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Chapter 6: Two Steps Back

"I won't leave," he whispered, the heat of his breath a mere inch from her skin.

She was acutely aware of the large hands at the back of her neck and back, his firm caresses sending a ripple of tingles down her spine. She weakened at his touch, her neck falling back on its own accord.

He pressed the gentlest of kisses on her lips; a teaser that had her yearning for more. Then he flicked his tongue across her lips and snaked between them, probing them open, and she complied willingly, parting her lips on a soft moan.

His kisses grew feverish, burning, until she was melting in his embrace. Her fingers explored the muscled plane of his chest, slowly tracing upwards to his shoulders and neck, until they found their way into his dark hair and she tugged him ever closer, eager to return his hungry kisses with a need of her own.

"I won't leave," he whispered against her lips in the briefest of pauses. Again and again he promised.

'Twas all but a dream, for only in dreams would he make such reassurances to her. And only in dreams would her heart and body warm with such a vow.

She could no longer remember what had saddened her. He had brought her out of a dark place and the one thing that dominated her thoughts was her want for more. More...

"Sir!" an unwelcome voice shouted with loud raps on the door.

She squeezed her eyes tight, desperately resisting being awakened to reality as she clung ever tighter—

"Sir!"

Were the Gods giving her a taste of her own medicine after all her screaming every morning? Still, the persistent nibbling at her lips momentarily distracted her from any negative thoughts.

Heavy doors opened with a thundering 'BANG!'

Her eyes flicked open in rage, only to find the close-up of a man at her nose. Wh-what?

His eyes were closed, but the deep furrow of his brow conveyed the intensity of his expression, and... and... his lips were moving against her own. She stilled. D-D-Drake?

She must still be dreaming! In disbelief, she whipped the image away—

"Ow!" Amelia cried as a plum fell on her head. Blinking her eyes open to look into the intertwining branches and leaves of a plum tree overhead, she realised she had—for the fifth time—fallen asleep replaying the events of that afternoon in her head.

How she remembered that audible slap and the sting in her palm. Followed by the horrified gasp from the man who had barged into the library. Followed by Drake's darkest of dark glares, transfixing her in place as her mind remained clogged in fog.

Above that, she remembered the warmth of his lips and the protectiveness of his embrace. And above all that, it was his promises that her mind resolutely obsessed upon.

Arrrgh! She slammed her fists into the soil and pouted up at a red plum in the foliage above. All the womanly gossips in court were true: men could never be trusted!

Her father used to say that he'd have her by his side for as long as she would stay, yet he had forced her to marry. Drake had promised he wouldn't leave, only to leave Steersberg that same evening.

Was it her unintended slap that had offended him so? To the point of riding away with his friends—including Isabella, she reminded herself gloomily—for a full moon without another word to her? Did he find her so... repulsive?

Aye, she had wanted him to hate her. But now that his extreme repulsion had become a real possibility, she found herself unable to come to terms with it. Every day, guilt gnawed at her from the inside. Why? Why could she not cast him out of her head? It didn't—shouldn't—matter where he went, who he liked. When had she become so wanton that a few sweet kisses and lies so easily bent her will?

"How did the plum offend you this time, my lady?" Amelia turned to see the slender figure of Sven leaning against a tree, holding a shovel over his shoulder and observing her with laughter in his bright hazel eyes.

"That one there"—she nodded towards the plum that had bounced from her head to a patch of grass before her—"attacked me," she said grumpily.

"Ah. The plums are conspiring against you," he jested with a mocking lift of his eyebrows. "I know you miss m'lord, but sitting here gawking at plums—"

"I do not miss him!" she protested.

"—won't help him return faster—"

"Nor was I gawking—"

"Wouldn't you like to do something fun instead?"

At the mention of "fun", Amelia's eyes glittered with curious excitement. "What is it?" she asked eagerly, already getting to her feet and patting down her skirt.

Sven smiled at the lady's enthusiasm. "Come," he beckoned with a hand and headed in the direction of the manor's main courtyard. "We are making dried plums and plum preserves today."

"Ooooh," Amelia drawled excitedly as she fell in beside him. "What for?"

"Look at all these plums in the trees, m'lady. Only a few have graced your head yet. Soon, autumn will come and they will all bury you a— Ow!" Sven's second attempt at jesting was cut short by a sharp-elbowed nudge into his ribs, followed by oddly witch-like cackles. He chuckled too, seemingly pleased that he had turned her angry pout into something slightly more pleasant. "Here in the north, winter comes early and harsh. When the winds blow from the east, they bring with them blizzards so cold they chill to the bones. 'Tis why we make use of our warm days; as the wise ones say: one can never be too prepared for winter."

Amelia glanced to the east, her gaze easily finding the snowy, jagged outlines of the Tigerfist alps. She shivered, as if she could already feel the chill. Then, remembering what Timo once said, she asked, "Drake, uhh, feeds his people in winter?"

Sven nodded, his expression glowing with admiration before fading grim. "In the old days, Steersberg was cold and small. Soon after m'lord's grandfather was made the Emir of Steersberg and the family moved here, famine hit in winter, killing all the weak, old and infant. If it weren't for the old Emir taking the rest in, Steersberg would've become a ghost town then."

Amelia lifted her eyebrows in astonishment. Steersberg was known as the capital in the north. In her ignorance, she thought it had always been that way. Rumour even said its trade and wealth made it the only city in Asis that rivalled that of Lyons. She hadn't visited the city markets yet, but from the neat cobbled paths and sturdy-looking houses she saw on the way to the manor, it was near impossible to imagine it as a small place, much less a ghost town. "And then?" she asked, the urgency in her tone reflecting her growing interest in Drake's role in the city's history.

"Since then, m'lord's grandfather, father, and later m'lord himself, took it upon themselves to ensure that the people of Steersberg were always well-fed and sheltered. Most folks here would've died ten times over had it not been for m'lord and the late Emirs."

Something didn't quite add up. Charity was expensive business. If her own father could afford all his people's livelihoods, he would have taken on that responsibility without hesitation. But even a duke had finite wealth.

Sven must've guessed the thoughts behind her doubtful frown, for he concurred, "Aye, the Rohans' generosity came at a cost. A great lord is not easy to come by in the best of times, and word of Steersberg's kind Emir brought more and more struggling families. By the time m'lord was ten, the treasury was depleted." A small gasp escaped Amelia's lips. Sven smiled sadly. "I was only three at the time and do not remember, but my pa worked here as the gardener and he watched m'lord's family sell their valuables, item by item, until even the curtains went and m'lord's sire fell ill from stress and shame."

"Shame? From what? From being an unselfish lord?" Amelia exclaimed incredulously.

Unfortunately, her curiosity would wait as the sounds of busy men and women at work drowned out their conversation.

Sven led her through the crowded courtyard, almost discretely (as discrete as a large pink dress in a mass of humbly dressed could be), yet more and more workers were turning their heads.

Like a gentle wave, the loud, delightful chatters washed into surprised murmurs about the Emira's presence and sneers of disdain at her sinful relationship with the gardener. To this, Amelia steeled her back and held her head high. She may not be a good mistress by their standards, but she was no harlot, even if she did not bother to explain herself.

However, when a sharp-pitched "May'ap 'er mam was a whore!" fell into her ears, Amelia snapped. She swivelled around and swept her sharp gaze over the crowd before her. It mattered not that she could not see past the heads of the tall Northerners to identify the insolent speaker. Her cheeks puffed and she shouted into the crowd in her most commanding tone, "QUIET!"

In short seconds, the bustling courtyard fell so quiet one could hear a nearby pair of crickets in their mating ritual.

Satisfied with the response, she met each set of eyes around her. "Insult me if you like, but keep in mind that baseless insults against a noble is an executable crime. I am the Emira of Steersberg and the Duke of Marlborough's daughter. Call my mother a whore, imply my father was a cuckold, and you may find yourself and your family in the Four Hells of Lyons." From the corner of her eyes, she spotted a few shudders at the mere mention of the kingdom's cruellest dungeons. That was enough for now. In a lower voice and with the tiniest but genuine smile, she added, "I have no need to justify myself, but Sven is a good friend, no more, no less. Pretty ladies, rest your hearts, this young man is still available."

Beside her, Sven blushed a deep tomato-red, much like the shy boy he was at their first meeting. With a nudge from Amelia, he turned stiffly and continued to lead her to a shaded grass patch in the corner of the courtyard.

As the people returned to their work, Amelia watched on with a mix of curiosity and interest. Some sliced the plums and laid them out on trays; some cooked them in pots of honey and water; some crushed them and collected the juices; others packed cooked plums into jars and sealed them with layers of thick cloth and string. Sven, on the other hand, was quietly digging deep holes in the patch. Just as she wondered what they were for, a few men brought several sealed jars and placed them beside the holes. They nodded to her in greeting, but left quickly.

Amelia's eyes flicked to the jars, then to the holes, then back to the jars. "They are to be buried?" she guessed.

"Aye," Sven answered as he continued to dig. "The soil in Steersberg does not allow for a cellar to be built, and the preserves need to be stored somewhere cool."

Instinctively, Amelia heaved a heavy jar into a hole and knelt to fill the hole again with dirt. Patting it down firm and smooth, she grinned up proudly at Sven like a child seeking praise. He chuckled back.

The men brought more and more jars, and Amelia buried them one by one. Three young girls joined them, giggling as they whispered with each other and looking the gardener's way whenever he flexed the lean muscles in his arms to shovel into the earth. She knew Sven noticed, for a pinkness would spread from his neck to his ears, causing all the girls (including herself) to giggle some more.

As the hours ticked by, others came around. Some said a simple "Hei", some offered a hand, and some even invited her to join their slicing and cooking, to which she gladly agreed. To commoners, a lady that did not mind getting dirt in her fingernails could not be so bad. And so they began to think that their new Emira was mayhap not as evil as they ignorantly presumed, even if she had a strange liking for posing as a rooster in the early morn.

Later, Amelia learnt that when Drake was thirteen, the manor was as empty and chilling as the streets of Steersberg once were. That winter, Steersberg's people, long spoilt by the provisions from their lord, faced the greatest famine in the city's history. Drake's father, so depressed and ashamed from his helplessness to care for his family and people, coupled with the lack of medicine for his illness, died and left the young Emir in charge of the dying town.

Drake was different from his sires, however. He believed not in mindless charity, but empowerment. Against his mother's objections, he sold their valuables, down to the very last family heirloom, with which he gradually rebuilt Steersberg into the prosperous trading capital it was today.

"But how? He was only thirteen!" Amelia exclaimed in wide-eyed intrigue as she sat with Sven in their corner of the courtyard.

The crowd was dissipating, though once in a while a servant would pause on their way back into the manor to greet her with a respectful nod.

How different people's manners were from those in the south, where those of a lesser class must pay obeisance by bowing before all those above, and could only rise once excused by the superior's haughty wave of a hand. Though her father had done away with such vain etiquette in the privacy of their home, as the daughter of a duke her presence was expected at the myriad of festivities amongst nobles. On such occasions, she must curtsey to every higher lord and lady, and excuse even more subordinates until her arm became sore. 'Twas ironic, how she had humiliated Lady Isabella with the very custom she despised.

Somehow, life in the north was shaping up to be what she had always dreamt of.

"Arr-ront-ohh," Sven mumbled inaudibly as he bit into a juicy plum, earning him a reprimanding glance from Amelia. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "If I knew, I wouldn't be a gardener!" He grinned sheepishly. "All I know is... just about every able-bodied man and woman in Steersberg now earns their own living, though m'lord still provides for the old and the sick, and puts more meat on every family's table in winter to fill their bellies. To all us here, he is a hero and saviour."

Amelia fell into silence as she stared into the western hill lands and sunset beyond. Though she knew not the full story, 'twas obvious whatever her husband had done was no easy accomplishment. Sitting cross-legged beside her, Sven continued to praise the master who had saved him and his father following the famine that killed his mother and sisters, and many more.

As admiration for Drake swelled in her heart, so too her guilt deepened for all the trickery she dealt the hero of Steersberg.