Chapter 33
The following morning, I again avoided him.
I took Cinnamon out for a slow gallop around the paddock.
The reason for my scowled brows was not the rising sun’s formidable rays.
The moment I thought of heading back inside, I glimpsed the main reason for my frown.
I nudged Cinnamon to go on. The thrums of her hooves filled the warm air around us.
He didn’t approach; he just sauntered next to the stable door and waited there, leaning against the doorframe, an apple at his mouth.
He watched us. I extended my ride for a bit too long, poor Cinnamon. But I wanted to make him wait.
I was still on her back when I entered the stable.
I dismounted and nudged her towards her stall.
I removed her bridle and urged her to drink.
Then I reached for the brush. She nickered when I stroked her belly, but my anger didn’t allow me to experience the heartwarming joy I normally felt when she did that.
I heard his footsteps first, then I could see him in my side vision. I kept brushing her.
“Cordelia?” His voice was low, almost a whisper. “Cordelia.”
“What?” I snapped, not bothering to look his way.
“You didn’t have dinner with me yesterday, and you didn’t come to my room this morning.”
“That is not your room. And you can report me to Farah, she’ll find you a replacement. But as far as I recall, you kicked me out. Now you can leave me alone.”
“Replacement?” he scoffed. “As if I could ever replace you. I’m here because I want to talk to you.”
My reply was curt and cold. “There’s nothing to talk about. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”
“Pretend? What are you talking about? I’m here because I need to talk to you.”
“As I said, there’s nothing to talk about, Lord Hailin.”
I moved to brush Cinnamon’s other side. I didn’t need to look at him to notice his irritation. Yet his next words were calm. “I came to tell you that…I’m sorry.”
I scoffed. “Sorry?” I finally met his eyes, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. “Sorry for what? For kicking me out like a dog, or for being ashamed of what—what happened?”
“I’m sorry for both, I didn’t mean to—”
I cut his words with sharper ones. “Oh, really?” I said, throwing Cinnamon’s brush on a pile of straw and moving closer to him, neck high and shoulders squared. “Then if you regret it so much, remove it. Remove it now!” I pulled at the rim of my neckline, exposing the crusted twin mark.
“I don’t regret marking you, Cordelia. I only regret doing it without asking you. Without telling you what it means.”
“Yet you got angry with me and sent me away, but don’t bother ‘apologising’ out of pity.” I turned my back on him and went to pick up the brush, but halted as he spoke.
“I was never angry with you. I was only angry at myself. I shouldn’t have lost control like that, especially after what had just happened to you. I just didn’t want it to be like that. Without you knowing what it meant, without knowing if you wanted to be marked by me.”
I turned around to face him, narrowing my eyes. “What does it mean, then? Tell me, I’m curious to know what you’re really ashamed of.” I knew it was raw shame that I saw in his eyes when he escaped my reach.
“Listen to me, that mark, it’s not just a mark…it’s…it’s a claiming. It means th—”
“And let me guess, you’re ashamed of claiming the servant?”
From the abrupt change in his tone of voice, I knew his temper was on the verge.
“Just let me talk, all right. I don’t care about what you are—I know who you are.
You insult me just by thinking that I do not value you.
I told you, I only regret that I did it without your permission, without you even knowing what a claiming truly means. I want to explain it—”
“Fine. Explain it, then,” I said sharply, crossing my arms and tapping my foot.
His tone changed once more; it was low now, calm.
“It means…it means that as long as you carry that mark, your scent, as faint as it is, is forever entwined with mine. It should be impossible to distinguish where yours ends and mine begins. But since your own is indistinct, you basically carry my scent now. I claimed you, Cordelia. It’s a sign that you are no longer entirely your own. Other Fae will sense that.”
I did not care about that—I would have let him.
But I still couldn’t believe that the shame I saw in his eyes was entirely because of claiming first, asking for permission later.
So I kept pressing. “And what are you worried about exactly, huh? That your Fae friends would find out that royal Lord Hailin from Silch claimed a Rameli servant, or that they would now find me unfuckable?”
The stare that he gave me was so piercing, I couldn’t remove my eyes from his.
His next words sounded raw and hissed. “Do you really think that I give a shit about my title when it comes to you? For Boreas’s sake, Cordelia, I crave you!
I’ve been craving you for a very long time.
” His words stunned me, and the next few…
“All day, you are all I can think of, and at night, you’re…you’re always there. In my dreams, always the same dream.”
My heart fluttered; my cheeks flushed. Was it true, then? Was that the only reason why he wanted to remove the mark? Why he looked at me with shameful eyes? Why he asked me to leave? But where would this lead us?
I needed to focus on reality, because this, it didn’t matter anyway. This thing between us, whatever it was, could never happen. It only happened in novels. The Lord and the Poor Servant, I would name it. A thing of possibility in a fairy tale but not in real life.
I’ve been craving you for a very long time, too, I wished to say. But I did not say those words. As much as I wanted to, I swallowed hard, pushing them deep within. Do not fall for him. This can never be.
“Oh, and Cordelia, if any other male tries to even think about fucking you, Boreas help me, I will rip their godsdamned throats out and feed them to the wolves.”
Why did he have to say that? And why does he have to look like that? It isn’t fair.
“Why?” I breathed, as I acknowledged the raspy words at the back of my mind whispering to me in a haunting laugh. But you know that you have already fallen for him. Hard.
He moved closer, slowly and silently, like a predator moving towards his prey. I couldn’t move; my knees quivered, threatening to fail me. I could do nothing but stare at him as he approached, stopping just one tiny step away. This male—who fed me, strengthened me, killed for me.
Aegir reached his hand and tucked a lock of loose hair behind my ear, moving his fingers along the length of my hair, until they grazed my belly. I melted at his touch, at our proximity.
His hand moved around my waist, pulling me close.
Our chests brushed. He lifted his other so that his palm rested at the side of my marked neck.
His thumb tipped my chin. He leaned closer.
And I could feel his sweet breath on my lips as he whispered to me, “Because, Cordelia, you are nobody else’s but m—”
His cooed words were sharply cut by ones of distress.