Eight Blythe
EIGHT
B LYTHE
It was possible that Blythe might have overdone it with the holly… and perhaps with the other greenery, as well.
While Wisteria did smell wonderful, her nose kept dripping and she couldn’t go more than two minutes without sniffling.
Ever since she came into her powers, Blythe had had two great frustrations—the fact that she could not teleport, and that she was still forced to suffer from allergies.
How someone with the power to make life could possibly have such a trivial affliction, she would never understand.
Still, so long as the plants served their purpose by warding off any malevolent spirits, she would happily spend all day with a handkerchief to her nose. Especially if it meant that everyone would have a good holiday.
She did feel a little guilty that her first game had gone so awry, though that had always been part of the appeal of snapdragon.
Aris and Elijah, at least, had seemed to have a decent time.
And considering her immaculate victory, so had Blythe.
She’d have to make it up to Signa, however, perhaps by finding a simpler game that they could play the following evening.
Somewhere, Blythe had a full list of grand ideas.
But first…
Blythe paused outside the open door of her husband’s study, leaning against the frame.
Ever since he’d returned, Aris had spent the last few hours of his evenings holed up in that room, poring over his tapestries.
There were no words for how it felt to have him back.
To be able to hold him, and to watch his fingers glide over the threads as he lost himself to his creations.
Perhaps she was imagining it, but it seemed he took more care with them these days, delicate with every stitch.
“Aris,” she whispered, waiting until he had finished weaving.
It was always clear when he did, as he rested the tapestry on his lap for a short moment after the final stitch, his eyes slowly losing their glazed expression as he came back to himself.
Blythe waited until he turned to look at her, then held out her hand. “Come to bed?”
He was across the floor in two heartbeats, taking hold of her with tender hands she would never tire of. “I’ve been waiting all day to hear you say that,” he whispered, the words hot against her neck as he pulled Blythe in.
She tried and failed to smother her grin. Once, she and Aris would sooner have burned alive than admitted to craving the other’s touch. What a relief it was that they’d gotten over that.
She curled her fingers around his, pulling Aris through the decorated halls and down to their bedroom.
They’d made a new one to share upon his return, and each day Aris changed something about it.
Part of Blythe worried that he was expending too much energy to make Wisteria feel so magical, but if he was growing tired, Aris didn’t show it.
And, truth be told, returning to the room each evening had quickly become one of Blythe’s favorite parts of the day—for a multitude of reasons.
When she opened their door this time, it was to a frosted wonderland. A hearth roared in the corner, its bricks covered by snow that held no chill. The floor, too, was covered in it. Blythe took one step inside, slippers cushioned by powder that did not stick to her soles.
On the wall were crystalline snowflakes that glistened in the flickering candlelight of sconces shaped like wintry beasts—a moose wearing spectacles, wolves, foxes in scarves, even a hound that looked remarkably like Gundry and smoked a pipe with real steam wafting from it.
At the center of the room was a four-poster bed veiled by gossamer. It was piled high with thick blankets and red and silver pillows. Blythe squealed as she hurried over to it, throwing herself onto the heap and curling up.
“It looks like winter exploded in here,” she called as she plucked off her slippers and tossed them beside Aris. “It’s phenomenal! Absolute and utter perfection.”
She loved most of her husband’s creations, though she loved the way his chest swelled at her praise even more.
Blythe had always found Aris to be a bit of a strutting peacock willing to flash his pretty feathers at any who would pay him attention.
While it was undoubtedly one of his more arrogant traits, it was also one of her favorite things about him.
There was, however, a time when he’d been testing out different designs and had arranged their bedroom to look almost like a museum.
The floors were sleek and glossy, the lights too bright, and the strange marble busts had felt so lifelike that it’d been unnerving.
Blythe had promptly turned and walked out, and did not return until he changed it.
He now typically kept the room in some variety of magical whimsy—muted tones, soft fabrics, and dim lighting—and through the past several months Aris had learned a multitude of tricks that made Blythe favor Wisteria more than she ever had.
Particularly, he’d learned that she adored a good theme, especially when that theme was turned into a room.
And Blythe, for her part, was having a blast letting him try to impress her.
“Come here,” she called to Aris as she snuggled into the bed. It was just cold enough to make the fire feel welcome against her skin and for her to warm her toes beneath the blankets without overheating.
“That’s not an invitation I need twice.” Aris shrugged off his coat, letting threads of gold whisk it away before it could drop to the floor.
His belt came next, followed by the loosening of his shirt as he slipped onto the mattress beside Blythe.
Immediately, she rolled to wrap one of her legs around him, and he slid his hand contentedly up her thigh.
“Have you finished decorating the palace?” he asked. “Are we sufficiently protected from evil spirits?”
“You may tease me all you’d like, but there is no such thing as too much caution when it comes to spirits.” Blythe sniffled, trying to ignore her protesting sinuses as best she could.
Aris hummed under his breath but did not voice his disagreement. He was too busy sliding his hand higher beneath her skirts, satisfied only when his fingers touched the slice of bare skin above her stockings. Blythe let out a soft breath when he did, relaxing her head against the pillows.
Twenty-seven years she had waited for him.
How long would it take to make up for that time?
How many kisses, touches, hours together would she need to satisfy the void that had festered within her?
Her hunger for him was insatiable, and it took only a stroke of his finger against her bare thigh for Blythe to respond with fervor, turning to steal a kiss while her hand stroked down his chest, undoing the buttons one by one until he shrugged out of his shirt.
She drew her fingers down the center of his back, pleased as he shuddered beneath her touch.
Blythe took her time studying each line down his chest and torso.
Every dip of his muscles and the strength of his back and arms. He groaned when she kissed the base of his throat, turning to clay beneath her palms, yielding and ready to mold himself however she wanted.
When she tipped her neck back he obeyed wholeheartedly, peppering kisses down the length of her body.
Her lips. Her throat. Over the top of her bodice and down, down, down…
“Our family is here,” she whispered, though the argument was weak.
“Yes, and I put them on the other side of the palace for a reason.” His fingers tangled in the laces of her gown. “Coincidentally, I’ve also ensured these walls are soundproof.”
“You don’t believe in coincidences.”
“You’re right, Sweetbrier. I do not.”
She whimpered as he continued his path downward, kissing the length of her thigh, her calves, the top of her foot as he slid away her stockings, and then back upward again.
The room was colder now, and his lips were so warm and welcome against her skin that she shuddered.
She curled her fingers into his hair, breath fast with anticipation.
But barely an inch from where she most wanted him, Aris went still.
“Blythe.” There was a forcefulness in the way he said her name. It wasn’t the dulcet tone of a lover, but one that made her eyes snap open. “You have goose bumps all over your skin.”
“I’m only a little chilled,” she assured him. “You might warm me up if you’d like.”
He ignored the bid, jaw tense. “It’s not supposed to be cold in here.”
Blythe peered around the snow-covered floor. It was chillier than it had been, yes, but the hearth was at least warming the side of her cheek. “I promise that I am quite comfortable,” she tried, but Aris was only half listening.
He peeled back, pulling Blythe’s skirts back down to cover any exposed skin. There were deep lines creased into his forehead, and the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck were raised. He rubbed them down with great irritation.
Blythe, too, sat up. “Has something happened?”
He continued rubbing at his arms even as he scowled, glaring around the room as if it was his sworn enemy and greatest frustration in life. “We are not exhibitionists.”
Blythe pursed her lips. “Not particularly, no. But you’re the one who just said the walls were soundproof.”
A quiet grunt was the only acknowledgment that he’d heard her.
Aris was too busy gathering up the blankets, tossing one over her thighs, then two more over her chest. There was little that Blythe could do but stare open-mouthed at her husband as he fastened her into a cocoon before settling beside her.
“I do not trust that your family won’t find some reason to begin wandering the halls or decide to barge in,” he said once he’d finished swaddling her. She might have believed him, were the vein in his forehead not pulsing.
All but her eyes and lips were tucked beneath the blankets, and Blythe stared blandly up at the ceiling as a dozen scenarios played in her mind’s eye. Unfortunately, not a single one of them made any sense.
“You didn’t have any complaints last night when I had you in my mo—” Her words choked off as his threads sealed her lips shut.
“Mind your tongue before someone hears you,” he hissed, staring at her for a long beat before the threads unwound themselves.
The moment they did, Blythe shot at him, “You had no complaints about my tongue last night, either.”
Aris groaned. Blythe ignored him as she wriggled in her blankets, trying to sit up.
“That clever tongue of yours is one of my favorite things about you, Sweetbrier,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I should behave myself better while your father is under my roof, though that’s easier said than done when I get to lie next to the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
Blythe shoved out of the blankets and wrinkled her nose. She knew he was trying to pacify her, and despised how it was working. She was rather fond of compliments.
“Behave however you’d like.” She huffed, rolling onto her knees and reaching behind to pull the fastenings of her dress. Aris was there at once, stilling her hand.
“What are you doing?” His horror was enough to make Blythe whip her head around to glare at him over her shoulder.
“What do you think I’m doing? If you’re not taking this dress off me, I’ll do it myself. Or do you suppose I sleep fully gowned since my family is here, too?” She gasped suddenly, turning to him. “Dear God, you’re right. They probably do not know that I even have a naked form!”
Blythe didn’t miss the way his teeth clicked as his jaw snapped shut.
When she went to continue undressing, however, he grabbed the skirts of her dress.
Beneath his fingertips the fabric began to reweave itself, the silk skirts flattening, the shapely bodice softening into a loose nightgown.
By the time he was finished, Blythe was dressed as if to turn in for the night, and she couldn’t have been more offended.
“Did you just ruin my dress?”
“I’ll fix it in the morning,” Aris said, to which Blythe reached behind her to grab hold of a pillow that she promptly threw at his chest.
“I loved that dress! What’s gotten into you?” There must have been something else going on. Something else that he wasn’t telling her. “Wait…” She went still as horror shot down her spine. “Did someone… say something? Were we too loud?”
Aris’s hesitation had her nearly doubling over. Blythe wanted to bury herself in the snowy ground and rot there forevermore. She would become one with the earth, never to look upon the faces of those she loved again.
Such plans of rotting, however, were fortunately cast aside when Aris shook his head.
“You really could have answered me more quickly.” She sighed, so relieved that she fell back on the mattress.
Aris joined her there, hand smoothing down the length of her gown.
At first she thought he was doing it to be kind, only to realize that he was once again covering her legs. She kicked at him.
“I’m exhausted, Blythe.” He yawned, settling his head on the pillow beside her. “Take pity on me.” His golden eyes held hers, and it was as though all the fight melted from her body.
How frustrating it was that he held such power over her.
Once, Blythe might have demanded he share whatever it was that he was hiding, but when he leaned in to press the softest kiss to her lips, the last thing she wanted was to stay angry at him.
It was Christmastime, after all, and twenty-seven years had softened her resolve.
She laid her head beside him, his face mere inches away. “You’ll tell me the reason for your strangeness soon, won’t you?”
Aris took a strand of her hair and tucked it gently behind her ear.
“Soon enough,” he agreed, and that was all it took to placate her.
She curled in closer, moving her head to his chest. And in a matter of minutes she was lulled by the warmth of his body and the comforting beat of his heart, falling asleep with her husband beneath the glittering snowfall.