Chapter 14 #2
Fern must have been at work for hours, her back and shoulders aching far worse than a night of serving drinks and meals ever caused, and the box was barely a quarter full.
Less than that, if she were being honest.
Even without any breaks, she doubted this would be done before the morning.
Every once in a while, her chest would catch on an inhale, but her tears had already dried, leaving only ugly remnants down her face.
She knew, because she’d taken a moment when she’d last stood to stretch to catch her reflection in the mirror.
There was one small benefit she supposed she could be thankful for—she was by herself.
No eyes were watching, waiting for her to slip.
No shoulders aimed for hers as they passed.
No hands to pinch, no feet to kick.
No whispered insults of her smell, appearance, or intelligence.
And so, with no one to tell her otherwise, she sang and spoke to herself, wearing her voice thin but happy to know it hadn’t disappeared entirely.
“To think, I once believed marrying Oswyn would be the most disappointing thing that could happen to me,” she said with a small chuckle. “Why, this could have been our wedding night.”
She pictured it in her head—a ceremony in the temple of Solas, a feast at the tavern… or would it have been outside?
Fern would have probably worn her sage green dress. The one her father said brought out the color of her eyes.
Her mother would have braided her hair.
Oswyn had an older sister, already wed with three children of their own. They would have picked the flowers for her bouquet.
And then, once the night was over, he’d have brought her back to his house and laid her in their bed for a few minutes of what would probably be disappointing sex.
But even if he’d rolled off her immediately, falling into a deep sleep uninterrupted by his own snoring, he seemed like the type to hold her afterwards.
She would have liked that.
Fern was so deep in thought, she did not notice her finger had started bleeding, and she panicked, looking into the box to see if she’d accidentally gotten any blood on the beads when voices echoed through the hallway, getting closer.
One very high and lyrical.
The other low, deep, and almost growling.
She ducked, her heart racing as they stopped in front of the door, the lock opening.
Then two figures burst through, and Fern ducked further down, hand clamped over her mouth as she shut her eyes.
But not before she saw Kyntha with her arms around Darion’s neck as he pushed her further inside, his lips firmly pressed against hers.
The scent of her, clean and herbal, mixed with his pheromones and the smell of ale, made Fern’s stomach twist into a knot so tight she thought she might throw up, while fear and some other feeling she could not name cramped her every muscle.
“Kyntha,” Darion said in reverence, like her name was the purest sound to have ever crossed his lips. “I’ve thought of nothing but burying myself inside you all evening.”
“Your knot,” she sighed in between wet kisses on skin that clashed with the rhythm of the drums that still played outside. “I want your knot.”
“I could hurt you…”
“I need it, Alpha.”
Her wolf whined from somewhere deep inside her, a deep longing and need for something she felt had been taken from her, a claim she had no right to make.
Darion chuckled deeply. “How can I deny you anything when you beg so sweetly, my love?”
Hands tore at fabric, and more beads flew…
And even Fern couldn’t fight the whimper as she watched her work multiply.
A dark, heavy pause stilled the air of the room.
“What was that?” Darion asked.
“Ignore her.”
Footsteps. Closer. Heavy breathing.
“Ashpaw?” he asked, although it sounded more like an accusation.
Fern shielded herself, choking back a sob. “L-lady Kyntha asked me to—”
“Ignore her, Alpha,” Kyntha repeated, rubbing his arm. “She can work while you deliver me your promise.”
Her stomach heaved, and Fern managed to clench it down. Kyntha really meant to lie with Darion right in front of her.
And the thought of hearing that, smelling that, possibly looking at that… to see Darion give himself to her…
It was more than she could bear.
And she still didn’t even know why. This was more than just the simple discomfort of watching.
It was… wrong.
But Darion did not move, and Fern could feel his eyes upon her. She dared not meet them.
“Send her away.”
Kyntha giggled. “Since when have you ever been shy in front of the Solvekh, hm? She will not bother us.” She reached out to take his hand, but he slipped out of her reach, shaking his head.
“No. No, I…” He stopped, and then cleared his throat. “I think I’ve had too much to drink this evening.”
“Alpha?” Kyntha begged, her voice strained. She grabbed his hands. “Please, don’t go…”
Darion looked at Fern once more before facing Kyntha. He kissed her fingers, and then released them. “My apologies. I will see you in the morning.”
He exited quickly, closing the door behind him, leaving Fern in the ringing silence alone with Kyntha.
Neither of them moved.
“Tell me, does it please you?”
Fern looked up, her stomach still tight, wondering if perhaps she’d imagined that Kyntha had even spoken.
“My Lady?”
“Watching him notice you.”
Her lips parted in confusion, and Kyntha stepped closer. She crouched, not bothering to hold the torn dress together.
“You lower your eyes. You tremble. You make yourself small enough that wolfkin imagine themselves your protector.”
She wanted to lower her eyes now. But she was exhausted, stripped raw by the night, and instead replied with a voice cracked by overuse, “I do not want his notice. I would give anything never to be seen by him again.”
Kyntha’s eyes widened, and the hard set to her mouth softened. There was some flicker of understanding there, that Fern was telling the truth and had never meant to bring any of this on herself.
That there was no act, nor manipulation, nor scheming.
Kyntha looked at the mess still on the ground, the work unfinished.
“Leave.”
For once, she did not need a minute to understand the order. She rose on stiff legs, and walked out of the room as quickly as she could.
It took nearly half an hour to find the servants’ quarters, and once there, she took the pillow and blanket out from under her dress, needing them not for the warmth but for the cover from prying eyes.
So she could melt back into the shadows, where things were safest.