Chapter 5
Five
ALLETTE
Snow drifts in the alleys and dusts window frames, painting the village pristine and soft. Thick wreaths of holly and pine hang on windows and doors, filling the air with the rich scent of the impending Yule celebrations. As I meander between stalls filled with tiny winter apples, knobby carrots, and dirt-crusted potatoes, my heart remains heavy.
I’ve never wanted anything more than Senan Vale.
Now I have him all to myself, but he isn’t the same man I met five years ago. His grief over losing his wings consumes him, and while I know what it’s like to drown under the weight of loss, watching him struggle is killing me.
We have been in the human realm for a week, and the wounds on Senan’s back heal a little more each day. The skin has fused nicely, changing from an angry red to a shiny pink, and the stitches no longer weep.
If only I knew how to heal his heart.
I continue to the baker’s stall, the scent of fresh bread and sweet pastries making my mouth water. Although I really shouldn’t waste the money, I splurge on a fresh loaf of brown bread. When I reach into my cloak pocket and withdraw three copper coins, the bearded man behind the counter accepts them with a warm word of thanks. Unlike in the fae realm, humans have no qualms about taking fae currency, which is a relief considering that is all we have.
I’d love nothing more than to escape this village and the memories it holds, to find somewhere warmer to put down roots, but we cannot leave until the worst of the snow melts. Traversing these roads will be treacherous enough. To do so in inclement weather is beyond foolish.
When in town, I listen for anyone inquiring after Widow Mae. The woman might have been reclusive, but we shouldn’t overstay our welcome. There is also the risk of someone from the fae realm finding us, but with Senan’s cough getting worse, we cannot allow what ails him to take root in his chest.
The last thing we need is for him to catch pneumonia.
The baker hands me the wrapped loaf, and I add it to my canvas bag along with the potatoes and rabbit I bought for dinner. If we ration, there should be enough left over for tomorrow’s lunch as well.
Hefting the bag’s strap over my shoulder, I start for the cobblestone path leading out of town. Icy muck covers the stones, frozen in divots from carriage wheels. The muck gives way to snow so high that it falls into the tops of my boots. When the house we’ve claimed as our own comes into view, the tightness in my chest begins to ease.
I stomp on the stoop, freeing my boots from the chunks of snow clinging to the soles and laces. My wool glove slips on the brass handle, and the door swings wide. The heat from the crackling fire stings my cheeks as I breathe in the most delicious aroma of sugar and vanilla.
Senan hums in the kitchen, a ruffled apron tied low around his hips. The skin across his back is the same rich brown as the counter covered with discarded utensils and—is that a broken bowl?
I let my gaze roam from his trim waist up to his broad shoulders, but then I see his scars and the smile falls from my face.
At least he left the bedroom. That’s progress, isn’t it?
Senan whirls around, brandishing a wooden spoon like a weapon. “You’re back early. I wasn’t expecting you for at least another hour.” His tanned cheeks flush pink as he reaches for the shirt discarded over one of the two dining chairs.
“The snow is getting worse, and I didn’t want to tarry.” I set the shopping bag beside the coat rack and tug off my gloves to untie the stiff laces on my boots.
“Probably for the best,” he murmurs, fastening the buttons. I wait for a teasing remark or a profession of his undying love, but neither fall from his lips.
Be patient. Give him time .
I’m trying, but with every day that passes it feels as if we’re drifting further apart.
Sighing, I peel off my sopping socks, draping them on the fire guard at the edge of the hearth. “You’ve been busy. What is in the oven?”
“Why don’t you look for yourself?” Senan slips on two oven mitts and bends down to withdraw a ceramic pie dish. The top is covered in a light brown crust with a yellowish filling.
“Is that cheesecake?” Heavens above, it is cheesecake. Where in the world did he find lemons in the middle of winter? My question falls by the wayside when Senan slides the mitts from his hands, tossing them next to a mixing bowl overflowing with discarded eggshells. “I didn’t know you could make cheesecake.”
“While I was waiting to return to the human realm, my brother Aeron told me to stop moping and make myself useful. I met with a baker in the city almost every day for six months, soaking the poor man for recipes.”
“What sort of recipes?”
Senan stacks the dirty utensils inside the larger mixing bowl and then carries them over to the sink. “Mostly desserts, but also shepherd’s pie, almond-crusted chicken, and braised beef.”
My hands tremble as I unravel Mae’s wool scarf from around my neck, hooking it over the coat rack along with my cloak. “Those are all my favorites.”
The corners of Senan’s lips tug up a fraction. “What a coincidence.”
Only it isn’t a coincidence. This man—no, this prince— learned to cook for me.
Perhaps we haven’t drifted so far after all.
I finger-comb through my knotted hair and give my cheeks a pinch before crossing to where water splashes into the ceramic sink. Senan glances at me when I turn off the tap, his brow furrowed and a question in his eyes.
How I long to trace the swell of his biceps to his round shoulders. To press my body against his and find his mouth with my own. “Leave the dishes. I’ll wash up after dinner.” Let me have you instead .
“I don’t mind—” A chesty cough stifles his protest. Senan grabs the tea towel, holding the fabric to his lips as his body shudders.
Has a more selfish woman ever existed? I am this close to begging him to touch me, to bring me pleasure and comfort, when he is in the throes of grief and sickness.
I take a step back, giving him room to catch his breath. “First thing tomorrow, we are going to the village physician.” The man is a hack, but he is the best option we have down here. If he cannot offer any remedy, then we will travel to Dullen City as soon as the roads are clear to seek advice from the hospital there.
“Nonsense,” Senan chokes, balling up the towel and carrying it into the bathing room. “I am only getting used to the humans’ air,” he says when he emerges a moment later. “It’s too thick down here.”
If that’s true, then I should be having trouble breathing as well. The last time Senan and I were in the human realm together, there had been no coughing whatsoever. Then again, he was only here for a few hours. Perhaps he is more sensitive to the environment. After all, he spent most of his life in the highest towers in all the realm.
“If you’re not better by next week, we are going—I’ll not take no for an answer.”
He nods, bracing his hands on the back of a dining chair. “Any luck with the launderette?”
He must know by now that changing the subject won’t change my decision. Since he doesn’t appear well enough for an argument, I let the topic fall by the wayside. “They offered me shifts on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.” There’s no telling how long the terrible weather will last, and we’ll need as much money as possible if we’re going to move. Don’t ask me how we’re going to pay rent elsewhere.
All problems for another day.
Right now, we need to celebrate being alive and eat every single bite of this cheesecake.
Lifting onto my toes, I slide two plates from the cupboard, bringing them and the cake to the table. Something is different, but I can’t put my finger on it. Wait… “Weren’t there four chairs?”
“Yes, but one broke.” Senan collects cutlery from the drawer before sinking onto the chair across from me.
“How did it break?”
“Shoddy craftsmanship, I suppose.” He slices two helpings onto the plates, handing me the largest one.
“Can we fix it?” Not that we need four chairs when there are only two of us, but it seems silly to throw out something that could be mended.
“I’m afraid I burned it.”
There goes that idea.
I cut off a bite of cake and blow until steam no longer curls from the end of my fork. We should probably wait until the dessert has cooled, but it smells too good to delay. “Have you thought any more about what you’d like to do down here?”
Senan stabs a bite for himself. “No, but I will think about it this week. The last thing I want is to be a burden to you.”
He cannot be serious. “You’re not a burden, Senan.”
His mirthless chuckle hits me like an arrow to the heart. “You’re not,” I insist. “You have many talents; all we have to do is find the one that brings you the most joy.” I wouldn’t say working at the launderette brings me joy, per se, but I don’t mind the sewing. And having a useful skill is quite satisfying.
The second bite burns the tip of my tongue, but I simply cannot wait. “This cheesecake is delicious. Perhaps the bakery is hiring.”
“I doubt any baker is looking to take on an apprentice who only knows how to bake one sort of cake.”
“You never know until you try,” I say, watching him push his cake from one side of the plate to the other. “Aren’t you going to eat?” He hasn’t even taken one bite.
He sets his fork down on the side of his plate, cheesecake still perched on the tongs. “Not much of an appetite today. I think I’m just tired.” The chair scrapes against the floorboards when he pushes back from the table and starts for the sink.
If he’s so tired, then he should go back to bed. “Leave the dishes. I’ll wash them after dinner.”
Inky strands fall over his brow when he shakes his head. “I made the mess, and I will be the one to clean it up.”
“You cooked, which means I’m the one who cleans.” It’s only fair.
He drops the dish with a clatter, yanks the end of the apron string, and tears the thing off, balling it in his fist and tossing the garment onto the sticky countertop.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to bed,” he mutters, not bothering to turn around.
How did we go from being madly in love to whatever this is?
And how do we get back?