Dreamwalker's Bride - Chapter 124

Chapter 124: Time flies (except when you’re stuck in royal chambers)
The days passed slowly. Each tea time felt eternal and tedious. There were one or two men who seemed decent, but most of them seemed nearly as hungry for money and power as Denholm. Trace had to let his mind wander away so that he didn’t noticeably cringe at times.

The princess could feel it, too. She smiled politely and gave the occasional barbed comment, which the king always disapproved of. Sometimes he made her stay afterwards to rebuke impolite behavior that Sapphira displayed.

She always listened attentively, nodded submissively, and then rolled her eyes the moment she turned away.

The princess was still a work in progress. A lifetime of being spoiled didn’t just disappear overnight.

Nights were where Trace thrived. He had to spend a cursory amount of time planting the dreams Oakdown had demanded, because he knew Sanders was reporting to the man.

Trace felt some small guilt that he’d been avoiding the older man, but his efforts at mentally abandoning his goal of thwarting Oakdown would be undone if he learned of any progress Sanders was making towards that end. The bulk of his evening hours were spent with his wife. It seemed she filled the empty hours by scheming at the princess’s desk. He’d caught her at it more than once.

Anaisa always wore a suspiciously innocent expression that made him want to burst out laughing. It made her look incredibly guilty instead of having the effect she obviously desired.

She’d made a dream with a dense grove of trees that spurted water at him spontaneously as he walked through. That had put her into stitches from giggling so hard at him.

The next night, it was the sea. She confessed later she’d never seen it for real, and had based her guesses off of what she’d seen in his dream world before it had broken. The creatures populating it were clearly of pure imagination: one looked like an aquatic version of Scruffles, and the rest seemed to be loosely based on the fish that were commonly cooked and eaten in the capital.

The waves and creatures kept playfully pushing him under the water when he least expected it. At least he knew he didn’t have to breathe in dreams, or he would have been in serious trouble.

Each night was some kind of maze or obstacle course that he wound his way through while Anaisa laughed at him. He could have dismissed them easily, but she was having too much fun, and so was he.

Her joy spurred him onward, and her comical, dramatic disappointment when he overcame each of the obstacles she’d created were a delight to his heart.

Tonight, he was in a courtyard. She was hiding from him, as she often did when her dreams began, and he looked around patiently, whistling to demonstrate his nonchalance.

She contained her laughter, though he knew by the flavor of the dream that she was intensely amused.

That was one of the things he loved best about their nights together. If he took her to his own dream world, not only would it be more exhausting for him to maintain her presence in his world while trying to rebuild it from nothing, but he wouldn’t be able to feel her emotions.

Anaisa’s mirth was positively contagious, and he reveled in the fact that being with him could make her so happy, even if her entertainment did consist mainly of having him perform difficult–or impossible–feats.

If something was truly impossible, he would just cheat.

The courtyard was the same one he’d seen in her dreams once before, where she and Katia had played in a fountain. The home of his wife’s childhood.

Tables lined the edges of the garden area, all arrayed with fine foods. A red-colored stew was the nearest dish, and he edged closer, curiously. It smelled heavenly, and he wondered if he was meant to try it.

“This won’t give me terrible hives, or turn me purple or anything if I eat it, will it?” He asked aloud.

There was no answer.

He turned away from it in suspicion, eying where his wife might be hiding from him. A warm, gooey SPLAT on the back of his head made him cry out in alarm and turn, bringing his hand up to investigate.

“Ah, it seems the food has decided to spontaneously attack me,” He said aloud. “This is very different than when the trees sprayed me or the snowballs came after me.”

A tray of green, mushy peas lifted into the air and spattered across the front of his shirt in a moss-colored mess.

“I hate peas,” He grumbled, using one hand to wipe the slimy globs of food from the front of him.

“I didn’t know that,” Anaisa’s voice came from one side of the courtyard, and he cut his eyes towards the sound.

She was sitting on top of one of the buildings, her legs dangling off the roof as she swung them playfully and tilted her head in amusement at his state. He whipped his hand in her direction, flinging the chartreuse mush at inhuman speed. She dodged, but a few small globs caught her shoulder.

“I deserved that,” She grinned, “but I’m not sorry.”

“What inspired this idea?” He strode towards her, but when his next step landed, a bowl of sticky rice exploded and flung the grains in all directions, speckling him in white. Anaisa laughed as he tried to brush himself off.

“When Katia and I were young, we once got into huge trouble with Cook by messing up the feast she’d prepared for one of Father’s parties. We threw all kinds of food at one another and created absolute mayhem.”

“I had no idea I’d married such a rebel,” He teased as he continued to cautiously make his way over to her. Several other booby traps of exploding food went off, making him into a walking meal.

“We got it cleaned up before he arrived, and helped Cook replace it all,” Anaisa shrugged. “No one told him because he came home angry and nobody wanted to upset him further. It was great fun.”

“It does seem like a truly entertaining experience,” He nodded seriously before he tensed and jumped directly at her. She smiled serenely as a row of punch bowls turned into wine-colored geysers, creating a wall of high powered spray that threw him off his course and soaked him to the bone.

“Tomorrow, it’s my turn!” He warned as he wiped the punch out of his eyes and glared playfully at his wife.