Duties of a Wife

"Lighten up, this is your first night as a wife." Mother says. She managed to escape the festivities, now escorting me away from the Galerie, right towards the parked auto in front.

"Because being a Kingsley should be the greatest joy of my life?" I say, with a straight face, opening the door.

"Carter-Kingsley," she corrects me, holding the door open as I get in. This is somehow the most involved she's ever been in my life. And it's marrying me off. "At least put in the effort to pretend. I wasn't at all jumping in joy when your father and I wed, but I had grown affectionate for him eventually."

My grip tightens on the door handle. "Must I really leave tonight? I can go at first light tom–"

"Elaine, we've already gone over this," she pinches the bridge of her nose. "You do know what to do, right?"

"I… I am aware, Mother."

I travel alone to Alistair's house, wherever that is. I was told we wouldn't be residing with the other members of House Kingsley, which is honestly quite a relief. I would be a stranger among them, and the thought of navigating another web of unfamiliar faces and expectations was more than I can bear. 

The journey is quiet, save for the occasional sound of the driver's hum as he maneuvers the car through the winding roads. The thick woods make it impossible to see the stars and the only light comes from the moon and the car's headlights cutting through the night. My mind drifts back to the wedding, to the sea of faces and the overwhelming emotions, and I find myself grateful for the solitude of the car. It gives me a moment to breathe, to gather my thoughts.

When we finally arrive, I step out of the car and am greeted by the sight of Alistair's residence. It's a surprisingly quaint structure, cozy yet elegant, with tall windows and ivy climbing up the stone walls. The driver helps me with my bags and I make my way to the entrance. I'm too tired to even judge his interior decor. A maid greets me and shows me to the master bedroom.

As I set my bags down, I hear the sound of water running and before I can even check, the sound of the bathroom door opening snaps me out of my thoughts. I turn to see Alistair stepping out, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Water droplets glisten on his skin. His hair is damp, tousled in a way that makes him look effortlessly… handsome. For a moment, I'm caught off guard, my breath hitching at the sight of him.

He pauses when he sees me, his gaze landing on me. 

"Elaine," he says, breaking the silence. His voice is low, almost a whisper. "I've been expecting you, but I didn't know you'd be here so soon."


"I... I didn't know what to expect," I reply, my voice barely steady. I look away, trying to compose myself. "You see… My mother."

"Ah," He nods, like that was explanation enough. "Then you must know–"

"Perhaps we can, um, talk about it when you are… decent?" I cut him off, still unable to meet his eyes. 

"Alright." I could hear the smile in his voice. "You might want to freshen up yourself. The bathroom is all yours."

Grateful for the excuse to escape the intensity of the moment, I nod quickly. "Yes, I think I'll do that."

I hurry past him, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. The bathroom is still filled with steam, the scent of his soap lingering in the air. I shut the door behind me and take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. As I turn to the mirror, I catch a glimpse of my flushed face and I suppress a groan. This was not how I imagined the first evening. Not that I've been making a habit of imagining it.

Needing a moment to collect myself, I splash my face with cold water. As the cool liquid touches my skin, I feel a little more grounded. The tub is filled with fresh lukewarm water and I blush at the thought that he decided to draw me a bath. So it's ready once I arrive. I step inside and let the water calm my thoughts. 

It feels strange to be left alone when just earlier I had a group of helpers tending to my every need. But once I finished, the realization hit me–I forgot to bring a change of clothes.

I glance around the bathroom, hoping to find something, anything, to cover myself with, but there's nothing except for a spare towel. 

"This will do." I mutter under my breath. I didn't want him to look around my belongings either. I wrap the towel around me and brace myself to face the inevitable.

Opening the door just a crack, I peek out into the bedroom. Alistair is now fully dressed, thankfully, drying his hair with a towel, but the sight of him still sends a jolt through me. Stepping out, I try to move quickly to my bags without drawing too much attention to myself.

"Forgot something?" His voice carries a hint of amusement.

"Yes, I… um, my clothes," I admit, trying to keep my composure as I rifle through my bag for a nightgown. All the ones that Verona has packed for me are much too revealing.

"Well, it's not every day you get to see your bride in a towel," he teases, his tone light but his eyes shamelessly sweeping over my body.

Flustered, I grab the first thing I can find and clutch it to my chest. "This is hardly the time for jokes, Alistair."

He chuckles softly. "I suppose not. But you do look rather lovely."

Ignoring the compliment, I quickly retreat back into the bathroom and shut the door. Only then was I able to look at the clothing I chose. A sleeveless evening gown, layers upon layers of lace with threadbare satin lining. This evening is turning out to be more challenging than I anticipated.

I step out again, Alistair sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for me. His expression is more serious now, the earlier amusement gone.

I bite my lip, thinking about my mother's advice. Although I was never quite sure about it– how it starts, how it's done, and when it's supposed to end. I have only read about it in books, and even there the descriptions are too vague for me to understand. 

Alistair walks towards me, stopping just a few inches away. "May I?"

I nod, my heartbeat drumming in my ears. His hands come to rest on my shoulders, warm and firm. I close my eyes, bracing myself for what's to come. I feel his hands on my right shoulder, warm and electrifying. His touch is gentle at first, almost hesitant, as if he's not entirely comfortable with this either.

Instead of pulling me into an embrace, his hands start to move methodically over my body, pressing and probing. He traces the line of my collarbone, his fingers lingering slightly as if checking for hidden seams. His slow caress sends a shiver down my spine, and I have to suppress a gasp when his hands slide down to my waist. 

That's when I figured out what he's doing. He's checking for weapons.

"I see you're enjoying yourself," I tease, attempting to keep my voice light despite the fluttering in my stomach.

"Just being thorough," he replies, his tone detached. "I wouldn't particularly like having a knife through my chest when I'm asleep."

"In this nightgown?" I scoff. "It's practically see-through." Besides, a knife is too unrefined for a lady such as myself.

He doesn't respond immediately, hands continuing their search. They trace the small curve of my waist, sliding down my hips, and even check the hem of my gown. My skin prickles where his fingers brush, and I can't help but feel a mix of nerves and something else I can't quite name.

"Better paranoid than dead," he murmurs finally, stepping back.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "You are finished?" I ask, trying to sound annoyed but mostly relieved.

"For now," he says, his eyes meeting mine. "I just needed to be sure."

"Sure of what?"

"That you're not a threat," he answers simply. "We may be married, but trust isn't built overnight."

"I haven't searched you yet."  I declare, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Well, you can rest assured, I'm not hiding anything. I don't make a habit of putting weapons where I sleep, Elaine." A low chuckle echoes in the room. "Or would you like me to undress to prove a point?"

"That… won't be necessary."

He gives a small nod, his expression softening slightly. "Then let's call a truce and get some rest. Today has been exhausting."

I watch as he moves to the right of the bed, pulling back the covers. I follow suit, still processing the strange blend of emotions his touch had stirred in me. We keep a small space between us–no man's land. He reaches over to turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. 

"Good night, Elaine," he says softly.

"Good night, Alistair," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.