Episode 39
Secrets Laid Bare
Arisanna stares at the balls of fire in Cerian’s palms. His inner flame burns hotter...for her?
There are worse things than finding out your husband is attracted to you.
Far worse things.
Even if you barely know him.
She ventures a glance at his face. His brows are scrunched in that familiar way, but it’s not a glare. More of a question. A smidge of embarrassment.
He’s probably mortified.
He doesn’t need to be. His honesty is refreshing.
“Well, I am your wife,” she says softly. And she shrugs.
He looks confused now. What did he expect? That she’d be horrified to find out her broody elven prince finds her attractive?
And she was worried she might be too human for him.
“My ears are round,” she whispers.
“What?” Now he really looks confused.
“I thought you might be repulsed by my humanness.”
He slowly shakes his head.
“I like your ears,” she says, since they’re apparently confessing such things.
He jumps to his feet, rushing to put some distance between them. “Whistling wind, Arisanna! Do you want me to light us both on fire?”
She tries not to smile. His ears. He’s got a thing about his ears. That’s fascinating.
She shouldn’t tease him when he’s clearly struggling with his magic, though. It probably doesn’t help that she’s only partially clothed.
They wished for other things last night. Would it work for this?
There’s only one way to find out.
“I wish for my shimmeron gown,” she whispers.
In one of the more unsettling incidents of her life, her clothes transform in an instant.
How accommodating.
She looks back at Cerian. “Better?”
His gaze travels over her before he glances away. “Define better.”
Heat creeps up her cheeks. Stars above, he’s full of cryptic confessions tonight.
His fire flares brighter, and she frowns. He really is struggling to contain his magic.
She rises to her feet, but she doesn’t approach him. “How can I help?”
He just shakes his head.
Water. Would that help? Perhaps their moonlit lake?
“I wish the train would stop,” she says.
Brakes squeal, and they both flinch. Maybe she should have warned Cerian first.
When the train slows, Cerian darts for the door, and Arisanna follows. The last thing she wants is to be left behind in the dark forest.
Just outside, Cerian stops, and Arisanna bumps into him.
“Sorry,” she murmurs. “What’s wrong?”
He glances back at her before taking a step down the stairs, and she gasps.
It’s not a forest this time.
It’s a snowy tundra.
Cerian’s not dressed for wintery weather, but he’s burning so hot right now it hardly matters. The icy air offers him a hint of relief, and he’s about to bury his flaming palms in the snow when Arisanna stops him.
“Careful. Don’t give yourself frostbite.”
“I need to let some of this heat out.”
Especially if she’s going to stand so near him.
“We could build a snowman.”
“A what?”
She gapes at him. “You’ve never built a snowman?”
“If I say no, you will insist on making me experience this...snowman-building, won’t you?”
“Come on, Cerian. It will be fun.” When she smiles up at him, his fire magic flares, and he groans.
This is ridiculous. At least he didn’t scare her off earlier. With a grunt, he lobs his balls of fire high into the air, and Arisanna gasps.
Perhaps he should have warned her first.
“Did that help?” she asks.
He shakes out his hands and then studies his palms. “It did.”
“Do it again.”
He looks back at her. “Why?”
“Maybe if you drain your magic more, you’ll feel better. Unless that will bring out the bear.”
He should never have told her that.
“My fire magic is...different.”
She steps toward him. “Not drained as easily?”
He shakes his head, and when he doesn’t speak, she steps closer.
He can barely hold his feet in place. She’s right in front of him now. Slowly, she reaches for his hand, trailing her fingers over his palm as his heart speeds up. Or hers does.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I’m...not sure. Testing your magic? Your hand is still hot. Wouldn’t you be able to relax easier if you let out more of this fire that burns inside you?”
When she looks up at him with her warm brown eyes, his palms tingle again.
“Stop.” He bolts away from her.
She looks stricken, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Just...give me a moment. Please.”
As she watches, he draws more of his growing heat into his palms and lobs a stream of fireballs high above them, one after another. The relief is immediate.
When he drops his hands again, he meets Arisanna’s gaze across the snowy world between them. A visible shiver sweeps over her. Is she cold?
Hesitantly, he returns to her. “Are you warm enough?”
“Would it be forward of me to say I could use some of your heat right now?” she asks through chattering teeth.
Whistling wind. Is she asking him to warm her himself?
His fire has cooled a little, but it still burns hot.
Especially when she says things like that.
Another shiver grips her. She could wish for warmer clothing, but she hasn’t.
Does she want him to wrap his arms around her?
She looks at the toes of her boots, where they sit half covered in white powder. “Just pretend I didn’t say that. It was definitely forward of me to assume—”
“It’s not forward,” he whispers. “You’re my...my wife, as you call it.” The word feels strange on his tongue.
“Your binding partner,” she breathes in Elvish.
When he holds out his hand, she flies toward him, and he pulls her to his chest. His heat still simmers beneath the surface, but it’s not as out-of-control as it was.
“Better?” he asks. “Not too hot?”
She just burrows deeper into his arms. Tentatively, he lets more heat seep from his flesh, and the most enchanting sigh escapes her lips as she relaxes against him.
She’s softness and perfection in all the right ways, and his fire magic fights for control.
“Mmm. You’re so hot,” she murmurs against his chest.
Whistling wind. That’s not helping.
How in the Wildthorne Woods did he end up in this predicament? Wrapped up with his human princess as his fire magic burns hot within him?
And he doesn’t want to let her go.
Almost as if...no. That’s ridiculous.
He’s not falling in love with her.
He just met her. Didn’t he? Why does it seem like it’s been so much longer?
He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She was supposed to be loud and annoying and in his way. He always imagined this princess from Nunia as petulant and spoiled, and perhaps she is a little spoiled. Used to being taken care of.
But the overwhelming desire to be the one caring for her fills him. It’s startling and terrifying.
And his heart races.
“Cerian?” She looks up at him. “Are you all right? Your heart...it’s—”
Panic edges through him, and he drops his arms and backs away.
Don’t run.
Would the heartlanding even let him?
“Do you need some space?” she asks as she wraps her arms around herself.
Does he? The urge to run wars with a longing to never leave her side.
She shivers again. She must be freezing.
“I wish for a warm fur-lined cloak, hat, and mittens for”—he swallows as he gazes into her eyes—“for my human princess.”
His breath catches when the heartlanding grants his request, clothing her in the most luxurious fox-fur-lined green woolen cloak with a fur hat and wool mittens to match.
Is she ever not gorgeous? Even in her monstrosity of a wedding gown, she was perfect, though the gown itself left something to be desired.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“Are you warm enough?”
She nods. “Though I kind of like it when you hold me.”
Kind of? She seemed blissful. As if...
Whistling wind.
Is she falling in love with him?
Surely not.
He’s not...lovable. Not like Tharios and Elowyn. He’s moody and prickly, and he doesn’t like to talk. Plus, he scowls a lot.
Not exactly charming qualities.
“What are you thinking?” she asks softly.
Well, he certainly can’t tell her the truth. Can he?
All secrets are laid bare in the heartlanding, though. That’s what Father says. The thought usually terrifies him, but something about being here, now, with her makes it less terrifying.
“Cerian?”
“I was just...I...”
She steps closer but says nothing as she waits for him to finish.
“I thought you would hate me,” he says. “But...you—”
“Don’t?” Her eyebrows lift, and a faint smile graces her lips. “I...”
Now it’s her turn to struggle for words, and his stomach tightens as he waits for her to speak.
“I don’t know exactly what I’m feeling,” she finally says. “But when I’m not with you...I miss you. You’re sweet, Cerian. And thoughtful. And even your glares are growing on me in an oddly endearing way.”
Endearing?
She looks hesitantly up at him.
Whistling wind. Is she really his?
Not taking her eyes off his, she lifts her mittened hand to his chest, laying her palm right over his pounding heart.
“From this moment on, our two hearts beat as one. I bind myself to you, Cerian Westaria. Until my end of days.”
The words of the heartbinding.
And before he can stop himself—if he even wants to—he crushes her to his chest once more.