Chapter 25 Paeonia
?PAEONIA
Paeonia straightened her spine as she descended the staircase.
Her dress was simple—certainly no wedding dress—but it worked.
It was silvery white at the edges, the train stopping at the base of her foot.
It curved to her, a bit more form-fitting than she usually liked, but it was one of her only options that felt appropriate for the occasion.
The neck went high, the sleeves long and to her fingers.
It was a soft silk, transitioning into embroidered thread at the wrists.
It didn’t stand out. It didn’t take her breath away.
But she rather liked the simplicity of it.
Ren had twisted Paeonia’s hair into an up-do, pinning it with a pearly white clip, the tiny bubbles poking out of her hair, making it almost seem like she had stuck her head under water.
Castor waited at the bottom of the steps for her, his lips tilted into a smile, his helm covering the rest of his face like usual. He extended an arm for her.
“Where?”
He directed her down the hall. “The observatory.”
Paeonia’s pulse fluttered. She knew this was part of the bargain, a twisted way to break Rowan from the curse he was—probably rightfully—under.
This wasn’t real. But still, knowing he decided to conduct this in the beautiful observatory he basically gifted her—though she doubted he would ever admit to that—instead of some place easier, like his study, made her insides sing.
Paeonia bit her lips, trying to relax her body.
“Any questions for me?”
Paeonia glanced at Castor, stolen from her thoughts. “Huh?”
“Our deal, Peony.”
“Oh.” She figured Castor was only trying to distract her, to settle her nerves.
Her next words slipped out, expelled from her lungs like she had no say in the matter. “Will you betray me?”
Castor seemed to freeze, but only for the briefest of moments, resuming their walk toward the observatory. He half-chuckled. “And what makes you ask this?”
They reached the forest green door, and Castor looked straight ahead, refusing to meet Paeonia’s gaze as much as one could with his eyes locked in shadow. “I cannot foresee the future.” A quick and soft blow, then he pushed the door open and led her in.
Paeonia’s muscles locked, her fingers grasping at the skirt of her dress, wanting to tear it away from her body. All of a sudden, her dress felt like a prison. Castor dropped her arm, and Paeonia thought she might keel over.
“Ready?” Rowan wore the same clothes she saw him in that morning. His hair messily pushed back. He didn’t look like a groom. He didn’t play the part.
Paeonia’s eyes languidly lifted to his, his eyebrows knitting.
She straightened her spine before he could say something, marching to his side, giving him a curt nod.
He eyed her curiously before turning to Castor.
She wanted to laugh; she never thought she’d fulfill her nuptials with someone like Rowan.
A soft flurry of snow fluttered with the gentle wind beyond the glass walls, the flowers lining the outer perimeter frosted with white.
If she could choose, this is exactly the kind of day she’d want to be married on.
A cold day at the beginning of winter, the air crisp and filled with soft snow.
The sun bright and dancing off the white blankets. Flowers everywhere.
“Right,” Castor began, now holding a book he flipped through.
Rowan looked upon her face, his features stark and rough, almost like he felt sorry for her. Like there was something he wasn’t letting on, and he was angry for it. Maybe he was angry with her.
Rowan hummed.
“What?”
He gave her a once-over. “You’ve taken this rather seriously,” he said, gesturing to her white gown and done-up hair.
Her face scrunched in slight crossness. “Is this not a serious ceremony? I was under the impression we were truly being wed.”
“We are,” he rumbled.
“Then why shouldn’t I dress the part? I don’t do things halfway. I am not that kind of woman.”
He grinned. “No, I don’t suppose you are.”
She pursed her lips in irritation when Castor cleared his throat, drawing back their attention. He began to read, having Paeonia and Rowan pledge themselves to one another. Then he looked at Paeonia expectantly.
She looked between the two males. “What?”
“Your ribbon.”
“Oh.” Her fingers grazed her key at her neck, remembering the pink ribbon that wrapped the box.
The bride was supposed to bring a ribbon to the ceremony. Shock spurred through her. Is that why Rowan had given it to her? Had he always planned to marry her?
She gritted her teeth, shaking that preposterous idea from her head, lips parting to tell the two she had lost it, when Rowan lifted his hand, proffering her the ribbon. She stared at it dumbly. “Where did you…?”
“I found it at the border of the woods after the Eldritch stole you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Why did you keep it?”
He remained silent. Rowan took her hand in both of his, turning her palm upward.
The ribbon slid from his grasp into hers, but he didn’t let it go.
His palm shifted beneath hers, the heat of his skin startling against her own.
Then, with deliberate care, he draped the ribbon across both their hands.
Castor stepped forward, knotting the ribbon loosely around their joined hands before concluding the ceremony. Such rites could be drawn-out affairs, filled with tradition and flourish, but in cases like this—a quick union, often following a pregnancy—the process was stripped-down and simple.
“Do you take one another, forever, here and now?”
Rowan answered first, his voice clipped like he wanted to get this over with. “Forever, here and now.”
“Forever, here and now,” she whispered.
After several seconds, Castor cut through the silence as the two of them stared between each other. “Paeonia, you must kiss to seal the binding.”
She nodded, swallowing hard. Rowan’s face darkened, his eyes shooting daggers. She could do this. She couldn’t release his hand to take the ribbon off until they kissed, otherwise, the wedding would be null and void.
Barth swam in her vision, how he had stood in a similar observatory, for a related occasion, and shoved her against one of the workbenches, kissing her.
“Just,” she began, her voice hitching. She couldn’t be the one to initiate. She didn’t want to do this. Or maybe she just didn’t know how. “Please.”
He took her chin in his free hand, dragging her toward him as he leaned closer, his face stoic. She braced for his lips to caress hers, his breath warm. She winced, squeezing her eyes shut, a small gasp escaping, and he pulled back.
“Are you picturing Barth?” he asked her softly, his eyes narrowing, like he knew her mind was wandering.
She bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes, and she nodded her head in his grip.
Rowan appraised her a moment longer, his breath fanning over her skin, before growling, “Out,” to Castor.
She kept her eyes on Rowan’s, knowing Castor slipped out of the room when the door clicked softly.
Rowan stood straight and turned to glance about the room, searching for something.
“Where did he do it?”
Paeonia was momentarily confused until she realized he was asking her where Barth had kissed her—had forced himself all over her. Her free hand clutched her skirts. “Against the workbench.”
Rowan turned his sight in line with one of the floral workbenches in the observatory, potted plants and various tomes spread atop it. He beckoned for her to come closer to him, tugging at their intertwined hands. She swallowed the lump in her throat, her nerves ready to burst at her seams.
She waited behind him until he fully faced her.
When she met his eyes, he grabbed her shoulder, spinning her so her back collided with the tabletop.
His hand tightened on hers, the ribbon no longer the only thing keeping their palms pressed together, but now his fingers interlaced with hers.
Her lips parted in surprise, and then he leaned down, invading all her senses, connecting their lips.
She hadn’t known what to expect. She had kissed Barth before, plenty of times, but only him. How would it feel to kiss another? How would it feel to kiss a fae? How would it feel to kiss her husband?
His fingers slid from her chin and gently clutched her jaw, splaying onto her neck like a vine. His lips were surprisingly soft, his beard a bit scratchy. She whined when she realized this was more than a peck as he moved against her lips.
All memories of Barth kissing her in the same compromised position slid out through the cracks. Gone. Replaced now with Rowan, his hands lighting her aflame. Him kissing her more gently than Barth, but still with a possessive, overpowering sense of ownership.
He stole her breath, and his tongue slid along her bottom lip.
She tried to kiss him back on instinct, but she felt foolish, unskilled.
He didn’t seem to care. Rowan rested a hand on her thigh above her dress, touching her in the same place Barth did.
Her body wracked with nerves, her heart thumping harshly in her chest, her shoulders finally sagging back as she let him ravish her.
He was taking away her memories of Barth and replacing them with himself. Replacing her petrified kiss with his own. Transforming a kiss she hated to one she desired.
She grabbed his shirt with her free hand, wrapping her fist in it, and Rowan made a low sound in his throat. She leaned into him slightly, and he immediately pulled away, a rush of cold air outlining her body like a specter.
She stumbled back in a daze, their locked hands breaking free, the ribbon floating to the ground, her breathing heavy. She tried to blink away her shock, to look unphased, but Rowan snarled like he knew he was too much for her.
And just like that, he strolled out of the room, leaving her to grab the ribbon as she stumbled after him. Outside the room, Castor gave her a sympathetic look.
“This is good, right?” he asked her.