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Gwen guided her sword around the ballroom, following closely the pace her mind had set for her feet. The dance instructor had made sure the movements were burned not only into her the muscles, but practiced with such dedication her mind could project Madame Dupont before her.
Again!
She'd always kept returning to the same rhythm, the precision and nimble footwork she strove for that would be akin to any of the other dancers practicing under the Mademoiselle.
Gwen had to maintain a healthy sense of skepticism, however. She wasn't going to reach that level in such a short time, and none of the other girls would ever be wearing heavy plate armor. Not to mention that most Gwen would be doing was jousting, which required a shield and lance as well. That's where the footwork would come in—in the form of balance, even on horseback.
It was rare for a match at the lists to come down to a duel. In all the years of the Tournament of Dragonslayers around the isle, there had been only a couple of instances where the match came down to sword-clashing from what she'd heard in between the various competitors. They talked a lot. A lot of rubbish, but sometimes there was useful information to catch past the tentfolds.
Gwen drew a deep breath and sheathed her blade for the time being, feeling the sweat beading at her brow, trailing down her temple and settling on her cheek. As she exhaled, her eyes were met with an open door and perfectly dressed lady.
"Shit!" came her voice startled, and she clutched her hand onto the pommel of her blade while her gaze dropped to recover with eyes shut. She was sure Isobelle would've announced herself if she were nearby. She didn't have a knack for being so quiet.
Then it hit her, and her neck snapped up so quickly it popped, leaving her staring at someone familiar that wasn't Isobelle.
"Sylvie."
The smile plastered on her lips was sinister, skirting the line of outright wicked. Gwen's heart caught in her throat, her shoulders raising nearly enough to meet her jaw.
"Celine." Sylvie's unrelenting gaze never wavered. While approaching the wielder of the blade, the actual lady
"I-… I can explain. It really isn't what it looks like." Her voice shrunk back into that of a poor blacksmith's daughter.
"What does it look like? All I see is a fair maiden clad in a lovely dress, wielding a sword. Quite unlady-like," Sylvie tsked towards Gwen who was in that moment sure she could spontaneously combust. Or at least ask her imaginary wizard friend from when she was but a child, to do it for her. There was that story her mother had told her about a knight and his trusty wizard-friend, which meant Gwen needed one too, obviously.
"I…" Gwen could barely breathe, until Isobelle's voice came down upon her mind as a saving grace—an angel, the very depiction of grace. "I've been taking dance lessons from Madame Dupont. She says it's easier for me to find balance while directing something."
There was no way Sylvie was going to buy that, even as proudly as Isobelle's voice was echoing in her mind. Gwen had come to know her well enough. A single droplet of sweat tickled at her cheekbone.
"You are practicing your dance lessons with a sword." Sylvie's brow raised, and for a moment Gwen really thought that bullshit might've worked. She'd done it once before with her French, when Sylvie previously caught both Gwen and Isobelle off-guard. Why not again?
Sylvie's held her scrutinising gaze, pursing her lips. Gwen wondered if she hadn't began sweating more profusely than she had with the exercises. "Perhaps find something else to keep balance with. People might start asking questions… Celine."
That… worked?
Gwen could scarcely believe it, steeling her composure as not to give away her surprise. It wasn't as though she was on a saddle with a lance, so perhaps it wasn't as far fetched as she'd thought. She hadn't pressed Gwen either, which was the true relief.
Sylvie settled with a small and satisfied smile—an inquisitor on the cusp of uncovering the greatest conspiracy yet. Thankfully they didn't have much in terms of such policing in Darkhaven, and Gwen could've thanked God for that too, were she not frozen as an icicle under that petrifying glare.
Without another word, Sylvie gathered her hands neatly in front of her and turned to walk away, as sleep must've beckoned at the hour.
A heartbeat, and then another in rapid succession. The unbelievable excitement thrummed in her ears from having pulled off such a bluff. It felt strangely alike to the roar of the crowd and unforgettable adrenaline that'd coursed through her. Gwen ran a hand through her hair and finally exhaled, as though she took in fresh air after working the forge all day.
A peek to one side, and then the other. The hallway was clear, and only distant sounds were perceivable, of what she assumed were maids tidying up after their supper. Gwen rushed out into the hallway faster than she could remember ever having, particularly in the shoes she was wearing.
Why in the world was Sylvie there so late? And how had she known to be in the ballroom? The questions wouldn't get her anywhere, but Gwen couldn’t help but wonder if what Isobelle and her had been up to was that obvious. The sneaking away, the looks. That gorgeous smile…
Focus. Gwen scolded herself. There wasn't time for that, not with what was at stake.
She barely bothered knocking, bursting into Isobelle's room, seeing as she was unable to locate Olivia first. She closed the door behind her as soon as she could, her night-coated hair threatening to whip her across the face. It stopped short of a gentle lash.
"Isobelle, there's something-…" Once Gwen took a step forth to gather herself and after tucking away some of her hair which hid her face, her vision flicked up to where Isobelle stared at her in awe and with some healthy amount of confusion and concern.
Any idea of what she had to say quickly dissipated, and the young knight-to-be couldn't look away. Isobelle was radiant. Her skin shimmered in the low moonlight kissing the windowsill beside the door to the balcony, reflecting off portions of metal and paned glass.
The soft, involuntary reveal of dimples that came with the warmth and excitement upon finding Gwen in her room that night, as though she had secretly hoped for them to find each other there. There had always that air of informality between them, except when it came to this. The two of them together in Isobelle's bedroom. It always felt improper, far-fetched. She was a lady, after all. In the slight shock by her own hurry she stilled completely.
She hardly had to try to speak, as the words flowed easier than a feather's fall from her soft lips.
"You are beautiful." The words had slipped out of her. Gwen meant it with her heart and soul when she spoke those words. Just as Isobelle had recovered from the initial surprise, the words took the wind out of her.
"Gwen." Isobelle's voice kept that careful, yet excited tone the two of them found themselves exchanging whenever they found a moment to spare.
"Isobelle-" came Gwen's voice, who had interrupted herself as she approached the blonde beauty. Tender in her embrace, albeit a bit hurriedly, Gwen's arms wrapped around her lady's form, instinctively clutching at the crest of Isobelle's back.
Without any hesitation from either, lips joined and only a brief surprised sound from her lady had Gwen smiling into a moment no one could take from the two of them. Isobelle melted into Gwen, their bodies winding impossibly close. Moss-green hues took in the sight of her lady, scarcely able to believe the woman in her grasp trusted her so utterly she didn't question the intimacy in any manner.
Gwen leaned in and tilted her head just as Isobelle's lashes fluttered close. Before either could complete another thought, their lips collided properly and sunk together in a bliss that was meant for only the two of them. Her lips were the sweetest honey, and reminded her of the first time she tasted hot cocoa—the first time she tasted those lips themselves—only Isobelle was a thousand times more addictive, each time ramping up the effectiveness.
A hand of Gwen's found its way into her hair, gently pulling, causing Isobelle to shudder through a quaking breath, instantly melting into the sensation. Under her breath she could hear Isobelle repeating her name fervently, hushed as if the only world she needed to know was with her lady knight.
It was exactly as Isobelle had been day-dreaming about when they were apart.
Isobelle's eyes fluttered close near-instantly, only dragging on for a second or two before she found the serene peace between their exchange. Gwen's tongue prodded at Isobelle's lips, the tip of her own seeking out her knight's, plushy pink pillows coming together over and over.
Captivated by the way Gwen had rushed to her, as if she'd intended to take her by storm with such a strong scent to her too, Isobelle couldn't help but give in to the moment. A whirlwind—one that she usually swept Gwen up in.
She wanted nothing more, needed nothing else. Her grip on Gwen's evening-dress tightened, feeling the slight dampness left over by what she could only assume was a tough sprint, and perhaps some sword-practice beforehand. Isobelle knew how much effort Gwen put into the tournament—into saving Isobelle.
It'd been a mad idea, but it didn't matter if it was. Certainly not when she got to have Gwen all for herself, and all in the spirit of their criminal machinations against a fate and a world that wanted them apart. With Gwen in her presence everything would be as sweet and caring as the lips on her own, parting, moving unhindered by coherent sentences and only the briefest gasp of air to continue.
The slightest tug of her lower lip made Isobelle's breath quiver. Gwen's eyes were watching Isobelle intently, and she swore she could've heard a noise from the back of the girl's throat. A deep-seated shiver ran down Isobelle's spine, her back arching to be closer to her knight who's firm, yet gentle grip was one she had never felt, not even from Gwen herself.
It was intoxicating.
Isobelle leaned in to Gwen's jawline, following the natural lines of the skin, finding her way towards the ear, where she whispered, the slightest stutter doing nothing to rattle the build-up of tension.
"S-stay with me," came Isobelle's request under darkened eyes, whispered as a promise that Gwen would have Isobelle all to herself.
The heat in Gwen's cheeks rose quite rapidly, red further pushing aside the bright color of her skin. Her nails dug into the fabric of the dress and she nodded eagerly. She was unbelievably cute when her generous amount of freckles blended with rising heat. Isobelle smiled, and then so did Gwen, enveloping each other in a warm, wooled blanket that the two of them shared with only each other. They'd longed for a proper moment alone, away from everyone else, and out of sight. The evening was theirs to share their joy in, cherishing the safety of one another's embrace.
Warmth pooled in her belly, and Isobelle's breath caught when she felt Gwen's hand run from the base of her neck all the way up to her the roots at the back of her head, seating itself comfortably along her neck and staying there, attentively kneading. As if she'd borrowed some spell of the hedge witches, Isobelle felt both enthralled and entirely captured by her knight. It was comfortable. Safety of that woolen blanket that'd wrapped so snugly around them was wounding tighter.
Impossibly close already, Isobelle's hand rose towards the hem of Gwen's dress, skirting the line between fabric and skin. Gwen's lips parted slowly, but no sound came. God, Isobelle thought. She wanted to feel Gwen's skin on her own—the strong, callused hands that were meant for Isobelle alone. For a moment Isobelle had forgotten to breathe, finding herself drawing a deeper breath, recentring onto Gwen's pretty emeralds.
Isobelle saw want. A want that matched her own, and could hardly be passed off as simply being too caught up in the moment. Gwen had begun undoing the laces in the back, and Isobelle gave her tacit consent in the form of another kiss. It wasn't that she was afraid, though perhaps a little, but never of Gwen. More of how swept up in the moment she'd felt, and feeling quite a bit aways from coming down back to the soil after soaring so high in the clouds.
Isobelle felt Gwen drawing lines across her shoulder, taking her sweet time with something that already felt impossibly slow.
Her chemise naturally remained, but the corset was easily be discarded without a worry, and so it was with Gwen's near-expert dexterity.
It was a simpler dress Gwen had picked out, and thankfully much less work to get out of the way, leaving another layer of simpler shift underneath. Nothing quite as tight-fitting and luxurious as what Isobelle wore, which was no doubt the point. That wasn't Gwen, and no matter how many dresses they put her in, how much they pampered her with sweets or how many balls they took her to—that wasn't Gwen. Isobelle adored her for that fact alone. The fact Gwen was one of a kind, through every facet of her being, she stood firm. She endured.
Even as stunning as she could be in a dress, Isobelle could honesty say she preferred her in armor. That was when she was most herself. In that room, in that moment. In the light of a nearly full moon and chill breeze slipping through the windows. Then and there—Gwen was vulnerable. It meant everything for Isobelle to be the person to see that. Gwen could've gone anywhere, done anything with the confidence she'd gained over the last few weeks. Instead she remained with Isobelle, to see their plan through—for Isobelle.
It was originally Isobelle's plan, though it hardly felt that way anymore. It was theirs. Something crafted and shared, that the two of them had made together. It made her feel unstoppable and she knew Gwen felt that too.
The tension between them had grown and a painstakingly slow development found Gwen leading Isobelle towards the bed to sit down with her at the edge. As one of the very few instances, Gwen had been the one to take her by the hand, gentle as ever. To her surprise, Gwen cast a glance at the sheets and rolled onto them, waiting for Isobelle to join her. The lady's heart fluttered with an assortment of emotions. Gwen's smile was infectious, and she felt herself drawn in, soon enough embracing her knight, keeping warm with her under the sheets.
Gwen clutched at the loose end to Isobelle's chemise, and felt the lady's forehead come to meet with her own. Her eyes closed shut, and Gwen felt a peace she hadn't quite imagined she could find in the past weeks of anxiety and wariness.
While Isobelle had become an anchor for her over time, there were always so many things to keep track of. Such as where next to find time to practice, or keeping bothersome nobles away from both herself and Isobelle. Those thoughts finally quieted. She could simply lie there and appreciate the girl beside her. The one who's scent alone was enough to curl her toes.
It wasn't often her thoughts wandered so far. That had changed recently, and particularly so when she felt Isobelle's hair tickling her chin. Gwen instinctively pulled her closer, her heart leaping into action with how wonderfully close they were. Their undergarments allowed for their touch to grace one another's skin, the faintest brushes that only beckoned more from each. Isobelle came to rest her head on Gwen's chest, ear to the surface above her heart. Gwen's heart beat, and it did so only for Isobelle. Isobelle shifted momentarily, pressing her lips to a spot near Gwen's collarbone, dangerously close to coaxing something out of her. For the sake of the moment, it elicited a content sigh, and a noise akin to a feline's purr.
Isobelle remained there for a long, long while listening to her breath, while Gwen brushed across and into the blonde, beautiful hair repeatedly. She was on the verge of dreams, and Gwen hoped to all that was good that the moments where she was lucid were of the waking world. The intimacy they shared had become so very real.
Sometimes they felt worlds apart, and Gwen had no doubt Isobelle had the same notion at times. Each kiss was a reminder that nothing—or at least very little—could keep them apart any longer, and if anyone tried, they'd have the whirlwind to contend with the whirlwind that was Isobelle. Her lips had found their way back onto Gwen's cheek, not daring to venture too far into that neck of the woods underneath the ear. From so very close, she felt the warmth upon her own flushed cheeks, noticing just how deeply red Isobelle was.
She was simply stunning.
Gwen sailed effortlessly onto the bed, leading her lady ever so slowly by the hand, with no expectations and no reservations for whatever the night could bring. Instead she seated herself upon the edge of the mattress, did away with the shoes, and rather unbecoming of a lady, crawled onto the other side of the bed, crouched onto her knees in front of Isobelle. She wasn't thinking much. How could she? All that was on her mind was Isobelle.
She held her hand out to invite her over, strangely enough taking the lead on this, whereas Isobelle would've in any other situation. Gwen smiled, wider than she normally did, a surge of warmth followed by a pleasant prickling along the back of her neck. Isobelle returned the joy as she grasped the hand in her own, and the two came to lie still, yet very close beside each other, under the sheets in safety from the chill of the night.
Isobelle's eyes shone from the light by the moon reflecting off them. Gwen became utterly captivated—as if she wasn't already—and her grasp of Isobelle's hand tightened, feeling a squeeze in return. Never had Gwen felt so at peace, and to think it was all Isobelle who had made it possible. Arguably the both of them had put such effort and care into their plan and schemes. If it wasn't for Isobelle's unbridled confidence however, they never would've found… this.
There was the matter of Sylvie that momentarily pressed at her mind, though as soon as Isobelle's head came to rest at her chest, everything else simply faded. Rest was beginning to beckon them both into a world without the crushing weight around them. Only together had they managed to bear this burden. There and then, thankfully none of that matter. What mattered was they had each other.
Gwen released the grip of the hand, to wrap an arm around her, to pull Isobelle in—and because she wanted, and because she very much could, she kissed Isobelle—and Isobelle kissed her back. They felt as one, and one they would be on that night, legs anchored, each breath warm and near.