Chapter 8 Paeonia #2
Paeonia shook her head, her arms falling to her side. “A lot of things.” Her voice had lost a lot of its fury. She was never able to contain her anger for long.
“Did he say he wanted to harm you?”
Paeonia shifted her weight on her feet. “No. He said he didn’t want to harm me. But—”
Ren gave Paeonia a timid smile. “See.”
Paeonia sucked in a breath. Was she going mad? How had no one else thought what had happened to be an issue? Rowan scared the living daylights out of her last night. Chased her. She didn’t care if he mumbled that he didn’t want to harm her before he departed last night.
“Give him a chance,” Ren added, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder.
“Why?” Paeonia asked honestly, her voice deflated. “Why do you care if I dine with him?”
Ren’s lips ticked sideways. “Go,” she encouraged, gesturing her head at the door.
Paeonia finally, stubbornly, entered the hall.
She took her time finding the dining room—she told herself it was because she was in no rush to face Rowan again, but in truth, she still struggled to navigate the castle.
When she entered, the small hobbled man, who she learned was named Goodwin, was adding a plate of fresh berries to the table, Rowan sitting back in his usual chair.
He looked so calm. So unphased. His clothes casual and loose.
His eyes traced her unabashedly as she sat at the table.
When she sat, she let out a little noise, surprised at the tiny box that sat before her on top of her plate. A little pink bow kept it tied together, and Paeonia met Rowan’s gaze from across the table. He shifted away, peering out the far window.
“What is this?” Paeonia finally asked, realizing Rowan had no intention of starting their conversation.
“What does it look like?” he retorted.
“It looks like a present.” But it couldn’t be a present for her. Who would be leaving gifts for Paeonia? For a foolish second, Paeonia thought it might be from Barth, a form of an apology for what he did in the observatory, trying to win her back, gifting her the jewelry he promised.
Rowan grunted in affirmation.
“For me?” Paeonia asked.
He glanced at her, his face giving nothing away. He didn’t respond, only sat silently and waited.
She untied the little bow. Careful as she removed the cover and placed it beside her plate, soft silk inside the box. She lifted the fabric and scrunched her eyebrows, tilting her head as she examined the offering. A key.
“What is this?” she asked, her eyes not meeting Rowan’s, but instead appraising the tiny gift. It was soft gold, rusted with time, intricately carved. It was rather beautiful.
“For the doors.”
Paeonia’s eyes darted to him, surprised to see him sitting straighter, intently following her movements. “All the doors?”
He flicked his hand in a lazy gesture. “Most of them.”
She squeezed it in her palm, warming the metal. “Is this because of last night?”
He didn’t answer.
“Are you trying to apologize?” She couldn’t tell if she was astonished, delighted, or frustrated beyond comprehension.
“You won’t be locked out again. Not if you carry that key with you,” he mumbled.
She rubbed her lips together, contemplating. She didn't feel much gratitude, but she supposed it was in her best interest to act like she learned her lesson and to make amends.
“Thank you,” she mumbled back. She shoved the ribbon and key into her skirt pocket.
He eyed her, almost like he knew she didn’t forgive him.
“I,” he began, tapping his fingers along the table, “had no choice, Paeonia. It was either lock you out of the castle, or sever our bargain.”
Just as he had told her last night.
“Was someone holding a dagger to your throat?” she grumbled.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Was someone twisting your arm, forcing you to choose between those two options?” She almost covered her mouth with her hand when she let the words slip.
He sighed. “Fae are not like you humans. We have certain customs, certain rules that we abide by.”
“And you think humans do not?”
“Clearly not with the same devotion.”
She pursed her lips. “Is it magic, then?”
He shook his head in frustration. “Is what magic?”
“The fae needing to follow these rules. Is it some magical binding that forces your hand?”
“Paeonia,” he growled. “Are you implying that in order for me to follow my customs, and for you to accept them, it has to be some magical tether?” He gestured his hands irately in the air. “That, otherwise, they hold little value? That simply following tradition is not enough?”
She bit her lip. “No. But when it results in hurting your guest—”
“You were not hurt,” he said loudly, making her flinch. Then, back to his normal volume, “I did not hurt you. You were never in real danger. If you did not wish for this complication, you should have followed the one rule I gave you.”
They sat in silence, her spark running cold. She couldn’t help but feel he was right.
“Eat,” he demanded.
She steadied her breathing before mirroring him, piling food onto her plate, shoveling it into her mouth, satisfying her rumbling stomach. After several minutes, she set her fork down.
She thought about her words before she said them, hoping to placate their argument, letting it fall behind them. “Your gardens are beautiful,” she complimented.
Rowan kept eating, looking anywhere but at her.
She swallowed. “What happened to the last gardener? Did they truly tend to the entire expanse by themself?”
He gave her an unsettling expression. He rolled his neck as if this conversation couldn’t be more annoying. She decided she didn't care; he was the one who forced her to eat with him. So he’d have to suffer her annoyances.
“No. He had others help him most of the time.”
“Others?”
He sat back in his chair. “Some of the Stoneborne here have made a hobby out of gardening.”
She almost asked him about the Stoneborne, but she had to work her way there if she wanted to learn anything. “What happened to him? Why did he leave? The gardens are so magnificent—I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want to stay.”
Her cheeks warmed when she realized she almost implied that she longed to remain here. After a pause, she added, “Unless you chased him off as well.”
The corner of his mouth twitched at her quiet attempt at humor. “He grew old. Couldn’t keep up anymore.”
Paeonia frowned thoughtfully. Why would the gardener have written a personal to-do list, with notes only he would understand, if he’d planned on leaving? She pocketed her question for later when she found Castor.
“Could I ask the others for help?” she asked him quietly.
He switched between her eyes before giving her a nod. He seemed far calmer than last night, but his jaw was still clenched tightly like he had to put effort into not berating her.
“You don’t have to do any of this, you know,” she added, a bit exhausted.
He tilted his head.
“You know, dine with me. Try to be,” she paused, her finger finding the key in her pocket, “chivalrous. We made a deal, and I intend to uphold my end. You don’t need to do all of these extra”—she gently fluttered one of her hands forward—“charades.”
He squinted. “Fae aren’t like impolite humans. When we invite a guest into our home, we treat them like one.”
She couldn’t hold back the scoff.
“And,” he added, his eyes darkening, “when our guests disrespect our rules, we chastise them for it. They’re expected to be just as polite to their host in return for their hospitality.”
She looked back at her food and pushed the eggs around with her fork. “Would you tell me more about them? Fae customs, that is.”
He seemed taken aback, studying the lines of her face. “I can,” he said flatly.
“Okay,” she whispered, her spirit ebbing away.
His eyes danced over all her miniscule movements and gestures. “This is for your safety.”
Her lips squeezed into a flat line.
“You think I don’t care for your safety? You think other motives lay within my words?”
She didn’t answer—she didn’t have to.
He leaned forward, grabbing her attention more astutely. “I guess I’ll just have to make that clear, won’t I?”
She knew she was bound to soon regret her words—or lack thereof.