Where's your wife?
Mica's head rolled back as a groan of exasperation left her. A chagrin flush crept over her face which she hid behind her hands. "Why did I ask that?"
Three hours after the dinner ended and she still could not find the audacity from whence her question came from. Or why she did it. It just so happened to have been lingering on her tongue, or maybe it was the boldness by which he was flirting with her.
"He's not flirting with me. He cannot be." And yet the truth of it was not so far.
She wanted to weep.
His face was still as stone when she had asked him the question though she swore something dark flashed behind his eyes as his mouth curled into a dangerous smile.
Out. Was his answer.
Simple as that.
Out.
If he had taken offense to her question he did well to hide it. If he was intrigued or even inclined to her audacity, he made no move, only waved her off with an elegant curve of his hand.
Mica paced her bedroom with her hot face held between her hands. She was mortified, yet somehow beneath all the tidal emotions… a spark of intrigue pulled at her chest. It was something that had undoubtedly been nagging her mind ever since he brought her to his castle.
Since he made her his cupbearer and made a subtle show of drinking from the spot where her lips had touched his cup.
Since he fed her quiet dinners in the still of night and beckoned her into a darkness only he could see.
There was something stirring between them.
And he was the one testing it, she realized. Like there was a deep pool between and he was edging closer, stopping every now and then to rest his foot on the floor, seeing just how deep it would go before he could reach her.
And she…
Well.
"Damn you." Mica snarled at the room and turned glaring at the furniture he had sprinkled all around her room. "Damn you Mica. You were supposed to run away, escape from this place."
She sat on the edge of the bed and sighed while flopping backwards. She squinted up at the ceiling. "You're not supposed to want to stay. The original plan was to run away, so what happened?"
He told you to ask him anything.
A scoff. "Anything but leaving."
Which felt like more than enough at the moment.
She scrubbed her face and thoughts, groaning even louder when a low knock disrupted her mournful state.
Mica paused and glanced down at the door. Had she been hallucinating the sound?
The knock came again, firm yet quiet enough for her to hear.
Who would be here at this hour of the night? "Who is it?"
There was a deafening silence, and then he spoke.
"Little lamb."
Mica's heart made a treacherous leap.
She rose onto her elbows in a flash and stared in wild disbelief at the door. His shadow loomed from the space beneath.
"May I come in."
"No." She blurted out.
There was silence so thick she heard her own breath. "I mean… I'm in bed."
"It will only be a moment."
Mica gave a timid nervous chuckle, "Truly, I'm in bed and—"
"Open the door, Mica."
Her mouth slammed shut.
Quietly she rose onto her feet and shuffled towards the door. Counting to three she began to unlock the key and twisted the knob, gently prying it open until only her eyes could peer through. She looked up past his abdomen, chest and finally, face.
The King's visage was one of contentment as he leaned his shoulder on the wall, his eyes were partly open and focused on the ground. "Do you always greet your guests with a shut door?"
"You're not a guest."
"No, I'm not." He smiled then, sharp and wolf-like. "I'm your king."
With a firm but gentle hand on the door, he pushed it open forcing her a few reluctant steps back.
She began to edge towards the wall but then caught herself and folded her arms instead hoping not to look too defensive or nervous by his presence.
The king walked about the room slowly, his gloved hand stretched out as fingers brushed over different surfaces and lingered on her tunic which she had discarded on the chair. He could not see but it was clear his fingers were forming images for him.
His face was lowered but his smile had lost the sharp edge. "How do you find the room."
"Fine."
A dark brow rose.
"... good," she muffled out, "thank you, it's better than I expected."
"Ask and it will be given to you."
Mica watched him run a tentative finger over her dresser then slowly pivot in her direction with hands clasped behind him. The tension was mounting in the room, or maybe it was her thoughts of the dinner and her loose mouth.
"I'm sorry." She blurted out just as he set down a figurine. "About the dinner. The question I asked you what out of line." She was wringing her hands now like a cloth, "truly it was none of my business and your marriage is something people should respect."
Including myself.
And you.
".. anyway, I hope I didn't offend you."
He was quiet but only for a breath staring at nothing, and then he indulged her in a smile whilst shrugging an elegant shoulder. "Sentiments."
Her eyes fell to his feet as he took a step towards her. "You're not offended."
"No, my little one." Another step.
Mica instinctively, and quietly, took a step to the side.
His head followed.
"Your question did not offend me, if anything it intrigued me that you would think of my queen in such moments."
Her face turned hot. "It wasn't like that. I just thought… I misinterpreted the situation."
"Did you?"
"Yes."
Another step. "And what did you think?"
"That…" another step. She tried inching back only to press against the wall. Oh hell. "That… there was something."
He was closer now, the space between inching shut and she could smell the dinner's wine on him. "Is there something?"
"No."
He stopped suddenly, close enough for the toe of his shoe to brush her own bare ones. Mica stared long and hard at his chest refusing to look up at him. A shyness took over her that she could not quite explain and it bloomed from her chest. "... I should sleep."
"May I ask you something, Mica?"
She glanced up at him curiously. "What?"
"I want to touch your face."