Chapter 22 #2
I am not a fool. I understand this world. I understand what wanting him means, and what it will cost me, and yet even as that knowledge tightens painfully in my chest I find myself already aching for the next moment when I will have him to myself again.
I hear movement outside and glance up to find the sprites clinging to either side of the carriage door. They grin at me, wide and earnest, and I think they’re trying to be comforting, even though their rows of tiny needle teeth and bulging ice-blue eyes are anything but.
I smile back anyway. It feels important. Like a kindness returned.
They lower the step ladder and flutter anxiously around me as I climb down into the snow, their wings stirring cold air against my cheeks.
I pause for a moment at the foot of the steps, craning my neck to take in the towering bulk of Castle Frostwyn.
White wolf banners snap and billow from the towers, stark against the night sky, watching everything below.
Lifting my dress above my ankles, I begin the climb.
As I go, the sprites settle onto my shoulders, one on each side, their weight barely noticeable. They giggle softly, echoing close to my ears as I ascend toward the great doors.
I reach the upper landing just in time to see Luceran disappear into the throne room, Atilia casting me a brief, knowing look as she closes the doors behind them.
I do not linger.
Instead, I retreat to my room, to the basin.
I soak a cloth in warm water and carefully clean the blood from the back of my head, from my hair.
I hiss softly when I find the wound, fingers trembling as I probe it gently.
I still cannot tell if it will require stitches, but for now I do the best I can.
I change into my nightgown, then sit on the edge of the bed, hands twisting together in my lap.
Waiting.
Though I am not entirely sure for what.
I do not even know if he will come.
When a gentle knock sounds at the door, my heart thumps hard against my ribs.
“Yes?” I call, voice barely steady.
The door creaks open, and Luceran peers inside, and it feels as though a weight I did not realize I was carrying slips from my shoulders. He’s dressed now, in a loose-fitting linen shirt and dark trousers.
“Am I disturbing you?” he asks.
I shake my head too quickly. “No. Not at all.” I hesitate. “Is everything… all right?”
He steps inside and closes the door behind him, his broad shoulders nearly filling the space.
“No,” he says plainly. “And if matters were not already complicated, Lord Rourke and Lady Marlayna have requested a visit. As well as a banquet in their honor.”
My brow furrows. “Here?”
I do not mean for it to sound so incredulous, but he grimaces as if he shares the sentiment.
“Yes. Here. Unfortunately.”
“But…” I choose my words carefully. “Is Castle Frostwyn prepared to host guests like that?”
“Not even close,” he admits. “And knowing Lady Marlayna, anything less than perfection will be viewed as insult. They would not hesitate to find someone…,” he pauses, “less troublesome to oversee the Aurevault and take control of my lands.”
“They can do that?” I ask.
He looks down at me then, reaches out, and brushes a loose curl of red hair from my eye. “Frostwyn is a thrall house,” he says. “We live and die by the word of House Taramethos. They can do whatever they wish.”
A chill settles low in my stomach. “So what happens now?”
He rolls his shoulders, arching his back as though trying to shake off the weight pressing down on him. “I prepare the castle. Atilia will assist, whether I welcome it or not, and I will put the miners to work where I can.”
“I can help,” I say quickly. “I’m organized. I could plan the entire event if you want.”
A faint smile tugs at his mouth. He sits beside me on the bed, and his gaze drops to my hands, still twisting nervously together. Gently, he slides his larger hand between them, lacing our fingers.
“Your help will be invaluable,” he says.
Then he pauses.
I lift my head, heart pounding, waiting.
“But you must understand,” he continues, his voice more careful. “Whatever this is between you and me… it can exist only in private.”
My chest tightens.
“Fae and humans,” he finishes, eyes steady on mine, “we cannot be more.”
I shake my head and reach up, touching his face before he can say another word. “I am not some love-sick maiden. I am very aware of the world we live in. But I am still in your service, so let me serve you the best I can.”
His grin widens. He leans into my palm and presses a kiss to my wrist.“Are we still talking about the banquet?”
I frown. “That depends on whether or not you say something stupid again.”
His head tips back and he groans. “Oh, I am certain I will say something stupid again at some point. Especially if it earns me another slap across the face.”
I roll my eyes and shove his shoulder, but he catches my wrist and hauls me back toward him, sudden and effortless, stealing the breath right out of me.
“You should be grateful I am such a gentleman,” he murmurs, close enough now that the cold of him bleeds into my skin. “Otherwise I would have had you on your back in that hay, fucking you until dawn.”
My mouth goes dry. Heat coils low in my belly, and I stammer for some sort of coherent response.
“Your head,” he says suddenly.
I blink. “What?”
He releases my wrist at once, the shift in him immediate. His hand lifts to the back of my head, hovering carefully over the tender spot, all hunger gone.
“How bad is it? Do you need attention?”
It takes me a second to remember how to think. “Um. I’m not sure. It’s not bleeding anymore, but it still hurts a little.”
He inhales quietly. “It doesn’t smell infected. That is good.”
Right. His heightened sense of smell. I remember.
“Atilia will send a physician from her court,” he continues.
“Why would she help? She doesn’t like me anymore,” I say.
His mouth curves. “You are adorable for assuming she ever liked you, Neve Devlin. But she knows something is going on, so now she dislikes you even more.”
“Because I am human,” I say, even though I already know. The next words slip out before I can stop them. “Because I am not Aluna?”
He straightens.
“No one has said that name for a very long time.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could drag the words back into my mouth.
His fingers lift my chin, firm but gentle. When I look at him, I expect anger. Instead there is only calm.
“I know you have heard the stories,” he says. “What they say about me. What they say happened to her and the others that night.”
My throat tightens. I don’t want to answer, not because I fear him, but because answering means admitting that he is capable of something so evil.
“Is it true?” I manage at last, my voice barely steady.
“Would you run from me if it was?” he asks, his gaze roaming over me as if he’s committing every line of my face to memory.
“You have saved me too many times for me to think you mean me any harm,” I mutter.
“Then let that be the answer,” he says softly, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of my nose. “For now.”
For once, I don’t argue.
He eases me back onto the bed and then he lies down beside me, sliding one arm beneath my shoulders. I turn onto my side, curling into the solid line of his chest, as his other arm drapes over me.
“Will you stay awhile?” I whisper. “Until I fall asleep.”
He draws me closer, his hand threading slowly through my hair.
He does not answer.
But he does not move away, either. Not for the entire night.