Chapter 15 Paeonia
?PAEONIA
Aglow of cobalt spread through the rain clouds and shone in through the castle’s windows. Paeonia followed behind Rowan, keeping a lengthy distance, his hands clutched behind his back, his footsteps rather quiet for someone of his stature.
They slid through the foyer, and Paeonia got sight of the piano that seemed to have never been played before even though she swore she heard the resonant keys drifting in the air the other day.
“Do you play?”
Rowan glanced at her, his inky eyes somewhat soft, and stopped before the instrument, tilting his head. “I can play, yes.”
“Is it you I’ve heard, then?” She didn’t know why, but her voice was low, like she was afraid of speaking too loudly, not wanting to spook Rowan into a foul mood.
He shook his head, leading her out of the room. “I haven’t played in a long time. The piano needs no pianist.”
She thought about that for a moment. “I love the sound of a piano. It’s always been one of my favorite instruments. Always wished I could play.”
He grunted in response.
She rubbed her hands together; the castle chilled at all times. The candles dripped onto the floorboards, the long carpet puffing with dirt with every step.
“That wasn’t the first time I’ve sworn,” she said quietly, wanting to fill the silence, referring back to their conversation in the dining room.
He glanced back at her, raising a brow.
“I cursed you out that night you chased me in the gardens. Called you a foul name.”
She could have sworn his shoulders shook slightly, like he was laughing. “Did you now?”
A tiny smile fought its way across her mouth at his teasing tone.
Rowan slowed his pace, beckoning her to step beside him in front of a forest-green door. “Go ahead,” he urged.
She gave him a puzzled look before she realized he wanted her to unlock the door. Her key hung heavily on her necklace, the chain long enough that she could bend over and slip the key into the door’s lock without having to remove the jewelry. When she stood back, Rowan gestured for her to enter.
She moved tentatively as she slipped into the room, worried this might be another moment where he seemed gentle—almost human—but would snap when she least expected it, shoving her back against the wall, ready to bite into her soft skin and flesh. To eat her alive.
She stepped into the shadowed interior, wide eyes drinking in the space.
An observatory. Every wall was made of glass, even the overhanging roof, framing the room in fractured light.
Hail clattered against the panes, the sound sharp yet strangely soothing.
The dim morning glow, diffused through thick clouds, cast a sleepy, silver hue.
Flowers and creeping greenery spilled into every corner, softening the room’s edges.
Beside the door, bookshelves clung to the wall, the books’ spines weathered and twisted with wandering vines, roots threading into the cracks of the warped floorboards.
At the center stood a dormant fountain. She moved closer, drawn to the delicate sculpture at its heart. An ornate tree, frozen mid-bloom. Where water once corroded the stone, sea glass now lay in gentle heaps, glinting like forgotten treasure.
“Thought you might appreciate it here.” He motioned his hands about the room. “It’s where I keep my more exotic flora. Ones that can’t survive naturally in our northern climate.” He strolled further, gently stroking one of the wide summer leaves of a tall budding plant.
When she met Rowan’s languid gaze, all she could fathom, all she could conjure in her line of vision, was Barth, his name slipping past her lips mindlessly. Her breath vanished from her lungs.
She immediately shut her eyes, her chest heaving rapidly, trying to cease her tormenting thoughts before they began.
She squeezed her fists together, knuckles whitening, remembering how Barth had set himself on her in his observatory: kissed her neck, groped her body, hiked up her skirt.
How it had seemed so innocent at first, him gifting her the observatory, but it quickly faded to a nightmare.
She stumbled backward and crashed into one of the many bookshelves, the decor on it rocking.
She left Barth behind, but he’d be waiting for her to return; she knew he would. She’d never escape him. She was destined to marry him, and she had to accept that. Tears slid down her cheeks, and she shook her head. Her face grew warm from embarrassment. Such a fool.
The guilt flooded her. Barth had been nothing but kind to her. She had accepted his proposal—why wouldn’t he want to touch and kiss her? She was being cruel.
“Paeonia,” Rowan murmured.
She gripped the bookshelf behind her and parted her lips, a harsh hitch slipping past them. “I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I just need a moment.”
He closed the space in three swift steps, Rowan’s cool fingers gently settling on her chin, tilting it so she faced him.
She fluttered her watery eyes open as he towered above her.
He didn’t touch her beyond that of just his fingers, almost like he was respecting the discovery that she didn’t like to be touched, but not enough to withdraw entirely.
Her eyebrows knitted together, and she tried to stop the swell of tears.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know why—” she choked.
Rowan hushed her, his eyes dancing between hers, willing her to calm. “You’re safe,” he told her gently, his words soft-spoken. “No one is here but me.”
All Rowan wanted to do was start over, to show some form of kindness by letting her see his observatory, and she had to ruin it.
The tears began to lighten, but her hands remained clutched to the wooden shelf behind her. Afraid to let go.
“What is it?” he finally asked, his fingers now burning her skin.
She shook her head in his grip. “Nothing. I don’t know why—”
“Paeonia,” Rowan commanded, “why did my observatory set you off?”
His looming stance shrouded her surroundings so she couldn’t make out the room—she only saw him. He didn’t budge, didn’t let her move, just held her while he waited for her to answer him.
“The night you found me in your gardens, I had run away. Run away from”—she swallowed—“my betrothed. He had gifted his observatory to me that night as a proposal gift.”
Rowan’s attention was heavy as he listened. She expected him to ridicule her, but he remained silent.
“And he,” she choked out, trying to force the words she never wanted to speak aloud. Embarrassment coursed through her, but what was one more confession? At least she could finally set the feeling free and make it real. “There’s something wrong with me,” she finally confessed, her voice quiet.
Rowan’s hand left her chin and slid along her jaw, locking behind her head, his fingers edging into her hair. Her breath caught in her throat, waiting for her body to adjust to his new touch before speaking again.
“He kissed me.”
Rowan’s dark eyes seemed to grow darker.
“As he had many times before. But this time was different. He—” She tried to summon the courage. It was almost as if her body was begging for her to purge this toxic memory from her system.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, her cheeks certainly turning red, her voice wavering. “He drew up my skirt. Touched me more than I had wanted. And I should have just let him. We’re to be married; it was bound to happen eventually.”
She tried to laugh, but it came out stilted. “I don’t know how I did it, but the flora in the observatory pulled him off of me. And he called me”—her eyes drifted from Rowan—“a witchling. I knew he didn’t mean it.
“I shouldn’t have done whatever it was I did that caused the flowers to do that, but I don’t know how I even managed it. How I managed something so…magical. So, I ran. Ran and ran until I somehow landed in your gardens.”
Rowan’s thumb stroked the side of her cheek as he listened, swiping away a stray tear. He finally dropped his hand and stood straight. The air flourished back around her, and she could breathe again.
“I know, it’s so foolish.”
“It’s not,” Rowan said flatly. He turned around, and Paeonia pushed away from the bookshelf to edge farther into the room, away from the wall, her chest now lighter.
“No, it is,” she insisted. “I embarrassed him. I should love him. I want to love him. I don’t know why I shied from his touch. It’s not his fault, and yet I punished him for it. I should have let him—”
Rowan spun, and she inhaled sharply. He closed the distance between them again, glaring at her. “You owe no one your body, Paeonia. You are not a right to be given.”
She bit her lip. “I’m sorry,” was all she could think of saying. “The room is beautiful. I just didn't expect—”
“Take a look around. Roam the room, gaze at the flowers. I will wait outside. And once you’re done, we can move on.
Your last memory in an observatory will be that of freedom.
Not the unwanted touch of a man you seem to think you owe something to.
” His words were terse, like he hated every syllable and had to force them through his teeth.
She held back the tears. But this time, they weren’t of sorrow or anger, but a result of acceptance.
Like somehow, in some odd way, Rowan saw her.
Truly saw her. Not just what kind of hobbies she enjoyed, what her ring size was, her father’s full name.
But saw the spirit inside her body. Picked it apart and held it in his grasp, the shape of it something so familiar to him, like he could read the words in the makeup of her soul.
She nodded, and Rowan left the room, shutting the door behind him.
She strolled silently, her hand tracing the water-absent fountain in the middle. She wiped her face and was surprised when she realized she hadn’t felt any more embarrassment. She figured she’d be riddled with doom when Rowan left, but instead, a sense of peace surrounded her.