The Cold King(25)

           



       



And the town's people were just as bad. Not one of them had been kind or  friendly, they were just as awful as they had always been. She missed  the castle and the other servants. With surprise she realized she missed  the king.

Shame flooded her. She shouldn't miss him; after all, he had taken away  her freedom and even locked her in a dungeon. But he had also given her a  home and friends. She never had to worry about clothes or food; she did  not have to work half as hard as she once had to at home. But it was  more than that. She actually missed him. Despite his harshness and the  terrifying masks he hid behind, he was a good man and he took care of  her.

The clock slowly ticked off the minutes as she waited to be reunited  with him. She drifted off to sleep thinking about his dark hair and the  sharp, woodsy scent of his soap.





Chapter Eleven


Morning finally came and Calia jumped out of bed before the sun rose.  She washed and fixed her hair and put on a new gown. She packed all her  things and then sat at the window, waiting for Marchello to come take  her home.

Her sister got up next and started the fire to make hot water for the  tea. Her mother eventually came out of her room to lounge in her  armchair while Moli got the little kids up and began making breakfast.

Calia said nothing, did not even turn away from the window.

Finally her mother spoke. "The next time you return, perhaps the king  can send you with some cloth and shoes. Oh, and chocolate. And more gold  than he sent this time. I am sure he'll want to properly compensate the  woman who raised his servant."

Calia kept her breathing shallow and even. She did not blink or  acknowledge her mother. When she heard the carriage come rattling down  the street she jumped up, grabbed her bag and ran out the door to wait.

"Moli, close the door before all the warm air gets out," she heard her  mother snap. The door slammed shut and Calia was left in the street  without even a goodbye.



She was standing still as stone with tears pouring down her face when  Marchello pulled up. He jumped down in alarm and pulled Calia to him.  "What's the matter my dear? Are you all right?"

"Take me home, please," she mumbled.

He looked from her to the house, his face hardening in anger. "Of course."

Calia numbly watched the trees pass by as she rode back to the castle.  Marchello said nothing when he helped her down from the carriage, just  gave her a sorrowful look before taking her bag in.

The main hall was empty and Calia was grateful not to encounter anyone  in the palace. But as she opened the door to her room, the king opened  to door to his and stepped out into the hall.

"You are back," he said, his voice a gentle rumble.

She took a deep breath, wrapped her arms tightly around herself and  turned to face him. If he was shocked by her red rimmed eyes she could  not tell because of his damned mask. "Never again," she said quietly.

He cocked his head to the side. "Excuse me?"

She hiccupped on a sob. "Do not do that to me again."

The king stepped towards her with an outstretched hand. "Calia-"

She closed the space between them and leaned against him, hiding her  face against his chest. The king stiffened in shock and Calia refrained  from wrapping her arms around him but she didn't move away. "I am sure  you thought you were doing something nice for me but it wasn't," she  mumbled against his perfect shirt. "Do not send me away again. I won't  go."



The king relaxed and she felt a feather light caress on her hair. After a  moment of silence he leaned his head down to whisper in her ear, "As  you wish. Never again."

Calia let out a breath she did not know she was holding and nodded  against his chest. With her head down, she stepped away from her king  and she was surprised by how much it hurt. "I'll just get settled in and  then fetch your lunch tray."

She scurried into her small sanctuary and leaned back against the closed  door. She did not see the king standing in the hallway with his hand  over his chest where her head had rested. She did not hear him come to  her door and press his other hand against it.





They were both quiet for the next few days. The king did not ask what  had happened during her visit and she did not offer to tell him. He  watched her as she silently went about her tasks, dusting his treasures  and beginning a new shirt for him. Calia thought perhaps he was angry  about how she had spoken to him or that she had touched him but she did  not care. That one moment had lit a warmth in her she had never felt  before and she wouldn't trade it for all the silent rebuking in the  world.

Three days after returning home Calia entered the king's room with his  breakfast tray and nearly dropped it when she saw him. In place of the  diamond mask was one of simple white silk. It still covered from above  his brow to below his cheek bones but she could clearly see his eyes.  They were a bright sage green, lined with dark lashes and filled with  trepidation. Her heart pounded in her chest as she realized she had been  staring at him for an uncomfortably long time.                       
       
           



       



Finally she approached to set his tray down. He watched her, tense.

"Good morning," she said quietly. "I trust you slept well."

"I did," he rumbled. He made no move to touch his tray, just sat back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

She fidgeted from foot to foot, trying desperately not to look at his  eyes. Finally she risked a glance and found he was staring at her. "What  is it, my king?"

"Do you find my appearance unsettling?"

Her mouth dropped open at his ridiculous question. "No, of course not. It is your masks I find unsettling."

"Do you find me very ugly?"

Calia flushed, bewildered by his line of questioning. "Not at all, my king. Why do you ask me such questions?"

He sighed. "I used to be very handsome. I had many women swoon over me, even from a young age. Do you believe that?"

"I do," she said with hesitation. He heard it too and his eyes snapped  back to hers, flashing with anger. "I do," she insisted. "Even with your  face hidden, you are very handsome. I am sure it matches the rest of  you very well." Her cheeks warmed and she looked away in embarrassment.

He gave a bitter laugh. Calia squirmed, discomforted by his questions.  Why would he care if she thought him handsome? She kept her eyes away  from his, scared she would see him staring at her again.



Her eyes alighted on a new object in the room, a mirror large as large a  door, encased in a gold frame. Calia looked from the mirror to her  king.

"When did you get that?" she asked.

"It arrived last night," he said flatly.

She walked over to see it better. It was a lovely piece, the frame  ornate enough for any fine painting. "Was it a gift?" she asked.

He got up and went to stand by her but was careful to not let himself  show in the mirror. "I suppose you could call it that. King William sent  it."

Calia twisted her fingers together. "That was nice of him?" she asked hesitantly.

The king let out another loud, bitter laugh and she jumped. "No. It is not nice. He knows I do not have mirrors in my palace."

Calia thought back and realized she hadn't seen one anywhere. A small  note lay on the table next to the offending mirror and Calia picked it  up.

‘So that you may see yourself more clearly' it read.

"Why do not you like mirrors?" she asked, knowing he wouldn't tell her.

He said nothing and she turned to lay a gentle hand on his tense arm. "Why won't you let anyone see you with your mask off?"

He finally turned his eyes to hers. "No one looks upon my face. Not even  me, not until he sent this damned mirror." She was surprised and  saddened by the haunted look in his eyes.



She gave a little smile and patted his arm. "Then I shall take it away."

It was heavier than she had thought but she managed to drag it out of  the room and down the stairs. Iago spied her dragging it across the  courtyard and helped her to carry it to the barn. They stored it with  the reflecting glass against the wall.

"Do not ask," Calia said in a weary voice.

"I wasn't going to."





When she returned to his rooms the king was at his desk, several  documents in front of him. He didn't thank her or even acknowledge her  entrance. Calia took her place by the fire and pulled her sewing basket  into her lap. After a moment she glanced up to find the king staring at  her with a pained look on his face.

Her stomach fluttered. "Are you all right, my king?"

He nodded but didn't avert his gaze.

"Do you need anything?" she asked.

He hesitated before shaking his head and finally turned back to his documents.