(By Luv3x)
"Anneka," Solomon said, a little too harshly than he'd meant to. I looked up suspiciously and tugged at my shift's hem. What was he doing here?
I'd gotten up to get a drink of water from the bathroom, and I'd come back, in my night gown. He usually never retired this early.
"What?" I knew my eyes were probably red from crying all day, but I didn't care. He looked worn out and nervous as he bent down next to me on the bed.
Solomon seemed to consult the wall behind me for a moment and then opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Then he opened it again. "Would you. . . . erm. . . . would you care to, uh, go on a . . . on a shopping trip? Tomorrow?" he added hastily.
I sat back on my heels in amazement. For one thing, that was the first thing he'd said to me, ever, that was not in his usual cold voice.
For another thing, I adored shopping.
"Why?" I demanded straight away, sure that this was some cruel joke.
"You don't have to, for God's sake," Solomon said annoyedly, returning to his usual cold demeanor. "I was only asking." He stood up abruptly and started to leave, muttering under his breath.
I was confused beyond belief. First he tortures me with the sight of food and doesn't care when I break down crying. And now. . . . . . Had he been. . . could it possibly that he was. . .serious?
"Wait," I bit my lip and leapt up after him, putting a hand on his arm. Solomon froze and turned around slowly.
Bravely, I looked up into his charcoal eyes and swallowed hard. "I. . . I'd really like that, Solomon."
We were both silent for a moment, contemplating what was going on. We were being civil to each other.
My hand was still on his arm, where muscles rippled down powerfully under his clean silk shirt. Boldly, I kept my eyes on his, and for once, I didn't look away in fear.
He seemed to be in shock, as if expecting me to say no and hurl something at him for good measure. At this turn of events though, he was nearly speechless.
"Okay. All right," Solomon said hoarsely, still unmoving by the door.
I nodded and removed my hand from his arm and he continued to walk out. Then I remembered something.
"Solomon!"
Quick as a flash, he reappeared by the doorway, looking alarmed and nervous again. I blinked and bit my lip, feeling shy suddenly.
"Thank you," I whispered, and he gave me a curt nod, then disappeared from view again.
At the crack of dawn, I'd risen. I was going shopping today.
Solomon was still asleep, the blanket draped over his bare chest and his arms that were clutching a pillow so hard that I was surprised that it didn't emit squeals of protest.
It had taken a while to get used to the fact that Solomon slept in a pair of long, loose pants he called 'pajamas', which must have been some odd new-fangled idea. I still nearly blushed every time I looked at him without a decent shirt on.
There were still a few stars left in the pale sky, but I quickly washed up and walked over to the bureau we shared, pulling out my drawer and trying to find the nicest thing to wear. There.
I pulled out a soft, bud green dress with long, loose sleeves. It was my other best dress, besides the one that I'd worn at the wedding. Mother had made it.
I turned to the glassy mirror on the wall and slowly slid it on, piling on a few petticoats underneath for warmth. There.
My hair, pale as ever, contrasted against my inquisitive brown eyes. I bit my lip as I surveyed the rest of my appearance. I would never be as pretty as Isabella or Florencia.
Solomon stirred in his sleep and I turned back to him, wondering how he was going to act on our shopping trip. Would he be his usual, cold hearted self?
Or would he actually make a civil effort and treat me like an equal, like he had yesterday? I honestly had no idea. The man was quite unpredictable.
Quiet as a whisper, I stepped out of our room and continued towards the kitchen, where Tilda had hot scones ready on the table for us. Solomon must have mentioned of our shopping trip to her, because she gave me a huge smile.
"Thank you Tilda," I smiled back, taking a scone for Solomon as well. Maybe it would put him in a good mood or something.
By the time I'd returned to our room, Solomon was sitting up sleepily and running his hands through his messy black hair.
"Good morning," I said timidly, placing the scone in his hands. For a moment, he looked at it uncomprehendingly. Then, he seemed to realize what it was and bit into it.
"Ummm," he groaned, and I couldn't help but smile. Tilda's cooking seemed to have the same effect on him as it did me.
"I'll be waiting in the sunroom," I said softly, turning to go so he could get properly dressed. The manor was dead quiet this early in the morning, and I found the sunroom peaceful.
A bunch of fiery lilies stood out against the pale sky, and I picked up a pair of pruning blades and began to snip off the yellow leaves, leaving the healthy green ones intact.
I found myself humming as I worked. I was actually excited about the coming day, because I was getting out of the manor.
This must have been the work of Damascus. He must have persuaded Solomon to take me shopping, and Solomon agreed.
But. . . . .
For some reason, this fact did not make me feel good. I felt like. . . . like Solomon was forced to do this. I would rather have preferred to think that he was feeling sorry about his actions and was trying to make up for it, but. . . .
The doors to the sunroom burst open and, startled, I shrieked, dropped the watering can. I lunged for the watering can, but fell down instead.
A pair of soft leather boots made their way over and a single pale hand picked up the gardening utensil. He held it out to me.
"Did I scare you?" his tone was amused and teasing.
Feeling suddenly embarrassed, I took the watering can and stood up, brushing water off of my skirts. "A little," I said in a small voice.
I looked up and met his charcoal eyes, and was surprised to find that, when not angry or irritated, they were like dark pools of ink.
Not foreboding. Not scary.
"We ought to go now, shouldn't we?" Solomon asked, and I noticed for the first time that he was wearing a long, black woolen cape that was draped around his shoulders.
I nodded meekly. "I have to get my shawl, though." In silence, we went back to our bedchamber and I grabbed the thickest shawl I could find and adjusted it over my shoulders.
"How. . . how are we going to get there?" I asked, biting the ends of my hair and twisting it around my finger. Solomon chuckled. It was the first time I'd heard him laugh for real.
"You really think that I own horses and a carriage for nothing?" his voice wasn't cold now. Rather, although still carrying an edge of sarcasm, it sounded quite nice.
"Oh. Okay," I nodded and followed him out of the manor and into the biting winter air. A stable man, not the same one that had come to fetch me to dine with Solomon, brought out a spirited mare and the white carriage.
"In you go," Solomon commanded, lifting me up easily into the carriage and grabbing the fur blanket that had been lying on the floor. He lept up himself, as well and tucked the blanket around us.
"Thank you," I said quietly. He pretended not to hear and instead, gathered up the reins in his gloved hands.
"Here yeh go, Master," a stable hand said, holding something in his hands and handing it to Solomon. "have fun now, yeh here?"
"I plan to," Solomon answered politely, and I thought I could detect a trace of sarcasm in there too. He handed me something lumpy and. . . . hot.
"It's a potato!" I yelped, juggling the scorching hot tuber in my hand. I'd been so caught up in how proper and rich Solomon was that I hadn't thought he would use this method of keeping warm.
It was tradition to heat up a couple of potatoes and hold them in your hand when you went outside early in the winter. By lunchtime, it would cool down, and therefore, edible.
"Of course it is," Solomon answered, giving me a strange look. "What did you think it was?"
I blushed and kept the potato between my hands. "I. . . I don't know. . . "
"Did you think I was too proper to resort to a potato?" he asked in a snide voice that I was accustomed to.
"N-no. . . . "
"You shouldn't lie." His cold hand gripped mine for a moment as he gazed at me intensely. "You eyes give it away every time."
I swallowed, feeling that familiar trace of fear flit across me.
He was so. . . . frightening. I've never heard of someone who could tell a person was lying by their eyes.
I immediately thought of Isabella and the rumors behind Solomon, wondering if perhaps reading eyes was some sort of thing that an enchantress's son would do.
"Sorry," I mumbled, dropping my gaze and crossing my legs uncomfortably under the blanket.
Satisfied, Solomon leaned back against the carriage seat as the mare pulled us not on the path to the village, but taking a different direction.
Alarmed, I straightened my back. "Where are we going?"
Solomon languidly pulled on a pair of silk gloves over his slender fingers. "Shopping."
Idiot.
I'd meant the location. But he'd known what I meant.
"Don't be fresh," I snapped automatically, scolding Solomon as if he were one of the village children. Then, realizing that this was Solomon I was talking to, I gasped and clamped a hand over my mouth.
I had forgotten. I had momentarily forgotten how fearful he was, how miserable he had made me. In a moment of absentmindedness. . . . . I'd forgotten it all.
"Bristol," Solomon said distractedly, looking quite dignified in his cape and top hat. He seemed to dismiss my retort and instead examined his gloves in an amused way.
"Bristol?"
"Yes. It's a city."
A trace of indignation swept through me at being spoken to like a child.
"But Bristol is. . . . " I tried to grasp the words that I wanted to say---Bristol was a large, bustling city----a hundred times more magnificent than the village. Why were we going there?
"Only three hours there by normal carriage," Solomon shrugged, watching me with a superior expression. "Two, since my carriage is better than normal."
Surprised and confused for a moment, I bit my lip and wrapped the shawl around me tighter. The wind bit unmercifully at an exposed skin, and there was a thin layer of snow on the ground now.
I could feel the warmth of his shoulder against mine, as well as the warmth of the potato in my hand. The clear, bitter wind blew my hair and the ends touched Solomon's cheek. Meekly, I tucked my hair back under my shawl.
It was going to be an interesting day.
Hope you liked it!
Thanks for reading!
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