Episode 172 Mother Would Faint
Mother Would Faint
Rominy stands alone with Elowyn in some sort of fitting room. Fiarese led them here and assured them her father would be with them shortly.
Jonas ended up in a room across the corridor. Poor man. He’s probably not used to being fussed over like this.
If Rominy didn’t suspect Grandmera was right about Jonas’s new status representing Nunia in Celesta, he would have begged off for the guard.
But Jonas can’t show up in Celesta with only a torn guard uniform to wear.
Well, he could. But that sounds like a bad idea.
“This is quite exciting.” Elowyn wanders the small room, taking in the hooks on the walls and the pincushions on a shelf, along with a trifold mirror that lets Rominy see far more of himself in King Restoval’s leathers than he ever needed.
“Do I look as ridiculous to you as I do to myself?” he asks Elowyn.
“What?”
He gestures to the mirror. “I’m still not convinced I can pull off leather.”
Elowyn steps between him and the mirror and drapes her arms over his shoulders as she looks up at him. “Shall I show you how I feel about you in leather, or will you force me to use words, my love?”
“Either way, I’m pretty sure you’re biased.”
“I’m the future Queen of Nunia, am I not? Certainly the queen’s opinion on fashion is of some account?”
Rominy leans close. “Yes. But my mother would faint. And you are not the queen yet.”
Elowyn drops her head back and laughs, which draws out Rominy’s smile.
Before either of them can say anything else, an elf who clearly has many more years behind him than ahead steps into the room. Elowyn lets Rominy go, but not before her eyes sweep over him.
She obviously approves. That will have to be enough.
“Welcome, my prince. You wear King Restoval’s leathers well,” the tailor says in loud Elvish. Either he’s trying to communicate better with Rominy by raising his voice, or he’s half-deaf.
Judging by his wrinkled appearance, it’s probably the latter.
In any case, Elowyn sends Rominy a look that says, “I told you so.”
Then he’s being stripped out of his jacket as the tailor says something Rominy can’t quite make out. He finds Elowyn’s eyes and shakes his head.
Her brows furrow. “I don’t believe he can get proper measurements if you don’t.”
“What?”
The tailor says something else, and Elowyn looks like she’s trying not to smile.
She must have forgotten he still needs her to translate at times.
“What did he say?” Rominy asks.
“Oh! He believes you’re shy.”
“What?”
“Because you don’t wish to remove your shirt.”
Rominy rolls his eyes and reaches for his buttons. “I didn’t even understand what he said the first time.”
She laughs. “I’m sorry. You’ve been understanding Elvish so well that I forgot you still need help sometimes.”
“I suppose that’s good.” He strips out of his shirt, and the tailor measures him before saying something about Queen Miravel and who knows what else.
Elowyn is quick to translate. “He should have time to make you everything on Grandmera’s list.”
“What was on her list?”
“I have no idea, but I’m sure you’ll look great.” Elowyn’s eyes sweep over his bare chest. “Absolutely perfect.”
As soon as the tailor is gone, Elowyn saunters toward Rominy again, and he crosses his arms over his chest.
“It’s surprisingly warm in here,” he teases. “Should I fetch you some water?”
“Probably.” She slides a hand behind his neck, and he lets her draw him into a kiss. Stars above. She is warm.
“Elowyn,” he breathes, though what message he’s trying to convey is unclear even to himself.
All it does is make her heart race and the room grow even warmer.
With a sigh, he pulls away and presses his forehead to hers as he slides his hands along her jaw, framing her face. “Tell me how to help you manage your fire in the real world.”
“I...I don’t know. Pera said using my magic more would help it not burn so hot, but...”
“But what, love?”
“I think my fire magic is like his air magic. It’s endless. I don’t even know how it feels for it to run low. There’s always more.”
No wonder she got so sick.
“Then we’ll figure it out. Together,” he says softly. “But not here, all right? This isn’t safe for anyone.”
He half expects her to argue, but she doesn’t. She just nods. “I know. Forgive me. I—”
“I thought we established that you aren’t allowed to apologize for kissing me, love.”
His words draw a light laugh from her, and he wraps his arms around her and pulls her to his chest. She really is warm.
“Are we free to leave, or is he coming back?” Rominy asks as she rests her head against him.
“I’m not certain. He didn’t say. Master Lanadil can be a bit absentminded.”
“We probably need to wait for everyone else to finish, don’t we?”
“Taliel, at least. Pera was quite clear about not wandering around without one of his elite warriors.”
Rominy pulls back to look at Elowyn’s eyes. “Elowyn Montarac, doing what she’s told? Now I’ve seen everything.”
Elowyn laughs. “I do what I’m told a lot, I’ll have you know.”
“Do you really? This is news to me.”
She pokes his bare chest, and he tugs her close again.
“I love you, El.”
“And I love you. I’ve been thinking. Would you be opposed to me forming my own little warrior band to guard me in Nunia? With Pera’s permission?”
Rominy frowns. “Because my guards let you get hurt? I am sorry about that. I—”
She shakes her head. “That wasn’t anyone’s fault aside from the man who threw the rock.
Things happen that are outside our control sometimes.
No, it just seems unfair to expect Jonas to guard both of us at once.
He might need someone to share the burden of looking out for a flighty elf who struggles to do what she’s told. ”
“Ah. I see where you’re going with this. Taliel’s one of your father’s elite warriors, though. Wouldn’t that be a bit of a step-down?”
“We could at least offer, couldn’t we? I wouldn’t mind having a familiar face by my side in Nunia.”
Rominy looks down at her again as a rare moment of vulnerability shines in her eyes.
Is she worried about being lonely in Nunia?
“Of course we can offer.” He’d offer her the moon if it were possible to pluck it from the sky.
“Thank you.” She relaxes against him again, and he basks in this feeling of perfection as he holds her. How did he ever imagine that he didn’t want this? Want her?
Thank goodness he said yes.
Cerian reclines on a chair, trying not to smile too widely as Arisanna pulls yet another tunic with a short, split skirt over her head and smooths it into place.
Who knew shopping for clothing could be so utterly enjoyable?
“What do you think of this one?” she asks, and he nods.
“I like this one. You look beautiful.”
“Cerian!” She laughs. “You’ve said that about all of them.”
“I’m relatively certain I informed you I would do so. You make them all look good.”
She smiles down at him, and her eyes are full of light now. This way is much better than the other way.
“But I have to choose something.”
He shrugs. “Purchase all the ones you like. Grandmera can help you decide what to pack for Celesta. You’ll need clothing when we return, too.”
“But which ones do you like?”
“I believe you’re getting us confused. I said to choose the ones you like.”
“But I don’t know. I’ve never chosen for myself before.”
“Try.”
She looks at her reflection again. “I suppose I like this one. And the green one with the asymmetrical hem was fun. It reminds me of...well, you know.”
Her dress in the heartlanding. He doesn’t even try to hold back a smile. That one was his favorite, too.
“Though it’s not as scandalous,” she adds as she holds it up. “With trousers underneath. And sleeves.”
“Ah. Pity.”
Her eyes snap to his, and she throws the tunic at him. He barely catches it before it can fall on the floor beside his chair.
“You need to practice your aim, Sanna. That was pathetic.”
She looks like she’s about to throw something else at him when a throat clears nearby. “Forgive me for interrupting, my princess, but I retrieved the leathers if you wish to try them on. Please let me know if you require assistance.”
Arisanna turns bright red as she mumbles a thank you and refrains from throwing anything else.
Once Fiarese is gone again, Arisanna tentatively studies the leathers, and Cerian’s mirth fades. “You don’t have to—”
“It wouldn’t hurt, though. Just to try them on?”
“Only if you want to.”
She nods and reaches for the hem of her tunic, tugging it back over her head before removing the matching trousers.
Shopping is definitely not so bad.
“I feel your heart racing,” Arisanna teases with a smile as she picks up the leather trousers.
Cerian just leans his head over the back of the chair and rubs his eyes.
He was hoping she wouldn’t notice. The last thing he desires is for her to wear something she feels uncomfortable in just because she thinks that’s what he wants.
“I don’t know how this clasp works,” she says, and he looks her way again.
Whistling wind. She was made to wear leathers.
This pair has a split in the short skirt that rests high on her leg over her left hip with a diagonal closure running from the split to her opposite shoulder. She managed the buckles near her hip and waist, but the closure near her shoulder seems to have eluded her.
She goes still in her attempts before sending a dazed expression toward him. “Stars above, Cerian. Your heart is pounding in my ears.”
He says nothing as he makes quick work of the shoulder clasp for her and attempts to calm his racing heart.
“I’m afraid to look,” she whispers, keeping her gaze averted from the nearby mirror.
Gently, Cerian reaches for her shoulders and turns her toward the mirror as he stands behind her.
Her expression is impossible to read as she studies herself, her eyes sliding from her fiery hair to her feet and back again.
“Well,” she eventually says. “Mother would faint.”
She doesn’t sound displeased by the notion, and Cerian struggles not to smile.
“They do fit well,” she adds.
“Like they were made for you.” He barely resists the urge to trail his lips along her neck.
“And Elowyn would wear it without a second thought.”
“But what would Sanna do?” he whispers near her ear.
“I suppose I was determined to dress like an elf. I’m definitely dressed like an elf now.”
He can’t hold back his grin any longer.
She likes the leathers. He’d bet money on it.
She’s just trying to convince herself that it’s all right for her to wear them.
“Definitely dressed like an elf,” he says. “A Princess of Lostariel.”
“A Princess of Lostariel.”
“A Westaria.”
She keeps studying her reflection. “A Westaria.”
“Mine.” The word is out before he can stop it, and her gaze shifts to meet his in the mirror.
“Yours, Cerian. Always yours.”
Then he kisses her neck because he can’t resist any longer.
“It wouldn’t hurt to get them. Even if I don’t wear them,” Arisanna murmurs as her eyes slide closed and she leans into him.
“It wouldn’t hurt at all.”