Page 12 of The Rest is History

Elodie

C harlie is a big hit with my family, which is annoying and gratifying in equal measure, though I can’t quite work out why it’s gratifying.

Or I can, but I don’t want to dwell on that too much.

Olive is so transfixed that she forgets to be shy and peppers him with questions, which he answers good-naturedly.

Once we get to the Great Hall, the queens make a huge fuss of her.

She’s very taken with Shelby and with Cassie, who plays Katherine Howard and is the youngest of the queens.

She’s only eighteen and is in her first year at drama school.

She and Shelby break character to discuss their favourite hair tutorials on YouTube.

I didn’t even know Olive watched hair tutorials.

They’re a cool gang of women, and I’m reminded that I should spend less time with Charlie when I’m here and more time with them.

Definitely healthier. And more fun.

I tell Charlie I’m going to see Grace and Olive back down to Base Court.

‘I’ll follow you down,’ he replies. ‘We should circulate.’

‘He seems… nice,’ Grace says as she hugs me goodbye. ‘He’s a lot more personable than I thought he’d be.’

‘He was in character,’ I point out. ‘Try sharing an office with him. He’s Mr Hostile Silence during the week.’

‘Maybe he’s just shy,’ Olive says. ‘Maybe it’s easier for him to be friendly and silly when he’s acting.’

I bend and kiss her on the nose, holding her cheeks in my hands. ‘And that is why you are one of the wisest people I know, Olive Clancy.’

Her words echo in my ears as I duck through to Master Carpenter’s Court. There’s a cut-through back to Base Court—a kind of cloister—that means I can avoid the majority of the crowds. I discovered it last week.

Maybe Olive is right. Maybe Charlie is painfully shy. He’s certainly socially awkward. Though that wouldn’t explain his hostility towards me.

A middle-aged couple stops me smilingly, and I pause for a photo before ducking into the passageway. It’s quiet, and cool, and dim, and?—

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

I can’t—I can’t breathe. It’s the strangest feeling I’ve ever had, like my head is spinning and draining of blood, and my skin is cold, and the only phrase I can conjure up to describe it is it that someone just walked over my grave.

Like I’m half here and half not.

Like I’m half in the present and half lost, suspended in some other time-space continuum that I have no business and no interest in knowing about.

Like I’m not alone.

You know in a nightmare, when you try your hardest to scream, and every muscle in your body tenses from the effort, but nothing comes out?

That’s how I feel right now. Cold dread pouring over me and turning to sweat on my flesh. The closest feeling I’ve had to this is vertigo. When your nervous system is telling your body something your logical brain hasn’t quite worked out for itself.

I need to get out of here. I need out now .

I pick my skirts up and run. Huffing out short, sharp breaths. Hurtling into the dimness until I emerge into Base Court, which is blessedly bright and busy. I slump into a corner and do my best to hold myself upright. Anne Boleyn sliding down a wall would be a spectacle, no doubt about it.

I cover my face with my hands, my body shuddering from the almighty adrenalin rush I just had.

I need a minute. I need?—

A shadow falls over me and hands grip my forearms firmly. I look up.

Charlie. He’s splendid in his royal regalia. His ensemble really does project majesty. Omnipotence. With his shoulder padding, he looks enormous.

‘What happened?’

His voice is low and urgent.

His eyes search my face.

And if it wasn’t for his hands holding me up, I really would slide to the ground.

‘I just came through there’—I gesture with my head—‘and I had the weirdest…’

I’m too out of breath to speak properly.

I’m too freaked out to articulate why I’m in this state.

All I know is, Charlie’s got me. I’m safe. And I want him to keep holding me. Caging me in with his body. Blocking out the visitors and the rest of the world.

And looking at me like that. Whatever that is.

‘Did someone say something to you? Are you hurt?’

One hand releases my arm and slides in to curl around my neck, his thumb resting on my jaw, and his touch is so precisely the grounding force I need right now that I instinctively lean my head into it.

As I do, my senses shift so my presence here, with him, becomes more tangible and the shock I’ve had begins to recede.

It’s there, but I can put some distance between myself and it. Shrug it off like a cloak.

My gaze roves from the silk, feathered cap on his dark head to the sapphire damask of his doublet that brings out the startling blue of his eyes.

Eyes that can so often look cold, but right now are anything but.

They’re heated. Fierce. And I have a sudden revelation that this is all I’ve craved, really, since I started at Hampton Park.

For Charlie Vaughan to look at me properly. To see me.

Eyes.

Stubble. That gorgeous, artless five o’clock shadow that I want to scratch my fingertips along so badly.

Mouth. Jesus , that mouth. I never noticed what a full bottom lip he has, and it’s so close.

I wonder what it would feel like between my teeth.

I wonder what it would taste like if I ran my tongue along it.

Eyes.

Stubble.

Mouth.

I—

‘Elodie. Hey . Elodie. You’re scaring me.’

He moves his body right up against mine, pressing me into the wall as if he knows I’m at risk of swooning (though he may not guess the reason). Our faces are centimetres from each other’s now, and my breaths are coming quickly.

Once he’s got me secured, he releases my other arm and brings a hand to my face, grazing his knuckles against my cheek.

I attempt to pull myself the hell together.

‘Sorry. Nothing happened, really. I just went through that passageway, and I felt funny. Kind of faint. Cold. It was freaky.’

‘Where—the haunted passageway?’

‘What?’ My eyes widen. ‘I thought that was upstairs?’

‘There’s another one outside—that cloister going to Master Carpenter’s Court.’

Oh shit .

Realisation dawns.

‘Yeah. That’s the one I just came through.’

‘On your own?’ His hand moves up my face, pressing against my forehead in a exceedingly distracting way.

I try to focus. ‘Yes? Obviously.’

‘Fuck.’ His blue eyes are still scanning my face.

I feel compelled to remind myself that it’s an act of concern, not desire, but there’s a tenderness there I’ve never seen.

‘I’m so sorry. I should have warned you.

That’s—that place isn’t somewhere you want to go alone. Even the guards patrol it in pairs.’

My eyebrows arch. ‘Are you kidding me?’

‘Nope. It’s not a happy place.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ I mutter.

‘Did you see something?’ The hand on my neck slides downwards, his fingers brushing my collarbone. His gaze follows, and I can’t read his expression through the thick, dark fan of his eyelashes.

I shake my head. ‘No. I just felt something. It was surreal—like I was having an out-of-body experience.’

‘Fuck, Elodie. I’m so sorry,’ he murmurs again.

His eyes lift to mine. Intense. Burning.

His fingers are still hovering on my collarbone.

He drags a thumb pad along its length, and I swallow.

Willing him to keep going. To preserve this precious moment of intimacy between two people who’ve only ever known distance. Polite conversation, at best.

Drag.

Drag.

Heat is pooling in my core at the touch of his fingers and the intensity of our eye contact. I feel like I’ve just dodged a bullet, and they say you feel euphoric after near-death experiences, don’t they?

That must be the reason, because right now, I feel euphoric.

Untethered.

Like anything’s possible.

‘It’s okay,’ I whisper. ‘I’ll be fine.’

I lick my lip, and his eyes dart to my mouth. He presses his lips together and shuts his eyes for the briefest moment.

As if he’s wrestling internally.

As if he’s digging deep.

Drawing strength.

The hand on my face slips under my hood and curls around the back of my neck. Tighter this time. His hand warmer. His touch more desperate. Almost as if he’s no longer comforting me and, instead, he’s reassuring himself.

‘I thought you were fucking hurt.’ He says the words on an exhale, his voice low and rough. ‘I thought?—’

But I don’t find out what else he thought, because he lowers his face to mine.

Our foreheads press.

Our noses brush.

Our breaths mingle.

And Charlie Vaughan kisses me. There’s force there, but his lips don’t press into a taut line.

They’re soft and pillowy, and the knowledge of how they feel is more miraculous and yet worse than the ignorance, because I can’t un-feel them.

Can’t un-feel the rough abrasion of his stubble against my chin as his jaw shifts. Learning me. Finding the best angle.

I gather enough strength in my arms to grab at the rich damask sleeves of his doublet as I kiss him back. I need that lower lip of his. I want to pull it into my mouth between my lips. To tug at it with my teeth. I want the warm, wet heat of his tongue invading my mouth. I want?—

He jerks back, his eyes twin blue pools of disbelief, his breath coming fast.

‘Jesus fuck . I didn’t mean to— God .’

I stare at him like the dummy I am. I’d just been getting used to the idea that Charlie Vaughan was kissing me before he pulled back and expressed—what? Disbelief? Horror?

‘I’m so sorry.’ He’s leaning on this phrase way too heavily.

He pulls himself off me and runs his eyes over my body.

I must be a sight, still plastered to the wall, lips smarting from a far-too-brief kiss, my eyes probably half-crazed (ghosts and fleeting, unexpected kisses will do that to a girl) and my boobs heaving as I attempt to catch my breath.

I gather the remnants of my self-respect and push off the wall. ‘It’s fine.’

‘Come on. Let’s go find the others.’ He’s turned away from me before he’s finished the sentence. I’m dismissed. Already. ‘And don’t go down there alone again.’