furrowing my brow in confusion, I turned to face him, my curiosity piqued. "Pardon?" I echoed, my voice tinged with uncertainty.

After a prolonged moment of silence, Elliot lifted his gaze to meet mine, his eyes holding a solemn intensity. "Would my condolences have truly made a difference for you, Princess Anne? Did anyone's words of sympathy bring you any solace?" His question hung in the air, a weighty reminder of the futility of platitudes in the face of profound loss.

His words rendered me momentarily speechless, for they struck at the heart of a truth I had long been reluctant to confront. Condolences, however well-intentioned, had offered little comfort in the wake of Andrew's death.

When I remained silent, grappling with the weight of his inquiry, Elliot continued, his voice tinged with a touch of regret. "Forgive me for my silence, Princess. I never intended to be dismissive, but I understood the emptiness that accompanies such well-meaning gestures. I couldn't bear to contribute to the echo of hollow condolences you must have endured."

His words rendered me speechless once more. Elliot stood unwavering by the bedside, while I found myself arrested in my path to the water closet. Though a physical gap yawned between us, his empathetic comprehension of my anguish following my husband's murder drew us together in a profound way. Observing him, my brows knit together in contemplation. Few beyond kin displayed such genuine understanding. The rest of society seemed bent on ostentatious displays of sympathy. Grand floral arrangements, exotic fruit baskets, lavish feasts at the manor – all of these gestures, while well-intentioned, left me cold. They served only to underscore my insignificance in the face of societal expectations. It felt as though condolence had become a competition, each vying for recognition and acclaim. Despite being surrounded by a throng of well-wishers, I remained isolated in my grief.

Still under the influence, yet lucid enough to discern the chasm between us, I managed to utter, "I must freshen up and change out of these garments." My voice faltered slightly after the prolonged silence. Elliot merely inclined his head and respectfully bowed before me. Why was I airing my grievances to him? He was neither my confidant nor my friend. Merely my protector, and before that, he had served my father. It was unreasonable of me to expect anything beyond his contractual duties. Sensing the impropriety of my complaint, I swiftly shifted the conversation. "What shall we do about our lodging arrangements?" I inquired, diverting the focus away from my transient discomfort.

Elliot's gaze flickered towards the imposing bed dominating the room. Anticipating his proposal, I preemptively cautioned him, "And let me make it clear, Elliot, I won't entertain the notion of you slumbering in some concealed nook until morning." His expression betrayed his intent, confirming my suspicion. "We must devise a more equitable arrangement, one where both of us can rest comfortably within these quarters," I asserted with conviction. Drawing a deep breath, I turned my attention to the bed, my thoughts scattered by the haze of the moment. A bath promised clarity, and so I addressed Elliot once more, "Allow me to freshen up first, Elliot. We can deliberate on our sleeping arrangements thereafter," I declared before retreating into the water closet.

Elliot nodded briefly before I entered the water closet. A warm bath was precisely what I needed. I slipped out of my gown and into a lilac silk nightgown, complementing it with a robe of the same fabric and hue. The nightgown, with its deep neckline and delicate shoulder straps, was not something I would feel at ease wearing in Elliot's presence, so I resolved to keep the robe on even in bed. I left my wine-stained gown in the water closet, trusting the servants to attend to it in the morning.

Once attired for bed, I exhaled and stepped out, our lodging arrangement weighing heavily on my mind. To my dismay, I found Elliot lying on the floor, turned away from me, with only a pillow beneath his head. I frowned at the sight of him on the cold, hard floor.

"Absolutely not, Elliot!" I declared, shaking my head and pursing my lips. I marched towards him, yet he remained unresponsive. I watched his shoulders rise and fall with each breath, convinced he was feigning sleep.

"There is no way I shall rest comfortably in the bed while you lie on the cold floor, Elliot. You must get up at once. That is an order," I commanded, invoking my privilege. Still, he did not stir. Elliot had never disregarded my commands before—perhaps he truly was asleep, I pondered. It had indeed been a long day, and he must be weary. But seeing him on the floor was unbearable.

"Elliot, please?" I implored, sighing in defeat when he remained motionless. Perhaps he truly was asleep. I narrowed my eyes at him. "If I discover that you are merely pretending to sleep, Elliot, I shall be exceedingly cross with you." I watched for any sign of movement, but when his breathing remained steady, I concluded he was truly asleep. Resigned, I retired to bed to sleep as well.

I lay in bed in the candlelit room. Normally, people extinguish candles at night to enjoy undisturbed sleep, but I cannot do that. The darkness frightens me, especially when I am alone. I wasn't always like this, but since Andrew passed, everything scares me. I hoped Elliot didn't mind the light in the room. I turned to my side, watching Elliot sleep on the floor. He is loyal but also stubborn. Though we rarely converse, I have learned this about him. Despite my request, he fell asleep on the floor. I must speak to him in the morning. I cannot let him sleep on the floor again.

Seeing him without a duvet, I clicked my tongue and stepped out of bed. The open window let in a chilly wind, which was pleasant to me, but I wasn't sure about Elliot. I closed the window and drew the curtains. Then, I fetched the extra blanket from the end of my bed and gently placed it over Elliot. Kneeling beside him, I tucked the blanket around him and watched him sleep for a few moments. The more I looked at him, the more certain I was that he was truly asleep. His eyelids remained still, and his breathing was steady.

For a moment, my eyes roamed over his face. His forehead, now relaxed, was a stark contrast to the usually furrowed brow. His lips, no longer pressed together, appeared fuller, and his jaw was unclenched. This was the first time I had observed his skin so closely, and I envied its cleanliness and smoothness. Even in the dim light, I could discern a few small scars. I wondered about their origin. He once served in the army of Azurelia, perhaps he acquired them during his service. There is something about him that piques my curiosity. He is always so reserved and quiet, and I find myself yearning to learn about his life, yet he never speaks of it. I know not where this curiosity arises—perhaps it stems from my boredom and loneliness. Maybe once I return to Azurelia, I shall not be as intrigued by him as I am now.

Realizing I was staring, I shook my head and quickly returned to bed, lying down and turning once again to face him. I watched him for a few moments more as my eyelids grew heavy, demanding sleep. I exhaled softly, closed my eyes, and drifted into a deep slumber.

The next morning, upon awakening, I found Elliot absent. The floor lay vacant, devoid of his presence. He had tidied up, neatly folding the blanket and placing it along with the pillow on an armchair. The windows remained securely sealed, their curtains still drawn—a gesture for which I was grateful, given my lingering headache from the previous night's revelry. As I swung my feet off the bed, preparing to rise, the door to the water closet creaked open, revealing a freshly bathed Elliot. He emerged, already attired in a brown doublet and trousers, with an off-white shirt beneath the doublet. His damp hair hung in disarray from the recent bath. Upon noticing my wakefulness, he paused and executed a stiff bow, addressing me with deference, "Good morning, Princess Anne. How do you fare this day?"

I released a weary sigh and descended from the bed, clutching the robe tightly. With firm resolve, I responded, "Disappointed."

"Pardon?" He inquired.

Heaving a sigh, I continued, "Why did you sleep on the floor last night, Elliot? I attempted to rouse you but to no avail."

He lowered his head apologetically. "My sincerest apologies, Princess Anne. I was exceedingly fatigued and failed to perceive your attempts to awaken me..."

Rolling my eyes, I interjected, stepping closer to him. "That's not the cause of my disappointment, Elliot. It's the mere fact that you chose to sleep on the floor."

A soft smile graced his lips as he lifted his head to meet my gaze. "That's my place while we are confined to the same quarters, Princess Anne," he explained.

I frowned at his response. "What absolute rubbish, Elliot," I retorted sternly. "You do not belong on the floor, and we could have easily shared the bed," I insisted, cutting off any attempt at interruption.

Elliot's eyes widened as he prepared to interject, but I continued without pause. "The bed is spacious enough. By arranging pillows between us, we could both rest comfortably. That's precisely what we'll be doing tonight," I declared, leaving no room for argument.

As Elliot opened his mouth to protest, I silenced him with a raised eyebrow. "I've made my decision, Elliot," I asserted firmly. "Now, I must bathe, and we must proceed to breakfast. Punctuality is imperative," I added before briskly walking past him into the water closet.

I awoke that morning feeling less than well, my headache persisted despite the refreshing bath. It seemed a remedy was in order—a steaming cup of tea, perhaps, to ease the discomfort. Exiting the bath, draped in a robe, I realized I had forgotten to retrieve my attire for the day beforehand. My mind felt scattered, my thoughts disarrayed.

With no other option, I donned a long silk robe and ventured out to fetch my clothes. Elliot sat in the armchair, engrossed in a book. As I emerged from the water closet, he rose and bowed respectfully. However, upon catching sight of my disheveled state, he averted his gaze, his shyness palpable. Hastily setting aside his book, he murmured, "I must afford you privacy," before swiftly exiting the chamber.

I offered a silent nod of gratitude, acknowledging his consideration, and proceeded with my task, the need for solitude in my current state apparent.

As soon as Elliot departed, I turned my attention to the mirror and was met with a startling sight. A horrified gasp escaped my lips as I realized my oversight—I had neglected to dry myself thoroughly before donning the robe. The fine silk clung to my damp skin, accentuating every curve and contour. To my dismay, I observed water droplets trailing down from my hair, causing the fabric to adhere to my bare sprightly breasts beneath the robe.

Overwhelmed with embarrassment, I closed my eyes and sank to the floor, cheeks aflame with shame. A low groan of mortification escaped me as I grappled with the magnitude of my blunder. I fervently hoped that Elliot hadn't noticed my predicament as keenly as I had.

Oh, the sheer horror of it all.