Jackline sat, a coiled spring of frustration, her arms crossed tight against her chest. Her eyes were locked in a silent, furious duel with a solitary, pale pink rose that swayed gently in the garden breeze, its soft petals an infuriating contrast to the turbulence within her. Her lips moved in a soundless whisper of a rant, every curse and argument she wished she could fling at Christopher directed instead at the innocent bloom. The air around her practically crackled with the force of her pent-up fury.
"I don't repeat myself twice, now get out."
The words echoed in her skull, a cruel, cold mantra. She imagined plucking the rose, tearing it to shreds, mirroring the satisfaction Christopher must have felt in dismantling her pride. The memory of his casual indifference, returning to his book as if she were a mere interruption, fueled a simmering rage just below the surface. She glared, silently willing the flower to wither.
"There you are," a sweet voice startled her, cutting through her murderous thoughts. "I've been looking for you everywhere."
Damaris stood a few feet away, her usual loving smile fading into confusion as she took in Jackline's expression. She paused in her tracks. "What did the flower do to get so much hate? Is it not to your liking?" she joked, though her eyes held a hint of concern.
Jackline forced her gaze away from the condemned rose to her. Damaris was, once again, wearing men's riding attire—breeches and a fitted jacket that suited her lithe figure oddly well. The practical clothing struck Jackline as a curious rebellion in a court so obsessed with rigid formality.
"The flower is beautiful," Jackline managed a brittle smile, the effort painful. "So what brings you here?"
Damaris frowned, genuinely hurt. "Aren't you happy to see me?"
"Of course I am," Jackline let out a strained chuckle, pushing herself up from the bench and gesturing for Damaris to join her. "Come sit."
Once seated, the mood shifted. Damaris leaned in, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "So, what has you all worked up? Mmmh, let me guess... Christopher?"
Jackline's mind raced. How could she possibly articulate the venom and the rejection she'd just experienced? To speak ill of the King, felt dangerous, not to mention Damaris was Alexander's sister.
"Not at all," she lied, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "The king is a splendid husband. He's everything a woman could ask for."
Damaris threw her head back, a loud, unrestrained peal of laughter echoing through the garden. She laughed until tears pricked the corners of her eyes, struggling to catch her breath. "Oh, really?" she gasped, trying to calm herself down. "So, how was it?"
Jackline simply watched her, the humor lost on her. "How was what?"
"You know," Damaris said, winking, expecting immediate comprehension, but Jackline only continued to stare blankly.
Damaris shifted closer, lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper, as if sharing a deep, dark secret. "How was your first night with him? The honeymoon? I heard you missed him terribly while he was away." A devilish smile spread across her face.
Jackline's face instantly ignited, a deep scarlet blush crawling up her neck and across her cheeks. The sheer impropriety of the question in such an open place, let alone the directness of it, shocked her. "I... I don't..." she stammered, looking away in mortification.
Damaris didn't relent. "You know," she continued, her voice full of mischief, "those who have been with him couldn't even make it to the last round. That's how strong he is in the bedchamber."
Jackline's blush deepened, horrified. "How can you talk about these things so openly?"
Damaris laughed again, a delighted sound. "Oh my, you're blushing! Look at you."
Jackline opened her mouth to defend her modesty, but no words came out. Damaris chuckled again, her observation striking a different chord of realization. "Then that means one thing," Damaris stated, her tone shifting to surprise. "You have never been with a man."
The truth of the statement hung heavy in the air. Christopher had abandoned her before the marriage could be consummated—a brutal political slight she was privately grateful for. She was thankful he didn't desire her the way a husband should his wife, though a small, wounded part of her wondered if it was because she simply wasn't attractive enough. Then she remembered the rumors and what she saw which confirmed that his heart had always belonged to another: Alexander.
"So let's get that fixed," Damaris declared suddenly, her mood shifting with alarming speed. She stood up, extending a hand to Jackline, her smile mischievous and hinting at an adventure Jackline wasn't prepared for. "Come on."
The air around them suddenly felt charged with a different kind of suspense—a dangerous, thrilling uncertainty. Jackline stared at the outstretched hand, the weight of her political isolation colliding with the reckless promise of a new, illicit world Damaris was offering.