Chapter 23 Cassiel
Wren and I do not speak of my nightmare.
We don’t speak of what I said, or the way I cried in her arms or held her hands, or how she touched my face and kissed my cheek.
I’ve spent months resisting people’s help and hating them for offering it, but when Wren moved away, it took everything in my power not to call her back.
She wasn’t on duty. She didn’t have to come. She didn’t even have to stay.
I’m not foolish. I know the question about her father unsettled her for some reason. A part of me wants to order the truth from her, to demand some explanation. But nothing would make her retreat further away.
I do not want her further away.
When I wake, I still feel the place on my cheek where she kissed me. What is it about that simple action that I can’t move away from, that follows me all throughout the morning, even as I ready myself for my appointment with Lady Lunarta?
I’ve kissed many girls before. I did far more with Sophia. No touch has ever lingered like Wren’s.
It’s because touch is all you have, a voice argues. You can’t see her, so everything else you feel more. There’s nothing to it. Don’t fixate on it.
I wish I didn’t have to, but everything from her breathing to the heat of her skin seems too loud and too much this morning.
“Are you nervous?” Wren asks from the table.
“What? No.”
“You’re breathing strangely.”
“I’m quite certain you’re mistaken.”
I stand in the corner of my room, adjusting the cuffs of my embroidered jacket. My fingers run over the fine stitching, feeling for any imperfections, but there’s only so much I’m able to gauge.
“Wren,” I call, tilting my head. “How do I look?”
There’s a clink as she sets down her blade. The task of polishing or sharpening them is an activity she does multiple times a day and makes me wonder how many blades she has and how often she uses them.
Her body quietens. I think she’s looking at me.
After an age, Wren clears her throat. “You’ll do.”
My lips curl into a slow smile. “That doesn’t sound like an answer.”
She huffs, picking up her blade again. “You look… fine.”
“You hesitated. Why are you hesitating? If I look terrible, you are duty-bound to—”
“You look great, Cass. Will that do?”
I take a step closer, as if that will help me read her any better. “Are you… flustered?”
“I most certainly am not!”
I chuckle. “I must look good, then.”
The blade clatters to the table. She strolls across the room and comes to stand in front of me.
“I’m not immune to attractive things,” she mutters, reaching up to retie my cravat.
She can tie it just fine. I don’t know why she was asking Dain about it the other night. “Even if that attractive thing is you…”
My smile widens. I shouldn’t care about being attractive, especially not now. I should care even less about Wren finding me attractive. “You think I’m attractive.”
She tightens the knot just a little too much. “Oh, shut up.”
I laugh, low and warm, and suddenly she stills, as if just realising how close we are. My breath brushes her cheek. I almost, for a moment, feel like I can see her. A dark, shining shape. Bright eyes. A parted mouth.
For a brief moment, neither of us moves.
Then she pats my chest—just a little too firmly—and steps back. “There. Now you actually look presentable.”
I let out a thoughtful hum, still grinning. “And here I thought you liked me better when I was a mess.”
She turns for the door. “Don’t test me, precious prince.”
I shake my head, still smiling, and go to grab my cane.
“How are we to handle this visit?” Wren asks as we head downstairs. “Would you like me to leave the two of you alone, or—”
“No,” I say, more quickly than I mean to. “I would prefer you stay beside me. Give the two of us some space, and only interrupt if I’m about to embarrass myself.”
“To save us some trouble, have you considered wearing a muzzle?”
“Very funny, Wren.”
My mother meets me at the door. She pounces on me, fiddling with my cravat. “Lady Lunarta is from the South Riversea,” she tells me. “Lovely beaches there. Good produce. She’s only in town for three days. She’s visiting her sister in—”
“Mother, I’ll be fine,” I tell her.
“Right.” Her voice is crisp. “Keep an eye on him, Ser Thornvale.”
“I always do, ma’am.”
I sense something of a conspiratorial smile passing between them. I do hope Wren isn’t spying on me for my mother.
I place my hand against the handle. Wren’s palm comes down. “One more thing,” she says. “Do you want me to describe her to you?”
I pause for a moment. “No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’ll get you to describe her to me if I like her.”
Which probably means I’ll never ask. I never have in the past. I expect both everything and nothing from these suitor meetings. I never expect it to go well, I never expect to find the love of my life.
And yet, every single time, there’s a part of me that hopes this time will be different. She’ll say something incredibly witty, or make me laugh, or ask me some deeply compelling question—give me something, anything that I can latch onto, that I can’t turn away from.
It hasn’t happened yet.
“Lady Lunarta,” I say, entering the room. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
I hold out my hand, and thin, dainty fingers slide against my palm. They aren’t at all like Wren’s. I raise her hand and kiss it.
Wren makes a noise not entirely unlike that of a snort.
“The pleasure is mine, Your Highness,” says Lunarta. Her voice is cool and crisp, and she smells faintly of peach blossoms.
“Tell me, my lady, is my guard sporting a wry smile right now?”
There’s a brief pause. “I believe she is.”
“It seems she finds it amusing when I am charming. Can you believe it?”
“Indeed, Your Highness,” says the lady, clearly not having anything to really say. We take our seats. She asks if I would prefer she pours the tea.
The date begins, and already I wish it was over.