Cold fingertips brushed the back of Beatrice's neck. She flinched and Ilya gave her a gentle smile. It was only then that Beatrice became aware of how exhausted she was. She blinked her bleary eyes, finding it difficult to focus on anything after reading for so long in the low candlelight.
She pinched her tear ducts, hoping to encourage moisture to her eyes to ease the burning. She leaned against the hand that came to rest against her neck. Though Beatrice had yet to even kiss Ilya, every touch felt intimate. It felt full of love. It would make tears threaten her eyes.
Sometimes when she was with him, she felt at peace. She could relax. It was similar to her mother's touch, yet so different at the same time. Her mother's was warm, comforting. But with Ilya there was always a sense of electricity.
Ilya laid his cheek on the top of her head. "What has you working so hard all of a sudden? You barely sleep. Has something happened?"
Beatrice wanted to tell him. She wanted to be able to confide in him. But she couldn't find it in herself to do so.
"Can I help you?" He asked her.
She lifted his hand to her lips, pressing a chaste kiss onto the center of his palm. "You being here is enough."
He crouched in front of her, stroking a gentle hand across her cheek. "You've scratched your face."
Beatrice wanted to cry. She couldn't handle the tenderness in his face.
Love played at her lips. She was startled at the realization. At the thought that she had come to love the man in front of her. Perhaps she had always loved him. The feelings she had felt the moment she laid eyes on him hadn't been lust. It had been something more fragile than that.
Beatrice wished that she only lusted after him. That she didn't love him.
She traced the line of his jaw.
What would happen if she spoke the words that were so desperate to escape her mouth?
In her mind she could see Ilya's face opening. She could see the bright smile that would grace her. She could see him kiss her, rough and passionately. She could see herself losing herself in the kiss and in turn the loss of her clothes. She could see herself falling together with him, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.
Heat rose to her cheeks. She hid her face with her hands. She could see Ilya smile, like he could read her mind.
He sighed, a sigh that held so many things unsaid. He laid his head in her lap. Her hands automatically went to stroke his head, like it belonged there. "I hate it here," he said, softly. "I hate this monastery."
Beatrice hummed her agreement. She really didn't want to talk about the monastery with Ilya. She felt like it would poison him.
He turned so they made eye contact. "We should run away."
Beatrice wanted to laugh. The idea was so ridiculous that it surely was a joke. But his eyes were deadly serious.
If he had mentioned it two months ago, she wouldn't have hesitated. She would've jumped at the opportunity to escape this hell she was trapped in. All of Beatrice's previous attempts had been unsuccessful, but perhaps with another person, especially one as capable as Ilya, perhaps she had a chance.
But now she was involved in something bigger than herself. Her happiness no longer mattered. She touched Ilya's cheek lightly.
"Don't be foolish."
Ilya frowned at her response. "We could go to a new country. Somewhere far away. Where nobody even knows what an oracle is."
Beatrice pursed her lips. She didn't want to go to a new country. She loved her country, she just wanted to see it free.
"What if we could make this country better?" She asked, very quietly. Apparently too quietly for Ilya to hear.
"You should leave him."
Beatrice didn't need to ask who he was talking about. Her husband.
How could she leave her husband when she still didn't know what he was doing? What his role in the monastery?
She had to stay close to know. She had to completely ingrain herself in his life.
"I can't-"
"Beatrice."
"Ilya, I made a vow before the gods. I know that means little to you, but it's everything to me. I promise to stay with him for as long as he'll have me." Ilya pulled away from her, clearly upset. Beatrice caught his wrist. She pressed her forehead to his. As close to kissing as she could offer. "Ilya if I weren't married, if I had met you first, things would be different. I wish I could throw everything behind and leave with you but I vowed."
Beatrice felt something wet fall onto her hand. She was surprised to see Ilya crying.
"I know," he choked out. "I know, I'm sorry."
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to the ground with him. He held her gently but firm, like she was a treasure he wasn't willing to let anyone take away. He buried his face in her hair and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to be lost in the moment.
Ah... She was suddenly struck with a realization that stopped her heart. She was in love with him, yes she had realized it earlier, but she was shocked by the realization of the depth of her love. She realized she would never be able to leave Ilya. She realized she couldn't live without him.
And that is the one thing she feared the most.