Chapter 16 #3
The dessert is vanilla cake with berry sauce. I watch her take the first bite; her eyes close in bliss, and a soft sound escapes her that pleases me immensely.
“Oh,” she breathes. “Oh, this is incredible.”
“Good.”
When she finishes, she sets the money pouch on the table between us. “Here. This is your hard-earned money. You should keep it. I can’t be responsible for this much gold.”
I don’t take it. “Why not?”
“Because…what if I lose it? What if someone steals it?”
“Then, I’ll get more.”
She stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You can’t just get more gold, Lucian. It doesn’t work that way.”
If only she knew. “It does for me.”
“That’s impossible.”
I push the pouch back toward her across the table. “Keep it, Astra.”
“I won’t touch it,” she says firmly, crossing her arms and leaning back from the table.
I see the stubbornness in her jaw and reluctantly take the pouch, tucking it back into my coat.
As we prepare to leave, I catch her glancing out the window, where the sounds of the festival are growing louder. The music has picked up, and I can see colored lights strung between buildings.
“We’re not going back to the room yet,” I tell her.
“No?”
I stand up, offering her my hand. “The festival. You’ve never been to one, and now, nobody can stop you.”
She stares at my outstretched hand like it might bite her. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
She just sits there, looking uncertain. I can see the internal debate playing out across her face. Curiosity wars with caution, and want battles with fear.
Finally, slowly, she reaches out and takes my hand.
The festival is in full swing when we emerge into the town square.
Lanterns hang overhead, casting a warm, golden light over the crowd.
Musicians play on a small stage while couples dance in the space cleared before them.
Food vendors hawk their wares from colorful stalls, and children with sticky fingers and bright smiles run around among the adults.
Astra stops just inside the square, her eyes wide as she takes it all in. Through our bond, I feel her wonder mixed with uncertainty, as if she’s not sure she’s allowed to be here.
“It’s so...” she starts, then trails off.
“So what?”
“Alive,” she finishes. “Everyone looks so happy.”
I watch her face as she absorbs the scene—her lips parting slightly in amazement, her eyes darting from one attraction to another like she’s trying to see everything at once.
“Where do you want to start?” I ask.
She bites her lip. “I don’t know. What do people usually do?”
“Whatever they want.”
We drift through the crowd, and I see Astra’s attention being caught by everything—the musicians, the dancers, the merchants selling trinkets and sweets. When we pass a stall selling hair ribbons, she pauses, her fingers brushing against a blue one that matches her new tunic.
The vendor, an elderly woman with kind eyes, notices her interest. “That one would look lovely with your coloring, dear.”
Astra pulls her hand back quickly. “Oh, I was just looking.”
Before she can protest, I’ve pulled out several coins and bought not just the blue ribbon, but several others in different colors. The old woman beams as she wraps them up.
“Lucian,” Astra hisses, but I’m already guiding her away from the stall.
“You touched it,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “That means you wanted it.”
“That’s not how wanting things works.”
“It is now.”
She tries her best not to touch anything after that, but her eyes still linger on things, and I’m watching her. At one stall, she admires a small, carved, wooden cat that looks remarkably like Luna. I buy it. Later, she pauses to smell some soap scented with lavender. I buy that, too.
“You can’t keep buying me things,” she protests, but there’s less conviction in her voice now.
I just keep strolling along, not bothering to reply.
By the time we’ve made a circuit of the vendors, my arms are full of packages—the hair ribbons, the wooden cat, the soap, a small pot of honey, a pair of soft, leather gloves, and a necklace with a pendant that caught the lantern light and made her stare.
Astra is flushed and wide-eyed, looking overwhelmed but not unhappy. “This is too much.”
“This is nothing.”
And it is. The amount I’ve spent tonight wouldn’t buy a decent sword in the capital. But watching my mate discover what it feels like to want something and have it given to her freely? That’s priceless.
“Come on,” I tell her, shifting all the packages to one arm so I can take her hand again. “Let’s dance.”
“I don’t know how to dance.”
“Neither do I.”
It’s a lie—I’ve been trained in formal court dances since I was old enough to walk. But those rigid, ceremonial movements have nothing to do with the loose, joyful dancing happening in the square here tonight.
I hate dancing. I loathe it. But for this woman, it seems like something I can tolerate.
I pull her into the crowd of dancers, and she stumbles slightly, laughing despite herself. “Lucian, I’m going to trample your feet.”
“Trample all you want.”
The music is fast and cheerful, and around us, couples spin and laugh without any particular skill or grace. With one arm around her waist, I guide Astra through some basic steps, her hand clutched in mine.
She’s terrible at it. She misses the beat, turns the wrong way, and does indeed trample my feet. But she’s also laughing—really laughing—for the first time since I met her. The sound goes straight through me like an arrow, making my chest clench tightly.
“This is ridiculous,” she gasps as I spin her around, nearly tangling us both up.
“Completely,” I agree, tugging her to one side to avoid a couple who clearly have even less idea what they’re doing than we do.
When the song ends, we’re both out of breath. Astra’s hair has come loose from its braid, and her cheeks are pink with exertion and laughter. She looks young and carefree and beautiful, and I want to pull her even closer and kiss the smile right off her lips.
Instead, I force myself to step back, though I keep hold of her hand.
“Want to try again?” I ask.
She nods, still catching her breath. “But you lead. I’m hopeless at this.”
“You’re not hopeless at anything.”
The next song is slower, and I draw her back into my arms. This time, she follows my lead more easily, her body relaxing against mine as we move together. Her head barely reaches my shoulder, and I can smell the lavender soap from our earlier purchase mixed with her own sweet scent.
“Lucian?” she says softly.
“Hmm?”
“Why are you really doing all this?”
I look down at her upturned face, at the genuine curiosity in her green eyes. She’s not fishing for compliments or trying to manipulate me into saying something she wants to hear. She honestly doesn’t understand why someone would want to make her happy without expecting something in return.
“Because you’ve become very precious to me,” I tell her, and it’s the most truthful thing I’ve said all night. “And I want to give you everything.”
She searches my face like she’s looking for the lie, the hidden motive. When she doesn’t find one, confusion flickers across her features.
“I don’t understand you,” she admits.
“You don’t have to understand me. You just have to trust me.”
She doesn’t respond to that, but her hand holds mine just a little tighter.
We dance to two more songs before someone starts passing around cups of wine. The festivalgoers are becoming more boisterous, and I watch Astra accept a cup with wide, curious eyes.
“It’s sweet,” she says after taking a sip. Then, she drains the rest in one swig.
“Astra—”
But she’s already reaching for another cup as a server passes by. And then another.
“I’ve never had such good wine before,” she tells me, swaying slightly to the music. Her cheeks are flushed—whether from dancing or alcohol, I can’t tell. “It makes everything feel...lighter.”
By the time I realize how much she’s had, it’s too late. She’s giggling at everything, stumbling slightly as we try to dance, her inhibitions completely gone.
“Come on,” I tell her, steadying her with my hands on her waist. “Time to go back.”
“But the music is so pretty,” she protests, leaning heavily into me. “And you’re so warm.”
I gather our packages with one arm while keeping the other around her waist. She’s practically boneless against my side, humming tunelessly as we make our way through the crowd.
“Lucian,” she says as we make our way down the cobblestone street, her words slightly slurred. “I need to tell you something.”
“What’s that?”
“I wish I had stayed.” She looks up at me with unfocused eyes. “When you asked me to marry you. I know you were joking, but I wish I had stayed anyway.”
My gait falters slightly. She’s talking about that night by the fire, when I was half desperate with wanting her and said the first thing that came to mind to get her to stay.
“Astra—”
“You probably don’t even remember,” she continues, stumbling slightly. “But you said you wanted a companion. And I’ve been thinking...I could be a good companion. I could cook for you and mend your clothes and—”
I stop walking and turn to face her. “You’re drunk.”
“Maybe,” she admits with a lopsided smile. “But that doesn’t make it less true.”
We reach the inn, and I unlock the door with some difficulty, trying to keep her upright at the same time. The moment we’re inside, she turns to face me, her hands coming up to rest on my chest.
“You’re very handsome,” she says seriously, her fingers tracing the edge of my collar. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Astra, you need to sleep this off.”
But she’s not listening. Her hands move to the laces of my shirt, fumbling with them clumsily. “I like your body,” she murmurs, her touch sending fire through my veins despite her intoxication. “You’re so strong. So warm.”
I catch her hands gently, even as every instinct screams at me to let her continue. “You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.” She looks up at me, and despite the wine, there’s something clear and determined in her gaze. “I’ve wanted to touch you for days. Ever since that first kiss.”
My resolve wavers as she presses closer, her body soft and warm against mine. The scent of wine and lavender soap surrounds me, and when she rises up on her toes to brush her lips against my jaw, I have to close my eyes and fight for control.
“Astra,” I say, my voice rougher than I want it to be. “Not like this.”
“Why not?” Her hands slide around my chest, fingers tangling in the fabric of my shirt. “Don’t you want me?”
The honest question, asked in that breathless, hopeful voice, nearly destroys me. Of course I want her. I want her so badly that I ache.
But not like this. Not when she’s drunk and vulnerable and won’t remember clearly in the morning.
“More than you know,” I tell her sincerely, gently untangling her hands from my shirt. “But you’re going to hate yourself tomorrow if we do this now.”
She looks up at me with confusion and hurt. “You don’t want me.”
“I want you,” I say firmly, cupping her face in my hands. “When you’re sober and willing and sure. Not because you’ve had too much wine.”
For a moment, I think she might argue. Then her shoulders slump, and she nods reluctantly.
“Will you help me?” she asks quietly, gesturing to her dress.
I undo the clasps, then turn around while she changes into her nightclothes, my hands clenched into fists as I listen to the rustle of fabric. When she’s finished, I help her into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.
“Lucian?” she says drowsily.
“Yes?”
“I meant what I said. About wishing I’d stayed.”
I smooth her hair back from her face, watching as her eyes slowly close. “Sleep, Astra.”
Within minutes, she’s breathing deeply, the alcohol finally pulling her under. I settle into the chair by the window, knowing sleep won’t come easily for me.
Tomorrow, she may not remember half of what she said tonight. But I’ll remember every word.