Episode 34
Did It Have to Be Potatoes?
Cerian glances at Arisanna again where she concentrates on cutting the potato as he showed her.
She’s clearly never used a knife before, and every time she cuts the peeled white root vegetable, Cerian holds his breath, afraid she’s going to slice off one of her fingers.
Why did it have to be potatoes? Couldn’t Cook have been making biscuits or bread? That would have been safer.
“You’re making me nervous,” Arisanna says under her breath.
“I’m concerned about you keeping all your appendages intact.”
“And staring at me will help with that?”
He tenses as she pushes the knife through a chunk with a thud. “Perhaps I should cut the—”
“No. Cook told me to cut them.”
Cerian eyes the pile of peeled potatoes waiting for her. At the rate she’s going, they’ll be ready by lunchtime tomorrow.
“Perhaps we can conquer the potatoes together,” he says.
Less opportunity for her to maim herself that way.
“Fine, but I’m not shirking. I don’t want Cook to think your human princess is lazy.”
Cerian’s mouth ticks up at the corner. His human princess. The idea used to irk him, but the more he gets to know this particular human princess, the less it rankles.
Especially when she says it.
He makes quick work of the potatoes still waiting to be peeled and then helps Arisanna dice everything, sliding the white cubes into her pile along with the few she’s managed to cut without hurting herself.
“I see what you’re doing,” she whispers as a smile teases her face.
“I’m just cutting potatoes with you.”
“Thank you.”
Their eyes meet for a moment, and he nods before pushing the last of the potato cubes into her pile.
Soon, Cook wanders over to check their progress. “Well done, young ones. Now make yourselves scarce so I can get these roasted. And tomorrow, I’ll send breakfast to you.” Cook winks, and heat creeps up Cerian’s neck.
Without speaking, they wash up, and Cerian offers Arisanna his hand again.
“I think you like holding my hand,” she whispers in Nunian.
“Perhaps I wish to ensure all your fingers remain intact.”
“Uh-huh.”
Try as he might, he can’t help the smile that sneaks over his face at her response. He’s smiled more in the past few days with her than he’s smiled in the past year.
And he could swear her heart speeds up every time he does.
Arisanna swallows her nerves as Cerian leads her to lunch with his family.
He’ll probably never say it, but he seems to enjoy having her hang on his arm.
His hand is warm and strong and comforting, like a lifeline in her new home.
She never imagined herself being so clingy, but here she is, wandering the corridors at Windhaven while clutching the hand of an elven prince she barely knows.
When they enter the cozy family dining room with its round, tree-grown table and matching chairs, the others are already there, and their quiet chatter ceases as everyone looks at Cerian and Arisanna.
Holding hands.
She quickly lets go of him, but it’s not soon enough.
Stars above. She should have let go before they passed through the doorway.
But other than a few smiles, no one comments, not even Tharios. Thank the heavens.
“You look strong, Mother,” Cerian says as he directs Arisanna to an empty chair between him and Viala. “I hope you were all right after...after—”
“Don’t you dare apologize, Cerian,” Queen Nestraya says. “I have longed to spar with you since you were a young elfling. Your father overreacts. I’m perfectly well.”
Cerian’s parents exchange a glance that seems to contain an entire wordless conversation. They clearly adore each other despite their poorly hidden clash of opinions on Queen Nestraya’s state of health. It’s sweet.
Tharios grins beside his mother, and she pokes his arm. “You’re next. It’s been too long since I faced you in the arena.”
“I’m not nine anymore, Mother.”
She sighs, a sad smile on her face as she rests her forehead against his. “No, you’re not, my little love.”
A pang fills Arisanna’s heart as food is laid out on the table, and Elvish conversation rises around her. Queen Nestraya sacrificed so much so Arisanna could be here today. Was it worth it?
Talk turns to their upcoming journey to Celesta, and the seriousness with which Tharios discusses the state of affairs in the Lostarien capital is surprising. But it makes sense. As the crown prince, he probably stood in for his father frequently while travel was difficult for his parents.
The meal is simple, and everything clicks into place about why Cerian prefers the foods he does.
Nothing is mixed together. The potatoes are spiced and roasted but separate from the other food.
The meat, which must be venison, is tender and delicious, but it’s not slathered in sauce or onions or the like.
Sliced, sautéed mushrooms sit in their own bowl on the table, and everyone else seems to keep their food separated on their plates.
Everyone except Viala. She piles it all together and even teases Tharios by dropping a mushroom in the middle of his potatoes, which he forks into his mouth by itself as he grins at her.
Arisanna isn’t as brave as Viala is, though. She keeps her food separate, as the others do, and she definitely doesn’t touch anything on Cerian’s plate.
Not that she wasn’t feeding him from her hand earlier. No one else needs to know that, though. It’s a wonder he even eats nuts and berries mixed together.
When they’re done eating and everyone else goes their separate ways, Cerian remains at the table, and Arisanna follows his lead.
“What are you thinking?” she asks in Nunian. After the rapid Elvish during the meal, her mind needs a break.
Hopefully, Cerian’s in a talking mood.
He leans back and sighs, responding in kind. “It’s quiet without Elowyn.”
Arisanna does her best to hide her shock at his willingness to say anything at all. “She did a lot of your talking for you, didn’t she?”
He nods.
“I miss my family,” Arisanna whispers.
He finds her eyes, and something unspoken passes between them. A shared understanding.
“At least I have you,” she ventures. It feels forward, but she gazes steadily into his eyes, and he doesn’t look away.
“I’m glad it was you waiting for me in Nunia.”
Are they having a moment? A real moment? She’s afraid to move—to do or say the wrong thing and ruin it.
“I’m glad it was you, too,” she whispers.
His expression darkens, and her stomach clenches. What was wrong with that?
“Not Tharios?” he asks as he looks away.
Oh.
It’s true, though, isn’t it? Tharios has ready smiles. He’s kind—to her, at least.
But he’s not Cerian, her broody elf prince who sleeps all night in a chair because she asks him not to leave her.
Did they really meet mere days ago?
“You, Cerian,” she whispers.
He turns to her again, searching her eyes as if trying to read her sincerity.
“You,” she repeats, this time in Elvish.
His eyes dart lower, and she swallows. Did he...did he just glance at her lips?
Then he flies from his chair, shaking his hands and murmuring something.
What’s wrong? Is it his fire magic again?
She stands and moves closer.
“Don’t run. Don’t run.” That’s what he’s muttering repeatedly in Elvish. Then, just as he did earlier, he flings his arms around her and clutches her to his chest, keeping his hands fisted so he doesn’t touch her.
Neither of them says anything as he holds her pressed against him. The berry scent has faded, but there’s a hint of smokiness around him now. His fire magic?
She doesn’t move or speak. She just lets him hold on to her for as long as he needs to.
Eventually, he relaxes and pulls away.
“Was it your fire magic again?” She tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear and gazes up at him.
He flexes his hands a few times and nods as his brows do their familiar frowny thing.
“Thank you for not running,” she says lightly. “I don’t remember the way back to your chamber. I would have been wandering around Windhaven, hoping someone would take pity on me and return me to my elven prince.”
His eyes snap toward her at that last part. Then the corner of his mouth twitches.
Does she dare say it again? Would he bestow one of his brilliant smiles on her if she did?
“My elven prince,” she says in Elvish this time.
He turns fully toward her, a half-smile lighting up his face. “Yours?”
Stars above. Is he...is he flirting with her?
“Mine,” she whispers.
And there it is. That gorgeous smile that makes her heart race. Can he feel it?
“Do you really want me to tear down part of the wall between our chambers?” His smile has given way, leaving a gaze so intense she feels it in her core.
“I want you to tear down all the walls between us,” she breathes. Her eyes grow wide. Did she say that aloud?
He stares at her for a moment before clearing his throat and glancing away, but he offers her a hand, and she takes it. It’s warm, though not burning. Then he tugs her toward the door, and she hurries to keep up.