Chapter 11
“I want to go back h—” You clear your throat. “Back to the palace.”
Rosa tosses a French fry at you. “You can call it home in front of me , genius. I lived there almost as long as you did.”
Day ten post-wedding. You’re allowed guests, but you still have yet to leave the house. The rule about staying inside is an unspoken one; you haven’t received an official mandate, because you haven’t tried to get out. Based on the twenty-four/seven security detail wandering the perimeters of the property, though, you’re pretty sure your assumption that you’re stuck here isn’t that far off. Not to mention the fact that, in order to visit you, Rosa had to ask for permission from the S.H.I.E.L.D. guards to come inside—maybe they were skeptical at first that she was bringing you fast-food takeout and not some secret, forbidden intel.
Interesting, too, is the fact that you two can still communicate. Does that just mean that the language spell hasn’t worn off yet?
Or does it mean...
You catch the fry before it hits the ground, and pop it into your mouth. “Yeah, yeah.” She sticks her tongue out at you. You’re grateful to see her here. There’s a lot you can’t ask her for fear of being overheard, but even her presence has put a bit more pep in your step.
“I’m sure they’d let you go back, if you asked.”
“I mean…” You glance over your shoulder at the guard stationed by the kitchen window, and pitch your next words lower. “Would they?”
“You just want to grab some of your old stuff, though, yeah?” She takes another bite of her sandwich. “And it might be good for, y’know. Closure.”
“Closure.”
She nods. Her tone is airy, but her eyes are loaded with unspoken intent. “They can’t say no to that, right?”
They don’t say no to that—on the condition that you take an escort. Which, sure. Constant surveillance outside the house at least has the benefit of being, you know, out of the house. You’re saddled with one tall, lanky security guard who doesn’t bother to introduce himself. You don’t bother to ask. It’s better to spend the trip there in silence than attempt awkward small talk.
You’re rendered even more speechless than before upon entering the foyer.
It’s almost painful to see how much the same it looks. The same, but...wrong. Too empty. Too quiet. Walking in with the guard behind you, you half expect to see Loki waiting for you.
He’s not. Of course.
But as you round a corner, heading down the hallway that leads to the kitchen, you do see someone else you recognize.
“Albert!” You run towards the older servant with little thought of the guard chasing after you. “You’re still here!”
He meets you in the hug, his embrace as warm and fatherly as you remember. “Good to see you back here, Miss.”
Your smile drops as you take stock of the mottled yellow skin around his left eye. “Oh my God.”
“The wed—the ceremony. Lot of ruckus that day, and I…” For a split second, he looks back at the guard behind you. “I suppose I tripped. Fell underfoot of a panicking guest. You understand.”
You grab his hand in yours. He winces, and you, looking down, realize his knuckles are healing from some type of scrape.
He got hurt trying to stop the attack, didn’t he?
You look up into his eyes and give him the slightest nod. “Thank you.” Your eyes dart in the direction of the guard, then back at Albert. “For staying, of course. I’m glad to see you here, it’s good to see a familiar face.”
He breaks out into a relaxed smile. “Then you’re in the right place.”
“Oh?”
“La—er, Miss (Y/N)!”
Familiar as Lady Amara’s voice is, her tone sounds off, somehow. Never before have you heard her sound so...deflated. When you turn around to the sight of her waltzing down the hallway, you see that, in spite of her ever-spritely step, her eyes have dulled to match her voice.
“ Ms. Amara.”
“My dear.” You greet her with an air kiss to the cheek before she pulls back, holding you at arm’s length. “You look wonderful.”
With your under-eye circles and sleepwear-adjacent fashion choices? You doubt it. Honestly, the fact that she isn’t passive-aggressively laying into you about neglecting to get your beauty sleep? That concerns you more than anything else.
“It’s wonderful to see you again.”
Past her, though the windows, you catch a glimpse of the open fields in back of the palace, and your heart aches. “And your students? They made it out safely?”
“Out?” She laughs softly. “No, dear.Safe, yes, but they’re still her, about. They stay away from your chambers, of course, but you’ll certainly see them out and about after you’ve been back her a while.”
“A while?” It takes you a moment to grasp her meaning. “Oh. I’m not staying her, actually.”
The brightness that had come into her expression quickly fades. “Ah.”
“Yeah. I just...I just came to grab a few things to bring back to...to where I’m staying.”
“I see.”
She, like Albert, looks briefly at the security detail behind you. She reaches to touch your cheek, her eyes the kindest you’ve ever seen them.
“If you ever wish to return,” she says softly, “There will always be a place for you here.”
You feel your eyes well up. “Thank you,” you whisper.
She smiles, then pulls back to brush away a few tears of her own. “Well. I suppose I shouldn’t keep you any longer.”
You trade small nods (in place of curtsies, you suppose), before she turns and heads down the hall in the direction of the academy wing.
“Miss? Shall we?”
Your security detail, God bless him, has been waiting patiently through all of that. You give him a shaky nod, and pull the strap of your bag more firmly over your shoulder. “This way.”
Your room is just as you left it. Unmade bed, tea tray on the nightstand; makeup strewn across your table. Everything appears exactly as it was the moment you changed into your wedding dress.
You wonder what happened to your wedding dress. You haven’t seen it since you woke up in the hospital.
“Would you mind,” you say quietly, “if I had a moment to myself?”
Your security guard looks surprisingly apologetic. “I’ll have to go through your bag once we return to the house.”
“Of course.”
“But I reckon…” He purses his lips. “Is there somewhere I could wash up? Just in case anyone walks in,” he adds, “if anyone comes to check on you, I can say I was busy.”
“Thank you,” you breathe. “There’s a private bathroom just through there.”
He shuts the door behind him. The bathroom isn’t exactly far; you’ll have to be quiet if you don’t want to be overheard, but that’s fine. It’s still more alone time than you’d anticipated. You spin in a slow circle, taking in the details. You see your vanity chair is pulled out slightly, your robe still draped across the back. You collapse into it, your frustration as potent as your exhaustion. Damn, damn, damn. You’d come here with the hopes of finding...you don’t know what. If you wanted to look for some proper clues, you should have gone to Loki’s private chambers, pretended they were yours. They’re too far to run to now, though, without the guard hearing you.
You pull the robe off the back of the chair. The wine red silk is soft as you remember, and, by some miracle, unwrinkled after all this time. You turn it over in your hands, running the hem between your fingers. You suppose you’ll bring this back with you. That’s what you should be doing; if you’re not going to find any answers, you might as well do what you allegedly came her to do. You open the flap of your bag, and ball the robe up to stuff it in—
Only to hear something crinkle.
You open it back up, shake it upside down, and something flutters down from the right-side pocket. It’s an envelope, pea green and about the size of an index card. And your name, written hastily across the back in a hand you know all-too-well. A hand that seems messier than usual; more rushed, more panicked.
You recognize it. It’s the letter Irina found outside your door the day to the wedding. The one you’d been too distracted by Ruby to read.
You practically tear it open.
Darling,
An attack may be nearer than previously thought. I wish nothing more for this day to go as planned, but not at the risk of losing you. Hopefully you are able to act on this letter without raising suspicion.
Do not go down to the ceremony. Meet me in my private chamber. Bring your family.
It ends with his signature.
You clutch the note to your chest, sagging into the chair with—relief? Sorrow?
You still don’t know how you’re going to find him again. You don’t know how you’ll possibly be able to forge a future together. But both options seem infinitely more possible with this piece of paper in your hand. With the proof that he loves you. The proof that he didn’t abandon you, after all.
The swell of relief doesn’t ebb as quickly as one would expect. Instead, it seems to mutate; first to panic, as you realize your time alone in this room is limited. You hurry to fold it up and tuck it into the pocket of your jeans, and then grab an assortment of random items to stuff into your knapsack: the robe, some slippers, a hairbrush. You’re just finishing up when your intern-watchdog comes back out of the bathroom.
“All set?”
“Yeah.” You sling the bag over your shoulder, suddenly aware of another feeling, just above your chest. Not a physical sensation, but...something. A hit of wanting, of need, and of comfort, too.
It continues out into the hall. Your guard rounds the corner without noticing how far you’ve lagged behind. You close your eyes, pressing your hand just above your heart, and lean into the ache of it.
It’s almost as though you can feel his hand in yours.
Your eyes flutter open. The line from your mind to his, the connection you thought was dead, flickers back to life. You can feel it, feel him , feeling his guilt and impatience and longing line up perfectly with yours. And when you turn to look behind you, you already know what it is you’ll see.
The bowtie loose around his neck. His hair rumpled and messy, the skin beneath his eyes near purple from worry and lack of sleep; all of it fades away in the light of the smile he gives you. You take a step towards him, and he towards you, and so strong is the gladness in your chest that you don’t even notice the agent coming back around the corner.
They take him down before you even finish calling his name.