PART ONE: INNOCENCE
Finally, after what seems like eons of waiting, there's a knock at the door.
Alys smoothes the fine silky fabric over her thighs, her damp palms leaving streaks of which she's blissfully unaware as she curls her fingers over the plain doorknob, turns it and swings the door wide.
And there he is. Her heart. Smiling at her with that gentle curve of full red lips, dark eyes crinkling warmly, immaculate as always, even clad in an unfamiliar black robe. He takes one of her small pale hands in his and raises it to his mouth, bending over it, lips just lightly brushing her knuckles. But its enough to make her shiver, and her small nipples tingle and tighten, peaking the fabric of her dress. Its long, and flowing, yet so very fine that it clings to the curves of her slender body.
He straightens, eyes traveling appreciatively over her form, his gaze snagging a moment on her nipples pressing against the fabric, before slowly running up to her face, a flush blooming over her cheekbones, both from pleasure at his appreciation, and embarrassment at her own reaction.
"I knew that dress would become you, my love," he murmers, in the silken tone that makes her bones melt. She smiles at him tremulously, azure eyes flooding with warmth as she gazes up at him adoringly. "But I'd no idea how... seductive it would be."
She flushes again, dragging her gaze free of his with some difficulty to run over herself. She gasps in consternation at the obvious peaked shape of her nipples, even the dusky peach hue of them visible through the silky-sheer white fabric. As he'd diffidently suggested, in a note enclosed with the dress, she'd kept herself completely bare beneath it. And now, with even the dull lamplight shining behind her, the fabric is almost totally transparent. The small tuft of blond curls between her thighs is a dark smudge beneath the spidersilk.
Stammering something awkward, she tugs her fingers free of his and folds her arms over her chest, ducking her head a little so pale blond hair drapes over her face. She peeks up at him shyly through this shielding curtain.
"I... I'm used to wearing more." She tells him, her bare toes curling against the weathered wooden floor.
He smiles at her widely, one of her favorites. He has so many different kinds of smiles, and she loves them all for various reasons. This one is light-hearted, cheeky, playful.
"Are you ready, sweetness? My carriage waits."
She nods dumbly, then squeaks in surprise as he scoops her up in his arms, turning to take her outside, leaving his coachman to close the door of her small house. He carries her the half dozen steps to the coach, and leans in the open door to deposit her gently on the seat, climbing in beside her with a friendly wink. Her hands are folded in her lap and he lays one of his over them, gently squeezing. "I wouldn't want to risk you cutting those dainty little feet, sweetness," he murmers.
Alys flushes again, feeling like its all she's capable of doing, horribly aware of his hand so close to that special private place between her legs. She leans forward to look out the window at her small house as the coachman coaxes the horses into movement and they slowly pull away. Her father is sleeping deeply in the back room. She prays he won't wake while she's gone, for there's nobody else to sit with him and see to his needs.
She's spent all of her adolescence caring for him. He suffered some sickness likely caused by the awful scourge diseases during the war, and had been sickly ever since he returned to find his wife run off with a bandit, leaving only Alys of his family. He received a stipend from the army, but it was little enough to ensure a decent living. Alys took care of him, and fed him the tinctures and potions that the alchemists recommended.
She also had employment at the local bakery in Goldshire, working in the darkest hours of the night, baking the breads fresh for the next day. There were two girls who worked this graveyard shift, and they never had contact with the clients. It suited Alys, because she worked while her father slept and didn't require her. It suited Darna because she had an infant who's regular feeding requirements kept her up through the night anyway. She brought the babe to the bakery with her, and kept him in a carry basket on the workbench in the corner of the room, where the immense heat of the baking oven wasn't too oppressive.
One night they'd been working away as usual when there had sounded an insistant hammering at the front door of the bakery. They had ignored it. Tucked away in the kitchen, some of the light did filter through to the store at the front of the building. And sometimes hungry drunks would bang on the door on their way staggering home from the inn or local whorehouse, hoping to purchase a snack. But store policy was to ignore them. But this night, after the hammering had as usual subsided, a knocking had soon begun on the back door of the premises, accessible only through the narrow, refuse-strewn alley.
The girls had exchanged startled looks, the baby picking up on their nervousness and beginning to wail. Darna had gone to soothe her infant, and Alys had opened the door, just a crack, staring in wonderment at the finely-dressed coachman. He'd pardoned the intrusion and begged for food and water for his labored horses, explaining theirs was the only light showing at this time of night. They'd been unsure, until he passed over 2 shiny gold coins. Alys had rounded up two loaves, and a pitcher of fresh water. And she and Darna had been overcome at their good fortune. A gold coin each was more money than they made in a month.
The following night, around the same time, the coachman had returned to the kitchen door, bringing with him a finely dressed gentleman. He introduced himself as Lord Nico Darkwraith, and insisted on handing over exquisite gemmed rings to both bakers in return for their assistance the previous night. Alys had tried to refuse, stammering about the gold, but he'd insisted. And grown more attentive to her alone, making conversation, seemingly amused by her blushes and stutters as she hovered in the doorway, blocking it with her slight body. It didn't even occur to her that keeping a fine nobleman standing out in the alley was bad. And he asked her out. And, before she could even take issue with her own boldness, she'd accepted.
Three cycles of the moon he'd been courting her. Working seamlessly around her inhospitable hours, with cozy picnics beside the lake in the grey light of pre-dawn once she'd finished at the bakery, or late suppers in a private room at the inn after her father fell asleep and before she headed to work. Three times a week, every week, for three months.
She grew more comfortable with him, and became more forthcoming in response to questions about her life. She never pretended to be something she wasn't, and he seemed comfortable enough with her lowly station, and recognized her discomfort in the one fine city restaurant he took her to. After that he stuck with the more secluded locations, and private rooms where they could focus on each other, and Alys wasn't distracted trying to behave appropriately in settings where she felt awkward.
