27. With Whom
Chapter 27
With Whom
R aewyn
Stellon didn’t seem to be having any such problem. After only a few minutes, I heard his breathing slow and even out.
Moving carefully, I rolled over to face him. He was definitely asleep. His face in the moonlight from the open window was peaceful.
And fiercely beautiful.
Now that I didn’t have to worry about him noticing it, I allowed myself to stare and drink in the sight of him the way I held myself back from doing when he was awake.
He looked younger in his sleep, relaxed in a way I’d never seen him. The weight of the crown must have been heavy indeed.
His prominent forehead was smooth now, the strong lines of his cheekbones and jaw gilded by the light of the moon. Stellon’s mouth was slightly parted, revealing the white gleam of his upper teeth from between his full lips.
Looking at them, I couldn’t help but think of the kiss we’d shared. It was hard to believe my first kiss had been with an actual prince—an Elven one at that.
But in spite of his ridiculous attractiveness and his royal status, we were the same in many ways. Our feelings were the same. At least it had seemed that way while we’d been kissing—the first and second time.
He’d seemed every bit as affected by it as I was. Had he thought about it as much as I had?
A dream must have disturbed him because he jolted in his sleep and made a noise. I hurriedly flipped onto my other side in case the nightmare woke him, scolding myself for the indulgence of staring so long.
Stellon was like the fine goods in the markets that I’d admired and even picked up from time to time but always put back because I couldn’t afford them.
There was no point in getting carried away by his looks—or any of his other appeals.
I was human. He was Elven.
And he was about to marry a wealthy, refined, and no doubt beautiful, Elven woman. Even thinking of him in that way was foolishness.
It couldn’t be helped that I ended up dreaming about him all night long.
When I woke the next morning, Stellon was already awake.
He sat propped up against the headboard, a sketchpad in one hand and a charcoal pencil gripped in the other, drawing as he looked at me.
When he saw my eyelids flutter open, he smiled.
“Good morning, Firebug. Sleep well?”
His voice sounded rougher than usual. Deeper.
The sound of it set off the same kind of tremors in my stomach I’d felt lying beside him last night.
“Yes,” I whispered, feeling embarrassed. “And you?”
“Like a rock. I feel like myself again.”
“What are you drawing?” I asked.
Now he looked embarrassed. “You. I hope that doesn’t bother you. You just looked so…”
His words trailed off, and his cheeks colored. “I’ve never had the opportunity to draw someone at rest before.”
Really? I’d have bet our new garden that Stellon had woken up with scores of women in the past, and I knew how much he loved to draw people.
“Can I see it?”
He bit his lip, looking apprehensive, but turned the pad of paper to me so I could see his work.
“Wow. You’re so good.” My heart fluttered as I examined the image.
Stellon had portrayed me as much more beautiful than I actually was. Artistic license at work, I supposed.
“I’m sorry if you don’t find it flattering,” he said. “I enjoy drawing, but I’m not skilled enough to fully capture your beauty.”
Now it was my turn to blush.
“No, I… I’m flattered. May I see the others?”
I reached for the pad, and after a moment of hesitation, he let it go. I pushed up to one elbow, setting the collection of his work in front of me on the bed so I could leaf through it.
All of the drawings were excellent, page after page of beautiful work. I recognized the marketplace thieves, the fishmonger. On the next page there was a drawing of me at the ball–or should I say, of “Lady Wyn.”
“Who is this?” I asked.
Stellon shook his head. “No one. Just one of the women at the ball. She’s of no consequence.”
For some reason, his answer pleased me. I’d been assuming he was still pining for his missing intended. Maybe he was and just didn’t want to discuss it, but he sounded so dismissive about her.
Then I turned the page, and my breath whooshed out in shock. It was a drawing of me, wearing the dress I’d worn to the Rough Market. Flipping through several more pages I saw more drawings of me.
Many more.
I looked up at Stellon, who was biting his lip again.
“You didn’t do these at the market,” I said. “You must have sketched them later. How did you draw them without a model to look at?”
He hesitated, looked away toward the window, then let his gaze return to me. His expression was etched with uncertainty.
“I did them when I got home. I’d never drawn from memory before—didn’t even know that I could. But I remembered your appearance so well… every detail.”
My heart began thumping so loudly I worried he’d hear it.
He apparently didn’t notice because he continued. “I didn’t want to lose those details to time. I found you so… beautiful… and I wanted something to look back on. To remember.”
Now that he’d mentioned it, I noticed these pages in particular were rather dog-eared. Had he turned to them and looked at them again and again?
The thumping shifted into a scattering of frenzied beats.
Though my own memory had returned often to our meeting that day, I’d assumed “Sam,” the High Fae lord, would have forgotten all about me.
Now it seemed he’d been thinking about me too.
“Stellon,” I whispered, not sure what I wanted to say.
“I’d never met anyone like you,” he said softly. “So kind. So good . And I still have never seen a more beautiful woman.”
“But…” I was at a total loss for words.
Stellon was surrounded by otherworldly looking women all the time, particularly now during the Assemblage. Lady Wyn had been ten times more attractive than I was.
He had to be just saying that for some reason, but his voice and his eyes were so sincere.
As he talked, he’d been leaning steadily closer. Now our faces were only inches apart. He stroked my cheek with the back of one hand.
“I lost faith in the gods long ago,” he said. “But seeing you again has restored it. I don’t know how else to explain you being here like this.”
A guilty tremor raced up my spine. The gods hadn’t sent me here. Sorcha had—to kill him.
Such a thing seemed unthinkable now that I knew him.
Stellon’s face eased even closer as his fingers slid beneath my chin and tipped it up so that our lips were aligned.
“Raewyn,” he whispered, and my lips tingled at the touch of his warm breath. “I would very much like to—”
Loud rapping at the door interrupted whatever he was about to say.
Stellon turned his head over his shoulder and yelled at the door. “Go away. I am still abed.”
“I don’t doubt that,” answered a voice I recognized as belonging to Pharis. “The question is, with whom ?”