Ilya twisted his hands in his lap.
'I'll come back.'
He couldn't help the smile that invaded his face. She never did anything like that before. Before she never wanted to spend with anyone, especially him. But this version of Beatrice was warmer. She was easier to approach.
He found herself loving her more than he thought was possible.
The girl that she was now had always been within her. He could see it in her when she thought no one was watching. But now that girl was out in the open and Ilya wanted to protect that as much as possible.
He could not go back to the empire. His place was by her side now.
Her sitting room was nothing like he imagined. Beatrice was always so proper and well kept, but the room was a complete mess. Books were strewn all over the room. He noticed some had pages ripped out of them. The walls had writing on them. He ran his fingers over the frantic writing.
It was like a snapshot of Beatrice's mind. Something that had always been closed to him. The words on the walls looked more like a conversation than just one person's thoughts.
The writing was with so much pressure that it indented the walls. Ilya liked the slope of her handwriting, something he had never seen before. He imagined her with a quill in hand, chewing on her lips as she always did when she was thinking hard.
His Vaelic was already poor and his understanding of the letters were even worse, so he could not be sure of what it all said. But the words he could pick up showed an urgency in her thoughts. Almost as if she would be caught at any moment.
But why write on walls if she feared being caught.
He was startled by a door being thrown open. Beatrice stood, gasping for breath. She must've run here.
"You weren't meant to come to this room." She didn't sound angry. More embarrassed. Maybe even ashamed. She began to stammer. "You.. you must think me mad."
"No. I quite like this room."
"Even so," she gripped his hand. Ilya felt his pulse leap. "It's not suitable for talking. Come with me."
Ilya casted a gaze over his shoulder. He was regretful to leave the room. It was the first thing that truly showed who Beatrice was underneath the masked smile and veil. But even so, the woman in front of him was holding onto him. She was smiling at him in a way he had never seen.
That was much more preferable over some little room.
The room she brought him to was much smaller and far more intimate. It felt like a room that he should not be allowed in. He looked around the room uncomfortably. Beatrice slid the veil from her face, her ears as red as her hair. Ilya resisted the urge to reach out and touch them.
For a moment, he believed Beatrice was still the woman that would recoil at his touch. But this woman had received his caresses with happiness.
Beatrice smiled at him, touching his hand lightly as she passed.
It was dangerous, Ilya decided.
It was dangerous to be alone in a room with her. Especially one so small. So secluded.
She watched him evenly as he finally settled into the situation. She graced him with a small smile. Ilya, who had never believed in any sort of gods, could feel heaven smiling upon him. He raised a hand to his face, hoping to disguise the heat that raised to it.
"Ilya," she murmured.
It was dangerous the way she said his name.
"Where are you from?"
He was a bit startled by her question. He feared to answer it. What if it sparked some sort of recognition in her? What if she learned the man who he really was?
He could not bear to see the smile he had worked so hard to earn robbed from him once more.
"Is there a reason you cannot tell me?" She asked. Her eyes were kind. Understanding. As if she saw some sort of pain in him that mirrored her own. Ilya knew very little of her past, but he knew it was not pleasant. His worries were nothing in comparison, only a selfish man with selfish fears. She placed a hand on top of his. "You don't have to tell me."
"I'm sorry," his voice broke.
Her eyes melted, interpreting the break in his voice as being reminded of some terrible past. And he supposed it was in a way. "You will never have to apologize to me."
He swallowed a sob. He had so much he needed to apologize for. If only Beatrice had known the truth. It was a great fear for him, that one day the way she looked at him would change and she would retreat into the person she once was.
"Don't say that."
Beatrice crouched on the ground beside Ilya. She clenched his hands tightly. "Ilya, you have done nothing to me that needs apology."
He frowned, unable to accept her kind words. Her brow knitted and she lifted a hand to try to smooth his frown lines.
He met her eyes. Her thumb traced his cheek lazily. Something between them felt magnetic. He would have kissed her if she had not pulled away.
"I wish I could tell you everything," Ilya said quietly.
Beatrice lowered her gaze. "I won't say that I'm not curious. I know you have many secrets with Gi. And it seems you know me more than I know you." She raised her head. Her gaze was unflinching. "There may come a time when you'll find the words. But there also may not. I will never covet what you aren't willing to share."
As quick as a flash, Ilya left his seat, crushing Beatrice into a hug. Her body tensed in surprise for a moment, before bringing a timid hand to his back.
"Ilya," her voice was rough with longing and regret. "I can't do this with you."
He pulled from her, keeping his hands wrapped firmly around her arms. He was afraid of her running from him. He didn't know what he would do if she did.
"Beatrice." She pulled from him when she heard the gentleness of his voice. "You already know, don't you?"
She avoided his gaze, pulling as far away from him as possible. "I hope we can continue to have a wonderful friendship."
"I don't want your friendship," he said desperately. "You already own me. You already have my body and soul, don't leave me to suffer in agony alone."
Beatrice shut her eyes tightly. She was trying to shut him out. But Ilya refused to let her. Not again. Not when he thought they had finally had some closeness. He would tear the wall down each time she tried to build it again.
"I am married, Ilya. You understand that don't you? I've sworn to the gods to attach myself to one man. And it's not you."
"Damn your gods."
Beatrice finally broke away from him. "Take it back."
"What?"
"Take it back, before you anger them."
Ilya's eyes narrowed. This is what she cared about? She cared more about the opinion of her gods rather than the argument. He clenched his fist, the heat from her skin still radiated in his palms.
"No. I won't."