Her porcelain slender fingers roamed between his slick blackened strands, reminding her of sea moss brought in from the tide and its moist, salty scent. The comfort she felt around him only drew her closer to him as she laced her creamy leg over his thigh. The churning of the sea could be heard in the distance as a storm loomed overhead and sea gullies cawed and swooped over vessels as if to warn the sailors of the impending winds . White frothy tips crashed into blackened rocks as if angery for being contained, and the sound of servants soft hushed foot steps, clattering dishes as they too prepared for the unknown at the King’s request.
There was a time when such weather set an unease in her soul on the days her Papa was on an excursion in the midst of a storm.
But he always returned with a smile placed upon his face and a twinkle held in his pristine azure eyes. “It was just a simple heated conversation, my lass,” he would say, seeing the weary expression on Ella’s young face. “Didn’t I tell you the sea was a woman’s heart, and sometimes she lashes out, wanting to be left barren in her days without pesky sailors and their oversized toys sweeping across her crystallized peeks and fishing in her darkened depths?” It was always the same routine when he returned home.
First sitting in his favorite old, worn chair. Momma immediately stood by his side with a cuppa of fresh brew as he snaked his arms around my tiny waist and drew me near. He hadn’t bathed, and from the scent, he had not seen a trickling of soap in many days. But he was my father, and I adored his natural scent. Just like now, Ella thought to herself, of Mr. Kit and smoothed her satin cheek over his bare masculine chest. Was it any wonder why she would fall for a man whose pulse riddled in the same tempered breath as her father. A true sea voyeur was a man who matched the mystique of the sea's hidden treasures.
A sweet melancholy washed over her mind with many memories, like the churning of the tide. A book of her life, much like the sea itself how it overlaps and pulls back, waddling and revealing in frothy ivory silks filled with laughter and tears as if frozen in time. It was these moments that she held close to her heart when the travesty of her stepmother tried to dim her inner light. Ella was raised on fairytales, and in her youth, she danced with fae in the forbidden forests, where grand oaks were portals to other worlds. At times, she thought perhaps it's best to surrender these childish notions, just as one does when they put away their old toys in a chest, sweeping them under their bed.
It was the worst day of her life when the Duke brought her to the castle, and tears spilled from her deer-doe eyes. It was as if every wish she placed upon the stars above scattered around her, and the light many wished to extinguish flickered in dying blues and suffocating embers before he would enter her world for the second time. A crackling whip zigzagged across the sky like the tongue of a dragon, causing Ella the slightest fright as she shivered and tightened her tiny fingers around Kit's sleepy masculine frame. Ella quickly recovered and giggled at her silliness.
Wanting a closer look at the storm, she slipped out of bed and placed her small toes over the withered mahogany wooden floors. Each grove, a line deepened with age, told tales of those who dwelled in this room ages ago, as well as the wrinkles it must have had when a man chopped it down. She sighed at that thought and hoped at least it was ending in its stage of life and now served a new purpose from the forest in which it was taken. She instead supported worthy mortals in their comings and goings in life. Her chemise was slightly larger than her slender frame. And as she stood, the lace strapping on her shoulder spilled downward following the flow of her golden ringlets, and the warm misty air caressed her like a mother welcoming her home.
She slid the doors leading to the terrace overlooking the wild sea, and as she gazed outward, she saw the stitched darkening sky bleeding into the waters, white tips flaring upwards like a ladies fan. She thought of all the adventures her father and Mr. Kit must have had. Since she was a little girl, she longed for such travels and to visit lands she only read about in the books from the second-hand store in her village. She was always intrigued by the unfamiliar languages, customs, and folklore that other lands held. Ella leaned against the frame of the doorway as her golden tresses spun wildly around her face as she looked at Kit, still asleep, with his lips slightly parted as he hissed in and out of his dreams.
She knew they shared the same spirit, one that never was anchored to one given shore. But she also knew his loyalty to his country and people and how he would lay down his last breath to see everyone before even he thrived and carried on. His father's lands had grown in wealth and stature within the last few years, and their fleets were the quickest in all the neighboring lands. Jealousy, envy had seeped over the French alps and weaved into the valleys and streams like a virus as whispers of war carried throughout.
There was tension in the air, although unspoken, and it was as if the sea itself was hurling itself against the barricading boulders and rocks too. It feeling as if it had a say in these times, having to swallow the blood and many spirits that lingered over her crescent shores. Ella could never understand such hearts, and she whimpered in thoughts of what may come. Biter greed and darkened hearts rippled upon her soul like sharp thorns whipping against her flesh and reminded her of her stepmother's cold stone heart. Maybe they could escape and live among the fae she danced with, be released from this talons claw, and go to a place where only love and dreams exist and raise a family of their own.
