Episode 184 Show Me Your Fire
Show Me Your Fire
Cerian sets a plate in front of Arisanna before taking the seat across from her and reaching for his fork.
He’s oddly nervous about her eating something he cooked, even if it was a joint effort.
She picks up her own fork and stabs a radish, but before she can lift it to her mouth, Tharios walks into the kitchen with Viala on his arm.
“You’d better not be here to make a special request, Master Tharios,” Cook says. “Your dinner is all plated up and ready to be delivered.”
“How absolutely perfect. I’ll just take the tray off your hands—”
“Not so fast, princeling. That basket up on that shelf.”
Cerian struggles not to smile. Tharios was probably trying to make a quick exit before Cook put him to work.
“It’s a very nice basket,” Tharios says.
“I fear for the future of Lostariel,” Cook mutters. “You’re supposed to fetch it, not admire it.”
“Ah. I see. It’s a good thing I showed up. Cerian may be a skilled cook, but reaching items on tall shelves is clearly beyond his abilities.”
Cerian rolls his eyes at that. He would have gladly collected the basket had Cook asked.
“Master Cerian is busy eating with his human,” Cook says. “You’re just standing there, giving me trouble. Now fetch me that basket before I—”
“Smack me with a spoon?” Tharios grins as he pulls down the basket and hands it to her.
“You keep this one in line, Miss Viala. He’s trouble.”
“Of this, I am very much aware.” Viala smiles at Tharios, and he wraps an arm around her.
Arisanna glances at Cerian as amusement lights up her eyes.
“Not in my kitchen, you two.” Cook holds a tray out to Tharios. “Be off with you before I put you to work peeling potatoes.”
“Run, Viala,” Tharios whispers, and Viala laughs as Cook points her spoon at him.
Cerian shakes his head. It’s a wonder Cook hasn’t ever smacked Tharios with that spoon for real.
They soon disappear with their dinner, and Cerian turns his attention back to his plate and Arisanna.
She lifts her fork again, and Cerian does his best not to look like he’s nervously awaiting her verdict.
Arisanna chews and swallows before smiling at him across the table. “This is delicious.”
As relief fills him, he forks his own radish into his mouth.
“Thank you,” she says softly. “This was a good idea.”
He’ll have to bring her back when he gets the chance. Teach her how to cook more things.
Once they return from Celesta, that is. He barely knows the cook at Starhaven.
They quietly eat their radishes, biscuits, and tender venison as Cook bustles about, filling the picnic basket for Rominy and Elowyn.
Elowyn will love that.
Soon, their plates are empty, and Cerian rises. “May I help with anything else?” he asks Cook.
“That’s my sweet Master Cerian. Deliver this basket to the arena, and then be off with you. You have better things to do than spend an evening with me.” Cook offers him a smile and a wink, and heat threatens his face as he takes the basket from her.
“Thank you for dinner,” Arisanna says, and Cook waves them off.
In the hallway, Cerian offers Arisanna his free arm, and she clings to it.
“A picnic in the arena?” she says. “That’s so sweet.”
“Elowyn will be happy.”
They round the corner toward the arena in time to cross paths with Elowyn and Rominy heading from the other direction, with Rominy’s human guards trailing them.
Rominy has his arm wrapped around Elowyn, and they look enamored. Cerian tries not to let his mind follow that thought too far.
He wants Elowyn to be happy. And Rominy makes her happy.
It’s a good thing.
“Is that for us?” Elowyn asks as a smile lights up her face.
“It is. Enjoy your picnic.” Cerian holds the basket toward Rominy, and he takes it with a thank you.
As Elowyn and Rominy disappear into the arena, the door closes with a clang.
And then the lock slides into place.
Whistling wind.
Hopefully, no one else wanted to use the arena tonight. He’ll be staying far, far away.
“Now what, my elven prince?” Arisanna hangs on his arm, and he latches on to the distraction.
“Now, whatever you desire.”
“And what do you desire?” she says barely above a whisper.
He looks down at her as she tentatively lifts her eyes to his, and a smile sneaks onto his face.
Neither of them says anything as they return to his chamber, and once the door is closed, he wraps an arm around her from behind and pulls her back to his chest.
“You, Sanna,” he says softly near her ear. “All I desire is you.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“What made you choose the arena?” Elowyn asks as Rominy sets the picnic basket on a patch of grass.
“It was your father’s idea. And that’s all I’m planning to say. We should have brought a blanket.”
“There should be some in here.” She wanders to a trunk near the door and pulls out a large woolen blanket.
“You keep blankets in the arena?”
“For fire wielders. I’ve never experienced this, but I’ve been told fire wielders who expend their magic too much grow cold.”
“That makes sense.”
He helps her drape the blanket on the ground before kneeling in front of the picnic basket as he opens the lid. “I’m not sure what Cook packed for us.”
Elowyn joins him on the blanket as he pulls out a glass bottle with a stopper and pops it open before sniffing it. It looks like cider. The hard kind.
“Well. That message is loud and clear,” he says, and Elowyn laughs.
“It’s just something to relax you a little. Do you need to relax, Rominy?”
“Don’t I always? Here.” He hands her a fluted glass and pours them both a small amount. “To falling in love?”
“Oh, is this like when we clinked our glasses together at our binding feast?”
“Just like that.”
She gently touches his glass with hers before sipping the cider. Cook makes the best hard cider.
“That’s really good.” Rominy sets the glass down and reaches into the basket again.
Elowyn peers inside as he draws out a covered bowl.
“Any guesses?” he asks.
“Something sweet, I hope.”
“You and your sweet tooth.” He removes the lid and laughs. “What are these? Radishes?”
Elowyn wrinkles her nose. “Those are not sweet.”
“No, but they smell good.” He pops one into his mouth. “It’s still warm. That is good. Here.” He offers her one, and she opens her mouth as he sets it on her tongue, never looking away.
Whistling wind. There’s heat in his eyes already.
She takes another sip of cider, but it does nothing to suppress the heat flickering to life inside her with every glance and every brush of his hand.
“What else did Cook pack?” Elowyn asks as she looks inside the basket while Rominy polishes off another radish. “I see biscuits. Ah. Here we go. She must have made these for Cerian and given them to us instead.”
Elowyn lifts a bowl of baked apple slices with cinnamon and sugar from the basket.
“That looks like dessert, love.”
She grins at him. “It should taste like dessert, too.”
Rominy digs a couple of forks out of the basket as he shakes his head at her. “Here.”
Instead of handing her the fork, he lifts an apple slice to her lips.
“You seem to enjoy feeding me, my love.”
“I seem to, yes.” He winks as the apple hits her tongue, and she sighs contentedly.
“I prefer berries, but this is delightful.”
Rominy takes his own bite of apple. “Mmm. It’s like apple pie without the crust.”
Elowyn frowns. “Like what?”
“Pie.”
She rolls the word around on her tongue.
“You don’t know what pie is, do you?” he asks.
“I’m sure it’s delightful.”
He leans closer. “It is. Here.” He feeds her another apple slice, and as they continue eating, Rominy’s ready smiles slowly become something...else.
Something warmer. More intense.
Something threatening to set her ablaze with every moment that passes.
“You’re growing warmer, love,” he whispers near her ear, and his breath against her sensitive skin sends a shiver racing through her.
It’s not as if they haven’t done this. Given each other everything. Again and again. Each time, she learns something new about him. About what makes his breath hitch. What makes him whisper her name. What turns him into a puddle on the floor.
But it all feels different here in the real world, where moments can’t be perfectly orchestrated and elves don’t transform into mermaids and rain doesn’t fall when they ask.
Rain. She lifts her eyes to the water-training contraption overhead. That’s why he brought her here.
“What do you think, love?” he asks softly. “Want to play with your magic?”
She meets his eyes again. Playfulness and passion swirl within his gaze.
“Let’s just have fun, all right?” he says. “No pressure. We have the rest of our lives to figure this out.”
Tentatively, she nods.
Rominy quickly packs up the remnants of their dinner and sets the basket near the door, and Elowyn finds her feet as she tries not to let her anxiety take over.
It’s not a feeling she often experiences, but as Rominy gazes at her across the room, it grows.
He says there’s no pressure, but it feels like so much pressure. Pressure not to hurt him. Not to disappoint him. Even if it isn’t coming from him.
“Do you remember what I told you the first time we did this?” he asks.
“Which part?”
“The part where I said to trust your magic. Don’t try to control it or force it to be something it isn’t. It’s part of you, El. And I want all of you.”
She shakes her head. “We were surrounded by seawater then. I could hurt you. Burn you with my magic. And here, it would be real.”
“If you need water, you have it, love.” He gestures to the creek flowing past them.
“What if it isn’t enough?”
“What if it is, and your fear keeps us from finding out?”
“Fear,” she whispers. “We’re chasing dragons, aren’t we? Only this time, I’m the terrified one. I am not fond of this feeling.”
A smile ghosts Rominy’s face. “Show me your fire, dragon rider.”
She frowns. “Dragon rider? I’ve never—”
“You will.”
He seems so confident, as if her fear brings out his strength.
Perhaps that’s what it means to be stronger together. When her fear overwhelms her, he’s there to be strong for both of them.
As his eyes travel over her, a shiver spreads to her toes. He looks hungry. Starving, even. For her.
“That was quite the look, my love,” she whispers.
“The first of many I intend to take before this night ends.”
A smile slips onto her face before she can stop it. He truly is doing his best to romance her. To set her on fire.
And it’s working.
“Surround me with your fire, Elowyn. Give it somewhere to go.”
Surround him with it? That’s a terrifying thought.
“Come here.” He beckons her closer. As she approaches him, he wraps an arm around her waist. “You’re mine tonight, Elowyn Montarac. Tonight and every night, for the rest of my life. I have so many plans for you.”
She melts at his words. How she loves this man.
With a gentle touch, he slides his free hand along her jaw and grazes her lips with his. Teases them with his teeth. As he captures her in a kiss, he runs his fingers along the edge of her ear, and she grows warmer by the second.
“Fire wielder.” He nuzzles her ear with his nose, and she whimpers. “Show me your fire, dragon rider,” he says again.
This time, she doesn’t argue as she extends her arm to the side. Flames erupt from her palm, slinking into a circle around them. It takes the edge off more than she expected, and she relaxes fully in his arms.
“That’s my fire wielder,” he whispers.
And as he kisses her again, she can’t imagine ever belonging to anyone but this human prince she found waiting for her across a meadow in Nunia.