Dreamwalker's Bride - Chapter 201

Chapter 201: A new name
The king looked at Anaisa with some surprise.

“Change the name of the County?” He asked, and she nodded.

“I’ve been thinking about it. I cannot bear the shame of the name of Oakdown. Would it be very difficult to call it something else?” She wanted to grimace, but kept her face impassive.

“Such a thing has not been done before,” King Harold’s brow knit as he considered the matter. “What would you change it to?”

“Dogwood,” She replied tentatively, and he stared at her a moment. She maintained eye contact with the powerful man despite feeling nervous about the suggestion.

“Why?”

“It’s a beautiful tree. It symbolizes resurrection. I felt like I died when I was cast out, and to be brought back…” Anaisa hesitated to mention the other resurrection she ardently desired. “It’s also the kind of tree I was reminded of when I saw the one in the cave. I would like to remember it in this way.”

King Harold’s eyes softened slightly with understanding, and he nodded and offered his arm.

“Then shall we enter, Countess Dogwood?”

The ceremony was blessedly brief, and there were only a few confused glances when the king announced the name change. Most seemed to understand the implication behind the decision, or at least not question it.

By the time the proceedings concluded, Anaisa was desperate to get back to Trace, but nothing at all had changed.

She began to doubt if it ever would.

The manor had been restored to a state befitting upright servants of the crown. Its many rooms were renovated, and new furniture arrived. Anaisa had Trace moved in, tired of being in the constant bustle of the palace. A pair of doctors assigned by the king made the move go as smoothly as possible, even taking care of Trace’s hygiene by shaving the stubble on his face and bathing him so that, if he did wake, he would not immediately be shocked by the passage of time.

By the end of the day, she had her husband settled in a large, canopied bed in the main room of the home. If Katia wanted it when she arrived in the city, Anaisa would gladly move to another, but she doubted that would be the case.

When night descended, the house was silent. The servants had long retired to their beds. Anaisa sat in a large, winged chair in her room, reading a book aloud.

If Trace could hear her voice, she wanted him to know she was there. Would never abandon him.

It was a rather lighthearted but daring novel about a magical guardian who saves a kingdom from utter ruin and restores the proper heir to his place. A little on the nose for what they had just been through, but Anaisa didn’t care.

She just wanted her husband back.

When the candle burned low, she set the book aside and changed into her nightclothes. She would have been self-conscious if there were much chance of Trace waking up just then, but as it was, she would be too excited to be concerned about her modesty if that occurred.

And so, in her rightful home, with her rightful title, and rightful wealth, she crawled into bed and cried into the shoulder of the man she desperately wanted to wake up and hold her.

She fell asleep with her ear against his chest, allowing his heartbeat to assure her that he yet lived.

Her dreams were tumultuous and full of strange images. They weren’t nightmares, per se, but they confused and disoriented her. Shifting ground, strange mazes, a goal she couldn’t quite reach.

It seemed she spent a year struggling through them all.

Occasionally, Trace appeared at the edges. Each time, she would hope he was real, only to have the man evaporate into the ethereal mist of her mind. Images of her own desire’s creation, not her husband.

And yet, each time, hope burst inside her anew, and she ran towards him. Each time, a little closer. Brushing his hand with her fingertips. Grabbing hold of the hem of his cloak. Getting her arms around his waist in a futile attempt to keep him with her.

He evaporated once more into nothing.

So she wept.

Not since Emily’s death had she allowed a tear to fall, not even in her dreams.

The torrent, now begun, was not easily quenched. She sobbed and curled in on herself, finding no comfort around her. The arms she longed for were absent. The face she wished to see, nowhere.

Her grief poured out like a pitcher being emptied onto thirsty ground. It was so intense that she awoke with a gasp, tears soaking the nightshirt across Trace’s chest.

“I’m sorry–” She murmured without a second thought, reaching to the nightstand for a handkerchief to dry him off.

“For what?”

The slightly raspy words sent a shock down her spine. She froze for a moment before leaping to her feet in alarm.

Lighting a candle, her hand shook as she set it down and dared to glance at the man lying in her bed.

Open, shining eyes stared back at her.

“Trace!”

She threw herself at him, and his arms opened in time for her to land against his chest.

“Why am I so weak?” His voice struggled, and Anaisa scrambled partially over him to reach the cup of water and small plate of food on his nightstand. She helped him sip until he was satisfied, and he blinked at her strangely.

“Where are we?”

“In the manor,” She explained, her voice cracking. “It’s been over ten days since the cave. I was afraid you wouldn’t wake up…”

“I’ve had… such strange dreams,” He shook his head. “I couldn’t control any of them. They just happened, and nothing made sense.”

“That’s how most people’s dreams are,” She teased lightly, but sobered quickly. “Are you all right?”

Trace contemplated his answer for several moments, his eyes taking in his surroundings, and his wife. A mischievous grin twitched at the corners of his mouth.

“I think a kiss might make me a little better.”