Page 19 of Only You
‘There will always be people who rely on us to use it wisely. How they spend their time will always be a result of how we use ours,’ he had once said, adulthood and responsibilities too far away for her to understand why her father was gone so much of the day.
When Sabine thought about it, time was the only thing she truly claimed for herself. As such, she decided to spend it the way she loved: reading, sword practice, kissing Damien in dark corners, shopping and learning the ins and outs of French high society from stations to rumours. She made the correct acquaintances, staying by Madame Roulet’s side whenever she walked out the house. At every event she made sure to leave an impression of being amiable, if not a bit ignorant of the culture, despite it being drilled into her for the past few years. She was a lady, just smart enough to be appropriate, oblivious enough to be approachable. The days were a blur while the nights stretched out longer, especially when Damien would dare to sneak into her room.
Seasons passed, and it became harder for Sabine to look past these moments, dismissing any worries about future husbands that came to mind. Perhaps her father hadn’t had as much luck as he anticipated. Maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal to wait another year for a husband. Or perhaps he would lower his standards to something more… accessible.
She didn’t linger on the last thought as she gasped into Damien’s ear.
She had snuck the soldier into her room after feigning a headache to skip afternoon tea. Madame Roulet didn’t seem to be put off by this, insisting Sabine go straight to her room. She reminded herself that she had to stay quiet as Damien bit her collarbone, and she slipped into a haze of lust under the afternoon light.
Sabine had come to realise that, when it came to satisfying curiosity, touch worked much differently than other longings. She had craved a lot of things in her life: the taste of alcohol, the shine of jewellery and even the thrill of a good fight. They were all satisfied so quickly.
Yet, the desire for touch lingered much longer, flaring up when she least expected it. Every time Damien’s fingers trailed over her skin, she wanted more. She wanted his kisses to last longer, for each caress to be more intimate than the last, to have the same control over his body that he had over hers. She sought out the thrill of him towering over her while knowing he would never push past her boundaries. It was a heady and addictive feeling that she could never quite sate.
‘Careful, princess,’ Damien said when Sabine reached for his belt, grabbing her wrists. ‘Your crown might fall off if you let a simple knight take your virtue.’
She scoffed as she sat up and cupped his face. ‘It’s my virtue to give,’ she told him. ‘And as far as I can see, I won’t have a husband for some time. Why not fully enjoy my time with you?’
His eyes dimmed, and he moved her hands to her side. ‘You may be surprised how quick the process will be.’
Sabine narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘I don’t know how closely you’ve been listening to the rumours but there’s a particularly interesting one.’ Damien trailed his finger up her thigh, goosebumps rising where he touched her. ‘Something about former aristocrats looking for a foothold in Africa.’
Any warmth left in Sabine disappeared as she processed what the words meant. ‘What? My father would never marry me to someone like that. Surely, he would set his sights on someone of higher status. A count or duke, a son of a Bassam king— not a foreigner with no status.’
‘We may no longer have statuses but we don’t need them when land pays more.’
‘I… No. No,’ Sabine protested. ‘He wouldn’t do this without telling me! We’ve been to plenty of parties, but no one of consequence approached me.’
‘Maybe he didn’t want you to get worked up.’ Damien smirked but there was no mirth in it. ‘He, like everyone else who knows you well enough, knows you have a temper.’
‘This isn’t the time for your jokes,’ Sabine snapped, getting out of bed.
‘Where are you going?’ Damien asked as Sabine, only wearing her undergarments, looked for her dress.
‘I’m going to speak to my father,’ she said, making her hair presentable.
Damien shook his head but got up to help tie her corset and slide on a short-sleeved afternoon dress. He had fixed his uniform just as someone knocked on the door; he moved quietly behind it.
‘Come in,’ Sabine said, an edge present in her voice. The door swung open, hiding Damien as Madame Roulet entered with a wide grin, practically vibrating in excitement.
‘I do hope you’re feeling better,’ she said politely. ‘Your father is here and would like to speak with you in the parlour. I told him you may still be under the weather, but he said it was urgent.’
Sabine forced a smile on her face. ‘Oh, I am feeling much better. Tell him, I will be there shortly.’
Madame Roulet clapped her hands together excitedly before exiting, and Sabine’s mouth dropped into a frown as she stomped to her vanity.
‘You can’t enter angry,’ Damien said, not moving from his spot. ‘You’re not supposed to know.’
‘My father always said to pay attention to the world around me,’ Sabine grumbled as she added a jewelled bird hairpin to her brunette tresses, an heirloom from her mother. The reminder always softened her father, and she wanted every advantage she could get.
The walk from her room to the parlour seemed longer than usual and gave her nothing but time to digest what was going to happen. She tried to remain calm, but her body shook with rage. Her father had never decided anything without her. To think he may have made the biggest choice of her life without a word was infuriating. By the time she approached the door, she was ready to fight tooth and nail because she would be damned if she were expected to take this without question.
She stomped inside the room, making her father look up. He appeared calm as he stood from the table. There was coffee and puff pastries that the cook only made when Madame Roulet was in the mood to celebrate. As if he were about to deliver the news she had been waiting for all her life. She almost scoffed before remembering he would not accept the disrespect.
‘Mon trésor,’ he greeted, kissing her cheek.
‘You’re marrying me off,’ she hissed in Fante as he pulled away. He sighed before gesturing for her to sit. She plopped in the seat across from him stiffly.
