Ah.. Beatrice had been wrong. His eyes weren't dark at all. At first glance, they looked like black orbs that had come for her reckoning. But now that she looked at them, truly looked at them, she realized they were much more. They had depth and dimension. They were like an unmined gem. Looking simple on the outside, but truly beautiful for those who looked deeper.
"Do you think I'm beautiful?" he asked.
It was only then that Beatrice realized they both had been whispering. Her cheeks flared. She wrapped them with her hands. It was like some love tryst. Like they were hiding.
And Beatrice realized that they were. She didn't want anyone to intrude on their fragile bubble that surrounded the chapel. It felt like everything was made of glass. No, not even glass. More like frost. Beatrice felt that if she tried to even reach out and grasp onto something it would melt in her fist.
It occurred to her that she should not be feeling like this. She was married, she had been married not even for two hours, and here she was, caught in a fragile, warm moment with a man that wasn't her husband.
A man who's name she didn't even know.
Yet she couldn't bring herself to pull away.
"Beatrice," he said softly. His hand found hers on the pew. He touched the tips of her fingers lightly. A question. A request.
She didn't pull away. His hand covered hers. He brought it to his cheek.
"Why did you have to get married?" he asked miserably. Beatrice realized he had called her by name. How was it that he knew her name? No one outside of the archbishop's circle knew her name, not even her beloved country. So how did a foreign man know it?
She pulled her hand from his. "You talk as if you have some claim."
His eyes fell to the floor. Beatrice felt like the villain in the situation. Like she had broken some poor man's heart. But how could she be the villain? Shouldn't it be him?
Some strange man that she had never met before coming to stir her heart and then acting as if she had done something wrong, just by doing her duty to her country.
Cold realization prickled down her back. Her heart turned cold. The bubble burst. The world of frost melted.
"The archbishop sent you," she said.
"No."
"My father sent you to test my loyalty."
"Beatrice-" her demon grabbed her arm, but she wrenched it away.
"I am a good daughter," she raised her chin proudly. "I will be a loyal wife."
"I think you're misunderstanding something-"
"You can tell the archbishop that he has no need to worry. I will not be tempted by the likes of you again. I know my place."
She spun on her heel, marching out of the chapel, not even sparing a look back.
She was a fool. She should've known better. What kind of man would approach a new bride alone if not persuaded?
She could not allow herself to be hurt. She was no longer a child anymore, she was married now. She could no longer fall for pretty words or acts of kindness.
Beatrice decided then and there that she would build a wall around her heart. She realized it would be the only way to survive now that Karin had acknowledged her as an adult. He would be more aggressive with his attacks if he saw any sign of weakness.
The monastery had always been a hard place. Hard floors. Hard furniture. Hard walls. Nothing soft could ever survive in the monastery.
Beatrice was reminded of a saying. Between a rock and a hard place. She had forgotten what it meant. She had forgotten where she had heard it. Her memories often didn't feel like her own, drifting in and out of her head like clouds in the sky.
The clouds were soft. But they were outside the walls of the monastery, somewhere she could never be.
She swallowed the lump of her throat, before entering the ballroom again.
Back to battle.
Hard heart.
Between a rock and a hard place. It was impossible to break something soft, but it could be crushed.
She spared a small fleeting worry for her heart and the stone that was slowly building around it.