Episode 47
Am I Distracting You?
His scar? Elowyn wants to see his scar? Is she asking him to take off his shirt?
No wonder she’s blushing. Rominy’s own face heats.
It’s not as if she hasn’t seen him without a shirt. After that dragon killed him, Elowyn ran her hands all over his chest, searching for a wound.
She must not have noticed his scar that night.
If this will help her move past her fear of the doctor, he can probably take his shirt off for her. Especially since blood is still slowly seeping from her arm. He grimaces inwardly at the sight.
Clearing his throat, he nods. “All right.”
This won’t be awkward at all.
With Elowyn standing there watching, he reaches for the top button of his coat and slips it free before tugging the wool garment off and setting it on the bed.
Definitely not awkward.
“What do you call this piece?” she asks as she fingers his waistcoat. “And the cloth you strangle yourself with every day?”
“Strangle myself?” He can’t help smiling at that. It does feel as if he’s strangling himself at times. “It’s a necktie. And that’s a waistcoat.”
He undoes his tie and tosses it with his coat before fumbling with the buttons on his waistcoat as she stands there watching him.
Is he really undressing in front of her?
After shrugging out of his waistcoat, he tugs his braces over his shoulders.
“You have as many strange layers as I do,” Elowyn says.
A nervous chuckle escapes him as he tries not to think about her statement.
Pulling his shirt loose, he lifts the hem, exposing his torso, and the cool air makes his flesh tingle.
Just the cool air. Not the fact that she’s staring intently at his bare chest.
“Right here?” Her fingers hover near his skin as she eyes the inch-long scar marring the flesh over his ribs. She’s not even touching him, but heat buzzes through his chest near her hand.
“Y-yes.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Something awful. Not the stitches. I hardly felt those. The doctor numbs it first so you can’t feel it.”
“Fascinating. May I?” She glances at his face, and he nods. He can barely breathe. He can barely remember how to breathe.
Then her warm fingers slide across his flesh, and he bites back a gasp.
“I can see the little marks where the thread pulled your wound closed.”
He clears his throat. “C-can you?”
Then both her hands are on his chest, and he stops breathing entirely as his eyes slide shut.
Breathing is overrated, anyway.
What is she even doing? Comparing both sides? In any case, he has no intention of asking her to stop. She can keep running her hands over him for as long as she wants.
“I believe I’m ready,” she whispers, and his eyes flash open.
“R-ready?”
She nods. “If you think it’s safe. I trust you.”
“Safe?”
She nods again, and his eyes dart to the bed. “W-what are we talking about?”
Her brows knit as she looks up at him. “The stitching, of course.”
The stitching. Of course.
Stars above.
“Are you all right?” she asks. “You seem to be struggling to breathe.”
“Just a little.”
As she stares up at him, her eyes grow wide, and her hands turn to fire against his skin before she pulls them back.
Before he can say or do anything, a knock accompanies the door opening, and Rominy looks at his pile of clothes on the bed in horror.
“Ah. Forgive me for interrupting,” Dr. Fulton says. “Though we should see to that wound before I clear you for other activities.”
Well, that’s mortifying. Quickly dropping his shirt back into place, Rominy glances at Elowyn, who fights to hold back a smile.
At least she’s not standing there half-dressed the way he is.
And he can breathe again, though it might have been preferable if he’d passed out from a lack of air. That would have been less embarrassing.
“You appear to be in a better state, Your Highness,” the doctor says to Elowyn as Rominy pulls his braces back over his shoulders. He’s about to reach for his necktie and waistcoat when Elowyn fumbles for his hand.
Apparently, he’ll be doing this in his shirtsleeves.
“Forgive me for not understanding,” Elowyn says quietly to the doctor as she clutches Rominy’s arm. “Rominy has explained it, and I am now prepared to undergo this procedure.”
“Don’t give it another thought, Your Highness. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
Elowyn swallows and nods, and Rominy can’t resist the urge to press his lips to her temple.
That’s his Elowyn.
“What do you usually do on your birthday?” Arisanna asks after she and Cerian finish stuffing themselves—and each other—with far too much sweet bread.
Cerian shrugs. “I don’t do much.”
For a moment, Arisanna eyes him as if trying to read into his words, and he sighs.
“I go out in the woods.”
“Alone?”
Watching her face, he nods.
“I see.” She puts on what looks like a genuine smile. “Don’t let me stop you. I can probably survive without you for a day.”
She...what?
“If you need some time to yourself,” she adds.
Usually, the idea would appeal to him—time away from everyone and everything, where he doesn’t have to care what anyone is thinking or expecting. Where he can just exist alone with the trees and the odd squirrel that scampers past.
But the thought is less appealing this time.
“Or not,” she says as her brows draw together. “What are you thinking?”
He looks at the table. At the remnants of the sweet bread upon which they feasted. At the wooden figurines on his shelf. At the window and his wardrobe. Even down at his hands.
“I get the feeling you’re avoiding me.” The hint of a smile fills Arisanna’s voice. “Unless I’m next on the list of places you’re planning to train your eyes.”
When he glances up at her, her lips are lifted in a teasing grin, and the corner of his own mouth twitches. “Perhaps.”
“Thank you for not running,” she says softly.
Not running. It...didn’t cross his mind this time.
Unsure what to say, he nods.
“So why are you not looking at me?” she asks. “Is it because I’m too distracting?”
She’s teasing him again. He shakes his head as a smile attempts to sneak across his face.
“What then? You can tell me. You haven’t scared me off yet.”
Thank the fates for that.
“Shall I guess?” Before she can open her mouth again, he presses a finger to her lips the way he did earlier.
“That will not be necessary.”
Her eyes dance with mirth, but she doesn’t attempt to talk.
If only he could press his lips to hers instead of his finger.
The thought startles him, though he did almost kiss her in the heartlanding.
He’s not foolish enough to try right now. Not with the way his palm is growing warm. He should probably move his hand away, but her lips are so...perfect. Soft and full with that delicate little dip beneath the pad of his finger.
What were they talking about?
“Am I distracting you?” she asks against his finger.
“You’re always distracting me,” he mutters, and her lips tick up in response.
The woods. That’s what they were discussing.
He opens his mouth, struggling to find the right words. “I...don’t...”
Her merriment fades, replaced by a softness uniquely hers. Full of compassion and acceptance.
“Your finger is getting hot, my fire wielder,” she whispers, and he quickly pulls his hand away.
But he doesn’t run. Not yet.
Exhaling slowly, he starts again, careful to keep his hands to himself. “You said the next time I feel like running...to take you with me,” he whispers.
She nods, waiting for him to keep going.
“Will you come with me today?”
He holds his breath. What if she says no? She doesn’t like the woods. Perhaps it was foolish to ask.
“Always,” she says softly.
“Always?”
“I will always come when you ask me to.”
“Always?”
“Until the beating of our hearts fades.”
His heart pounds as fire threatens to erupt from his palms. Is she leaning toward him? His eyes settle on her lips of their own accord.
“Cerian,” she breathes, but his voice has abandoned him, and he can’t even begin to respond.
When his palms tingle, he groans as images of that lump of snow he destroyed fill his mind, and he somehow finds his voice again. “I...I need to—I’m not running—I just need to...talk to my father.”
“Go do what you need to do. I’ll be ready to leave when you return.”
“Thank you.” He shoots for the door before she calls him back.
“Maybe change into regular clothes first? Unless you normally wander around Windhaven in your nightclothes, in which case carry on.”
He looks down at the linen shirt and trousers he’s still wearing. They’ve been sitting here eating breakfast in their sleeping attire. They really are bound—married, as she calls it.
And no, he doesn’t generally wander around Windhaven like this.
He quickly collects his ayervadi leathers from his wardrobe and ducks into the water closet to change. When he emerges a few minutes later, Arisanna looks up as her eyes wander over him.
And she bites her lip.
Whistling wind. He needs to speak to Father. Especially if she’s going to keep looking at him like that.