Chapter 1
?PAEONIA
Green lichen slicked the cobblestone walls, damp beneath the hush of Paeonia’s hurried steps. Her slippers skimmed across the alley’s stones, her soft pink frock catching the wind as she moved, breath shallow, heart thudding.
“Paeonia!” a familiar voice rang out behind her.
She glanced over her shoulder and winced. A tall figure stalked toward her, boots pounding the narrow corridor. It was too late to pretend she hadn’t heard him.
Still, she kept moving, slipping into the town square in hopes the open space might make him think twice about keeping his hands to himself. But before she could step from the alley’s shadows, his rough hand clamped around her bicep.
“Paeonia,” he said again, this time breathless, his tone thick.
“Barth,” she whispered, eyes wide as they met him. His irises were so dark, they nearly swallowed the whites.
“So sneaky,” he said with a crooked smile, his grip tightening before finally releasing her.
“I was just going home,” she murmured, shrinking slightly under his gaze.
“Unaccompanied? I can chaperone you.”
Paeonia shook her head. “That’s quite all right, Barth. I wouldn’t want to impose—”
Ignoring her protests, he coerced her arm to interlock with his as he strolled out into the heart of Nocte, the bustling of the townsfolk filling her body with warmth.
His arm clutched hers tight to his body, his hand falling to cover her own like the gesture was a natural intimacy between the two of them. Just as he had done plenty of times when they were children. When they’d explore all the secrets within Nocte together, laughing and causing mischief.
“I can’t have you risking your purity,” he jested.
Paeonia had no choice but to enter the town alone, her father too ill to leave their cottage.
Her only other option was to find Barth to accompany her.
She was trying to avoid spending so much time with him, and she hated herself for even thinking that.
She used to enjoy his presence, back when they were just friends, and she ached knowing everything had changed between them.
“And what would they think if they saw you with a witchling?”
He frowned. “Don’t call yourself that. You know I don’t care about their foolish prejudices.”
She shrugged, trying to make light of the foul names they whispered behind her back.
“And besides, the only occult thing about you is your bewitching looks.”
Her face scrunched up, and she shook her head, a smile forming on her lips. “That was terrible,” she laughed.
Barth appraised her form beside him, shrugging just as she had done, her cheeks warming. “Beautiful,” he muttered.
She tried to tell herself that her heart raced with the swell of new love, but she knew it truly stuttered with apprehension.
“What brought you into town today?” he asked.
Paeonia dodged a misplaced cobblestone, Barth hoisting her arm slightly so she didn’t trip. “Father needed more salve.”
Barth hummed solemnly to himself.
“No one saw,” she added, sensing Barth’s concern.
They both were all too aware about the whispers, the rumors of her visiting the apothecary.
The hushed voices speaking about her father’s practice.
How they thought Paeonia was a witch in training.
She tried not to let the foul name-calling—witchling—get to her, but something about being called that behind her back made it hit worse.
He shook his head as if in acceptance. “He’s getting worse?” he asked.
A sigh slipped between her lips, but she straightened herself before Barth could
pity her more.“He’s been rather stable this past week.” Paeonia kicked her foot out as they walked, dragging it carefully on the gravel.
“I don’t suppose he’d let me help him.”
Barth had offered plenty of times to help Paeonia’s father, but the stubborn old man refused.
He made it clear that he didn’t need to take Barth away from his studies, that he could solve this ailment on his own.
But he didn’t seem to be making any improvement.
And every few months, another person from her small borough of Findale would fall sick with the forsaken.
“He seems to be convinced he’s on to something big. That he’s finally on the right trail.” Paeonia would never speak it, but she didn’t quite believe her father’s words.
Barth nudged her slightly as they walked, arms linked, when he seemed to take notice of how her face had fallen. He slipped his hand out of his pocket, handing her something small bundled in a cheesecloth.
“What is it?” she asked.
He smiled, remaining silent.
When Paeonia accepted the gift, warmth bloomed on her palm from beneath the cotton.
He released her arm so she could slowly unfold it, and she couldn’t prevent the grin that spread across her face.
In her palm sat a small roll of bread, one from the corner bakery she couldn’t afford.
The baker made a living off specialty items, like the bread she now held in her hand: starbursted with pink, shaped like a flower.
A rose. She had no idea how he did it; the baker had to have magical hands to be able to bake a simple loaf of bread, cutting it in just the right ways, so when it came out of the oven, it would be shadowed and folded to look like a rose.
“You didn’t have to get me this.”
Barth’s arm draped across her shoulders. “I know.”
Sometimes, she thought she might learn to love him.
“It looks too pretty to eat,” she joked, marveling at the temporary beauty of the bread.
“Really? The prettier something is, the more I want to eat it.”
Paeonia’s cheeks warmed. She carefully folded the cloth back around the bread and slid it into her satchel, trying to keep her hands busy. Barth chuckled beside her, his fingers gliding into her hair and twirling it.
It felt nice, his hand in her hair, but her chest still felt leaden, her breath weak. She fought the urge to push him away, to create space between their bodies, to ask him politely not to touch her.
As they made their way down the dirt path toward the cottages on the outskirts of their village, the road empty apart from them, her fingers twisted together, turning white.
They passed farms and fields of wildflowers, stone walls intertwined with ivy.
She focused on the sweet scent of winter blooms rather than the man keeping her hostage—and how rude she felt for even thinking that of Barth’s company. She didn’t deserve a kind man like him.
Turning on a bend in the road, Barth’s hand trailed to her waist, Paeonia’s lips parting in surprise. She stumbled as Barth pushed her against a large willow tree, the weeping branches shielding the two of them from view of the road. Her heart sputtered in thick thumps.
“B-Barth.”
His lips brushed across her neck, the entirety of her exposed skin turning pink.
Her breathing became shallow, Barth’s hands roving over her body like it was his to touch.
His brown hair, lightened from work in the field, tickled her cheeks as he placed wet kisses along her exposed decolletage. Her fingers dug into his arms.
She tried to enjoy his intimate touches. Her hands ran through his hair, and she bit her lip.
“I don’t t-think,” she weakly mumbled, her breath hitching when he kissed her neck just below her ear. “This isn’t proper.” She grew embarrassed at the fact that she couldn’t get herself to relax.
She felt him smile against her skin, his woodsy scent lingering around her, suffocating. “You’re to be mine, Paeonia. It does not matter what order we do things in.”
He began to kiss her neck again, and she sucked in a deep, watery breath. She couldn’t blame Barth, though. She should be desperate to feel him all over her. They were practically engaged. She should be stuttering from nerves, wanting to get everything right, to make his own cheeks light aflame.
But instead, a sickly chill coursed over her skin. She had been attempting to get her body used to Barth’s touch for months, but every time, even innocent gestures like kissing the back of her hand, had her reeling.
“B-but—”
One of Barth’s hands groped her chest, his fingers wiggling against her, sending her head flying back against the willow, and she worried he’d interpret that as pleasure.
Her torso thrummed with loathsome nerves, her eyes shutting, hoping this would be over soon.
She just wanted to be free of his touch, her stomach roiling as his skin violated hers.
He hummed against her, and she wondered if he even cared whether or not she was enjoying herself. One hand slid to her leg and cinched the end of her skirts, beginning to drag it up her thighs. Her breath wobbled, her spine straightening, her eyes sparking open.
“N-no,” she began to plead.
He managed to pull her skirt up to her mid-thighs, the cooling end-of-autumn air ebbing over her stockings.
A horse-drawn carriage rolled past, rumbling over the rocky road, and Barth halted.
His face flamed with lust before he dropped his hands.
Paeonia quickly shuffled her dress, fixing herself, staggering away from the tree now that Barth had given her space.
“I forget myself,” he apologized. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and smiled at her. He was so handsome. So kind. “Waiting will only make our wedding night that much more sweet.”
Her fingers shook as she rested one of her hands against her throat, trying to contain herself.
Barth’s eyes flashed with greed, and she thought she might keel over. But that’s what he was supposed to look like. That’s how she knew it was true love, when he gazed at her like he was starving, willing to slash through as many men as it took to get to her.
The carriage rolled in the distance, and Barth’s hand slid around her waist, guiding her back onto the path. “You’ll come to dinner tomorrow, won’t you?”