Chapter 34
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Stabbing is romantic, like cages. Don’t question it.
“May I have a wand?” I ask, perusing Castor’s secret room of fun magical things. Seated at his cluttered desk, he spins in his chair, arms folded. Every so often, he’ll stop, lift his phone, and make a voice memo of something he needs to research or work on to further our kingdom’s plans.
This time, he stops with his body angled toward me. “Of course. They are, however, functionally useless. I’ve collected those purely for aesthetics.”
Opening the glass case, I remove a rose quartz wand adorned in carved flowers. Tracing petals, I say, “I love aesthetics.”
Castor hums. “Do you suppose I need to put more attention into the beautification of our kingdom?”
“We only have a few hundred citizens. We probably need to prioritize our resources. Also, I think things have turned out rather beautiful, regardless of the level of attention put toward it.”
“Have they?” he asks.
Right. He wouldn’t be able to tell.
“Yes. The children and I spent some time transplanting flowers from the woods around the finished homes earlier. The dark wood and mossy roofs work well together, and the way the trees have rerooted and grown around the buildings is magical. Along the road, it’s very clearly a faerie village, and the homes taking shape in the caverns are incredible, too.
They’re great big domes carved into stone, connected by hanging bridges and tracks.
It’s all gleaming and neon, slathered with fluorescent scum or goo or something like that.
I don’t know. Stuff glows pale bright greens and blues in there, and it’s lovely. ”
“Lovely,” he echoes, then spins back to his desk. “Marvelous. Lovely.” He smiles. “We’ve made something lovely, have we?”
Abandoning the pretty wand, I make my way to him, spin him back toward me, and sit in his lap. “We have.”
His hands unravel from one another to find places on me. They move across my body, and delight builds in him. Ecstatic, he says, “Have you gained weight, my darling?”
I stiffen.
“Oh, no, love. Don’t do that. This is wonderful news.”
“It…is?”
“It’s proof you’re eating properly now. I’m so relieved. I had thought you were too thin for your stature. I’ve been quite worried about it.”
I blink at his soft expression, so gentle and loving I hardly know what to do with it. “You have been?”
“Could you not tell?”
“You’re…worried a lot. About all sorts of things. Practically all the time. It’s hard to decipher what worry belongs to what.”
His thumb caresses my stomach. “Ah. Forgive me for that.”
“No, I won’t. I like it.”
“You…like that I’m an inconsolable ball of anxiety most of the time?”
I settle against him and wrap my arms around his head. “Yes.”
My inconsolable ball of caring about others is beautiful, and I’m not accepting any criticism about it.
What I’d like to know is how I’ve not realized that I’ve gained weight. The fact I’m fuller and softer is rather apparent now that it’s been brought to my attention, but before that? I was oblivious.
I guess I’ve been so freed from needing to worry about how I look, the only time I’ve bothered thinking about it at all is when I’ve made direct clothing requests.
But, even then, the magic clothes that Castor forms right on my body, for my body, never suggest that I in any way need to change myself to fit them.
“Do you…like this weight on me?” I ask.
“Very much so.”
That’s it, then. That’s all that matters.
“Do you like the way you feel?” Castor asks, as though his perception of me is not all that matters in any shape or form.
“You must have more energy than you used to. Is your body and mind working for you in a way that brings you comfort? I want you content in your skin. If you are not, we must address that before it feeds on the damage your mother has done on your mind where it concerns how you look.”
There’s been so much going on lately, I haven’t exactly had any spare moments to contemplate these sorts of things.
As a means to survive the demand of being a model, I spent a lot of time cutting my mind off from what my body was feeling or asking for.
I’ve had to do shoots in winter for summer lines.
I’ve had to pretend that I’m not freezing, or tired, or hungry so much I’ve lost touch with some of those things.
Or I had.
Before very recently.
Before Castor has let me feel again, going so far as to let me ask him to fix whatever discomforts me.
Happy, I settle in closer to my soulmate. “Yep, can confirm. I am very comfortable in my skin these days.” Especially when he’s dappling it with kisses.
Chuckling, he traces the line of my spine up until he reaches my hair. “Perfect.” He combs his fingers through my blond waves. “I’ve been disregarding you for long moments, Mine. Reprimand my negligence. Punish me with kisses or cuts, the sensation of your nails in my flesh.”
I bite my lip and maintain my smile. “We both know that’s hardly a punishment for you.”
His thumb slips against my palm as he brings my fingers to his lips. “Pity. You’ve caught me. What do you deem an appropriate admonition, then?”
I’d love to hedge discussion on any progress toward a cure for his eyes and how I can help, but after the fiasco with Pollux and how tender all the emotions revolving around that are, I refrain. “It’s not really a punishment, but I would like a magic lesson.”
“A magic lesson!” he declares, kissing my palm. “What excellent fun. You reward me for my bad behavior, and I do adore you for it. What game of magic shall we play tonight, my feather?”
Thinking for a moment, I finally decide on: “Theft.”
His emotions leap, then settle, and adjust reasonably. As though he is not thrilled by the notion of robbery, he asks, calmly, “Theft? Do elaborate, darling, lest I assume you wish to practice pulling my soul from my body and subjecting it to your bidding.”
Maybe we can do that tomorrow, although I’m fairly certain it would not be too terribly hard.
For the sake of clarification, I say, “I’d like to steal your knife back from Willow.” Gently and sweetly, I tease my lips against his, “Then I’d like to stab you with it so I can practice healing other people.”
Wasting not even an instant, he scoops me up like I’ve not gained a single pound and stands, marching toward the stairs leading out of his private study in the belly of our home.
“Yes. A thousand times yes. What an incredible curriculum you’ve devised, my dearest flame.
” He begins rambling about how fun it might be if I learn quickly enough to begin practicing the reassembly of complex organs this week, which would be something of a miracle, considering we’ve but three days left in it.
That is to say…it is Thursday.