Chapter 16 Paeonia
?PAEONIA
It had been a day and a half since she last saw Rowan, unsure of his whereabouts.
She hadn’t seen him at dinner nor breakfast. Castor eventually informed her that he’d be back soon, but she couldn’t help but grit her teeth from the ominous disquietude that suffocated the castle in his absence.
The headache that brewed in the front of her mind.
She waltzed through the gardens, the evening winter sun rather warm for this late in the day, finishing her daily duties.
She clipped at a rose bush, pruning the dead leaves, her mind wandering to every encounter with Rowan she’d endured so far.
His outburst, and the way he’d touched her so compulsively, so gently, like she might shatter if he grazed her skin too harshly.
The way he grabbed her heartlessly, almost bruising her skin, while muttering such tender words in her ear.
She braced her heart, willing her desires to strengthen ardently enough to survive another fortnight or so—then she’d be free to return home.
But what if Barth was waiting for her? What if Rowan had lied and didn’t uphold his end of the bargain?
He assured her he was bound to the same promise as her, but why should she believe him?
Her bones sizzled in distant pain, as if sore, and she scowled.
She figured he was using her, Castor said so himself, but she just had to figure out why; otherwise, she worried she’d be trapped here forever. Something strange told her she wouldn’t be able to leave even once her month came to a close. That Rowan needed her beyond a gardener—
Snap.
She hadn’t been paying close enough attention, her gloves—that she assumed were the last gardener’s—far too loose, making her fingers fumble and accidentally cut one of the roses, snapping the stem entirely in half.
The bundle of petals fell to the ground, and the stem instantly withered away.
She gritted her teeth in anger and irritation.
She collapsed back to sit on her heels, her arms slacking.
She gasped when the entire rose bush seemed to shift to brown from its decadent green foliage only moments ago, decaying in real time. She rose to her feet and stumbled away from the plant, her eyes wide in horror as it turned into a wilting mess, entirely dead.
“Oh no,” she muttered. She reached for the bush, trying to extend the sagging roses, grabbing her watering can and pouring a bit onto the roots. Her fingers buzzed. Maybe if she grabbed some fertilizer from the shed—
Her thoughts were cut short when loud footfalls began approaching her on the graveled path. She turned, Rowan storming straight for her. She backed away, stumbling into the dead bush, Rowan reaching her in two more strides.
“One rule,” he growled, “do not let any of my flowers prematurely wither away.” His voice wasn’t loud, but that only made it more intimidating.
His claws had extended, and Paeonia winced at the idea of Rowan being able to summon certain beastly attributes during the day.
Or perhaps they sprouted on their own volition when he felt feral enough—angry enough.
“I-I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I swear I didn’t mean to—”
“It doesn’t matter if you didn’t mean to. The flowers are dead.” His hands seemed to itch restlessly at his side. He gestured to the bronzed rose bush.
Her jaw tensed. “It won’t happen again.”
“You seem to not understand.” He shook his head as he reached for her arm, and she yelped, hauling her out of the rose bush and steadying her back onto the main path. “What happens to these flowers, also happens to me.”
She balked. “You mean…?”
He shoved her away, releasing her like she burned him, and he snarled.
“I felt it the second you snapped that fucking rose.”
She shook her head, biting her lip. “Rowan, I didn’t know. I didn’t realize—”
“I felt every rose die just now. Felt it rumble in my chest, sting my veins. Instantly, I was smothered, not quite able to catch my breath.” He fumed. “You’ve grown careless. Kill more flowers, and they will not have enough time to grow back for the winter. Then I stand no chance.”
Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
“Quit apologizing to me. I ask one thing of you, and you can’t even do that.”
Castor made his appearance beside her, unsure of when he had approached. “Now, Rowan. I think you’re being a bit unfair to the girl.”
She shifted toward Castor who had on gardening gloves, a faint pink color, covering his stone hands, a bucket at his side, and a belt of tools around his waist. She couldn’t help the tiny smile that momentarily slipped onto her lips.
Rowan turned on Castor. “You know what will happen if this garden withers away. Know that you’re bound to the same fate as me.”
Castor gulped, taking an inconspicuous step away. She hadn’t known him to cower.
“Do not let it happen again,” Rowan growled in her direction.
He turned to leave, his cloak flapping in the wind. Castor moved aside, pretending to tend to one of the tulips.
Paeonia twitched with indignation, summoning all her courage, forcing her feet to move. She had already made a fool of herself, already been scolded, already been threatened. She had nothing to lose. When she decided to chase after Rowan, some of the flowers around her seemed to straighten.
“You know,” she called, “perhaps my hands would be steadier if I wasn’t in a constant state of terror, worried for my life!”
Rowan groaned, his stride never faltering. “Poor little Paeonia,” he mocked. “The beast treats you so terribly.” He shook his head. “I told you—you’re not in any danger from me. At least, if you do what you’re told.”
Paeonia scoffed, hiking her skirts to keep pace with him. “You’re,” she began, struggling to find that right attribute, “impossible!”
When he didn’t halt, she kept going. “Selfish! Difficult! You lack basic manners. You’re one of the most insufferable beings I’ve ever had to deal with!”
Rowan stopped, freezing before the exit, his hands clenched at his side. “Pae,” he breathed, the anger slipping. He turned around, his thumb and forefinger resting on the bridge of his nose.
“Why even bother making a bargain with me?” She gestured her hands around wildly. “You seem to despise my presence. You clearly want to be alone, so why even bother?”
He studied her, his eyes dancing across her face. “Is that what you think?”
She almost laughed. “Well, what else am I supposed to think? All you’ve done is yell and simmer in anger. You’re nothing if not bitter.”
His jaw clenched, his brow furrowed as he thought. “Perhaps I have a reason to be bitter.”
Her face sank. “Then tell me! Stop keeping me in the dark. Has it ever occurred to you that you might garner the best results for using me if you—I don’t know—treated me like I wasn’t just some pet?”
“I suppose that has crossed my mind.”
“Then,” she breathed, frustrated, her voice weak, “why don’t you? What good is it treating me like this?”
It was odd, now that she finally let her emotions ripple out, he seemed to withdraw. She thought he would have matched her energy.
Rowan’s eyes lingered to the side, and he gestured his chin, making her follow his line of sight. Beside her, as she stood at the edge of the garden, the flowers seemed like they were glowing. And yet, they shrank away, their petals growing closer and closer to the dirt.
“What—?” she mindlessly wondered.
“They’re reacting to you.”
She had to tear her eyes away from the odd movement of flowers, Rowan’s gaze already locked back on her.
“You,” he began cooly, “have a strange affinity to flowers. And that, Pae, is why I need you here. That is how you shall know I will not harm you.”
She blinked several times before pursing her lips. “I know you killed your last gardener,” she muttered at last. She recoiled when he rolled his neck.
“Yeah?” he taunted.
“Did he snap one too many rose buds?” Her fire had gone as quick as it had arrived, swathed in salty water. The spark in her tone trembled, dwindling on her last broken log of firewood.
“I’m not safe here,” she added quietly. How was she to keep her hands steady tending to the flowers when she was constantly fearing for her life?
“If I mess up again, will you kill me like you did him? You say you need me, but how am I any different than your other gardener? What if you get sick of me too?”
Rowan laughed. “No. As long as you stay in at night, you’re in no true danger from me, no matter how furious.”
Paeonia wanted to stop talking, but something within her forced her to speak her mind, almost like Rowan coaxed it out of her.
“And how can I know that? I can’t trust you!
You’re so hot and cold. You seemed ready to wring my neck back there.
” She gestured her hands behind her. “How do I know that you won’t finally snap my neck when I accidentally step on a dandelion?
” She glanced at his hands. “Even your claws are out!”
Rowan appraised her silently for one awkward beat too long, making her close in on herself, regretting her speech.
Her heart fell to her stomach. He looked otherworldly, his sharp features, his rugged demeanor, his expansive chest, the scar slashing through his eye, his dark brown, almost black, curly hair.
She tried to remain tall, but she found it difficult in his presence.
“Because,” he dragged out, pronouncing each word with malice, “I didn’t want to fuck my last gardener.”
Her mouth fell open, and Rowan gave her a simple look, almost like he didn’t feel the fire behind his words, before turning his back and storming into the castle, leaving Paeonia dumbfounded in his wake.
He spoke the words like a threat, yet he seemed to hate himself all the more for it. She stood speechless, and perhaps that’s exactly the reaction Rowan wanted.
Castor shifted to her side from behind when she hadn’t made an effort to move. “You okay?” he asked.