Chapter 4 #2
“I’ve always been comfortable with them,” I said, then felt foolish for the confession. “It’s simple observation. Anyone can do it. Though I have noticed they seem more responsive when Savory is nearby.” I glanced at my companion perched on the table.
“No,” he said. “Others couldn’t. You have a gift.”
The words settled over me in a way that made me feel like glowing, and I had to look away before he could see how much they affected me.
Other than my grandmother, no one had ever called my plant affinity a gift.
My sisters knew I had some ability with growing things, but it had always seemed insignificant compared to Cyrene’s joy magic or Adele’s weather manipulation.
My aptitude with plants was a hobby, nothing worth developing.
But the way Dominic looked at me suggested he saw something different.
His recognition of my abilities felt like a bridge between us. I told myself that having a partner who valued my strength would help me protect everyone better, without the mess of deeper emotions.
Before I could respond, the greenhouse door burst open with enough force to rattle the glass panels.
“Your Majesties.” A woman’s voice rang out. “Oh, how utterly romantic to find you here together!”
“Ah,” Dominic said, rising to his feet, his gaze traveling past her to a lord entering the greenhouse as well. “How nice to see you both.” He turned to me. “Allow me to introduce you to one of our most joyous couples, Lady Daphnie and Lord Primrose. Lord and Lady? This is Sasha, my queen.”
“We attended the wedding yesterday,” Lady Daphnie gushed, smoothing her hands down her ruffled pink gown. “And my, how lovely it was. There’s nothing quite like new love, is there, Primrose?”
The lord pressed one hand to his chest. He wore a dark tunic shot through with pink stripes that perfectly matched Daphnie’s gown. “Like two flowers intertwining their roots in the garden of matrimony.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said. “Good morning.”
“Good morning?” Lady Daphnie fluttered her jeweled fan in front of her face. “My dear queen, it’s a magnificent morning. Your first full day as a married couple, and here you are, sharing the sacred ritual of dawn gardening.”
“We were examining the dying plants,” I said.
“And no doubt examining each other’s souls through the medium of botanical distress,” Lord Primrose declared, pulling out a lace handkerchief and waving it for emphasis. “How utterly profound. Like two hawks circling in the mating dance of intellectual connection.”
I blinked. Hawks? Mating dance of intellectual connection? Now I was the one who had to stifle a laugh.
Even disorder has its own peculiar rhythm, Savory said dryly in my mind.
“You simply must continue this beautiful bonding over breakfast,” Lady Daphnie said, gliding forward with the train of her gown trailing behind her. “Newlyweds should share their morning meal while gazing deeply into each other’s souls.”
“Souls and sustenance,” Lord Primrose said, as if this was the best combination imaginable. “The twin pillars of marital bliss.”
“They should gaze at each other’s souls,” Lady Daphnie shot back. “And nourish the flames of passion with carefully selected delicacies that mirror the sweetness of their love.” With the back of her hand pressed against her forehead, she pretended to swoon.
Lord Primrose gently caught her, kissing her brow and setting her upright again.
“I was planning to suggest they consider flame-nourishing,” he said.
“You were about to mention hawks again,” she said with a pout that brought out the dimple in her right cheek.
Dominic caught my eye, and I found my own amusement reflected there. For a moment, we were united in our shared captivity to well-meaning but utterly overwhelming nobility.
“Thank you both for your thoughtful advice,” Dominic said, managing to sound sincere despite how silly the situation was. “We were actually just about to head to breakfast.”
“Wonderful,” they said at the same time.
“Allow us to escort you,” Lady Daphnie said.
“And provide additional romantic counsel along the way,” Lord Primrose added, wiggling his eyebrows in what he probably thought was a subtle way.
“That won’t be necessary,” I said, perhaps too quickly, because both of their faces crumpled with dismay. “I mean, we wouldn’t want to impose on your morning. Surely you have your own romantic gazing to do.”
Their expressions brightened immediately.
“She’s right, my darling,” Lord Primrose said, turning to Lady Daphnie. “We should retire to the rose garden and compose odes to each other’s magnificence.”
“Only if I can compose mine first,” she said. “My love clearly burns brighter.”
“Impossible. My devotion outshines the sun itself.”
They swept out of the greenhouse still arguing, leaving Dominic and me standing in welcome silence.
I glanced up at Dominic. “That was…”
“Overwhelming?”
“I was going to say interesting.”
His laugh came out low and genuine, with no trace of the uncontrollable giggling from yesterday, thank the fates. “You’re very diplomatic.”
“I assure you, it took practice.” He turned his sparkling gaze my way. “Would you like to have breakfast? If you haven’t eaten already. Or if you don’t want to eat alone.”
“I’d love to have breakfast with you.” The words popped out before I could think them through, but I actually did want to share a meal with my new husband. “I’ll do my best to gaze into your soul.”
His snort rang out. “I vow to do the same.”
We moved to the sink at the side of the greenhouse, taking turns washing the soil from our hands.
The water ran cool and clear, and I focused on the simple task to avoid thinking about how close Dominic stood, how his rolled-up sleeves revealed strong forearms, and how his nearness felt both unsettling and oddly comfortable.
We walked to the informal dining room together.
The morning light had grown stronger now, streaming through the windows and highlighting the subtle details of the manor house.
I took in the carved doorframes, the enchanted portraits of older fae whose eyes tracked us as we passed, and the clusters of drooping plants in need of attention.
“The problem’s everywhere, isn’t it?” I said, stopping to study a large gustivast tree with limbs stretching toward the cathedral ceiling.
“Yes, unfortunately.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
He paused, blinking down at me, before he gave me a slow smile. “Yes. We will.”
I told my heart to behave and stop hopping around inside my chest, but it didn’t appear willing to listen.
The second dining room was smaller than the formal space he’d shown me yesterday, with a table that seated perhaps a dozen people comfortably. Someone had already set two places at one end, as if they’d known we were coming.
Fae magic could be unsettling that way.
Dominic waited while a chair slid out for me, before gesturing I sit ahead of him, a courtly gesture that felt less formal here in the quiet morning space. I settled into it, Savory hopping from my shoulder to the back of an adjacent chair.
“What do you prefer for breakfast?” Dominic asked as he sat to my right. There was something endearing about the careful way he phrased his question, like my preferences actually mattered to him.
“Something simple,” I said. “Toast, maybe. Fruit. Primwort if you have it. With a touch of cream. I love tea but it doesn’t agree with my belly.”
“Primwort it is, then.”
He lifted a bell off the table and rang it once. Within moments, a young fae woman with silver and blue hair appeared, giving us both deep curtsies.
“Toast, fruit, and primwort for Her Majesty,” Dominic said. “And the same for me, please. Except tea instead of primwort. Also…” He paused, glancing at Savory. “Do ravens prefer fresh meat or would seeds be better?”
He asks instead of assuming. Savory sounded pleased. Rare wisdom in any creature, but especially in kings, is a gift that must be savored. Tell him I’ll have both.
“Fresh meat would be wonderful,” I said. “Small pieces. Plus some seeds. Sunworst and toomerine, if you have them.”
“Of course, Your Majesties.” The servant left through the door on one end of the room.
Dominic leaned back in his chair.
“So,” he said, his eyes finding mine. “Tell me honestly. How overwhelming is fae court life compared to what you’re used to?”
The question caught me off guard. I’d expected small talk or careful diplomatic dancing, not a direct invitation to share my real feelings.
“It’s…” I searched for the right words. “Different. More chaotic than I’m comfortable with. But not unmanageable.”
“That’s a very strategic assessment,” he said with a slight smile. “What I’m really asking is, are you completely terrified, or only moderately terrified?”
I laughed. “Moderately terrified. Maybe leaning toward significantly terrified during moments involving Lord Primrose and Lady Daphnie.”
“That’s fair.” His smile widened. “They mean well, but they are rather intense.”
Our breakfast magically floated into the room, plates and teacups gently lowering down in front of us, followed by our meals.
True to Dominic’s order, a small dish of fresh meat settled in front for Savory, the meat cut into perfectly sized pieces and arranged with surprising artistry.
Another dish with both seeds was placed beside the meat.
The presentation shows respect, Savory said, hopping onto the table to examine her meal. As does the quality of the cut. Your husband understands that how we treat the smallest members of our household speaks most of our character.
I glanced at Dominic, who was carefully not watching Savory but clearly hoping she approved. The thoughtfulness in the gesture made warmth unfurl in my chest.
“Savory’s pleased with her meal,” I said, and he nodded, his posture loosening.
We ate for a few minutes, and I was surprised by how easy it felt. I didn’t feel the need to fill every moment with conversation or fumble for topics. For now, we were just two people sharing a meal while morning light painted patterns across the table.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said in the greenhouse,” Dominic said after swallowing a sip of his tea. “About there always being a pattern. You’re right, of course. I’ve been too close to the problem to see it clearly.”
“Sometimes that happens,” I said, sipping my primwort. It was perfectly brewed, with enough honey to balance the bitterness. “When you’re dealing with something every day, the details tend to blur together.”
“Exactly.” He leaned forward, and I couldn’t avoid noticing the way his eyes caught the light, the strong line of his jaw, and the genuine interest in his expression as he listened to me speak. “Your analytical approach could help if you’re willing to work on this together.”
“I am. I want to help.”
His smile grew warmer, reaching his eyes in a way that made my pulse stutter. “I think we could make a good team, Sasha. Your strategy and my intuition. Your structure and my flexibility.”
“Complementary approaches,” I said, already seeing the potential in combining our strengths.
“Exactly.”
I took another sip of primwort, letting myself imagine what this marriage could become.
Not just an alliance, but a true partnership.
Working together to solve problems. Learning to trust each other’s strengths.
Maybe even finding something deeper than political necessity.
The thought stirred real attraction, but I caught it quickly.
Letting my heart get involved could lead to pain, and I couldn’t bear feeling the way I had after losing my parents.
Better to focus on fixing things, something I’d done after, helping Grandmother make sure my sisters had all they needed.
The reminder made it easier to see his depth as useful for the alliance, nothing more.
Yet for the first time since the disastrous wedding ceremony, I felt excited, and I worried about what that might mean.
“So about the court schedule,” Dominic said, reaching for a piece of toast. “There are a few events this week you should know about. Nothing too overwhelming, mostly informal gatherings where you can meet the key lords and ladies without the pressure of—”
A giggle erupted from him.
I froze, my cup of primwort halfway to my lips.
He tried to continue speaking, but another laugh burst out, then another. Within seconds, he was doubling over, his shoulders shaking with the same uncontrollable chuckling that had plagued our wedding ceremony.
The warmth in my chest turned to ice.
“I’m—” He giggled. “I’m sorry, I can’t—” Another laugh burst from him, this one edged with desperation. “Fates, not again.”
The start of the friendship we’d built over breakfast crumpled like broken glass. I was left staring at my giggling husband while my excitement withered like the dying plants in his greenhouse.
Whatever had caused yesterday’s disaster was still here, still affecting him, still standing between us like a wall I didn’t know how to breach. I should be grateful for that. It helped me keep distance between us.
As Dominic struggled to control his laughter, I touched my locket and rebuilt my defensive walls, brick by careful brick.