Chapter 2 #2
He shook his head then, his dark hair falling across his forehead. “The witch queen is going to take one look at you and order every guard in her vicinity to raise arms.”
Kjeld scoffed. “I’m hardly that intimidating.”
Creslyn snorted, then laughed, quickly covering her mouth with her hand.
“Have you taken a recent look in the mirror, Kjeld? Your stature is overwhelming. You take up space in every room you enter, though not for lack of trying. Lords fear you. Ladies swoon for you. You are certainly intimidating, in quite possibly the best and worst of ways.”
Kjeld bristled. It wasn’t a compliment, but it was not yet an insult either.
He was fully aware of his transformation, of how much he physically changed when Caelian wished for him to be fae.
He’d been fit as a human, but after becoming immortal, his muscles had increased dramatically to the point where he needed to be outfitted for new riding leathers.
His strength knew no bounds. Everything else had been heightened as well.
His sense of smell, his hearing, from which he knew where Caelian was at all times.
It was incredibly easy to track someone whose crying sounded like the spellbinding call of Valorahan, and who smelled of starflower, radiant amber, and vanilla.
“Then I will try to be less—” Kjeld began, but Creslyn interrupted him with a wave of her hand.
“Nonsense. You shall keep being you.” Her gaze flitted between her brother and Drake before finally landing on Kjeld. She tapped one finger on her chin. “Though I wonder if you shouldn’t be sent back to Brackroth with an escort.”
“An escort?” He almost laughed, for it was a ridiculous notion. “I beg your pardon, my lady. But I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don’t need anyone to protect me.”
“Certainly not,” Ariesian agreed, canting his head to one side. “However, Cres brings up an excellent point. You wouldn’t necessarily need someone to keep you safe, but I do believe it would benefit all of us if you were sent with someone more…well-versed in the ways of court and society.”
“Are you suggesting I require assistance with manners?” Kjeld asked, rolling back his large shoulders.
“Not at all.” The corner of Ariesian’s mouth tugged at one side, as though he was debating a smile. But his expression remained impassive as he spread his hands, vaguely gesturing to the room as a whole. “I’m merely suggesting you bring a lady of court with you to soften your…appearance.”
“A lady,” Kjeld repeated, and trepidation pricked along his spine.
Awareness raised the hairs at the back of his neck, and a knot of dread clogged the back of his throat.
He swallowed hard, pushing the unwelcome sensation back, because there was only one lady they could possibly be discussing, and she was the last person he wanted within his general proximity.
“And who, exactly, did you have in mind?”
Don’t say her name.
Please, gods above and below, don’t say her name.
His pleading to the old gods went unanswered.
“There’s only one logical option,” Drake mused. He captured Creslyn’s hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “I believe Lady Caelian will fill the necessary requirements. Don’t you agree, solysa?”
Creslyn pursed her lips in thought, but her sapphire eyes held no mocking humor as she gauged Kjeld’s reaction. “I know you do not wish for her to go.”
He opened his mouth to agree with the whole of his chest, but she continued speaking, not giving him the opportunity to make his claim as to why it was a terrible idea.
“However,” Creslyn began, her face softening, illuminating, as she watched him.
And suddenly, there she was again, the lady of Aeramere he’d once been sworn to protect.
“You have seen her, Kjeld. She is wasting away here. Her spirit is desolate. Her soul is melancholy. Without her magic, she is withdrawn. Wilting like a summer rose.”
Kjeld popped his jaw.
Fine, so maybe Creslyn had noticed her twin sister was fading away, but she’d done nothing to improve her welfare.
He shook his head once. Resolutely. “It’s not a good idea, my lady. Brackroth is dangerous. You most of all should know the true nature of its dangers.”
To her credit, Creslyn didn’t even flinch. “Indeed. But she’ll have you.”
Except Kjeld didn’t want the responsibility of Caelian. He didn’t want her to be dependent upon him to keep her safe, he didn’t want her to need him to be her protector.
He didn’t want to have to worry about her.
That last thought left an unsettled feeling in his chest. A tightness he didn’t particularly like.
“Please, Kjeld,” Creslyn pleaded, and he caught sight of it then—the worry, the fear—reflected in the depths of her eyes. “She needs out of Aeramere. At least for a while. Perhaps the upcoming season.”
The unspoken entreaty filled the space with desperation.
Creslyn, and likely Ariesian as well, did not want Caelian to have to suffer through Midsummer.
Through the Season. Through the embarrassment of knowing that she would not be an ideal match for any lord because the loss of her magic was too great.
At dinner parties, she would be excluded from conversation.
At balls, she would never receive an offer to dance.
Unless her magic returned, she would be cast aside by the very same society that once adored her.
He might be fae, but it seemed he was still capable of feeling human emotion. Most notably, empathy.
“Fine,” he grumbled, tugging at the leather of his vest. It was suddenly too tight, and he was far too uncomfortable. “But I will not be the one to tell her.”
Creslyn breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Kjeld.”
He shrugged, shifting his weight, and dipped his head in her direction. “You’re most welcome, my lady.”
Kjeld excused himself from the dining hall, claiming he had to pack his bags and ready Odryss for the flight.
Even though he had no idea when he was leaving, it mattered not.
He needed to clear his mind, needed space away from the elaborate walls of House Celestine that made him feel like a giant walking amongst the stars.
As soon as he took one stride out into the corridor, he caught the soft cadence of her voice floating on the air.
Her scent lingered. Lush and blooming starflower.
Warm amber. Mouthwatering vanilla. The smell of her enraptured his senses, but it was not what made his blood thrum with lust. That was her heartbeat, the delicate dance of her pulse through his veins.
It drove him mad, making him acutely aware of her at all times, made him long for things he shouldn’t want.
Avoiding Caelian was a useless endeavor.
He would never be able to escape her. Not when she occupied every crevice of his mind.
Soon enough, he would be forced to spend every waking moment with her.
It sounded like absolute torture. For no other reason than the fact that Caelian’s careless wishing changed him irrevocably.
She wished for him to survive—and he lived.
His chest filled. His heart began to beat.
She wished for him to be fae—and his soul was immortal.
He possessed no magic, but he had the damn pointy ears, and a kind of chaotic ferocity churned in his blood, making him damn near feral.
He’d admired Caelian before, dreamed of her, perhaps even fancied himself courting her.
But now his fae instincts amplified those mortal sentiments, and that was something not even the gods, or stars, or fate could control.
In his new life, his free will remained his own.
It was something he couldn’t stand, the anger he couldn’t erase paired with the truth of his heart.
No, Kjeld was not madly in love with Caelian.
He was fucking obsessed with her.