Chapter 4
IT TOOK BETH FOUR TRIPS to haul all the jars of jam and pickles in from the garden and line them up on the kitchen table.
Her arms ached. Her back twinged. Her hair was still damp from dunking her head under the hose out of sheer fury-induced heat and spite.
She wrapped a few jars in white cloths, lowered them into the big enamel canning pot, filled it with water, and turned on the burner.
The stove hissed mirroring her mood perfectly.
She sat down at the table, eyes sweeping over the neat rows of glass containers filled with fruit and vegetables. Nice. It was nice
And yet her stomach was tight. Her shoulders hunched, not from effort, but from something that hadn’t quite worked its way out.
Her gaze snagged on the last jar she’d filled. Pears.
She rubbed her palms on her thighs. What in the actual hell had happened?
She’d been minding her own damn business. Just a normal day in the garden, drowning in produce and poor time management. Then, of all people, Gael had shown up and proceeded to not only fix the problem like a smugly efficient elf in shining armor, but he’d also had the nerve to be charming.
Charming.
He’d made her laugh, hadn’t he?
He’d talked about his work with an unexpected boyish energy that had crept under her skin before she realized it. The whole afternoon had been, against all odds, good. Better than it would have been alone, and not just because of his magical help.
And then it had all gone to hell.
Because Gael, former Mr. I’m-Too-Broody-For-Small-Talk, had asked her out. Okay, on a hike, but still. It was basically the same around here.
And then that had spiraled into a fight.
About Bryn. And Gael’s honor.
Now, sitting in her quiet kitchen with her jars cooling and her blood simmering under the surface, Beth realized the most astonishing part of it all was that she felt bad.
Not because she’d been wrong, but because she’d hurt him.
She’d seen it. That flinch wasn’t rehearsed.
His reaction had been so raw, so immediate, it twisted something inside her.
He’d looked like he didn’t deserve it. Or worse, like he couldn’t understand why she didn’t see him the way he saw himself.
Maybe he was used to people going along with him.
Power, status, and those painfully symmetrical cheekbones made it likely people just fell in line with him.
Although... it felt almost like he hadn’t wanted it to be her who pushed back.
She sighed, long and heavy, and rose to move the remaining jars from the table to the counter. The water had reached a boil; she shut it off, the silence harder in the sudden absence of bubbling.
Without another thought, she headed to her bedroom, crossed into the bathroom, and started the bath.
She’d earned it, and her aching body agreed.
Back in the bedroom, she pulled out her favorite vinyl, a mix of Vivaldi, Chopin, Beethoven, and Debussy, something relaxing to unknot her brain.
She dropped the needle, grabbed clean clothes, and promised herself a full hour of nothing but minty-salt bathwater and the blissful absence of elf drama.
And she tried. Honestly.
But glacier-blue eyes with a violet soul kept slicing through the steam. They floated behind her eyelids every time she tried to breathe deep. His voice, serious and low, tangled with her memories of the day. The weird, surprising softness. The unexpected laugh. The effort he’d made.
It left her with a sour, stubborn ache no bath could smooth .
Guilt, mostly, because she didn’t like hurting people, even ones she didn’t trust.
Annoyance, too, because this bath was supposed to relax her, not spiral her into an emotional court hearing.
And, yes, bafflement, because what in the hell was he doing asking her to go hiking?
The other feelings—the curiosity, the interest, the fluttering what if—she ignored with military focus.
She rinsed her hair, shaved her legs, because why the hell not, dried off, and padded into the kitchen to make dinner.
Leftover rotisserie chicken would turn into tacos with minimal effort, and that thought cheered her up a little.
It wasn’t until she was sitting at the table with tacos and a beer that she finally picked up her phone.
A red notification dot blinked from an unknown number’s message.
“Huh,” she muttered.
She tapped to open it.
And then froze.
No way.
Beth,
I apologize for intruding on your evening and for getting your number from Elara without asking. I won’t use it again unless you allow me to. But there are things I need to say for the sake of honesty, and maybe just to clear my conscience.
You know Bryn.
My family knew him, too. Not well, he was never close, just always around.
Lingering. Finding reasons to be near us.
A few years ago, he went out with my cousin Aureth.
Nothing serious, simply a few dates. She ended it.
Said something felt off. At the time, she couldn’t explain it, only said that being around him made her uneasy.
The day after ending it, she remembered going to him, sleeping with him, and promising him a future together in the High Family.
Except the memory was hazy. Fragmented. Distorted.
What stuck with her was the certainty that her emotions hadn’t been entirely her own.
It was subtle. Magic often is when used like that. His affinity, as you may know, is emotional manipulation, and he’s good at it.
We couldn’t prove anything, it was her word against his. She was young, and she might have not loved him, but she trusted him. It left a scar that I don’t think ever fully healed.
After that, I told Bryn plainly: if he was seen near Aureth—or anyone else in my family—there would be consequences. So yes, I made sure he stayed away and I don’t regret it.
I’m telling you this because I don’t think you know the full picture. Bryn presents himself well. He’s charismatic, friendly, and approachable. That’s part of what makes him dangerous. If he could manipulate a young, gifted elven, imagine how easily he could sway a human.
Now, about today.
You might not believe this, but I don’t get much time off.
My responsibilities, my rank, they swallow most of my hours, and most of my company comes from politics or duty.
This afternoon with you in the garden, just talking, working, existing, was the first time in longer than I care to admit that I felt like just an elf.
You didn’t care about what I am. You weren’t impressed, or intimidated. That is rare. And I wanted more of it. More time with you.
I realize now that I misread things. I thought, maybe, you might’ve wanted to spend time with me, too.
Your message was clear, though, and I won’t make the same mistake twice.
Unless you want me to.
Wishing you peace and good sleep,
—Gael
Beth read the message once. Twice. A third time, just to make sure.
Damn it.
She sank back in her chair, pushing away her plate of tacos, suddenly not hungry anymore.
She barely knew Bryn. They’d talked a few times, usually about town stuff or her garden, as he’d mentioned he was into gardening too.
She’d caught hints of interest from him now and then, but he never acted on it.
And even if he had, she would’ve said no.
He was nice, easy to talk to, but there was no spark, no pull.
Just friendly conversations, and that was all it had ever been.
She blew out a big breath as she realized it was time to get real.
The reason she’d defended him, why she’d gotten so angry at Gael, had nothing to do with Bryn.
It was about her.
Because once upon a time, Beth had made an oath. She would never be weak again. She would never be under someone’s thumb again. No one would ever dictate what she could and couldn’t do. Who she could and couldn’t love.
And now here came Gael with his glacier-blue eyes, unshakable presence, and all the damned nobility she’d been rebelling against her whole life, saying she’d been wrong about him. That he wasn’t like the others. That maybe she’d hurt someone who hadn’t deserved it.
It messed with her.
She stared at the phone for a long moment. Then, sighing, she found the number and tapped out a message.
Late, but are you up for some drama and brooding?
Ann’s reply came almost instantly.
Always. Come over.
“HE’S UBER HOT,” Ann declared, dead serious, after Beth finished telling her everything from Letha on. “Like, I’m gonna look at him, then take a spoon to carve out my eyes because what would be the point of seeing anything after that?”
Curled on her friend’s couch, sipping tea, Beth rolled her eyes. “That’s not even a little over the top.”
“He is over the top.” Ana grabbed a handful of mixed nuts and stuffed it in her mouth, crunching loudly. “They all are. I mean, Aryon—whew.” She fanned herself. “he’s like an angel with pointy ears. Gael, though? He’s earthy. Like, he could get down and dirty.”
Beth blinked. “Earthy?”
She hadn’t expected that word. Gael, in her mind, had always been cold and sharp, made of moonlight and disapproval. Earthy didn’t fit. And yet her mind betrayed her. She saw him again in her garden, shirt slightly rumpled, hands steady and sure, calm in the chaos of sun and sweat and dirt.
“‘Earthy’ doesn’t mean dirty boots and flannel, Beth,” Ann said with the easy preaching of a friend.
“It means grounded. Real. Someone who shows up, gets messy, peels your pears, and then offers to hike a mountain with you. That’s Earthy with a capital E.
” She grinned. “He would totally roll in the dirt, naked.”
“First of all—oh my God. Second, I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“It’s not. Usually.” Ann tilted her head, studying her. “It might be in this specific case.”
“Why? Why is this even a specific case now?”
“Because you don’t like or trust people who are hot, powerful, or brooding.”