Chapter 22 Rowan
?ROWAN
It had been four days since they arrived back from the Night Market, and since that first afternoon, Paeonia had ignored him. He surmised she was too embarrassed to face him.
He had seen her, watched from the window as she talked to Castor, or Sybil, or Ren. She’d talk to anyone nearby. He watched as she’d laugh or blush. How Castor would follow her around the gardens and assist with whatever she needed. And not once had Paeonia sought Rowan out.
She barely ate, Ren sneaking into the kitchens to get her food so she didn’t have to sit with Rowan. She scurried past him in the halls, moving quickly from one spot to another, hoping to avoid him. He was growing agitated.
He had promised her so much, and she didn’t even seem thankful. But deep down, Rowan knew that not to be the case. Paeonia was too innocent, too caring, to not be thankful even if Rowan was entrapping her into a marriage.
Rowan sat at the grand piano, his fingers hovering over the keys.
He summoned a breath before shutting his eyes and letting his hands do all the work, touching each key with purpose, the melodic tune whirling around him, rippling into his ear like a lover’s sweet nothings.
With each rich note, sprouts sprung between the cracks of the wood and behind the keys, moving with appreciation.
They grew slightly taller, blossoming white flowers, coming alive from their previous wilted state.
The house hadn’t shifted, but Rowan could feel the satisfaction in the air, the way the castle seemed slaked by the song. Like each note ricocheted off the wallpaper, leaving a faint kiss in its wake, coaxing and soothing the structure into palpable serenity.
“It’s been so long since we’ve heard you play.”
Rowan slowly let the tune trail off, resting his hands on his thighs, the manor groaning with displeasure. “What do you want, Astara?”
The Stoneborne slid beside the instrument, grabbing Rowan’s attention. “I want to make a bargain with you.”
Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tiresome,” he mumbled under his breath.
“What?”
Rowan snapped his head to meet her eyes. “I said, this is bloody tiresome. You and your bargain.”
“Please, Rowan. My father can—”
“Your father is no longer in Lyth.” He stood from his spot behind the piano.
Astara stared blankly at Rowan before laughing, taking his word for a jest. Oh, how he grew so bloody tired of her.
“My father’s not—”
“Astara,” he swore loudly, “go back to your room. I will not entertain this notion any longer. The sun will rise tomorrow, and you’ll be back where you started. I cannot take this headache right now.”
“You’re cruel, you know that?”
“Yes. So everyone keeps reminding me.” He gave the Stoneborne a sharp look before she stormed away.
He sighed, feeling nothing but pity for her, stuck in a time loop, never to break free.
And he vexed her as well, reminding him of his penance.
How Astara broke a deal with the Baron of the Alder Court.
And how she had broken it the same time Rowan fulfilled his, landing him an eternity in Lyth.
And Astara locked in a loop of insanity.
“How odd it is,” he mumbled under his breath, “to be haunted by a person still living.”
A note that Rowan did not press clashed in the air, and he halted, turning to find a tiny girl beside him. “Yvette.” He smiled. She hit a few more keys, looking at him expectantly. He chuckled. “Yes, very well. You know I’m weak to your charms, little one.”
Rowan returned his position at the piano like he had before Astara had bothered him with her antics, letting the Stoneborne child sit on his lap as he played the melody she said reminded her of her mother.
It grew dark, Rowan quietly lurking in the gardens.
He followed the sound of Paeonia humming, a sweet little tune he figured she crafted herself.
He leaned against a golden apple tree, her arms fluttering in the air as she plucked at dead leaves and harvested fruit into her basket.
Castor and the other Stoneborne had left, other duties as day turned to night called for them. He was alone with her.
That was dangerous.
A frosted butterfly breezed past her head, and Paeonia moved to follow it with her eyes, a bright smile on her cheeks. She stuck out her hand as if beckoning the bug to land on her finger, but it simply flittered around her before flying away. She let out a content sigh.
Rowan decided to emerge from the shadows, strolling along the main path, his footsteps clearly audible. Paeonia halted momentarily before continuing with her work. She heard him, and she was choosing not to acknowledge him.
She couldn’t even be bothered to spare him a glance. His chest rumbled with anger. She bent over to pull at a weed when he raised roots from the ground, wrapping them around her ankles. Finally, she looked at him.
“Rowan,” she gasped, terrified as she wiggled in her chains.
He made them slither further, wrapping around her calves, tight against the soft skin under her skirts.
“This what it takes to gain your attention?” he asked. He stalked closer, hands in his pockets, and she stood straight, meeting his eyes. “To ensnare you in my clutches.”
She wanted to be strong so badly, but he could see her wavering underneath. It was a front. Paeonia was not brave. She was terrified of him.
He took another step, and she attempted to create distance between them, falling and catching herself on her hands.
Rowan quickly tied her hands with roots when they met the ground, cementing her in place.
She squirmed against the restraints, and Rowan cracked a grin. Her eyes went wild as they met his.
“You’ve been ignoring me for days,” he hummed to himself in thought.
“Let me go,” she whined.
The roots tightened, pulling her flat against the ground, the sun beginning to set on the horizon. “Why would I do that?”
“You’re not,” she began, catching her breath, “as cruel as you pretend to be.”
His nostrils flared. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps she wasn’t. Either way, he knew he hated this tug he felt toward her. Hated how her brightness began to melt away his exterior. How the gardens had never looked livelier and more colorful. He couldn’t grow to care for her. He just…couldn’t.
So then, why did he care so much when she ignored him?
“It’s going to be dark soon,” she whispered breathlessly.
Rowan lingered at her feet, the roots pulling her legs apart slowly as they slithered. “Mmm. Worried about what might happen if you’re caught in my clutches when the sun goes down?”
She nodded, her arms still helplessly pulling at the roots.
“Don’t lie to me, Paeonia.” He squatted at her feet.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered what would happen if I ever managed to catch you again in my wyld glamour.
” His finger outstretched and hooked onto her long skirt, shifting it, slowly revealing her stockings.
The wind ruffled her hair, sending a chill through her.
“You’ve known now for a while that I never meant to protect your life by keeping you away from me at night. ”
His hand stopped moving her dress when he got to her knees, her stockings ending and her pale skin beneath starting.
He gently stroked her skin, her lips parting, her chest rising in rapid repetitions.
Then, in a sudden movement, he pushed her skirts all the way up so they settled around her waist. She tugged at the roots, but they didn’t budge.
Rowan’s pupils blew at the sight of her in her undergarments, left to his mercy.
Stop. Stop now, or you’ll ruin your chance, Rowan’s inner voice swore.
But he couldn’t.
“Tell me, why do I ask you to stay in your rooms at night, sweet Pae?”
Her lips twitched in annoyance at the name, the name Barth called her. The wind was chilly, and her face was red, though not from the cold. She panted, her fingers clawing into the earth to gain traction—to stay afloat as Rowan tormented her.
“So you don’t…” Her voice fell. She couldn’t say it. Rowan knew she couldn’t say it—wouldn’t say it. Too indecent for her innocent mouth.
“So I don’t fuck you? Is that it?”
Her eyebrows knitted together in concentration, shutting her eyes to hide her nerves. Rowan moved between her legs, one finger dancing over the top of her thighs. Her eyes flew open, her legs jerking. He wondered why she didn’t scream.
“Because when I’m in my wyld glamour, I won’t be able to control myself,” he teased.
His finger swirled over her skin before stopping at the apex of her thighs. The wind blew over Paeonia, forcing her scent into Rowan’s nose, and he almost growled. He thought he was taunting her, but he was the one truly in pain as he struggled to control himself.
Stop.
“Because if I have you like this—laid before me—I won’t be able to hold back from ramming my cock inside you.”
The lowering sun gilded Paeonia in golden light, her eyes large and innocent as she waited for whatever was to come, her entire face and chest crimson.
Rowan should have stopped there, should have stood and let her go, but the more he smelt of her, the harder it was.
Smelling her need for him, something she probably never felt for anyone else before, had his nostrils flaring.
Sweet Paeonia, so soft and delicate, yet she grew lustful at his sordid torment. He bared his teeth. He couldn’t stop his finger from stroking her through the fabric between her legs. She gasped, embarrassed by the sound elicited from his touch.
“Do you hide from me because you fear for your sanity? Do you call yourself senseless for craving my touch?”
“I…I don’t crave—” She gulped.
His voice dropped several octaves. “I can smell it on you, Pae. I know you want this.”
She shook her head, but not in protest. Rather, she seemed to be yelling at herself. Mad her body could betray her.
Just a little longer. A little more.
Rowan leaned down, his hands now on either side of her, and she held her breath.
He wanted to pull her underwear away, to attach his mouth to her, and finally taste her, but his lips landed on her lower stomach, leaving a dangerously soft kiss.
She loosed a breath, her head falling back on the dirt in defeat, and he grinned against her skin.
Her arms and legs wiggled as he continued to plant kisses along her stomach, her breathing ragged.
She whispered his name in protest, but that only stirred him on further.
Oh, how he wanted to hear what his name might sound like when she shouted it in pleasure.
“Want me to kiss you lower, Pae?”
She didn’t respond.
Stop.
“You’re pushing me away,” she murmured.
His wet tongue slid across her stomach. “I feel as though this is the exact opposite of pushing you away,” he mumbled, his hands on her waist, pulling her against his mouth in demonstration.
He started when Paeonia’s eyes flashed dark for the first time. “You’re being cruel on purpose, Rowan.”
He grunted, pulling back, letting her catch her breath. Her fingers tightened in the dirt, the soil under her nails.
“Where is your ring?”
She sobered, her face twisting in fear. “I…”
“Must I punish you again?”
She choked. “Again?”
His hand slid around her neck, and she froze, her breathing halted in anticipation for his next move. “That night in the garden. When you became my prey.”
Her features flashed in recognition, in remembrance of that night he hunted her. Did she not view it as punishment?
“P-please, I had only taken it off because…”
Rowan tilted his head, tightening his grip. “Because…?” he snapped.
She narrowed her gaze at his sharp words. “Perhaps if you weren’t so—” Her lips twitched as she searched for a word to call him. “So wicked. So disdainful! Then maybe I’d want to keep my ring on!”
She remained silent, her entire face red from indignation. He furrowed his brow before sighing. He stood, his roots slithering back into the ground, and she quickly pulled her dress down, scrambling to her feet.
A cool wave of spite and self-loathing ebbed over him.
Washed away his lustful thoughts, all his dark desires, and left him empty, a vessel ready to be filled to the brim with self-hatred.
He had realized earlier—maybe earlier than he’d want to admit—that he couldn’t break her.
He didn’t want to break her. She had become the only spark of hope, the only light that he had.
She became the keeper of his gardens, of his wellbeing, harboring and coaxing life into it. She became…everything.
And here, in his anger, he held her down, preyed upon her desires for him.
He was a monster. Something he already knew about himself, but hearing Paeonia—sweet, delicate Paeonia—stand up for herself, to call him on his misdirected maltreatment, stung.
Would she have been apt to tell the beast who loomed over her that he was being an ass all of a few measly weeks ago?
He didn’t think so. She was blossoming right before his very eyes, and he wanted to hold her back, to rip her petals off one by one.
I’m sorry, rose to the tip of his tongue.
All he ever did was cause others pain. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but he knew now that he didn’t want to cause her pain—not unless she asked for it.
This went beyond just bonds; this was something else.
Something real. Something almost human. It had been so long since he let himself truly care for another; he was convinced he had forgotten how.
His heart grew heavy, and he snarled. “Find it, and put it back on. Do not remove it again.”
“Rowan… I didn’t think—”
“Go inside,” he demanded, the sultry lost, only sharpness lingering in its wake.
She flattened her unruly blonde hair with her hands, her face still flushed, and gave him one last look before scurrying away.
Maybe he could go to her in the morning, when he was no longer a feral animal, and wake her by kissing between her thighs, licking and tasting her.
His ring wrapped around her finger as she pulled at his hair while he sucked and teased her.
Had she ever orgasmed before? Would he be the first to make her unravel?
He hated the sick pleasure he got from the idea—from the ownership he had over her.
He rested his fingers on his forehead as if in pain. Gods, he was never going to become the husband Paeonia needed. He frowned before sulking deeper into the garden then out the gates and into the woods.