Chapter 34
Clare
“He never went through any of this? Trystan has more than a hundred workers, and none of them ever came to clean out down here?” Clare grumbled, climbing down to the cellar, where it appeared all manner of junk was being kept. She stumbled on a rolled-up rug, catching herself on the nearby wall.
Tatianna didn’t stumble over things, merely glided along, almost as if she were floating on air in her long tulle skirt. “You know Trystan doesn’t care overmuch for sentimentality. He never saw the need.”
“He didn’t even bother to have it cleared out for storage space, though?
” Clare questioned, then tripped on a portrait, gasping when Tatianna pulled her tightly against her to keep her from falling.
Their faces were scant inches apart, and Clare could smell something sugary on her breath.
She looked down at the painting and realized it was a worn portrait…
of their family. It had been done some fifteen-odd years prior.
Trystan and Malcolm had their arms thrown around each other, grinning.
Their mother’s face, as usual, was pinched and displeased, and Clare had her arms happily thrown around… Arthur.
“Are you all right?” Tatianna asked softly, her beautiful face clouding Clare’s vision until all she could see was her. “Really, Clare.”
Clare felt the weight of grief hovering above her most days, surrounding her until she had no choice but to wallow in it properly.
But they didn’t have the luxury of time for such things.
“I am as well as a person can be mere days after losing their father.” She answered the question with some honesty, at least.
Tatianna folded her lips inward. “You know—” She swallowed, taking a step away, and Clare moved closer subconsciously, as if their hearts were tied together. “I haven’t changed my mind about us…trying again.”
Clare gaped. Because really, she’d thought the nail had been driven into that coffin the moment they’d found out Clare had been writing to Amara Maverine for some time. Trusting her mother when she absolutely shouldn’t have. And now her father was dead.
After all that…it was too good to be true.
“I think I see books over here,” Clare muttered, climbing over old chairs and knickknacks covered in dust. “Can you hold up the torch while I look?” she asked, starting to sort through old texts—some books she recognized, some she didn’t. None the one they sought.
The light from the torch above signaled Tatianna’s presence. “You don’t have any thoughts on what I just said? I know the timing’s not ideal.”
Clare huffed a humorless laugh. “Our timing is never ideal, Tati. The first time I proposed, we were in the middle of an argument.”
When Clare looked up, Tatianna was smiling—the one that made her knees wobble and her heart pound. “We had a good time making up, though, didn’t we?”
Clare’s face heated, a tingling feeling climbing the back of her neck at the memory. The way they’d cleared off the table frantically, Tatianna’s skirts being torn, Clare lowering to her knees—
“Ah, you do remember,” Tatianna said smugly, searching shelves and shoving away boxes that were filled with things that weren’t books.
“I couldn’t forget that day even if I wanted to. I was so happy,” Clare murmured, tossing another book aside onto a growing pile. “It’s not here. See any books over there?”
“Clare.” Tatianna took hold of her arm, her brown eyes imploring.
Clare’s lips parted, a burning beginning to build behind her eyes, blurring her vision. “I just didn’t want to assume anything or make you feel like just because my father died, you’d have to—”
Tatianna’s fingers touched Clare’s lips gently, nothing but soft kindness in her voice. “Clare, I don’t want to be there for you for any other reason than loving you, earnestly. You’ve always been it for me. The moment we met, we both knew, didn’t we?”
Tears came swiftly, then sniffling immediately after as Clare wiped at her eyes. “Yes. I’ve just been so, well, you know.” She laughed and hiccupped.
Tatianna laughed, too, placing the torch in the holder on the wall, freeing her hands to hold Clare’s cheeks.
“I’ve been so ‘you know,’ too. We both have.
But we found our way back. So now, when things get difficult—and we both know they will—instead of leaving, I want us to always stay and fix it. It’s what my parents have always done.”
“That’s because they’re normal,” Clare moaned through a laugh. “So, am I to understand we’re betrothed once more?”
Tatianna grinned. “Oh, no. That won’t be happening until I get the most romantic proposal ever given.”
Clare sighed. “At least there’s no pressure.”
Tatianna smiled, tipping Clare’s chin up and kissing her. It was soft at first, the sweetness of two people who’d loved each other for most of their lives. They’d changed, they’d grown, they’d fallen apart. And now they’d come back together.
And then it was more, Tatianna’s lips down her neck, Clare’s hand up her skirt, growing more desperate to get closer.
Hands caressing down cheeks and hearts beating in tune as each touch became more intimate.
Clare gasped when Tatianna’s hand moved higher up her thigh, until she touched her in the spot that had Clare gripping her shoulders.
A shiver shot down her spine when Tatianna laughed sensually.
“Still so sensitive,” she whispered, followed by a firm kiss that deepened into moans and sensations building until Clare could hardly bear it any longer.
“Tati, I—”
“Let go, my love,” Tatianna urged, and then she did.
The euphoria of being held by the one who knew her most, of the trust and faith she placed in her, overwhelmed her until she was languid and soft, turning them so she could shove the healer’s pink tulle skirts up above her waist and show her how certain of them Clare was with expert strokes of her lips and tongue.
It was a haze of passion until they were both panting and happily contented, leaning against the wall they’d fallen into, holding each other.
Clare felt almost ready to burst from the relief she felt; it was overwhelming. That she wasn’t alone any longer. That Tati was really hers again. Quickly, she reached for another abandoned knickknack.
“Is all this stuff really just abandoned memorabilia from the king who lived here before the Gleaming Palace was built?” Clare laughed, picking up a figurine of a swan wearing a top hat. “Why would anyone in their right mind leave this behind?”
“Clearly, Benedict lacks whimsy,” Tatianna said, tugging at a glittering tablecloth hanging on the wall. “Ah! For my examination table.”
“What if someone you’re treating gets blood on it?” Clare asked.
“I’ll kill them, obviously.” Tatianna grinned, pulling the tablecloth from where it had been draped against the wall and holding it up.
Clare smiled, too…until she saw what it had been hiding.