Chapter 52 Cassiel
Wren and I stay in bed together for most of the rest of the day, save for one trip to the bathing room where we fall into the tub together and I scrub the traces of sweat from her skin and hair, kissing along her back and neck as I do.
I’m still having trouble believing that she’s back, that she’s here, that she’s mine. I repeat the words she’s said to me inside my mind. I cannot pen them to paper, but I refuse to forget them. I want to fold them into clay, to sit them on my shelves.
I missed you.
You. Just you. You forever, Cassiel.
Could I just say ‘yours’ and leave it at that for now?
I understand that she’s reluctant to tell me what she is, but how much could it really change? Wren isn’t the one who hurt me. She’s the one who saved me. Whatever she is, she’s Wren first. I can live without anything but her.
After the bath is done, I lift Wren from the water and carry her carefully back towards the bed, where we spend a few more hours very agreeably engaged. Wren’s hair is still damp from the bath. I weave it through my fingers as she strokes across my burns.
“They don’t hurt?” she asks.
I shake my head. “They’re fine, I promise you.”
She kisses my palms anyway, and links her fingers into mine, tucking herself under my chin.
Her stomach rumbles a moment later.
Reluctant as I am to emerge from our nest, I promised my family I’d dine with them tonight, and Wren is clearly famished. I dress myself with a sigh.
“Do you still have the dress Runara gave to you?” I ask Wren as I pull on my shirt.
“I’ll keep that dress until the day I die,” Wren says.
“Would you wear it tonight?”
Wren pauses. “It’s a bit ostentatious for a guard, isn’t it?”
“You’re not my guard tonight, Wren.”
“Oh?” Wren creeps closer, brushing against my legs where I sit on the bed. “What am I, then?”
“My favourite headache?” I suggest. “My greatest annoyance? The curse of my existence?”
“You can stop pretending you don’t like me, you know.”
She trails kisses down my jaw. My arms slide around her waist, gathering her closer. We’re at risk of being very, very late to dinner…
Later, later, later…
“My partner,” I tell her. “My tether. My vastren.”
Wren starts kissing me in earnest at that, her kissing so hot I fear I’m going to burst. I stand abruptly, forcing some distance between the two of us. “Please get dressed.”
“After you said that? No chance.”
“Wren, if I am late to dinner, my mother will march up here, and there are some things I really, really don’t want her to see.” I take a deep, steadying breath. “Like what I plan to do to you if you don’t put some clothes on right. Now.”
Wren sighs, and sashays away. I conjure a detailed image of her swaying hips, and briefly think about taking up sculpture.
I finish getting dressed. Wren returns to help me with the cravat. She turns her back to me when she finishes. “Help me with the laces?”
My fingers rise to assist, finding the strings to tighten her in. The scent of her skin rises over the fabric. “You’re a wicked tease.”
“I am doing nothing.”
“Apparently, your mere existence is temptation enough…” I place a kiss to the back of her neck, and another at the top of her spine. Saints, I want to shove her up against the desk and make love to her all over again.
And I will. Tonight.
Wren turns around and kisses me.
“Oh, fuck it.”
I grab her by the thighs and haul her up into my arms. She lets out a delightful gasp, hands around my neck.
I stumble forward until we reach the desk, knocking several things off.
I don’t care. I make sure she’s safely on the surface before removing my hands to fling her skirt up to her waist. She’s not wearing anything underneath but a petticoat.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
She fumbles for my breeches as my fingers move towards the parting of her thighs. It takes barely anything to make her ready. I’m inside her in seconds. Wren purrs my name.
“Fuck dinner,” I tell her when we’re finished.
“I’d rather not,” Wren says, “I’m famished.” She places a kiss on the edge of my jaw. “I’m afraid, Cassiel, that you can only fill me so far…”
I snort as I right my clothes. “Am I decent?”
“You will be if you wash your hands…”
I laugh again. Saints, how good it is to laugh with her again like this, to feel her fingers on my skin. We wash up quickly and step outside.
Dain stands to attention as we exit, obviously smirking. “Ser Thornvale,” he says. “Good to see you again.”
He has definitely heard us. We were not exactly quiet.
“Stop smirking, Hollowbrook,” I tell him.
“I’m not smirking,” he says, entirely unconvincingly.
“You are smirking so hard I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen off your face.”
“I’ve no idea what you mean, Sire.”
Wren grins, just as hard. I can hear it in every syllable. “It’s good to see you again, Dain.”
“You too, Thornvale. You’re positively glowing.”
Glowing. The thought reminds me of something we ought to have discussed beforehand. I cling to Wren’s fingers as we walk towards the dining room.
“We should get you a tonic,” I tell her. “Much as I wouldn’t mind you having my child at some point—if it’s something you desire as well—it is rather soon…”
Wren freezes. I stop and turn towards her. “Wren?”
“I just… I never…” She takes a deep breath, drawing closer to me, her voice a whisper. “Children. You and me. I know… I know that’s something that you want, but I… what I am… it might not be possible.”
“If you’re worried that I wouldn’t love any children who were—”
“It’s not that,” she assures me. “What I am… is rare. It might not be possible for me to reproduce. I’m not sure. You… you should know that before…”
“Before what?”
“Before you make any decisions.”
I cup her face. It’s true I’ve always wanted children.
But not in the way I want Wren. In the way I need her.
“I never had a decision, when it came to you,” I tell her.
“And if there is one to make, it’s still the one where I choose you.
You over whatever hypothetical children I may or may not have. ”
“You’re sure?”
I squeeze her fingers. “Yes.”
“Your mother still needs an heir—”
“She can wait for one. There isn’t really a rush, you know. Not with children. The whole suitor thing… that was mostly her trying to find me a companion. But how could anyone ever compete with you?”
It’s hard to imagine I could ever come to regret any decision that leads me to her. There are other ways to become a parent, should we both wish it later. But there is only one Wren.
Wren inhales quietly. “I think I might be blushing.”
I laugh, kissing her cheek. “I’m sure you look beautiful.”
We make it to the dining room. Mother gasps as we step inside. Runara lets out a scream and runs towards Wren with such force that her hand jerks from mine.
“Wren!” Ru cries. “You’re back!”
“I am,” Wren replies, her voice laced with warmth. “And I am never leaving again.”
“So, Wren’s back,” I announce to the rest of the room. “Also, she and I are involved now.”
Evander laughs. “You’ve been involved since she arrived at Caerthalen. You ought to find a better name for it.”
“We’re discussing terms,” I tell him. “Mother, please cancel all suitors for the foreseeable future, but likely forever.”
“Happily,” she says, rising from her seat. She crosses the room and folds both of us into her arms. “I’m delighted for you both. It may not be traditional, but so be it. If you are happy, I am happy.”
I might be wrong, but I’m fairly sure I hear Wren sniff.
Evander comes up next. I think he grasps Wren’s shoulder. “I am very, very glad to see you back on your feet, Thornvale. My brother has been beside himself.”
I want to argue that point, but I can’t. Besides, what’s the point? Wren knows how crazy I’ve been in her absence. I’m no liar.
A part of me wants to tell him that’s not her name, but I know I can’t. Does she mind it, I wonder? She was Thornvale for weeks in my head. A part of me still clings to it, affectionately, misplaced. I’m glad she’s been Wren to me for so long, too.
I find her hand again and squeeze it. We take our seats.
Evander seats himself beside me. Wren is busy fielding questions from Mother and Ru about her return, her hair, her journey, everything. I lean slightly towards my brother.
“You look happy,” he murmurs.
“Do you blame me?”
I think that he’s smiling, but his voice doesn’t quite match the image I’m conjuring. “No, I do not.”
“Do you disapprove?”
“Of anything that brings you happiness? Never.”
My chest heats. “Then what is it?”
“Honestly?” says Evander. “I think I’m rather jealous.”
I’m not sure what to say to that. It never occurred to me that anyone would ever be jealous of me again.
Not after the accident. But if you asked me if I’d trade Wren for my sight, my answer would be no in a heartbeat.
Not even if the bargain was that she still existed, and lived well, just forever away from my side.
No. I wouldn’t trade her—us—for anything.
I nod. He hands me a goblet, and for a moment, we both sip our wine. “I’m sorry,” I tell him.
Evander sounds positively baffled. “Don’t be. Don’t you dare. I’m happy for you, brother. Truly. One day, I’m sure, my time will come. The day when I find someone to whom my soul tethers so easily.”
That’s a beautiful way of putting it. “Is that the romantic version of ‘completely doomed’?”
“Possibly,” he says, and this time, he grins. “But you’ve always leaned towards the dramatic.”
“Says the man who once jumped into a river to prove a point.”
“The point was valid.”
“You nearly drowned.”
“Details.”
The rest of the meal passes in the way I wish all meals could—with warmth, and laughter, and the kind of stories no one’s told in far too long.
Ru tells Wren about a dog she met at the marketplace who stole a whole wedge of cheese and then refused to relinquish it even when cornered.
Evander and Mother get into a mild but thoroughly enjoyable disagreement about the ethics of fashioning cloaks out of magically enhanced feathers.
I barely eat, too content hearing Wren eat hers and touching her hand beneath the table just to reassure myself she’s here.
“If I might,” says my mother, clearing her throat in a way that immediately makes my stomach curl with suspicion, “I did want to say—Wren, should you ever feel the desire to be formally knighted into the Queen’s Guard, it would be no trouble at all.
I’ll happily grant you any title. Particularly, you know, if you and Cassiel were considering… making things more official.”
Wren chokes on her wine.
There’s a beat of absolute silence before Ru gasps delightedly and claps her hands. “You could be a princess!” she says. “Oh, Wren, please be a princess! I’d love to have another princess in the family. You could borrow all of my crowns—”
“I can’t be a princess,” Wren says.
“Well, you could,” says Evander.
I really hope I’m looking in the right direction when I shoot him a dangerous look.
“It’s… it’s very early days,” says Wren, sounding absolutely mortified.
“But you’ve been here for ages,” Runara complains.
Evander and Mother laugh.
“I thank you,” Wren says, voice strangled with embarrassment. “That’s… an incredibly generous offer, Your Majesty.”
My mother’s voice is a ray of sunshine. “You can call me Alessandra when we’re not in company,” she says. “You are one of the family now, Wren.”
I can feel the heat radiating off her from here. The kind of heat that could peel paint from a wall. I squeeze her hand and lean in. “You’re blushing.”
“Am not.”
“You are. It’s glorious.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying,” I whisper, grinning against her ear, “Princess Wren.”
She elbows me beneath the table.
Eventually, blessedly, the meal draws to a close. Wren makes her excuses with just the right amount of decorum and teasing threat, and I follow her from the room as though pulled by a string.
We say goodnight to Ru—who insists on hugging Wren three more times—and Evander, who only murmurs something smug again. And then it’s just us, walking the long corridor back to our chambers. Her hand finds mine somewhere before we leave the table, and we don’t let go until we reach our door.
Once inside, Wren turns towards me. “That was mortifying,” she says.
“I apologise.”
“You don’t sound all that sorry.”
I find her fingers and kiss them. “I like that my family likes you,” I tell her. “I find I can’t be sad about that.”
Wren goes quiet for a moment. Her breathing changes—a short inhale, then sharp and steady. I don’t think she’s smiling anymore.
“Is there something wrong?” I ask her.
“No,” she says. “I—I like your family too, I just…”
“You don’t like lying to them about what you are?”
There’s another pause. “They might not be as understanding as you.”
That might be true, especially when it comes to Mother, but I hope not. I hope she understands that Wren is Wren before she’s anything else. She’s proven herself a dozen times by now.
“We’ll find a way,” I tell her. “I promise you.”
Wren leans up and kisses me.
We undress in quiet comfort. Not urgent, not rushed—just the slow removal of clothes that no longer matter. Her touch is familiar and new all at once. She slips into bed first, curling beneath the blankets with a sigh that makes my whole chest ache.
I join her, and for a moment, we just lie there, breathing. Her head on my chest. My hand in her hair.
“Duchess Wren,” I murmur.
“Stop.”
“Lady Ashwood.”
“I will bite you.”
I laugh into her hair and press a kiss to the crown of her head. “Goodnight, my Wren.”
“Goodnight, my Cassiel.”
And for the first time in days, I drift easily to sleep.