Chapter 46
Forty-Six
Lepidolite
Heat blossoms throughout my chest as Graylen’s eyes slowly pull away from mine, gazing down the expanse of my body with a look that promises he’ll be on his worst behavior tonight.
“A little expensive for our humble rations, no?” I say with a smirk, nodding to his clothing. “Looks like you spent a bit more than Adrian gave us.”
He crosses his arms and leans against a wooden beam, his shirt straining at his shoulders. “Mind manipulation comes in handy on occasion.”
Amusement dances in his tone, and I shake my head, unable to stop the corners of my mouth from turning up. Something shifted in him after the last few nights—like being in Lyland is helping to heal a small, broken part of him.
There’s no denying it’s going to take time for him to fully heal—if he ever fully heals—but a little bit of the pain in his gaze has lifted, like the weight of it eased enough for him to breathe again.
“How much to have our dinner brought to our rooms?” Adrian grumbles from beside me, pulling my attention to him.
The barkeep leans forward on the uneven wooden surface, his hands braced out wide as he huffs a laugh and motions to the room behind us. “Does it look like we have maids here?”
I roll my lips together to suppress a smile as Adrian looks around, his eyes widening as if just realizing the state of the tavern—a small room with rickety tables and mismatched chairs.
The oil lamps are covered in soot, dimming their flames to dull flickers. Above us, the ceiling slopes down in the middle, sagging.
Clearly not a place that would have maids.
“He’s going to spend all of our money before we even make it to the castle,” I mutter into Graylen’s mind. Mirth dances down the thread that binds us. “But eating with just you beats being out here.”
Dining with Graylen and Adrian is the last thing I want to do. Especially when I’ve just gotten Graylen back.
“We’re supposed to be blending in, remember?” Graylen’s voice drifts into my mind, and the heat of his shoulder presses against mine as he squeezes between Adrian and me. He leans forward into the bar, his forearms pressed to the edge of the wood.
A burst of laughter comes from behind us as a new group of people enters.
More people trickle in, the room not as crowded as last night but far from empty now. A banjo player sets up in front of the fireplace, a random string plucked here and there as he tunes his instrument.
“Everyone has a price,” Adrian slurs, a grin on his face.
When he reaches into his vest, Graylen wraps a hand around his wrist, stopping him from pulling the coin out. Adrian’s head whips toward us, his mouth sloping into a frown.
Turning to the barkeep, I nod to a small empty place in the corner, concealed enough to keep others’ eyes off of us, still worried Adrian might be recognized. “We’ll take three ales and whatever it is you’re serving tonight.”
He gives me a lazy nod, already moving back down the bar to take another order. I spin off of my seat and head for the half-hidden spot in the corner, feeling Graylen’s presence like a warm blanket as he shifts to follow me.
The three of us huddle around the small round table, Adrian’s back to the room while Graylen and I face out, watching the people around us.
Adrian doesn’t need more ale, but he accepts it greedily as a young boy with floppy brown hair sets mugs down in front of us. Before the boy has a chance to leave, Adrian has already drained half of his cup.
“Another round?” the boy stammers, his eyes as wide as saucers.
“You’re a smart kid.” Adrian raises his cup, a sloppy grin on his face. “I’ll take another when you’ve got the time.”
The boy scampers off, disappearing through the crowd that has gathered in the middle of the room. They’ve pushed most of the tables to the walls to create a makeshift dance floor.
We watch in silence as the banjo player starts strumming, the pace upbeat but steady. Not too fast, not too slow. Adrian—clearly drunk—drums his hands on the edge of the table in an extremely off-beat pattern, bobbing his head without a care in the world.
It isn’t fully awkward sitting with him and Graylen, but it isn’t comfortable either. It doesn’t feel the same as when we camped along the way; there’s something different about this setting.
Though I suppose it could be worse.
Our food is brought out, consisting of lukewarm rice and vegetable soup with sourdough bread. We eat it without any of us saying a single word.
Adrian slows his drinking after cleaning his bowl entirely, his eyes still glazed over—but at least I don’t have to worry about needing to carry him to his room later.
The boy returns to take our bowls, and the somewhat comfortable silence between the three of us is disrupted by Adrian coughing. He looks anywhere but at us, and Graylen glares at him.
A warm hand slips onto the top of my thigh, so hot that it seeps through my dress.
My gaze swings to where Graylen sits beside me, a smirk on his mouth. He’s leaned back, his eyes on everyone dancing. His shoulders are relaxed—one arm slung over the back of his chair as he sprawls out in the wooden seat.
Maybe the ale loosened him up. My eyes find the cup in front of him, but my brows raise. He hasn’t touched it.
I clear my throat and shift to watch the room, too, trying to ignore the way his palm feels against my leg.
A woman in a low-scooped neckline grabs a man dancing in the center of the room by his shirt, her hand fisting the fabric at his chest. Her cheeks are flushed and her mouth is twisted into a frown.
The man leans in, his face mirroring hers. It’s too loud to hear what they’re saying, but she points her finger right at his nose, her chest heaving as her muffled shouts carry over the music.
At first, I think she’s about to punch him. But then, she drags her body against his, and he presses his lips to hers. His hands fly to her waist, immediately roaming around to her back and sinking low.
She doesn’t pull away; in fact, she melts into him. Her hands reach up and thread into his long, shoulder-length hair.
My mouth pops open. I’m far more used to women in Runnswick who are told to act like a lady and never get too close to a man they aren’t promised to. But then again, Reichardt never allowed me to go into taverns on my trips to the market.
For all I know, this is how those bars were, too.
This is a side to Crea I’ve never seen, a side that’s free and wild.
It’s a side I could learn to love.
The man breaks their kiss and slips his hand into hers. Just when I think he’s about to take her upstairs, he pivots and walks them to an empty chair across from us. Directly in our line of sight.
The woman smirks, clearly knowing where this is going, and shoves him down by his chest until he’s sitting in front of her.
My brows jump when she straddles him, her back to us, not a care in the world that they’re in a crowded bar. The man’s hands slide from her waist to her lower back, pulling her closer to him.
Her mouth lowers to his, and her back arches.
My body flushes as she grinds into him, and I can feel Graylen’s gaze on me. Heat stirs in my stomach. I slowly turn to face him.
“Enjoying the show, little princess?” His voice rumbles into my mind, making me shiver. “If I would’ve known you liked to watch, I would’ve given you something to look at a long time ago.”
I blink rapidly, my mouth slightly agape at the change in his demeanor. Graylen is so…free. So like his old self. I can’t bring myself to call attention to it, afraid I’ll break the spell over this moment.
Something shifted today while we were apart. I take a closer look at him, watching the way his chest rises and falls slightly faster than it did before he sacrificed himself to the Vale.
He turns back to the couple—unabashedly making out still—with a grin on his face. Even in his smile, I can see the scars on his heart. The way there’s no joy in his gaze, or how he still opts for communicating through our bond rather than speaking out loud.
Any heat that had stirred in my chest begins to dull.
“Graylen…” His name leaves my lips on a gentle sigh.
He’s hurting on the inside while plastering a mask over his face on the outside. A pit forms in my stomach seeing him try so hard to be what he might consider normal. The “old him.” But I’ll love Graylen through every version of himself.
“Play pretend with me for a little while,” he whispers, a desperation flickering through his gaze. “We can face our problems in the morning.”
My heart stalls. I haven’t played pretend since being in Penyth—haven’t needed to. Not with my family, my home, and Graylen showing me what it means to love reality as much as I loved the stories in my head.
As much as I want to deny Graylen, to face all of these feelings he’s going through, I can see the lostness in his eyes. The need to escape if only for one night—a feeling I know all too well.
He smiles again, and I watch a spark dance in his dull eyes.
Even knowing he isn’t fully himself, there’s still something…lighter about him. I can’t help but wonder if it’s a mask—a way for him to forget about the pain he’s feeling. And if that’s what he needs tonight, then I’ll give that to him. If only for one night.
He can’t run from what happened in the Vale forever, but that doesn’t mean he needs to deal with everything right now.
“Brat,” I mutter through our connection.
At that, his smirk only grows wider.
It makes me think of a time when we did this for show, when I had no choice but to go along with pretending to be his fiancée and we had to make everyone around us believe our lie.
But it isn’t a lie anymore.
Adrian is back to drumming on the table with his hands, completely unaware of the tension thickening in the air between Graylen and me. Unaware of the way Graylen’s finger starts to play with the fabric of my dress on the inside of my thigh.
I’m two seconds away from dragging Graylen upstairs and straddling him the way the woman in front of us is straddling that man.