Chapter 17 Rowan
?ROWAN
The cold winter air cut through Rowan’s cloak, the chill a welcome reprieve along his overheating skin.
Castor called him foolish for his marriage deal with Paeonia, a bargain he made over a day ago but had yet to discuss with her further.
Paeonia was such a traditional human, a woman who would allow herself to be coerced into a marriage just to please her father.
Rowan knew now that her engagement to Barth meant more than just a means to entangle her in this bargain: Paeonia would will herself to fall for Barth, trying her hardest to enjoy his unwanted touches.
If Rowan managed to marry Paeonia, he knew she would do the same for him, no matter how disheartened the betrothal was.
She would learn to love Rowan. To get out of her marriage with Barth, all she had to do was protest, but she couldn’t even do that—she had to rely on a fae to break the bond.
Such a simple woman, ready to perform her duty to her husband, stuffing her seething feelings deep down within her—a raging sea below her innocent exterior.
Convincing herself she wanted it—wanted him.
It was the last hope he had. Rowan wasn’t exactly the most charming fae, at least for a docile and timid woman like Paeonia. So what better way to gain her love than to trick her into unionization?
“Are you fucking mad?” Castor had cursed at him. “You think she’ll fall in love with you because you forced her to marry you?”
Rowan stood back from the window that overlooked the gardens, tearing his eyes away from her as she spread fertilizer meant to prevent roots from freezing, her fingers fumbling in the oversized, borrowed gloves.
“Yes. I do.” Rowan’s hands slid into his pockets. “It’s in her nature. She’ll try to convince herself to fall for me. And that’s better than right now—than just hoping she’ll somehow fall in love with my brooding nature given enough time. At least now it will be on the forefront of her mind.”
Castor shook his head. “By the gods,” he swore under his breath.
“Do you have a better idea? We’re wasting away here. She might be our only chance.”
Castor shifted between his feet. He didn’t have a better plan, and Rowan knew it.
“I plan on making her love me—to at least think she loves me. To think she can fix me. Fix whatever mess she sees me as. She’s so fragile, so malleable.
All I have to do is bend her a little too far, snap her in half.
Then she’ll have no choice. She’ll be sobbing at my feet, begging me to return her feelings. ”
“How such a kind woman like Paeonia managed to be your mate,” Castor had said, shaking his head at him that afternoon.
The reminder that Rowan had thought Paeonia was his mate, made him grit his teeth. Castor was right, how could someone so gentle, so kind, be his mate? How could fate have doomed her like this?
Rowan shut out the fluttering snow by slipping his hood on, approaching the border of Findale, the horizon growing darker the further winter crested.
He still hadn’t managed to get Barth off Paeonia’s tail, to make it so she didn’t have to marry him.
And he had to, given his hopes at breaking the curse.
The curse that kept him bound in Lyth for the past hundred years.
His fist flexed, edging toward a beautiful house on a hill, an observatory attached to the back of it.
Perhaps it was time for him to fulfill his end of their bargain—their first bargain, that is.
After all this time, he had finally accepted his fate. Accepted he’d wither away back in the castle, here in Lyth. Then she showed up in his gardens, dragging a tortuous beam of light along with her, washing out his shadows.
He stretched in anger, ready for this to end. For this torment to be over with.
As he stood before the observatory’s glass, not concerned with being seen, he glanced in. Flora of all kinds bloomed in an array of pots. Nothing of note, but it was still rather pretty.
He huffed, and the warmth from his breath fogged the glass. This was where it happened, then. Where Barth had forced himself on Paeonia. Where he tried to guilt her into doing something she didn’t want.
That thought galled him, set his muscles in unease—the irony not lost on him, which he blamed on his feral instincts more than anything else.
He knew his thoughts were hypocritical; Rowan was about to lead her into another marriage she didn’t want.
The number of times he thought about taking her even though he knew she would never return those desires.
He was no better than Barth—if anything, he was far worse; he’d take her with his claws out, making her balk in fear of not just the situation, but also his beastly form.
But his feral instincts couldn’t decipher nuance.
All they knew was that Paeonia was his. And the idea of another man having what he possessed set him in a rage.
His brain fogged over, so hazy with lust, and he wanted to curse and punish himself. Wanted to get as far away from that bloody castle as possible. Away from her. The fact that she walked around, unaware of the torment brewing inside Rowan’s mind, made his jaw clench.
He was protecting her, withholding his instincts, keeping them at bay the best he could, leaving her be.
Even when he let it slip that he wanted to fuck her back in the garden the other day, he knew she took it more as a threat than anything.
She wasn’t flattered, wasn’t thinking he truly wanted her, but rather that he saw her as another body, someone to warm his ever-chilling bed.
And she was right. He wanted to fuck her just as much as he wanted to kill her.
He rubbed his temples as a headache began to brew, shaking his head, the snow fluttering off his cloak in white puffs.
Rowan crept farther around the house, finding a decent spot to wait for Barth. He stood still as a statue for what felt like an hour, the sun setting completely, Rowan’s wyld glamour making itself present.
A young man finally walked down the road, heading straight for this house, carrying a load of firewood on his back, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. Rowan knew this was Barth, could smell the arrogance on him.
Barth took the path to his front door, humming to himself.
He gazed at the night sky, a small smile on the corner of his lips, admiring the flurry of snowflakes.
That glance was all it took for Rowan to approach him, shadowing the moon’s glow, making Barth stop in his tracks.
Barth sized Rowan up, staggering slightly in sheer shock.
“Gods,” Barth cursed, his eyes wide with terror.
Rowan likely would have received that reaction even if he hadn’t shifted, but now that he had—elongated horns, exposed claws, sharpened canines, violet skin—he looked straight out of a grown man’s nightmare.
“Wh-what—?” Barth managed, his voice shaking in terror.
Rowan flexed his hand, drawing Barth’s attention to his claws. He had grown accustomed to those cowering at his wyld glamour.
“Tell me,” Rowan began, “do you care for Paeonia?”
Barth stumbled back against the cobblestone wall that lined his entryway. “Pae?” The nickname on his tongue made Rowan twitch. “Who are you? Did you take her?”
Rowan sneered. “She’s been gone for days, and yet you haven’t looked for her?”
Barth’s throat bobbed under Rowan’s scrutiny. “Of course I have! We all have. I’ve searched every day since she took off.”
Something rumbled in Rowan’s chest. “And why is it that she took off?”
Barth’s lips opened then closed, his eyes shying away for a moment. Rowan knew he was about to lie. He could taste it.
“Think she got cold feet,” he said, his voice still frail, clearly intimidated. Rowan enjoyed the fact that the man had to look up to speak to him. “What the hell are you? Did you take my Paeonia?”
Rowan let out a loud huff through his nose. My Paeonia rang several times in his head. He tried to shut out his instincts, to tell himself that Barth didn’t matter—he wasn’t even part of this equation.
“You stole her, didn’t you?” Barth’s words became agitated, stepping away and reaching for the axe strapped to his hip, shoving the wood off his back as he did so. Gaining some courage.
“Stole her?” Rowan laughed. “She came to me out of her own volition.”
Barth gripped the axe. “Take me to her, beast,” he spat. He raised the axe slightly, as if that might frighten Rowan.
“And here I was, thinking I might spare your life if you acted cordial.”
Barth moved his foot back to properly face Rowan, axe at the ready.
Rowan clicked his tongue in disapproval. Barth surged forward, but before he could even swing the axe, Rowan’s fist grasped his wrist, holding it with ease.
“I said, take me to where she is!” Barth shouted even with fear laced in his tone.
“Where who is?” Rowan purred. It was as if Rowan’s body was at war, knowing exactly what Barth’s next words would do to him, and he was ready to release his growing temper.
“Paeonia! My betrothed!” Barth’s eyes narrowed on Rowan.
Rowan’s other hand slid around Barth’s neck in a swift movement. He held tight, squeezing the air from his lungs. Barth dropped the axe, his eyes going wide as he struggled to release Rowan’s choking grip.
“She is no longer your betrothed,” Rowan growled. “It is my ring she now wears on her finger.”
Barth looked like he might be sick, and Rowan could tell he didn’t quite believe him, wasn’t going to take his word that sweet little Paeonia would accept such a fearsome beast’s hand.
“Take. Me. To. Her,” Barth choked out in weak breaths, pawing at Rowan’s arm.
Rowan tilted his head, a cynical smile taking over half his mouth. “Gladly.”