15. The Mist Thief
Chapter 15
Dew drops gleamed like crystals on silken black leaves. The blooms were strange, a vibrant lavender on dark stems.
Fae foliage was the same as elven, yet a world all its own. Roses and lilies were there, but rows of gnarled, stubby trees were mingled with hedges of fiery leaves and branches.
I pulled back the woolen hood of my cloak and leaned forward to smell the center. It smelled like smooth honey, a scent that lingered in the back of my throat until I tasted it.
After the disturbing gift, sleep abandoned me shortly before dawn.
My rooms remained askew, and my thoughts would not stop racing through the events of last night. I reasoned the sun wing was a misplaced attempt by someone on Natthaven to keep me connected to elven culture. I burned the box in the fire of the inglenook in the great hall before leaving for the gardens.
It was peaceful here, and there was a bit of heady relief knowing my new lands were not so horrid.
In truth, it seemed even my new husband was not the fiend I imagined.
His words last night would not bleeding leave me. Just you. A soft plea to be myself, the woman I kept locked in my heart, hidden beneath pious indifference and regal air.
Jonas spoke like he wanted to know me and I couldn’t understand it. What the prince didn’t know was the Skadi he wanted me to show was a ridiculously hopeful and romantic woman to the core.
I blamed my fluttering heart on the tales I’d read since childhood, books I still had not managed to locate since arriving. Romantic stories of long quests for love, desperate acts to save the beloved from danger.
Deep in the secret corners of my heart, there was always a piece that dreamed I’d look down from a tower window to see my good, honorable prince storming the gates to reach me.
A man who risked body and soul because of his unyielding love and devotion.
I abandoned the flower vines and continued strolling through the gardens. There was a reason such tales were kept between parchment pages. They were not real.
Dorsan had waited for me outside my chamber before the sunrise. My guard did not press on the contents of the box I’d burned in the flame, and now kept a healthy distance as I turned down stone pathways, admiring and gawking at strange trees and blooms.
By now, morning mists had lifted and the sunlight chased away the last drops of dew on the gardens. Still lovely, but not as quiet.
More than one servant—staff—had taken to pruning and yanking noxious thistles before the heat of the day grew too fierce. I sat atop a stone bench and observed the bustle inside the open doors of the cooking wing.
A sharp looking woman barked orders. Her hair was tied back with a blue kerchief and one hand kept hold of a knobby walking stick.
Men, women, girls, and boys raced about. Some stacked wooden crates, tossing out roots and garden spoils. Others carried thick wooden trays of unbaked breads.
Alvers worked like an army in the throes of battle. Curses, ramming into shoulders, shouts and insults, some elbows striking noses so blood spilled. But more enjoyable was the way, even in the chaos, folk seemed happy.
They smiled, they didn’t glance over their shoulders for a rogue royal or sharp-tongued steward entering to berate them.
“Alver lands are strange, are they not, Dorsan?”
The guard sniffed and lifted his chin. “I am not in a place to make such a declaration, My Lady. For now, I will agree these lands are different from Natthaven.”
“I rather like them.” The truth was soft and sincere.
“Well, they are your lands. It would be prudent for you to like them.”
I wanted to roll my eyes. So stern, so unruffled.
“I won’t be making them again.” A voice thick with smoke insisted.
“Ah, Ylva my love, yes you will.”
My heart stopped. His voice was a flame, me the moth, and I could not help but be drawn toward it.
There, amidst the battle of the cooking room, Jonas shoved between the surly head cook and a few other staff.
Clad in dark clothes with a black steel sword on his waist, the prince looked like a villain from those childhood books—only now, the villain intrigued the princess a little more than the hero.
“Took nearly two tolls.” Ylva clapped her walking stick on the floor.
“But it was at my request, and I am your favorite, for I repay my deals.” The prince’s grin was sly as a snake about to strike.
Little by little, Ylva the cook cracked. Her thin lips lifted. She patted Jonas’s cheek and chuckled. “Aye, that you do, boy. I’ll need you to pay old Pucey a visit.”
Jonas clicked his tongue. “Still giving you trouble?”
“Always. Make him piss from his nightmares.”
Jonas bowed at the waist and turned into the gardens. The tips of my fingers tingled in a bit of anticipation, as though they wanted to reach for him.
In the prince’s hand was a wooden plate covered in a linen.
“Wife.” Jonas tipped his chin. “Good morning. Enjoying the gardens?”
I stood and kept my tone tepid. “Very much.”
“I intended to bring this to you in your room, but I caught sight of you in the window.” The prince removed the linen, revealing a small cake the size of my palm, and on the top was a layer of cream dusted with cinnamon coils.
“What is it?”
Jonas held out the plate. “Honey filled with spiced cream. As you ordered.”
By the hells, he remembered? I’d spoken the words during our vows as a jest, a way to unsettle him.
“You look a little confused.” Jonas stepped closer, lifted one hand, and placed the plate in my palm. “It is meant to be eaten. Ylva might bury you under the palace if you don’t at least taste it. Poor old girl added an early morning to her day to fill the cakes.”
My lips parted and closed like a fish out of water. Fitting. Dead trout always died with an open mouth, and a wide-eyed look of stun. No mistake, I looked the same now.
“Why?” was the wonderfully cunning reply I mustered.
Jonas arched a brow. “You said you liked them. I’m not sure they’ll taste like elven cakes, but they smell delightful, and if you don’t start eating it, I will.”
What game was this?
I swallowed and lifted the cake to my mouth. Sweet cream melted on my tongue. Honey oozed out with the bite and tangled with the soft cake. A sigh slid through my lips before I could stop it.
Jonas smirked, rather pleased with himself. He spun back toward the cooking room. “Success, Ylva.”
My cheeks heated. I didn’t realize the woman had been standing in the doorway holding her walking stick in front of her body, watching and waiting.
I offered my best smile, but feared it came out more like a sneer.
Another bite and another, until my stomach protested the sweetness with half the cake left. “You may need to finish it for me.”
Jonas took the plate from my hand and pinched off messy pieces. “Now you know I eat like a little who has not learned to control his hands.”
“This was . . . thoughtful of you.”
The prince simply shrugged and placed the plate on the stone bench when he finished.
“What will you want from me in return?” I lifted my chin, terrified for the response.
“What do you mean?”
“This was generous. I should repay the favor.”
“It was a cake, Fire.”
That damn name. “Most would expect such gestures be repaid.”
“Like a transaction.”
“Well, yes.”
“How shall you repay me then? Shall I request my favorite meals made by your hands?”
“They will be scorched and horrid, but if it is your desire . . .”
“So compliant.” The prince met my eyes like he could see through the fa?ade. “It was a cake, Princess. A way to bring a bit of familiarity on your first morning here. Nothing more.”
I snorted. “I’ve learned there is always something more expected.”
Jonas let out a sigh. “I should’ve anticipated you’d make this difficult. I’m not certain you trust your own hands not to be plotting something against you.”
“I’m not being difficult.” My voice was strained. “But when folk try to embrace the little elven monster there is something expected in return.”
“Stop calling yourself such things.”
“Is it not true?”
“I do not see you as a monster. I see you as my wife.”
“But not really.” What was it about this man that flared a dormant temper and a reckless tongue? No doubt, he enjoyed it.
“What are you insinuating?”
“I have not come to you as a wife since we took vows.” The moment the words spilled out, I wanted to snatch them back and sink into the cold nothingness of my own magic.
Jonas towered over me, a dark gleam of something heated in his eyes. “You mean my bed?”
“It is an expectation.” Gods, why was I even bringing attention to such a thing when the full moon was tomorrow and we would have no choice but to sleep beside each other? It was his nearness. It unsettled me, cracked more hysterics, and a bit of fear that loosened my tongue. “Unless you find me unappealing.”
“Ah, there is so much wrong with those words.” Jonas lowered his voice. “You still fear me, and I don’t want my wife to look at me like I might slit her throat as she comes.”
His voice shuddered through my chest when he spoke. “Well, that isn’t realistic anyway since I’ve never . . . done that.”
“Done what? Bedded someone?”
“I have, but have not . . .” I clamped my mouth closed, cursing myself for allowing this talk to go on.
“Been able to come?” Jonas’s mouth twitched.
“Hush. Don’t be vile.”
“It’s too late to stop. I would be delighted to make you come under my hands, my tongue, or on my cock.”
Horrid, vicious, awful man. “Says every overly ambitious fool.”
“You’d come and . . . you’d love it!” Now it was the prince whose voice grew in defensive retorts.
“We’ll see.”
“Yes. Yes, we will. Soon.” He jabbed a finger toward me. “The corridors of this palace will be filled with cries of my name from your lips.”
Bleeding gods.
“Wonderful.” I tossed my hands up. “Something to look forward to.”
“Can’t wait,” he snapped.
“Good.”
“Upon your word, Wife.”
Relent, give him the last damn word. Leave. Turn and bleeding leave.
“I’m going to go now.”
“Do as you please, Fire.” The prince folded his arms over his chest.
“Gods, you’re aggravating.”
“I’m aware.”
“Do you ever let people have the final word?”
Jonas bared his teeth. “Never.”
With a huff, I spun on my heel and nearly crumbled from horror.
A dozen paces away, amidst a small crowd who’d witnessed the pathetic, bawdy argument with the prince were the damn king and queen.
Jonas’s mother had her vibrant hair in loose braids and wore a simple tunic and trousers. His father was clad in black and whispered something to his wife, the slightest grin on his mouth. They were surrounded by their guard, most of whom chuckled, their eyes locked on me.
“If you’re wondering if they heard, they did.” Jonas’s lips brushed against my ear. “A deal has been made here, a challenge has been leveled, and half the palace heard it. Best for us to see it through.”
What they all must’ve thought of me. “I would like to sink into the pits of the hells.”
“Ah, don’t do that. How will you scream my name when you let me touch you?”
I spun on him. “And what if I always refuse? Will you force it?”
“Never.” Jonas’s eyes shadowed. “Not even tomorrow. As I told you, my hand and I will become very well acquainted.” The prince backed away. “I think, dear wife, we’ve had a rather successful first morning in our new home. Glad everyone could enjoy it with us.”
I wanted to either strike his smug face or burrow into his arms until I was pulled away from the scrutiny of the gardens.
The prince allowed neither, simply brushed his knuckles across my cheek, then strode back to the cooking rooms, his gait a little haughtier than before. As though he believed he won this day.
Only my first morning, and I knew I would not be able to withstand my damn husband.