Chapter 41 Paeonia
?PAEONIA
Rowan sat upright against the back of the settee, taking Paeonia with him. He reached for her dress before grabbing his own clothes.
He held the dress out for her to step into.
Paeonia tried to be modest, shielding her naked body from view by crossing her arms as she placed her feet inside her frock.
“Do not do that,” Rowan said as he began to shuffle the dress up her body.
“Do what?”
“Act bashful.”
She raised a brow.
“It makes me want to bend you over this sofa, and I cannot do that.” He slid the dress the rest of the way on, spinning her around and beginning to tighten the laces.
“And why is that?” she asked, her voice quiet, still shy to speak so plainly about such seedy affairs.
“You’re too sore to take me again so soon.”
When he finished, she spun to face him, his trousers tugged on haphazardly, his chest still exposed.
“Considering my well-being… Helping me dress… Have you been indulging in my gift?”
Paeonia was shocked when Rowan’s cheeks pinked slightly. “I may have mulled it over.”
She bit her lip to keep from smiling too brightly.
“Don’t seem so pleased with yourself.”
“It’s hard not to. Am I the first human to make an unruly fae lord act so cordial?”
He made an irritated sound in his chest, but she knew he wasn’t truly bothered by her words. He aimlessly twirled a tendril of her hair around his finger, his hand trailing to caress her cheek. “There are a lot of firsts when it comes to you, Pae.”
Her entire body heated. As much as Rowan touching her body sparked fire, his delicate words hit her so much harder. She gazed longingly, bending her brows, before she unclipped her locket. He studied her attentively, tracing her movements as she held the necklace out for him to take.
“What?” he asked.
“For the bargain you made.”
His hand engulfed hers, closing her fingers so she held the locket in her palm. He shook his head.
“Rowan,” she began, “you’ll lose your magic—you’ll die if you don’t—”
“I’m not taking something from you. I’ve already taken too much as it is.”
“What if I told you I wanted you to have it.”
He almost scoffed. “Pae, you don’t know what you’re saying. I stole something precious from you to use for my own misdeed. I’ve bonded our souls together beyond that of a mating bond without your true consent. I’ve—”
She breathed his name, drawing his attention to a standstill.
“I fear we cannot move forward unless we let go of the past. What you did”—she pondered a moment, Rowan dropping her hand—“hurt me. Yes. But that was before. And this,” she said as she gestured between their bodies, “is now. I am choosing to forgive you on my own accord. You may call it foolish, but it’s my foolish choice to make. ”
The room seemed to grow warmer, his chest almost touching hers. “I wonder if you were always supposed to swath my shadows in your light,” he whispered. His fingers gently stroked her cheek, gooseflesh rising along her skin, her body tingling.
“Do you believe in fate?”
“In a sense. I believe fate played a role in bringing us together. Fate chose us as mates. But it’s more than that.”
She wanted to ask him what he meant, but she seemed too caught in a daze as he intently eyed her.
“It’s growing dark.”
She nodded.
“Get some rest. Tomorrow, as much as I cannot predict these things, is going to be the day.”
Paeonia’s steps slowed as she traced the faded wallpaper on her way back to her room, her eyes catching on places where paint peeled and frames had been stripped from the walls.
The castle had once been a living thing—a court’s heart, humming with voices, adorned with heirlooms and light.
Now it was nothing but remnants Rowan had torn away, memories he’d tried to bury.
Empty plinths stood like gravestones. The wainscoting cracked and warped.
Even the stairs she climbed felt like the ghost of a path once crowded with laughter and bickering nobles.
Her fingers trembled at her sides as she wandered toward her chamber, but a murmur halted her. A woman’s voice—soft, low, sharp. She froze, every muscle stiffening.
“I don’t want to see her killed,” the voice hissed.
Sybil.
Paeonia remained frozen in the shadowed hall, only one sconce lit by the bend in the path.
“Do you think any of us want that?” Lord Olivander’s scoff slithered through the air. “But when Laurus comes, he won’t show mercy. Once the curse breaks, he’ll take what’s his. That girl is as good as dead.”
“She doesn’t deserve it,” Sybil pressed, voice trembling with more conviction than Paeonia had ever heard from her.
“Did you think Rowan’s mate would deserve it?” Olivander asked coldly. “Innocence doesn’t matter to Laurus. Vengeance does.”
A pause, weighted and suffocating. Paeonia’s nails bit into her palms.
Sybil whispered, almost pleading, “But she…she cares for him. He’ll know it when the bond takes root. Isn’t that enough?”
Olivander’s answer was flat and cruel. “Care won’t protect her. Once the curse is broken, Laurus will come for her. And Rowan will watch her die.”
Paeonia’s knees weakened, and her breath fled. They were talking about his curse. It seemed everyone knew but her.
“Castor says he refuses to speak of it,” Sybil murmured.
“Castor knows the truth as well as we do. Better than any of us.”
Paeonia’s chest caved. The air was suffocating as she clutched at her locket, grasping for something real, but even the metal felt foreign now.
Lost in confusion, she stumbled toward the cellar. The place where Barth waited.
Maybe Barth, for all his cruelty, would still help her. Maybe he’d get her back to Findale. Maybe he’d forgive her for not freeing him sooner.
The descent blurred into darkness, her hands scraping along the stone as she groped her way down. A single sconce flickered ahead, guiding her to his cell.
“Barth,” she whispered hoarsely, moving toward the glow.
When she finally made it in front of his cell, she screamed.
His body swung before her, suspended by a belt looped tightly around his throat, hooked cruelly above. His eyes—open, unseeing—fixed on her with a vacant stare. His jaw slack. His trousers damp.
Her hand flew to her mouth as she stumbled back, collapsing against the opposite bars.
She couldn’t look, couldn’t bear it, but the image seared itself into her mind all the same.
She staggered away and fell to her knees, retching onto the cold stone.
A sound clawed fire through her throat—a cry, broken and sharp.
Shame and fury mingled in her chest, poisonous and scalding.
When she forced herself to rise, her whole body shook. She braced the wall, dragging in uneven breaths. She pressed her forehead to the iron, trembling.