Chapter 64: 51 - Machiavelli
"Wait a moment, Helena," he murmured, his voice slightly hushed, as if sensing an unusual ripple in the air.
"Are we currently ’enveloped’ by something ’of yours’?" he asked, his gaze sweeping around, searching for confirmation.
I simply nodded, a sweet smile playing on my lips. This wasn’t merely assent; it was a small conspiracy understood only by us.
"So they can’t see us?" His voice lifted slightly, an irrepressible joy in his tone.
Again, I nodded, my eyes sparkling with mischief. As if this were a familiar little game we had perfected, a secret woven into the fabric of our long-standing bond.
"Good, then. It seems you’ve done it again, by accident." He replied with a wide smile, his beautiful eyes twinkling with amusement.
Honestly, this wasn’t the first time. Playing hide-and-seek during childhood had proven to be the most effective field for this Crystallization subversion.
Yes. This was the "Invisibility" subversion that had become instinctive for me, something that should feel utterly normal, deeply ingrained.
But strangely, whenever I was near him, this magic felt exponentially more potent, as if my very soul was strengthening. The memory of the first time I used it was deeply etched, carved into my mind. Back then, we were playing hide-and-seek with the other Machiavelli siblings, intimately close since we were tiny. Panicked, I had instinctively clutched him tightly, though only my two small hands could encircle his form, hiding from his siblings who were diligently searching for us.
And oh, his panicked expression! It was truly hilarious, tickling my heart. His usually cheerful and charming face, even at twelve years old, appeared so apprehensive and utterly terrified. As if the world were about to crumble instantly, so dramatic!
Recalling that moment now magnified its sweetness by tenfold.
"He-He-Helena?! What is this?" he whispered, his voice catching.
"Uh, sorry, Arturo! I panicked, so..."
A shimmering, glass-like membrane seemed to ’envelop’ us, an invisible shield.
A Machiavellian like him, with his innate sensitivity, could certainly detect this magic. Their family was renowned for their ability to perceive all kinds of magical energy based on its unique ’scent.’ A service that made them so widely revered throughout this world.
In our pure innocence then, we held each other tightly, the world seeming to vanish around us.
However, this time was different. I led him... no, we led each other, swaying in a dance.
Yes, dancing to the rhythm of the music, a classic melody that still resonates clearly in my mind.
This music, like theatre, was the very essence of Machiavelli tradition. Through it, they shaped and reshaped the world.
The compositions? La Pellegrina and Canti Carnascialeschi.
Just as the grand strains of "La Pellegrina" faded, in an instant, we glided onto the dance floor, merging with the vibrant melody of "Canti Carnascialeschi" as it began.
The timing was utterly perfect, a precision almost magical, as if we were truly destined for this moment. My feet moved in harmony, keeping pace with his swift steps, like dancing in a hallowed, spiritual heaven. Every sway felt more like soaring on the wind than a mere dance date.
And it was as if God Himself, in His divine wisdom, had blessed this sacred dance.
My hands flowed, as graceful and elegant as ever. Arturo, too, matched me with his romantic, masculine style, swaying like a swan whose neck moved with such agile and energetic grace.
It seemed he had become too engrossed in his role as a dancer, so much so that he forgot our true purpose. I slowly guided him away from the upstairs ballroom, and he seemed to grasp my intent, following me without question.
"You’re not very patient, Helena. Wasn’t this what you’ve wanted for so long? To date and dance with me?" he teased, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
"Hey, don’t just say things like that! We can’t forget our main objective, you know!" I retorted, my finger accidentally flicking his smooth forehead, dislodging a wavy brown curl from his ponytail.
"Yes, yes, patience. Doing such things isn’t good without thorough foreplay," he sighed, his voice a seductive purr.
"Like what?" I challenged, one eyebrow raised, waiting for him.
Suddenly, still swaying in a slow, gentle rhythm, he rested his head against my chest, then began to kiss it.
The sensation was scorching, this intensity felt like it was consuming my limited crystal magic energy, like a hungry flame. Even the soft brush of his mustache tickled my skin.
I immediately stopped him, pushing his head away with my hand, then pressed my index finger to his lips and whispered,
"Not here. My ability is limited, it’s about to run out."
He nodded, a look of understanding in his eyes, then effortlessly lifted me into his arms, without my consent.
"Hey! I never said you could treat me like this!" I protested, startled but with an undeniable tremor of pleasure in my voice.
"I don’t need your consent, Helena. Because you’ve already agreed to make love. Besides, aren’t you happy with this kind of treatment?" he asked, his charming smile still in place.
Yes, it felt more than happy, it felt too happy. I wanted to float, yet strangely, I was enveloped by an unfamiliar mix of worry and fear, unaccustomed to being carried like a real bride, to be ’presented’ in a bedroom. But it was precisely his blunt, straightforward manner that had captivated me so utterly, rendering me helpless.
Since childhood, even though I was much braver than him in many ways, when it came to expressing true feelings, he was always the most sincere, the most courageous.
"Perhaps... but I’m not used to it," I murmured, my voice softening.
"You will get used to it, my heart’s jewel," he whispered softly, reassuringly.
"Oh, you charmer," I said, pinching his cheek affectionately, a sweet reciprocation.
"Ow, ow, ow, that hurts!" he playfully groaned.
"Well then, don’t be so dramatic," I countered, then kissed the cheek I had just pinched, a gentle touch, followed by a soft, unexpected kiss on his lips.
