Chapter 7
Elariya
“Bound to One, Called by Another”
My fingertips skimmed over the worn black leather of my father's high-backed chair as I drifted around it like a ghost.
Tucked behind the mahogany desk, surrounded by his meticulously stacked files and books, the chair waited, still and expectant, as if it believed my father would walk through the door at any moment.
Everything in this study felt that way. As if, like me, they’d been suspended in time. Frozen. Waiting. Destined to remain that way until my father returned. But now, the truth had settled in like dust. Father wasn’t coming home.
I often came in here when I wanted to feel closer to him. This was his sanctuary, a place where thoughts became action and the world outside fell quiet.
The scent of him, and the vibrant presence he once carried, had clung to the air like memory.
From the half-finished maps rolled carefully at the edges of his desk to the collection of rare quills he'd gathered on his travels across realms, everything in this room was an extension of him. Sometimes I could pretend he was still here.
Tonight, I felt no such thing. That comfort was gone. The room held the hollow, breathless silence of a home where someone had died. No more hope. No more warmth. No more life.
My desolation wasn’t just because my family had given up on searching for my father. Or because Thayden had asked to see me in here before we presented ourselves to our guests.
I’d simply reached that stage of hopeless acceptance, and the emptiness in my heart had expanded like hoarfrost on the oaks in the heart of a bitter winter.
My father wasn’t coming home. And I would never be normal again.
The curse had dug its claws in, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it.
All I had left was forwards, wherever that would lead.
I moved to the tall window and rested my hand against the frame. Against the dark mahogany wood, my fingers looked as pale as the moonlight spilling through the glass.
Thayden would be here in mere minutes. I still didn’t know what in the hells we were even supposed to talk about.
There was no shortage of things to discuss. I just didn’t want to say any of them. I didn’t want to speak to him at all.
This was definitely not the best way to start a marriage.
He’d arrived two hours ago while I was still getting dressed. Emabelle told me a crowd of women had gathered along the roadside to see him. They’d cheered as he rode by, tossing flowers at his horse’s feet.
How ridiculous.
I wished I could tell him he was welcome to them. Then again, how foolish of me, what made me think he hadn’t already had his fill? My only other memory of him was walking in on him getting his cock sucked by a servant girl the last time we visited Zyvaris.
Those women wouldn’t have lined up if they didn’t think he might notice them.
And it didn’t take two hours to unload a carriage and unbridle a horse. His men would’ve handled that in half the time.
This was the prelude to how life would be from now on—me, stuck at home wondering where he was, or whose bed he was sleeping in, while he lived his life.
How fun.
Foolishly, I let my mind drift back to the Fae male I’d conjured up in my head.
He’d been perfect, magical, and attractive as sin.
Of course, he hadn’t been real.
My brain probably conjured him because Emabelle had reminded me that my days of freedom were numbered.
The creak of the door broke the silence. My heart leapt and lodged in my throat.
Blessed Mother. He was here.
I pulled in a deep breath and turned toward the door just as it opened. And there he was.
Thayden strode in with the confidence of a man who owned everything.
With his shoulder-length golden hair and sculpted arrogance, he was the kind of handsome that made women swoon and men seethe.
Tonight, he wore a deep blue doublet that clung to his tall, muscled frame like a secret.
He looked noticeably older to me, as expected. More like a man, with his neatly trimmed beard and less of the boyish charm I remembered from the twenty-three-year-old I once knew.
I was sure I had that same thought every time I saw him.
His eyes swept over the room briefly before landing on me. And then I saw it. That glint in his gaze. It spoke of what my mother and others meant when they said how fond he was of me.
A twinkle sparked in the depths of his eyes as he took me in, standing awkwardly in this too-tight peach dress that felt smaller under the weight of his stare.
Apparently, he’d bought me this dress as an engagement present. He’d had it specially made for me by the finest seamstress in Zyvaris.
As I watched him, even I couldn’t deny what I saw in his eyes. I’d go as far as saying he looked more than simply fond of me.
My skin prickled with that awareness.
I wasn’t sure if any of it was good or bad. Maybe it was neither. And maybe it didn’t matter because it didn’t detract from my prior thoughts of him being with one of his women.
A twinge of a smile dipped his lips as he drew nearer, shoulders squared and chin tilted just so. He stopped a few paces away from me and gave me a slight bow.
“You look beautiful, Elariya.” His voice slid over me like oil on water, smooth and slick, never quite sinking beneath the surface.
“Thank you, Sir Thayden.” My voice sounded far away and wary. It didn’t go unnoticed.
Something dulled his eyes, and his smile thinned. “You don’t have to call me Sir. Call me what you always call me.” His voice softened to a tone that might have sounded sincere to anyone who hadn't seen him order a man whipped for stealing bread.
“Thayden.” I gave him a polite smile. The kind you’d reserve for someone you weren’t sure about but didn’t want to offend.
“At least you remember that.” He came closer and looked at the books on the desk.
He traced a finger over the swirly letters on the title of Father’s Latin book and paused as if in deep contemplation before slowly returning his gaze to me.
“Every time I come here, I keep praying you’ll remember more about me, but I know it’s silly.
You still believe you last saw me when you were fifteen. ”
I pressed my lips together and nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s just the way the curse works.”
I supposed I should be grateful I could speak freely to him about it.
“Of course. But no harm in wishful thinking, right?”
“No. I suppose not.”
He motioned to the chaise in the corner beneath the painting. “Let’s sit and talk for a moment.” It wasn’t a question. So, despite everything I’d told myself, I moved. His eyes tracked me as I walked, drifting over my body. Lingering in places I wished they wouldn’t.
I sat, folding my hands in my lap, while he lowered next to me.
“Are you well? Your mother told me you’ve been missing your father a great deal.”
I wished she hadn’t said anything at all.
But I supposed she felt the need to offer him some explanation in case my sullen mood returned, or if I suffered any more side effects from portaling.
“I’m fine. I just… miss him. In my mind it’s only been a few days since he’s been gone, but in truth it’s been years. ”
Something that looked like sympathy flickered in his eyes. “I do understand. I’m sure it can’t be easy… living the way you have.” He paused, his voice quieter now. “If there were some mortal cure, I’d search the corners of the earth to find it. I’d find your father, too.”
For a moment, I almost believed him. Almost let myself feel it—something endearing about him. Until his gaze hardened.
“I suppose then we wouldn’t need to get married.” He gave me a tight-lipped smile. “That would sadden me. But I imagine you’d be relieved to be free of your duty to me.”
Tension rippled through my gut, and the heat of discomfort settled on my shoulders.
What the hell answer was I supposed to give him when he’d hit the nail with the hammer? Part of me was actually relieved he was aware of how I felt. But how did I tell him he was right? “Thayden, I—”
“Don’t.” He shook his head. “No need to give me an answer. Perhaps that was an unfair observation about you, because every time you see me, it feels like a first meeting. But I’ll do what I must to make sure you come to trust me. Maybe even love me, with time.”
He brushed his thumb across my cheek, a presumptuous caress that made my skin crawl and my breath snag in my throat. I gazed back at him, not knowing what to say, so I kept quiet.
He was the only person who made me feel this discomfort. I’d always felt it, so I couldn’t imagine him doing anything to change my mind.
“Your mother also mentioned she had a talk with you about magic. About staying away from it.” Although he changed the subject, he still gave me a sharp, assessing gaze.
“Yes, she did.”
“Good. You need to leave everything to do with magic here in this home. Zyvaris is far stricter than any other mortal land.”
“I’m aware.”
“I’ve assured my people you have no powers, so they don’t need to worry. They’ve only been accommodating of the idea of you because they trust my word as a knight.”
Accommodating… as if I had some kind of leprous ailment. But truth be told, I was also accommodated here in Stormfell because of my father. And the people believed I had no magical powers.
“I see.” I spoke mindlessly for the sake of answering.
“We still need to be careful.” Thayden nodded. “When we reach Zyvaris, it would be wise to keep close to the manor and have guards with you at all times.”
So, I’d never leave the house? “I can assure you, you don’t have to worry about my magic. I know the consequences.”
“I’m sure you do. But I need to make sure everything is kept in line. That includes you.”
How strange. This conversation had started out almost promising yet quickly turned to ashes in my mouth. What a bastard. Gods, I wanted to argue with him, but I held my tongue knowing anything I said would only get me in trouble.
“Have you got all your journals together?” Another subject change.
“Yes. Everything is ready to go.”