This Ascent to Divinity is Lewder Than Expected

6.61 – Misunderstanding

That went better than expected, Zoey thought as she walked down the hallways of the d'Celestin estate, headed for Rosalie's room in the royal wing. She hadn't necessarily expected disaster to come from a meeting with Enzo, but any conversation risked him finding out things she would rather he didn't—most notably her relationship to Rosalie.

She wasn't sure whether he knew more than he was letting on. For a man that controlled half the Fractures, she assumed he had to be perceptive. Then again, everyone had blind spots, and Rosalie seemed confident he was being kept in the dark … but that just might mean he was Rosalie's blind spot, rather than the other way around.

Regardless, it didn't seem like Enzo knew the two of them were dating, much less up to all of the inappropriate things Zoey's class demanded. But maybe he suspected some sort of romantic entanglement, nascent or burgeoning. She really couldn't tell. He was a man skilled at keeping his thoughts his own.

Aria had returned to her room; she'd mentioned she would be perusing the temple district today, and while Zoey would like to join her for that, she had other more pressing goals. Sabina and Mel needed 'new stock,' to name one, and beyond that, Zoey needed practice honing her lightning affinity before they went out on their next shard. She wasn't sure when that would happen, but knowing Rosalie, sooner rather than later. Her desire for progress had gone nowhere.

Among these thoughts, Zoey's attention also wandered to bigger picture worries, prompted by Enzo's request to speak with Ephy. It had been some time since she'd learned anything new about the shard-eaters, and more specifically, about the one who had taken an interest in Zoey. Surely she would be reemerging soon? Had she ever followed them in the first place? She'd received not a shred of evidence toward either theory, which was concerning.

In short, when Zoey arrived to Rosalie's room, she was distracted by a number of topics spinning around inside her head. The large double doors were, strangely, already open, which gave her pause, but the sight of Rosalie standing on the far side of the room, staring out the window down the slope of Mantle dispelled any other thoughts. A smile quirked up her lips, seeing her.

Interestingly, she was wearing her hair in a bun. Rosalie normally swapped between a practical ponytail or keeping her long, straight platinum-blonde hair down, so Zoey wondered whether she was about to attend some special event—or if she was just trying something new.

Despite surely hearing Zoey's footsteps—it was Rosalie, after all, the perfectly-aware warrior—the girl didn't turn to greet her.

Maybe if Zoey had been less distracted by the day's events and more importantly, the future's, or if it hadn't been Rosalie's room she'd walked into to see a platinum-haired girl standing there, she would have noticed that there was something just slightly off. The woman's build was the same, muscled yet lithe with curves in the same places, but if she'd been paying close attention, she'd have seen that she was an inch taller, with a little less curve in the hips and a little more in the chest.

But she didn't notice any of that, besides the obvious change in hairstyle—which she chalked up to Rosalie trying something new, or perhaps that was her preferred style for an upcoming formal event.

So Zoey walked up, placed her hands on Rosalie's hips, and leaned forward to rest her chin on the shorter girl's shoulder.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Zoey murmured, lips tugging up into a smile. "Staring out at your city, all pensive," she said. "It's cute, Princess."

Instantly, Zoey knew that something was wrong by the way Rosalie tensed, going rigid as a board. Confused, her head turned just slightly to meet Rosalie's eyes, rather than looking out the window alongside the other girl.

It…

Was not Rosalie.

Far more than the slight height and build difference, or even the change in hairstyle, the face gave it away in an instant. Sure, there were stark similarities—the regal structure of her nose and chin, the eyes of pale ice, even her choice of attire. But Zoey had spent many mornings drinking in every detail of Rosalie's features, the curve of her chin and the patterns of her irises.

"Remove your hands from me," came a voice so freezing-cold it could have stopped lava from rolling down a hill, "before I remove them from you."

Zoey's hands snapped back like she'd touched a hot stove. She backpedaled even as the woman turned on her. A weapon coalesced in her right hand—unsurprisingly, a six-foot spear of white metal. She didn't look pleased that Zoey had walked up and grabbed her, in the way a cat might 'not look pleased' about being thrown into a bathtub.

Zoey's thoughts simultaneously shuttered off and were also running at a thousand miles per minute. Mostly, she blamed herself. She should have been able to tell. If not by the subtle differences in build, then simply by putting two and two together. Enzo had told her that Charlotte had returned to the estate, back from her wayfaring expedition, and had even told Rosalie to be expecting her. Yet Zoey had waltzed into Rosalie's room wholly unaware that it wasn't Rosalie standing by the window, but her sister. Yes, she'd been distracted, and yes, the two sisters were startlingly similar, but Zoey should have been able to tell.

Of course, since fate loved conspiring against her, it was just then, with a fuming Charlotte having drawn her weapon—though at least not having pointed it toward Zoey—and glaring with all the balefulness she could muster, that Rosalie appeared in front of the open doorway.

Seeing the two women in her should-have-been-empty room, Rosalie froze.

Icy-cold, angry blue eyes left Zoey's to glance toward their newest visitor.

"Rosalie," Charlotte said in terse greeting.

"Charlotte," Rosalie returned, as if instinctively—her own thoughts sprinting in circles, seeing her sister standing in her room, weapon drawn, posture hostile and having been staring down Zoey.

"Pray tell, sister," Charlotte said. "Why this woman walked into your room and groped me?"

Zoey choked.

"That's—an exaggeration."

"You had your hands all over me!"

"Just your hips! That's it!" she said as much to Charlotte as she did Rosalie.

Also—Zoey was more grateful for her restraint, in that moment, than she'd been grateful for anything in her entire life. Because her greetings weren't always so chaste when she caught Rosalie in private. Rather than exaggerated, the accusations Charlotte was leveling at her could very much be true. And thus, after grabbing a nice squeeze of a d'Celestin who wasn't her girlfriend, Zoey might have ended up with a missing hand. Prickly seemed to be the starting point of Charlotte's attitude when being touched.

"And why would you think even that's acceptable?" Charlotte asked.

Despite the question ostensibly being directed toward Zoey, her eyes fell on Rosalie—who had, reasonably, frozen at the confrontation. Zoey lamented how she'd brought this on Rosalie. It complicated everything a great deal. No amount of misdirection or lying could excuse the casual familiarity Zoey had just shown, and only an idiot wouldn't realize that Zoey had assumed it was Rosalie she'd walked up to and all but cuddled. Some sort of relationship had been revealed, and only the precise details could be obfuscated through verbal gymnastics.

Would Charlotte run and tell her father, then? The impression Zoey had gotten was that Rosalie wasn't on the best terms with her sisters—and Charlotte worse than Elodie. Zoey didn't know whether that meant they were genuinely hostile toward each other, but at a minimum, they weren't hiding under bed covers and confiding all their secrets.

Rosalie's mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments. Charlotte's eyebrows raised at that, perhaps unaccustomed to seeing Rosalie flounder.

All at once, she pulled herself together. She raised her chin, walked into the room, and closed the door. With perfectly squared shoulders, she walked up to the duo, folded her hands in front of her, and looked Charlotte in the eye.

"This is an unfortunate way for the two of you to meet, but let me apologize on Zoey's behalf—I am absolutely certain what happened was a misunderstanding. Charlotte, this is Zoey, my wayfaring partner, and more importantly, my girlfriend."

While Zoey's eyes widened in surprise, Charlotte looked like she'd literally been slapped. She reared back, going so far as to take a step backward.

"Your what?" Charlotte hissed.

"My girlfriend," Rosalie said calmly. "And my wayfaring partner."

This time, it was Charlotte that floundered. Her mouth open and closed, but no words came out. Pale blue eyes flicked between a perfectly serene Rosalie, and Zoey, who was blinking in her own bout of, if less dramatic, surprise.

Rosalie had confided in Zoey once that growing up, she hadn't had any particular interest in romance. Perhaps that was why Enzo himself didn't seem to be pressing the topic—possibly even unaware of their relationship, or at least the extent of it. Because the idea of Rosalie coming back after a short one-month venture with a girlfriend was genuinely ludicrous. That was what the expression on her sister's face suggested, at least, and surely her sister knew her better than most others.

After Zoey's initial surprise faded, a new emotion came: a warm fuzziness that washed through her with an unexpected strength, nearly making her blush. Rosalie hiding their relationship was, while reasonable, also the source of a small, hidden well of insecurity. Because she was dating an actual princess—how couldn't she be a bit insecure? And, as totally ridiculous as Zoey knew it was, a part of her wondered whether maybe Rosalie wanted to hide their relationship not purely because of practical concerns, or anxiety over dealing with her father's reaction, but maybe because of Zoey herself.

But that insecurity was wiped away, seeing Rosalie make the confession to her sister—holding her chin up, seeming proud of her announcement. Zoey knew Rosalie would rather have kept things hidden from Charlotte, as with Enzo, but since her hand had been forced: Rosalie had made it clear she was more than happy to call Zoey her girlfriend.

As these thoughts were running through Zoey's head, Charlotte had gone pale. She placed a hand on her forehead.

"We," she said, pointing her spear not aggressively toward Rosalie, but merely for emphasis, "need to have a talk, sister. Alone."

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