Treasure

"Catherine?"

Her name echoed faintly off the stone walls of the foyer, and Catherine stood after she had put on her other slipper, turning her head to look in the direction of her father's voice. He was standing a few feet behind her, and for the first time, Catherine realized just how much he seemed to have aged since she had left. The lines in his face were less like faint grooves, now, and more like valleys in parched earth. The bags under his eyes were much more prominent; heavy and dark with stress. She had never really thought of her father as an old man, but since she had returned, she had noticed an air of woebegone hopelessness about him that, even after two weeks of her presence, still hung over him like a grey veil. He was euphoric about her return, of course--the moment she had shown up at his door, he had pushed the knights aside and embraced her, weeping, for what seemed like hours--but she couldn't help but wonder if the prospect of her death had chiseled off a little piece of him, worn some important part of him away. His eyes were a bit wide and his expression was uncertain, and she knitted her eyebrows together in worry.

"What is it?" she asked softly, and he looked down at the floor, running his fingers through his long, dark brown hair.

"You aren't going out alone, are you?" he finally asked. Catherine frowned.

"Richard and I told you," she said patiently, "that I didn't escape. The dragon let me go--it was a matter of honor. There's nothing to be so worried about."

"You don't

know

why he did it," he choked out. "It could have been a trick..."

"Don't be silly," she chided, but his expression hardened.

"I'll call one of the guards to accompany you."

"Father, I really don't think--"

"You'll be guarded, and that's that," he snapped. "It isn't proper for a duchess to wander without supervision." Catherine looked away to hide an involuntary roll of her eyes while her father turned on his heel and stormed out of the foyer in a swish of fabric, presumably to find a guard to follow her. With a sigh, she sank down onto a chair by the large, heavy wooden door, rubbing her temple. It was irrational of her to be frustrated by his paranoia, she knew that much. With patience, he would probably return to his normal, rational self in about a month. But it was hard to put up with his fretting about Adeon, and sometimes she wanted nothing more than to break open and tell him the entire story.

She heard footsteps coming from the other end of the hallway and glanced up, locking eyes with Eugene. Tall and gruff with dark hair, plentiful scars, and a permanent layer of stubble on his chin, he was one of her father's more favored guards, although she had never cared for him much. "Am I allowed to leave, then?" she asked dryly, and he shrugged, a corner of his mouth curling in annoyance.

"I don't see why you want to go out so badly, anyway," he replied in a raspy voice. "It's cold out there. And don't you have servants to do your shopping for you?"

"I get restless if I stay indoors for too long," she retorted, more than a little annoyed. "Don't you?" She reached for one of the door handles, but Eugene reached past her and pulled it open, standing aside and gesturing for her to pass through it.

"I wouldn't know," he said wryly, and she ignored him, walking briskly out the door and past him. She heard the door shut loudly as he closed it behind them, and Catherine spent the rest of the walk to the marketplace trying to pretend he wasn't there.

The marketplace was a riot of activity, even in the chill of a December afternoon. The air was thick with the smells of pastries, roasting meat and spilled ale, and although the crowds were a little more sparse than usual, the streets were still thick with people. Catherine pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and clutched it closer to her body, repressing a shiver.

"You cold?" grunted Eugene, unfastening the thick black sheepskin mantle from his shoulders, and Catherine shook her head. She promptly felt him drape it over her shoulders, and she scowled up at him.

"I said I was fine," she insisted, and he rolled his eyes.

"Don't think your father would appreciate it if you caught a cold under my watch," he said curtly. With a sigh, she hooked the clasps together and fluffed her hair over it. It was still warm from his body heat, and it reminded her of the nights she had spent curled up with Adeon, which was something she was trying hard not to think about. The past two weeks had passed sluggishly while she languished in the haze of waiting, and the worst part was, she wasn't even sure if she would ever see him again. Perhaps he had dismissed her and simply left. And, after everything that had happened to him, she often wondered if that was what she deserved.

A rather large woman with shoulder-length blonde hair suddenly began to approach them, brandishing a handful of tiny glass bottles, and Eugene halted her in her tracks by pressing a gauntleted hand firmly against the woman's prominent stomach. She looked affronted for a moment, but, after seeing the anger in Eugene's disposition, presented them with a beaming smile.

"Would...would the lady care for some perfume?" she asked uncertainly, and Eugene eyed her with disdain.

"The lady doesn't need you hassling her," he growled, and Catherine narrowed her eyes angrily as the woman shuffled away,

"She didn't mean any harm," she began, but Eugene silenced her with a dark look.

"Do you know the state your father was in while you were gone?" he snapped, suddenly incensed. "A right mess, he was. And instead of trying to keep him happy, here you are whining about going for little walks. He's probably still worried sick that you're going to vanish right out from under him again. But what do you care?" Catherine stared up at him in shock and indignation as he spoke, and he glowered at her. "Have some respect for the poor man and let me do my damned job, at least," he grunted, meeting her wide eyes challengingly. She looked away, suddenly feeling foolish.

"I didn't 'vanish,'" she muttered reproachfully. "Everyone in the kingdom gave me up like winnings for a bet they lost."

"Just do your blasted shopping so we can get back."

Catherine gave him an ugly look and resumed her walking. The wares of the shops were colorful and inviting, and she trained her gaze on them instead of looking at him. She could feel his attention falter as they passed a busy pub, however, and she smiled grimly. "Go ahead," she said dully, and he looked down at her.

"What?"

"You can go have a pint if you'd like. I won't tell."

He regarded her with suspicion. "So you can run off to who knows where?" he asked scathingly, and she whirled around to face him, her eyes flashing with fury.

"So I can be

alone,"

she snarled, and he recoiled a bit at her tone. "For the past week, I was the captive of a dragon. Now that I've returned, I'm practically a captive of my father's. I can't walk down a hallway in my home without him and four guards following me. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe,

maybe,

I would want five minutes without supervision?" He frowned down at her, but he seemed to be pondering something. Finally, he tilted his head back to gaze skyward and heaved a long sigh.

"Do you promise," he said slowly, "to stay close?" Catherine's heart fluttered in excitement.

"Yes, of course."

"And your father, he had better not hear about-"

"He won't know a thing," she insisted frantically. "I promise." He thought for a moment, then closed his eyes and nodded slowly.

"If you get lost, or if he hears a word of this, I swear to all that is holy that I will find you and shave every inch of hair off of your pretty little head," he grumbled, and he turned away from her and began to meander towards the pub. Catherine smiled and let out a breath that she hadn't realized she had been holding. Although she hadn't minded being around Adeon in the least, part of what she said had certainly been true: she was looking forward to a few moments of wandering around without someone following her.

As she turned to look back at the shops, one in particular caught her eye: a small farmer's cart brimming with golden apples that were flecked with spots of red. Standing next to it was an irritable-looking man with a ruddy face and long brown hair in a ponytail. If she had to assign a voice to a person, she thought, that man would probably sound exactly like the farmer who chased her and Adeon out of the apple orchard. And there was no mistaking those enormous, golden apples. Her heart ached a bit as she remembered the day she had spent outside with Adeon, and she hesitated before hurrying towards the cart.

"Excuse me," she called as she approached. The man turned his scowl towards her. He didn't seem terribly vexed, however, and she wondered for a moment if he simply had a very angry face.

"Hello, miss," he said, and although his tone was a lot less gruff than it had been in the orchards, the voice was unmistakable. It certainly was the angry farmer, and Catherine smiled, albeit a bit sadly. "Fresh apples here, perfectly ripe."

"I'll take ten, please," she said politely, offering him her basket. He inclined his head in a nod and began to fill it up, and she rummaged through the pouch on her belt for coins. Once he handed the basket back to her, she emptied a handful of gold coins into his waiting palms. His eyes widened.

"Three silver pieces would have been sufficient," he choked, and she beamed at him.

"Well, I think your apples are rather delicious, so I paid a little extra," she said brightly, and he stared uncertainly at the pile of gold in his hands.

"I can't--"

"Oh, it's quite alright," she assured him. "Please, I insist that you take it." He gingerly slid the gleaming coins into a pouch hanging off the side of the cart, scratching at his head in wonder.

"I...I...Thank you," he finally stuttered. "You're incredibly kind. Please, if you ever need more..."

"I shall come to you immediately. Thank you!" She turned to leave, and then took in a shuddering gasp.

"Now, how did I know," a familiar voice said, "that I would find you with the apples?"

The basket fell from her shaking fingers with a thud, and she stared in shock at the tall figure in front of her. He was wearing a bottle green shirt and black trousers, and he slowly lifted the wide brim of his hat with his long fingers to fix her with a piercingly green gaze. His pupils were dark slits in his face, but when their eyes locked, they seemed to dilate with wonder. As he saw her expression, his lips split into a fiercely wide grin.

"I've missed you," he said quietly, fog from his breath streaming out of his mouth like so many tendrils of smoke, and she clasped her hands over her mouth to stop herself from emitting the high-pitched scream that was building up in her chest. "You're shaking," he continued, a worried look flitting over his features, and she practically leapt at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his torso and burying her face in his chest. He laughed and entwined her in his embrace, tucking her head underneath his chin.

"You sh-shouldn't b-be here," she choked out, screwing her eyes shut and fighting back tears. She didn't know why she suddenly wanted to cry so badly.

"You worry too much," he murmured, and she shook her head jerkily. "Why won't you look at me?" he inquired, trying to pull away and failing as she gripped him with a strength she didn't know she possessed.

"I keep thinking that if I open my eyes, you won't actually be here," she admitted, her voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt. He smelled musky and smoky and warm, just like she remembered, and she quivered as his hands slid down her spine in long, broad, reassuring strokes.

"And what would you be clinging to, if not me?" he chuckled.

"I don't know. Perhaps a tree, or a very confused horse."

"In either case, I think it would be wisest to look and find out," he offered, and she opened one eye to peer up at him. There he was, still grinning down at her, and she opened both of her eyes to give him a bleary smile.

"Hello, Adeon," she said shyly.

"Hello, Catherine."

"Miss," the farmer's voice said hesitantly from behind her. "Your apples..."

"Oh, right," Catherine stammered, blushing furiously as she released Adeon and knelt down to gather up the fallen fruits. Adeon stooped down next to her, those elegant fingers searching the dirt for some that she may have missed, and when they straightened up, he was shining one on the fabric of his trousers. She watched in fascination as he brought the golden orb up to his open lips and bit into it with a snap. Juice dribbled down his mouth, and he traced the outline of his lips with his tongue once he had swallowed. "I thought dragons didn't eat apples," she said softly, and he smiled. The way he was looking at her made her breath catch.

"They certainly don't," he agreed. "But I found myself craving apples after you left, and now I think I've acquired a taste for them." He took another bite and chewed pensively before swallowing, then sucked the juice from his fingers. "How are you?" he asked, his expression becoming gentle, and she shrugged.

"It's lovely to see everyone again, but my father is still beside himself," she admitted. "I can't go anywhere unsupervised. One of the guards followed me here, actually. He's have a pint right now, but I don't know when he'll show up again. I guess everyone is worried that an angry dragon is going to try to whisk me away."

"Don't think I haven't entertained the idea," he teased, taking one last bite of the apple. "This guard of yours...he isn't terribly prone to violence, is he?"

"A bit. Why?"

"Because I'd very much like to kiss you," he murmured, a certain heat in his stare, and Catherine's lips parted in surprise.

"I think you'd be in a lot of trouble if he found me kissing you," she admitted, but her body was already leaning into him. He lowered his head a few inches, bringing himself so close to her that she could count each silver eyelash.

"I'll risk it," he sighed, pulling her into his arms. She raised herself up onto her tiptoes, closing her eyes blissfully as he moved to capture her lips with his. He made a languid noise of pleasure, and his mouth opened against hers in a knee-weakening rush of breath. His lips were still a bit sticky and sweet from the fruit. Catherine's spine promptly turned into jelly, and she kissed him back desperately, trying to memorize his lips with hers, her shoulders shaking as she clung to his neck. His apple core lay on the ground near the toe of Catherine's slipper, dusty and forgotten.

He grudgingly pulled away after several minutes, and she leaned against him, gazing up at him wistfully. "If we weren't surrounded by all these people, I'd take you right now," he said against her lips, softer than a whisper. She shivered a bit at the promise in his words. "As it is, I believe I have to be leaving you soon. I don't want to attract too much attention. Don't worry," he added as a look of horror crossed her face. "I'll be back. I promise."

"Tonight?" she asked softly, and his brow furrowed in confusion. "My room has a large window that overlooks the garden. It may not be big enough for a dragon, but I'd wager that a man could fit through it just fine," she added, smiling coyly. Adeon threw his head back and laughed, and when he looked back down at her, his eyes were dancing with excitement.

"Inviting me into your room for a secret rendezvous?" he chuckled. "Very scandalous--certainly a far cry from the Catherine who came stumbling into my cave."

"It's entirely your fault, you know," she retorted, fighting back a grin. "Has my boldness put you off?" He leaned in close, a low, hungry noise sounding in his throat.

"Oh, heavens, no," he murmured, his smile widening. "I love it." Her cheeks suddenly grew fever-hot in the cold air. "Where can I find the house that this window belongs to?" he asked, and she bit her lip, regarding him shyly from beneath her lashes.

"It's on top of that hill," she told him, pointing. "There's a little frozen pond near the front of the house--it's usually filled with water lilies--and it has big wooden doors. A pair of them. They've got herons carved into them. Oh," she added, "and there's a very tall iron gate in the front with lots of ivy on it, and spikes on top."

"A very tall, spiked iron gate," he sighed, feigning an air of distress. "Whatever shall I do?"

"I have faith that you'll find a way," she told him solemnly, and he stooped down to give her a quick kiss.

"I'll be there at midnight."

"I'll be waiting for you."

He offered her one last, brilliant smile before slinking away, and Catherine watched his retreating back until it disappeared in the crowd. A couple women craned their necks as he passed, and her eyes rolled irritably when she saw them whisper excitedly to one another. She turned to look back at the pub, where Eugene had just exited and had begun stalking towards her, looking a little less irritated than usual. The darkness returned to his face, however, when he saw the utter jubilation in her smile.

"What are you smiling about?" he grumped, and Catherine tried her hardest to compose her facial expression.

"Have you tried these?" she inquired, holding up an apple. "They're lovely." He frowned down at the fruit in her hands as if it had been acting particularly suspicious.

"Is that all you came here for?" he asked incredulously, and she shrugged.

"I wanted to bake some pies." He squinted dubiously at her, and Catherine flashed him her most beatific smile. "If you're not quite done browsing, Eugene, I'm sure we still have time to--"

"Spare me," he sighed, giving her an irritated look and nodding in the direction they had come from. She gave him a polite smile, clutching her basket with both hands and walking in front of him, a new spring to her step. Butterflies were still tumbling through her insides, and she felt as if her blood had been replaced by static and fizz.

--

The night came far too slowly for Catherine's liking. Baking the pies hadn't taken as long as she hoped it would, and she had spent the hours before dinner pacing her room and praying for the sun to go down faster. During dinner, she had been far too anxious to eat, and she had been forced to endure her father's worried stare while she picked at her roasted boar. At least she hadn't had to come up with an excuse. Her father had regarded her almost sympathetically, and she could practically see the thoughts behind his eyes: his poor daughter, taken captive by a dragon, still too timid and traumatized to eat properly. In a way, it helped her play her role of the scarred victim, which was something she was finding very hard to do despite the pressure of the kingdom's expectations. She was beginning to notice that the city's inhabitants seemed put-off by the fact that she wasn't a quivering, inconsolable ball of tears and suppressed emotions.

Her nurse stared at the plate of pie in her hands as she wandered back into her room, and Catherine gave her a weak smile. "In case I get hungry later?" she offered hopefully.

"It will bring mice," Leda warned, eyeing the pie with disdain as Catherine set it on her bedside table. Catherine had always been awed by the clearness and expressiveness of Leda's voice, which hadn't quite seemed to age with the rest of her. Leda's voice could command armies when it was stern, soothe a raging bull when it was gentle, ease a laugh out of a crying baby when it was joyful. When it was angry, it had the uncanny ability to transform naughty children into the paragon of obedience. Catherine's mother had been rendered speechless by the effectiveness of Leda's scolding when she was younger, and Catherine recalled hiding in cupboards and trees to postpone her fate whenever she heard Leda scream her name.