Episode 179 Smitten
Smitten
Cerian closes the door to his chamber behind Arisanna, and they both stop short.
Packages and parcels lie strewn on every flat surface.
Whistling wind.
“Oh dear,” Arisanna whispers. “I may have gotten carried away at the dress shop.”
He can’t really blame her. He told her to get everything she wanted.
It just didn’t look like this much clothing in the dress shop.
He forces himself not to squeeze Arisanna’s hand too tightly as mild panic sets in.
“Let’s put a pin in this while we take a few minutes to breathe, all right?” She tugs him toward the connecting door to her room, and he follows as he attempts to push the horrifying state of his chamber from his mind.
“Breathe with me?” she says once they’re no longer surrounded by chaos.
She leads him in the breathing exercises Rafelis taught them, which helps.
As long as he doesn’t think about the state of his room, that is.
“So...” Sanna says. “We’re supposed to enjoy the evening together. How do you usually spend your evenings?”
He latches on to the distraction.
How did he spend his evenings before Arisanna entered his life? Those days feel so long ago now.
Before her clothes took over his sacred space.
He pushes that thought aside.
“I spent a lot of time outdoors,” he says. “Which isn’t an option tonight. What did you do in the evenings in Nunia?”
She laughs as she toys with the clasps on his jacket. “The pastimes of a Nunian princess are nothing you’d be interested in.”
“I’m interested in you,” he says softly. “Tell me?”
“All right. There was a lot of embroidery.”
“Embroidery? I’m not familiar with that word.”
“It’s sewing decorative patterns and pictures.”
“Like an artist using thread? Do you enjoy this?”
She looks up at him and opens her mouth before closing it again as her brows wrinkle, and he kisses the line between them.
“I don’t know,” she says.
“You don’t know if you enjoyed it? Yet you did it frequently?”
“Yes?” She shrugs.
“But why?”
“It was expected. That’s what ladies do. They embroider.”
Nunia is such a strange place.
“Do you wish to embroider here in Lostariel? I’ll find you the supplies if you do.”
The wrinkle reappears between her brows. That seems to be a no.
“You don’t wish to embroider ever again, do you?” he asks.
“I don’t think I do. I don’t think I like embroidery.”
Her face carries the adorable look of someone realizing something for the first time, and Cerian struggles not to smile. It must never have occurred to her that she was free to dislike this common Nunian pastime.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I don’t dislike it. I loathe it. It’s tedious and mind-numbing.”
“Then don’t do it.” He kisses her forehead again. “What else do you do? Something you enjoy?”
“Well, I’m awful at any sort of music.”
“I believe we established that on my birthday.”
“I have a fondness for novels, but my mother disapproves.”
“Your mother disapproves of books?”
“Only novels. Romances, mostly. Love stories. ‘A young lady doesn’t need to pollute her innocent mind with such things.’”
“Pollute your mind with love stories? Elven literature is filled with love stories. I doubt I will ever understand your mother.”
“It’s too bad I can’t read Elvish well.”
“We shall have to work on that. Then you’ll be able to read all the love stories you desire.”
“I would like that.”
“What else?” he asks.
“I think it’s your turn to come up with something.”
Before he can respond, her stomach growls, and she buries her face against him as he tries not to laugh.
“How about food?” he says.
“Food sounds good.”
“Shall I show you how to make something?”
Her head snaps up. “In the kitchen?”
He nods.
“Cook won’t mind?” she asks.
“She doesn’t mind me. She likes me.”
“All right. We’ll visit the kitchen. But first...my clothes.”
Whistling wind. She did a good job of distracting him. He forgot about the disaster next door.
She looks into his eyes. “We’re going to unwrap everything, one item at a time, and put the wrappings on the bed in here for now and hang the clothes in the wardrobe. If we work systematically, it will go quickly, and when we’re done, your room will be your haven again, all right?”
He stares into her eyes for a moment before squeezing her against his chest. “Thank you.”
“I love you, Cerian. Now, let’s get to work so we can visit Cook before my stomach eats itself.”
Viala clings to Tharios’s arm as she rests her head on his shoulder. Is this how it feels to be heartbound? So full of love and longing for someone that it’s a physical pull deep within?
“I should check on Uncle Quilian,” Tharios says as they wander contentedly through Windhaven.
“I don’t care where we go. I just want to be with you.”
He wraps his arm around her shoulders and kisses her temple. Everyone else quickly disappeared inside, but Tharios took his time helping Viala off Nebula and seeing the stallion settled.
“You feel it, too?” he asks. “I thought perhaps it was the oathbinding drawing me to you.”
“I think it’s more than that, my love.”
He kisses her hair again. “Let’s look in on Uncle Quilian, and then we’ll spend the rest of the evening holed up in our room.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“After I check on Jonas,” Tharios says, and Viala laughs.
He’s still her Tharios. And she wouldn’t have it any other way. Hopefully, their elfling will inherit his heart for others.
Their elfling.
The thought draws a smile unbidden on her face.
After a moment of concentrating, Tharios frowns. “I believe Taliel is near the arena, but Father is there as well, so it’s difficult to say for sure.”
They wander toward the practice arena, of all places, and sure enough, Jonas and Taliel stand outside the closed door.
“Father must be inside with Rominy,” Tharios whispers. “I wonder why. Elowyn is in the royal wing.”
“Perhaps we should let them keep their secrets while we keep ours,” Viala says, and Tharios chuckles.
“Perhaps.”
Jonas and Taliel are having their own conversation, which Tharios quietly translates for her. It feels like eavesdropping, but knowing her elf prince didn’t forget she needs his help warms her heart so much that she doesn’t ask him to stop.
“Jonas said, ‘You mean we still have to go?’” Tharios whispers. “He thought Rafelis might want the evening to recover from running across a river.”
“As if that would slow Rafelis down,” Viala whispers back.
“Indeed. Oh, now Taliel’s laying on the guilt. She said, ‘You don’t wish to meet my family? Your niece?’”
“How can he refuse that?” Viala asks.
Jonas stares at Taliel for a long moment before speaking.
“It just occurred to him that he has another niece,” Tharios says.
“Another?”
Taliel asks him something, and he responds.
“He has four nieces already,” Tharios says.
“Four? Such a big family.” Viala leans on Tharios, and he squeezes her closer. At least he’s not acting like she might break at any moment, though he’s still being incredibly gentle. It’s sweet. “What are they talking about now?” she asks.
“A Nunian holiday called the Festival of Lights. It’s a winter celebration with food and gifts and decorations and an emphasis on being with family. He said his family barely fits around the table these days.”
Viala sighs. She hasn’t been home for her people’s Midwinter celebration since she binded with Tharios.
She misses it. Perhaps when the elfling growing within her womb is born, they’ll make more of an effort to be there.
The elves don’t have a similar holiday. Tharios probably doesn’t grasp how much Midwinter means to her people.
Taliel suddenly turns and says something to Tharios.
Asking him if he needs something?
Tharios responds in Nunian before repeating himself in Elvish. “Forgive me for interrupting, but I’d like to check your wound before you go.”
Jonas says something that sounds like he’s attempting to assure Tharios he’s fine, but Taliel rolls her eyes. She must be telling him not to be silly.
Reluctantly, Jonas inclines his head, and Tharios steps close enough to use his life magic on Jonas.
“I guarantee Rafelis is still expecting you,” Tharios says in Elvish before repeating himself in Nunian.
Viala does her best to hide her smile at the dismay that slides across Jonas’s face, but he quickly schools his features and nods.
Once Tharios is done, they say their goodnights. Hopefully, Jonas will survive.
Together, they turn toward Uncle Quilian’s chamber.
“Let’s go to New Valderi for Midwinter this year,” Tharios says as they meander down the corridor. “Assuming it’s safe to travel and this rebel situation is managed by then.”
Viala stares at him in surprise. Perhaps he does know what Midwinter means to her.
“I’d love that,” she says softly.
“One more quick stop, and then we’ll have the rest of the evening to ourselves.” Tharios steals a tender kiss as they walk, and Viala sighs contentedly.
She’d follow this elf of hers anywhere.
“Uncle Quilian,” Tharios says when they find the man awake and sitting up in bed. “I hope you aren’t contemplating doing anything foolish.”
“Like getting out of bed? Who would do such a foolhardy thing?” Amusement fills Uncle Quilian’s eyes, and Tharios crosses his arms over his chest.
“Pretty much every elf in this family.”
Laughter bursts from Uncle Quilian, only to be followed by a moan. “Don’t make me laugh. And speaking of this family, I have already been poked and prodded by your mother. I don’t need to be poked and prodded by you, too. And that’s not counting Rafelis annoying me this morning.”
Tharios shakes his head. Uncle Quilian spent many years mentoring Rafelis and preparing him to take Uncle Quilian’s place as Second to the First. He may pretend to be annoyed, but they all know how fond he is of Rafelis.
Mother shouldn’t be using her magic as much as she has been, though. He should check on her, too.
“I need to examine you,” Tharios says. “So you’ll just have to deal with it.”
“Your bedside manner could use a little work.”
Viala laughs at that, and Tharios rolls his eyes.
His bedside manner is just fine.
“The two of you seem awfully smitten tonight,” Uncle Quilian says as he lets Tharios examine him. “I see the way you keep glancing at each other and touching each other.”
Tharios looks up at Viala from his spot on the edge of Uncle Quilian’s bed, and her gorgeous smile draws out his own happiness again as he thinks about that elfling growing inside her.
Not that he’s ready to share their news with anyone else yet.
“Ah, I see how it is. I’ve witnessed that look before.” Uncle Quilian relaxes as he closes his eyes but says nothing more.
Tharios stares at him. What in the Wildthorne Woods does that mean?
“Don’t worry,” Uncle Quilian eventually adds. “Your secret is safe with me.”