Authors note: Thank you ever so much to everyone who has read and enjoyed the story so far. This is my first stab at erotic writing and it's been overwhelming to hear such kind feedback. I'm delighted that the story has been enjoyable to read.
Please do continue to vote and comment - it's lovely to hear every kind of feedback as it lets me know how I'm doing, how I can improve and what is working well!
I hope you enjoy this new chapter, I certainly enjoyed writing it!
Love to you all x
*
"She needs to marry!" the Queen said, all but stamping her feet at her husband, growing increasingly impatient at his immoveable mood.
"She will, when she chooses someone suitable," he reassured her, "which I'm sure she will soon. There are some fine men in the kingdom; we just need to present her with the right one."
"It isn't that simple, darling," she whined, moving closer to him.
They were seated on the sofa in their private lounge, breakfast finished. They always spent some time together just after they'd eaten their morning meal, before the day's proceedings ripped them from each other's side. The King, to politics, the Queen to the running of the house and the calculated care of her daughter's future.
"You see, it's not just that we haven't found the right man. It's that she doesn't want a husband at all. She barely understands what it would mean. She's scared, just like I was. But until we force her hand, she'll never make the choice herself and she'll never know what she's missing out on," the Queen said, clasping his hand on her lap, trying to make him see.
"But it's not like she's scared of men, Cara," the King contradicted, "I mean she's been nearly inseparable from Luke since he joined the staff."
"Yes, well, that's a whole other issue..." the Queen said.
"Stop that. I won't hear it again," the King commanded. He adored Luke as if he were a son and trusted him entirely with Ivy, knowing he wanted the best for her.
"I know, I know," the Queen sighed. She'd lost that battle enough times to know not to waste her time pushing it anymore, "But still, darling, having a friend and having a husband are hardly the same thing."
She reached up and stroked his worn face with her delicate finger tips, leaning forward to place a soft kiss upon his lips and giggling at the tickle of his greying moustache on her skin.
"That's true -- you don't get to do that, for one," the King laughed, slipping his arms around the Queens waist. "Where is Ivy, anyway? Isn't she usually down by now?"
The Queen cocked her head and looked up at the clock above the magnificent mantelpiece in the centre of the room.
"You're right, it is quite late for her," the Queen said.
The King stood up from the sofa reluctantly and went to the servant's bell in the corner of the room. He rang it and within moments one of the maids appeared at the door, curtseying to them both.
"Is Ivy coming down soon, do you know?" the Queen asked.
"No miss," the maid replied, "Charlotte said she's feeling ill, miss."
Charlotte was Ivy's maid-servant, a foreboding woman who quite-frankly terrified the Queen, but Ivy was fond of her so the King had requested that they had kept her on.
"Charlotte said that? Well, must be serious then, for Charlotte to agree," the King said, with a wink and a grin to his wife.
"Mmm," the Queen agreed, pursing her lips. "Could you inform her that I'll be up to visit her soon, please?" she asked the maid, who nodded and scuttled away. "I hope she's not doing this just to get out of seeing Lord Finch today."
"Oh, come on now," the King chided, "when has our little Ivy ever been that devious? I'll send a message to him letting him know that she's a bit under the weather and to postpone the meeting until she's feeling better."
"Fine, but we shouldn't postpone it too long. He's not a patient man," the Queen said.
"Well he'll just have to learn to be, especially if he's going to prove himself good enough for Ivy."
The Queen scoffed. "He owns half the kingdom, dear. He's good enough."
"You've already made your mind up about him, haven't you? That's why you're considering forcing Ivy's hand."
"Not forcing, just exerting our parental right. We've been exceptionally soft on her up until this point, and now we have a wonderful young Lord in front of us. Rich, handsome, very well connected. It's the perfect match for her and I, for one, am willing to push her a little harder than usual to ensure that she makes the correct decision."
"It sounds to me like you want to take away that decision entirely."
"Well, maybe we should. This has gone on for far too long, now."
"...I know," the King sighed. "I do know, I just... I don't want to remove her choice entirely."
"She's had choice," the Queen soothed, "and she hasn't taken it. It would be the kindest thing for us to do now, to nudge her in the right direction."
"Alright, alright. As long as it isn't a forceful nudge. She still gets a say in this," the King warned.
"Of course, dear," the Queen said, before planting a quick kiss on his cheek and sweeping out of the room to go and check on their daughter.
The King slumped back into the sofa and dropped his head into his hands. He knew his wife well, and with that came the knowledge that once she had set her mind on something there was no force on this earth that could sway her from the path. He just hoped that Ivy wouldn't become swept up and hurt in the inevitable oncoming storm.
*****
Ivy was curled up tightly in one of the grand armchairs in front of her fire place. It had taken her hours to get out of bed that morning, partly due to the late night but mostly due to the twisting feelings she had in her stomach and the tremors she was still experiencing in her limbs.
Her mother had been the one to pull her out of bed eventually, send her on a walk around the castle gardens. It had only served to strengthen the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, the hollowness in her legs, the fluttering of her heart. She had returned to her room gratefully and saw that it had been tidied in her absence and all the books returned to their shelves.
The books hadn't helped.
She was steeling herself for when the sun began to set and Luke would be up to light the fire. She was desperate to talk to him, desperate that he would have some answers. She had tried to explain to the others, her mother, Charlotte, the maids fawning over her, that she was unwell, flustered in some way by something.
Although she had tried to press her symptoms, her mother had dismissed it with a wave of her elegant hand and advised her to take air, to rest, not to read; books being unnecessary excitements, prone to causing excitable fits in young women such as herself. Ivy had tried to explain that this feeling had never come from reading, but the Queen assured her that, following her advice, she would be feeling well soon enough.
But Luke had seen it, seen her body act in strange ways. He would believe her and hopefully he could explain.
As the light began to fade and a chill wind seeped through the windows into her room, she turned her attention to the door. Her heart was thudding fast, waiting for it to open. She just needed to see him, just for a little while, just to talk.
A clock on the mantelpiece ticked away the minutes of her solitude with an aching monotony. With each passing moment the tension built within her, like a loose spring inside her mind tightening and tightening, coiling in on itself until the strain became unbearable.
Ivy sprang from her seat and tossed the blanket that had been around her shoulders onto the floor by her chair. She rang the bell and waited by the door, shuffling from foot to foot, her arm clasped around her waist and her teeth nibbling on her bottom lip furiously.
When the door creaked open Ivy involuntarily took a step back, another lash of adrenaline surging through her at the noise. But instead of Luke, as she had expected, a maid entered.
"Yes, miss?" she asked. Ivy stared at her, mouth slightly agape.
"I was just... erm... it's getting cold. I was wondering when Luke would be up to light the fire," she gestured unnecessarily to the dark, empty grate.
"Oh, of course miss. I think he thought someone else was doing it, but I'll go and fetch him now for you," she said, before curtseying and flitting from the room in search of Luke.
Ivy began to pace, no longer able to even feign stillness. Why would he think someone else would light the fire? Had he organised for it to be someone else's job? She stomped to the window overlooking the hills and wrapped both of her arms around herself, swaying slightly in time with the wind whistling through the window frame.
She had become so entranced in the rocking comfort of her movements to the gentle guidance of the winds melody that she didn't hear the door as it opened and then shut quietly behind her.
"Ivy?" Luke said, a curt tone in his voice -- a formal edge that was not usually there.
Ivy spun on the spot with a start. She would have moved to him but was held still by the look that was blazing from his dark eyes. Something dangerous seemed to be lurking there. It reminded her of a look she had seen once before: it had come from a bull that her father had shot on a hunt, a wounded indignity, but no, more than that, a terrifying will to fight.
Ivy swallowed, trying to think of something to say. She had run through all of this in her head but now she wasn't so sure. Luke was making her tense and all the carefully collected thoughts that she had assembled for the conversation seemed to scatter in an instant. Eventually, she gathered the courage to speak.
"The fire..." Ivy whispered.
"Yes?"
"... it, it hasn't been lit."
"Well, who lit it last night?"
"I'm sorry?" Ivy asked, confused.
"Who lit it last night? I can go and find them and ask them to light it again."
