Chapter 26 Paeonia
?PAEONIA
She stared at the ever-threatening ring that circled her finger, the gold band reflecting the morning light.
The delicate rose-colored jewel at its center was small—almost deceptively so—but no less beautiful for its size.
She hadn’t the faintest idea what kind of gem it was.
Her fingers turned over, as if searching for meaning in its glint, until finally, with a sharp breath, she tore the covers from her body.
She rose from her bed, unwilling to let her raging thoughts pull her under.
Morning had long passed, yet no one had come. Ren hadn’t burst in to coax her from the sheets. Castor hadn’t knocked to announce that her husband was summoning her. Even Sybil had not appeared with tender concern. Foolish, she told herself, to have expected otherwise.
She slid on a fur-lined dress in silence, the dark red of it harrowing against her skin. She wove her hair into a loose braid, staring at herself in the mirror. The dark crescents beneath her eyes had deepened, hollowing her face.
Whenever she dwelled on her own pallor, her mind conjured her father—gaunter still, left utterly alone, likely believing she was dead.
She had pleaded with Castor to send word to him, but he refused, saying he couldn’t go against Rowan’s wishes.
And why, she wondered bitterly, would Rowan forbid such a simple kindness?
Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. The moment she stepped into the garden, the chill in the air met her like a balm. She exhaled hard, eyes falling shut as the crisp breath of mid-morning filled her lungs, steadying her. Sunlight spilled over her skin and hair in golden strokes.
She stood in it only briefly before her hands began to fidget, her mind restless. If she lingered too long, her thoughts would inevitably slip back to last night. To Rowan, and the way he had laid her bare on her bed.
Shame rose hot in her throat and marriage did nothing to dampen it. If anything, the binding made it worse. She had tethered herself to a fae as fearsome as Rowan, and the weight of that choice pressed down like a stone.
Beneath the unease, a flicker of certainty lingered. She knew that he would provide. He would keep her warm through long nights, keep her fed, guard her fiercely from danger.
He would make sure she was never left wanting for more.
Her fingers began to shake as they clutched a branch of the berry bush she pruned, the stem wilting in her grip. She closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to empty her thoughts. But to no prevail. Her lips parted as she breathed in unsteadily.
She hastily subdued her nerves, blinking them away, focusing on the adjacent flower beds through her unsteady vision. The flowers appeared so dull and weepy, like they were dying. Like they were mourning with her.
She reached for a ripened fruit from the top of the taller bush, but she froze, Rowan’s head between her legs flashing in her mind. She gasped and stumbled backward slightly.
“Unwell, this morning?” a deep and familiar voice spoke behind her.
Paeonia braced herself before she faced the tall Grim Fae. She studied him slowly, as though even the flick of her gaze might shatter something fragile between them.
He wore a dark jacket over a deep forest green shirt, his hair styled as it always was: pushed back, yet still wild with unruly curls.
She slowly began to find him striking, in a raw, almost savage way.
The scar that cut through his eye, marring his face, only amplified his unearthly gleam.
There was something haunting about him—fearsome, yes—but beneath that darkness lingered a glimmer of something regal, almost devastatingly handsome.
Perhaps it was the fae blood in him. Even those as shadowed as Rowan were said to carry that inhuman, luminous grace.
And last night, she had that beautiful face between—
“I’m quite fine,” she said tersely.
A shiver ran down her spine as his eyes darkened, his stance straightening. “Out with it, Pae,” he demanded.
Her breath lurched at his use of her shortened name. “I told you, I hate that name.”
His lips ticked like he was tempted to grin. “Do you hate it? Or did you only hate when Barth would address you as such?”
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Before she could think of what to say—to prove him wrong—he cut her off.
“Speak plainly. I’m in no mood to deal with your equivocations.” Harsh words that would have once set her retreating, but now she could sense the teasing in his voice. The soft playfulness.
“Well, we are now wed.” Her voice was soft, not as forceful as she had hoped. He gestured his head for her to go on. “What do you want with me now?” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You said you needed me to marry you. And I did.”
He nodded. “So you did.”
She sighed. “Rowan,” she pleaded, “what is it you want from me?”
He encircled her, reaching above her head, his chest brushing against her back, his fingers clutching the winter berry she had been trying to reach earlier. Instead of handing it to her like she thought he might, he plopped it into his mouth.
“Eager now, are we?”
She glared at him. “Rowan,” she said again.
“I like when you say my name like that.”
“Like what?” she all but whispered.
He leaned forward, swallowing the fruit, and showed her his teeth. “When you beg.”
She sputtered, taking a small step back. “I am not begging!”
He laughed lightly. “You’re right,” he corrected. “Last night, you were begging.”
Her face sank, and her heart stung. She shied away and wished to disappear.
“Do you regret last night?” he asked seriously. He grabbed her chin, forcing her face toward his, his eyes dancing between hers.
She shook her head.
He released his grip. “Good.”
She swallowed hard. “And if I did?”
Rowan’s lips remained a tight line, but after a few beats, he tilted his head, almost amused. “If you did, that would certainly bruise my ego.”
Paeonia made a face. “Is that all you’d care about? Your ego—?”
“I have never heard more beautiful sounds than those you made last night.” Rowan cut her off, bending over to better align his face with hers.
“I am entirely enthralled by you, Paeonia. You have no idea the kind of spell you seem to have me under. And if you told me you regretted what I did to you last night, I would fall to my knees and beg for your forgiveness.”
Paeonia’s mouth fell open, at a loss for words.
This confession seemed out of character for Rowan on the surface, and she briefly wondered if he was manipulating her.
But it truthfully made perfect sense. He lived to shock.
To say such zealous statements she only thought could be horrifying.
Apparently, Rowan could have more thoughtful passions as well.
“Do not mock me.”
He sighed, standing back straight. “I think you know I’m not.”
Her face warmed several degrees, and before she could fumble with her words, Rowan spoke. “I’ll need your accompaniment to a private venue,” he said tersely, as if he wanted to shift the conversation away from the detrimental path it had been heading.
She sucked in a quick breath, trying to pretend his words didn’t affect her—hadn’t made her knees weak. “A private venue?”
“An auction. Are you familiar with those?”
“Like, where squalid men go to purchase forbidden goods?”
“It’s more than just goods. But yes, like that.” He slid his hands into his pockets, the wind shifting those stray, curly tendrils that hung over his forehead.
“Why would you need me to attend alongside you?”
His lips curved into a grin, but all that lay on his features was malice. “It’s a human venue. I was told I needed a permanent bond to humanity to be let in. Apparently, they aren’t as trusting of fae.”
She scanned him, and she shook her head slightly. “What is it you do for a living, exactly?”
He laughed, genuinely and boisterously laughed. It almost made her want to smile in return. “Now you ask me?” His hand brushed at his stubble, absentmindedly licking his lips, which had Paeonia flushing. “I’m a shadow ledger. I lay claim to unpaid bargains. And oft make them myself.”
She gulped. “So, the fae here—”
“It’s only me. I’m the only fae stuck in Lyth,” he growled, his nose scrunching. “Besides those shifted to stone.”
“You make bargains, like the one you made with me, as your profession?”
He leaned back against the stone wall, one of the cracked bricks tumbling to the ground. “How else do you think I afford to live in such luxury?”
She ignored his jests. “Is it a common job? For fae, I mean.”
“Any fae can make a bargain, but so few tend to commit such tithes. It’s rather draining—you have to collect unpaid debts, even if you no longer care.
It can get tedious to use your magic like that.
But, as I’m the only fae here, many creatures wish to make magical bindings. They wish to use my prowess.”
She bit at her chilled fingers. “And do all those who break their bargain turn to stone?”
She thought he might grin, but he looked away, off into the garden.
“Not always. It depends which court you make your binding to. The Hawthorn Court will bind the foolish creature to only speak in whispers, taking their memories with them. Eventually, they forget their own name and become a wraith bound to the court’s service.
The Oak Court riddles the victims’ body with poison each time they tell a lie.
The Lianas Court will have them sprouting thorns and vines until they are finally rooted in place.
And the Alder Court turns you to stone.”
Paeonia looked at him in horror.
“But, I can make the exchange whatever I wish. Most of the time, it’s something that will benefit me far more than those vain bindings.”
“And Castor—did he…?”
“Full of questions today, aren’t we?” He looked down as he spoke, and Paeonia hated how much he loomed above her. “Go change. We leave at midday.”