The Grey Ones
The Open Cage: XXII

JUNIPER

Her heart was bursting. She could barely do much else than think about the general’s kiss, his touch, his voice. Indeed, she could not deny her ardent feelings towards him, and to know that he too felt deeply for her was more happiness than she could bear. All she could hear was him telling her how much he wanted her, how much he lusted for her—how much he respected her—and it made every hair on her body stand.

Only hours before, she had felt heartbroken thinking that she was worth nothing to him if she wasn’t lying flat on her back, but now, she felt as though she was the princess in all those fairytales, and he was the knight.

Time moved excruciatingly slowly and when she could finally see him again at supper, she had made sure that she looked as beautiful as she possibly could. Her reward for such efforts was found in his intense, warm gaze, and the longer into the night they spent conversing, the closer they moved. They ended the evening drinking tea together by his reading nook, where their lips met longingly.

When the hour had come to turn to bed and the Vasaath had suggested it, Juniper was surprised by sudden fear and anxiety—the confidence and giddiness from only minutes before were gone.

At that moment, she realised that a bed symbolised more than just sleep; it was the place where a husband took his wife for their wedding night, and it was where a woman was to fulfil her duty and purpose.

A memory from her childhood sprung to mind when Juniper had gone to her mother’s bed at night because of a terrible thunderstorm; her mother had invited her to curl up next to her and then held daughter in her loving embrace—moments later, the door had opened and Juniper’s father had stumbled inside, reeking of spirits. He had torn the girl from her mother’s arms, spat at her to return to her own room before he could slap her, and then he had crawled on top of her mother despite the woman’s anguished pleadings. Juniper had rushed out and scurried to her room while her mother’s cries echoed in the dark hallways of the castle.

Why that awful memory had made itself known at that moment was unbeknownst to her—she had slept next to the Vasaath before, and she had always felt safe. Indeed, she had felt safer with him than anywhere else. Why was this night any different?

But she went with him to the inner chamber, stripped to her shift, and crawled under the furs. She was troubled and felt strangely uncomfortable as the Vasaath took his place next to her. The thought of his strong body so close to her own frightened her—such power he would have over her if he wished to exert it! She would have no chance against him, just as her mother had no chance against her father.

She tried not to show her distress, but when she let out an involuntary gasp as he laid his arm around her, he quickly removed it and asked her if anything was wrong.

“You’re tense,” he noticed. “This is unusual.”

Trying to clear her mind, she said, “I just had a bad memory, that’s all.”

“What about?” he asked her softly.

Juniper was silent for a moment. Why would he want to hear about her miserable childhood memories? Then she sighed. “About my mother.”

He hummed. “What was her name?”

“Eleanor,” whispered Juniper. “She died of illness when I was still a child.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “You must have loved her.”

“I did.” She turned to face him. “She was my guidance. When she passed, I had no one.”

His golden eyes observed her carefully, and a line had formed between his furrowed brows. “You had no teacher?”

“I had a governess,” said Juniper, but shuddered at the thought of that hateful woman. “She despised me, as I her. She would whip me with a stick if I ever did anything unladylike. She was mindful not to leave anything but bruises, of course—I had to look pristine; a mark or a scar would not do.”

“You beat your children?” he huffed. “And you call us savages.”

Juniper smiled half-heartedly. “I wouldn’t say it’s common practice, but I would lie if I said I think it’s uncommon. Parents often think that is the best way to teach children respect.”

“So you teach your children that fear and respect are equal,” he concluded, then he grunted. “I can see how that has moulded you into the people you are.”

Juniper sighed. “When my mother was alive, there was only love. She taught me a great deal, you know, about life. About what to expect. I was so young then and did not understand her, but I do now.” She huffed. “She told me to keep my heart guarded. Even though I would be married to a wealthy lord and birth him sons, I would replace no love in the match. I would love his children, but I would never love him. And neither would he love me.”

“That is a grim view for a people I thought believed in romance,” muttered the Vasaath and he let his fingers lightly brush her arm.

A shiver ran through her and her skin prickled at his gentle touch. “I think my mother did, once. But I suppose the years hardened her heart.” She sighed. “She suffered at my father hands, I know she did.” A ghost of a smile appeared on her lips. “I wonder what my mother would have had said about you.”

“Something reasonable, I hope,” he chuckled.

She smiled and gently traced one of the markings on his chest with her fingers. “Either she’d tell me to run as far away from the likes of you as I possibly can, lest I’d be dragged into a life of sin, or she would tell me to savour this moment and take this chance of being with someone who cared for me, for I would never have it again.”

“I see now where you got your wisdom,” said the general and placed a strand of her hair behind her ear, “but your mother and I have very different views on sin.” He carefully lifted her chin and brushed his lips against hers. “Is this sinful to you?”

Juniper’s heart raced, her cheeks flushed, and her breath quickened. “We… we’ve only ever kissed.”

“And more than that?” He slowly grazed her skin with his claws, down her neck to her collarbone, edging on the neckline of her shift, and up her shoulder. “Would that be sinful?”

Violent shivers ran down her spine and every hair stood at its end. “I—” she breathed against him. “The Architects say—”

“I don’t care about the Architects.” His voice was rough as his hand landed in the small of her back, pulling her closer. “What do you think?”

His breath was hot against her lips, his hand was steady on her back, and she felt her body tremble; her mouth watered, her blood boiled, and her mind hazed. There they were, alone together in his bedchamber. She knew he wanted her and she had never felt anything like this before. How then, she thought, could it be wrong?

His eyes were dim and dark and low rumblings escaped his depth. She imagined him pulling her underneath his massive build, and imagined his lips all over her body. The thought was only fleeting, and yet, it made her feel extraordinary—terrified.

When he took her lips with his, hungrily and intently, she instinctively pushed him away, overwhelmed by her own strange feelings and desires.

The Vasaath clenched his jaw and grunted. “Forgive me.”

Juniper knew not what to say. She was ashamed by the heat in her body, by the thoughts in her head, so she only nodded. “We should sleep.”

The Vasaath agreed and allowed her to turn around and when she had her back against him, she exhaled deeply. She knew she would get no sleep that night.

She did, however, and in her dreams, he undressed her, and touched her, and kissed her—but she woke up before they could be joined. She was relieved and disappointed, all at once, and she didn’t know whether to be pleased or ashamed. The Vasaath was still asleep, breathing heavily next to her, but Juniper could not will herself to go back to sleep. It was morning, and soon enough the camp would awaken. She felt restless and could not stay in bed.

Carefully, she slipped out and dressed. She gave the Vasaath a quick look as he lay sleeping with his arms and legs sprawled across the bed, and she smiled. Indeed, he wasn’t as frightening and awe-striking when he was sleeping like a child.

Juniper took her tea out on the battlements in the morning sun, with the sea breeze in her face. When she closed her eyes, images from her dream flashed before her. His hands caressed her naked skin, his claws teasing her; his lips left burning trails—down, down they went. A smile stretched over her lips and she hoped no one would see. It was hers, as was that small intimate moment.

That morning, no thoughts of war or horror tormented her and she found that her shoulders had been relieved from a weight she didn’t know she had. Perhaps it was the clouds she was still soaring in, or perhaps it was the sensation of feeling loved—perhaps for the first time—that clouded her mind, but she could not allow herself to think about war or invasion, or her brother or father.

“I thought you had abandoned me.” The Vasaath joined her by the battlements when her tea was long finished.

“No,” she smiled. “I just like the view.” She sighed. “I’ve always loved the sea. I can see it from my room in Fairgarden, but it’s always so far away.”

“In our capital,” said the Vasaath and leaned over the stone next to her, “the white-washed stone façades reflect the clear blue water of the bay. Everyone can see the waves when the sunlight hits the water, no matter which way their windows face.”

“That sounds beautiful,” said she.

“At summer, the sun hardly sets. It just rests above the horizon, setting the city on fire, before it rises again. At winter, it’s always dark, but the Light Giants wander across the heavens every night, letting us bask in their glory.”

She looked at him. “That must be magical. I wish I could see it.”

“One day, you will,” said the Vasaath.

She smiled half-heartedly. The thought of ever leaving Noxborough was bittersweet—all her life, she had dreamt of it. When she was still in her teenage years, going somewhere as exotic as Kasarath would be like a dream come true. Now, when that journey seemed inevitable, she felt a strange sense of sentiment towards Noxborough.

Poor Noxborough—soon, its people would be curbed by the Kasenon, and she wasn’t sure even the Builder knew what would become of it. But no—she wouldn’t think of it. Not now, not today.

“I will take you out in the darkest of nights and let you see the magic for yourself,” said the Vasaath.

She liked the sound of it but gave him a coy smile. “Unchaperoned? Wouldn’t that be rather improper, sir?”

He narrowed his eyes before smirking. “Perhaps. Would you mind?”

She saw that his eyes were drawn to her lips and she couldn’t help but to wish for him. He leaned in, just a little, and she parted her lips, just a little—but she composed herself and took a step back.

“I think I might visit the Kamani today,” she said. “Just to make sure they’re content and have what they need.”

He straightened, and his countenance hardened. “You are a good hostess.”

She brought her hands together. “I’m not their hostess.”

“You know as well as I,” said he, “that without you, they would be dead by now. They should kiss your feet.”

Juniper sighed. “Without me, they would still have their homes and their loved ones.”

The Vasaath gently grabbed her hand and looked her deep in the eyes. “That is not your fault, Juniper. You didn’t do that.” He ground his teeth together for a short moment while observing her. “That happened because your father thinks he owns you and because he wants to sell you—like cattle.”

She bit her lip. She didn’t want to think of that today, in the sunshine. Shaking her head, she smiled. “It doesn’t matter. That will never happen.”

“No,” said he, “it will not.” He kissed her hand, bowed, and then excused himself. He had to help with the barricades and said that they might very well be finished today—and not a day too soon.

She sighed as she watched him leave. It didn’t matter how much she tried to suppress the inevitable: war was coming to Noxborough, whether she liked it or not.