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They sit like this, in silence.
All is quiet around them, with only the occasional chirp of a cricket or a stirring of the water. She sits on the opposite side of the boat, head and arms leaning on the gunwale of the boat. Her back faces him, and the starlight bathes her, illuminates her figure in the otherwise waning brightness of dusk. Auburn tresses she had allowed him to plait and weave flowers into almost brush the surface of the water glow hazily, her silken dress now a paler green, bringing out the subtle nuances of her usually not visible to anyone, the warmness, the angelicness of her buried under veils and icy glares, accentuating the times of their youth gone by.
They had done this, once, before. A year or two after the binding, their naivete evident. She was colder then, not yet accustomed to her new life, borderline difficult to deal with. The night veered on ending with a bicker, over something minor he can’t quite recall. But oh, the unbridled bliss of getting to see her in a different light, titles and statuses left behind, that one smile she had given him when he’d complimented the twinkling of her eyes, was something to treasure in the years to come.
There would be no more of this, at least in the near future. They would have to leave the vastness and serenity of this planet behind for desert, its fiefdom now his by imperial decree.
In some ways, he was reluctant to leave Caladan behind. Its control had been passed down through generation to generation of dukes, himself the twentieth duke of the house, his son to be the twenty first. He would surely miss the abundance of life, his subjects. All’s well that ends well, he thinks. Imperial favour had finally shone upon him, something he had been clamouring for, and he would use the opportunity and trust well.
And there was her. His in all ways but official title, an undeniable love between them that only they could recognise, perhaps lost in the currents of politics yet blossoming in spite. They have broken down each others’ walls slowly but surely, opening their hearts and souls in the process. He wonders if she feels the same way, shifting beside her to place his hand over hers.
Her eyes flick towards him before quickly shifting down to their point of contact. She sighs slightly, her gaze trailing to the water under them. In the relative darkness, she can make out her reflection in the ripples on the surface. Was she to blame for their impending relocation? She would not deny to herself the hole she’d dug for themselves. The very fundamentals of her roots she had disobeyed, the mere act of falling in love a crime. Even more so the ensuing rebellion of orders, the choice of child.
Yet, who could blame her? Taught to make the best of her situation, she instead found the best of situations, a man with virtue, not sought out to use her to his own will; a man with respect, not dismissiveness; a man with tenderness, not brashness and violence. She only did what seemed appropriate, and it had pleased him very much. Who was she to deny such a man happiness?
She knew it was a ruse; they were drifting towards their deathbed. He was well aware of it too. She was powerless to stop it.
He vows to cherish her, even more than he did since he found his growing fondness for her. She, who has stood by him since his early days of power, laid next to for countless nights since, needing her more than ever, to be his pillar of support, to be a reason he tries harder each morning. Her eyes flit back to him, and he is transfixed. He reaches behind her ear to tuck a stray lock of her back into place, but in turn causes a flower to fall out of place, almost falling into the lake before he swoops to catch it just before it hits the water. The boat shook from side to side, and they gripped its sides tighter. The boat eventually stabilised and they relaxed, his relieved huff eliciting a small chuckle from her lips. The rarity of her gesture made him laugh, reaching in to place the flower back in its original position.
There never was such an ecstasy she felt. The drab dullness of her girlhood learnings paled in contrast to the blooms of emotion she experienced in his presence. Admittedly guilty for it, she pushes all regret away to focus on his face, trying to memorise each detail. She would make the most of the time they had, try to relive these moments in times of despair and hopelessness, count on them to give her strength to press through each agony. She was loved, at least once. Nothing would compare, nothing would ever measure up to that swelling of her heart. It would be the only way forward.
She leans closer to his lips for a kiss, and he obliges, taking her face in his palms in a gentle kiss, whispering the sweetest endearments with the power to sweep even her to her feet.
Nothing would compare.