32. But we’re not dead
But we’re not dead
Cypress let out a growl of resignation and rose from the bed. She had barely slept at all. Instead, she had agonized over every single detail of the kiss.
She didn’t know what had come over her in the secluded alcove. The way Torren looked at her, his lips on her finger…
He was like a ravaging storm hovering on her horizon.
Torren returned the kiss like a man starved, but then…
Why hadn’t he followed her?
Time stretched, then snapped into focus with him looming over her. All Cypress wanted was to kiss him, so she did—and then ran like a coward.
And, since Torren did not follow her to her rooms or even knock on her door some hours later, Cypress had come to the conclusion that she had made an utter fool of herself and would never mention it again.
It was this damn palace. Every time she was under the protection of A’aravos Paravale, all sense seemed to leave Cypress.
At least they would depart today. Even if it was going back to the human lands, back to the life she thought she loved, to steal the Scepter from right under Caelith and Cade’s noses.
Cypress sent a silent thank you to the Dryaad as she reached for the crystal knob and cranked it to draw hot water for her bath.
Before anything else, she needed a bath. A sleepless night tangled in thoughts and sheets left Cypress sweaty and irritable.
The bath would fix it.
A nearby shelf held the soaps, various dried herbs and flowers, and a selection of oils for the bath.
Notably, Fire Vine Flowers were now present. They hadn’t been on her previous stay.
She selected the bowl of small, almost heart-shaped blooms, along with a neutral scented oil and a few herbs. Carrying them to the tub, she tossed them all into the still-filling water.
Once the bath was full, Cypress stepped over the raw cut amethyst edge and sank into the water with a hum.
Cypress sat there for quite some time with her head leaned against the edge while she basked in the familiar comfort.
When Cypress couldn’t bear her thoughts in the silence any longer, she scrubbed herself clean.
Hopefully, she and Torren would travel fast and light to the Keep.
After drying off with a soft cloth, Cypress dressed in comfortable leather pants with laces going up either thigh and hip. She sat and pulled the laces tight, tying them into bows.
Somehow, Cypress had amassed a number of garments both while traveling with Torren and while at the palace. From the shirts hanging in a cupboard, she chose a dusty purple linen option that could be worn loose around the shoulders, along with her usual armored underbust corset.
After some hesitation, Cypress let the shirt drape over one shoulder, the other bare.
Usually, Cypress had to wear fancy dresses to stay in fashion and out of suspicion at the Keep. In Faerie, she could finally dress for herself.
Perhaps that freedom was the best part of being here, away from Grethnah and the Court’s influence.
Cypress’s hair was still damp when she left her room. The strands curled more than usual in the humidity of the early hours of the day.
First, she went to the kitchens and ate a small meal while chatting with the cooks. The kitchen staff was almost entirely comprised of Small Folk, but there were other Fair Folk mulling about.
The kitchen was built to suit the smaller stature of the Small Folk, as well. Countertops were lowered significantly, while the large fire pits for enormous cauldrons of stew and other food were installed below floor level.
“There are a few more of those, if you like, I can send them down before you depart?” the Small Folk Cypress had learned was named Fiathad asked, and gave her a smile.
Cypress supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that the Small Folk knew she was about to leave with Torren, yet here she was.
“Are you sure? I’d hate to take food if someone else here needed it more?”
In Cypress’s experience, someone always needed food more than she did. She’d missed more meals than she could count and hated that children still starved in Grethnah.
Once more, shame washed over Cypress. Before all this, she had believed it was simply the way of things—that she was powerless to change it. A lie, she saw now. She could have tried. She should have tried.
“No one goes hungry in A’aravos. Take the scone if you like it. There is always more coming from Fiathad’s kitchen.”
After a moment, Cypress nodded, offering Fiathad a small smile.
It was still hard to believe that the Wylds operated like this. Cypress often forgot how the Fair Folk treated each other. How they cared for their people and gave thanks to the land they lived on.
Humans, in contrast, destroyed trees and beasts without thought, leveling forests to build grand castles from stone.
It seemed barbaric compared to Faerie, where thriving depended on the trees and gratitude for the land.
When all this was done, Cypress didn’t think she’d ever be able to feel at home within Grethnah again. Not when this was available to her.
Not when a place called the Soul Reach waited for Cypress, her namesake trees encircling a castle. Despite still not feeling like a Duchess, she couldn’t wait to see the land that was supposed to be hers.
Cypress left the kitchen after thanking the cooks one more time. On her way out, Fiathad promised to deliver the remaining scones to her horse before her and Torren’s departure.
Just as she turned a corner and walked toward the gardens, the Prince himself appeared. He wore the same clothes as the night before. His dark hair was tousled, like someone had spent the evening running their hands through it.
She would know.
Cypress sighed and closed her eyes.
Not a word. She wouldn’t say a word about what happened. Torren made his stance clear by not coming after her and spending the night in someone else’s arms.
“Where you off to, Duchess?” Torren asked. His storm grey eyes roamed over her body.
“Gardens. I was going to wait for you there—and ask A'aravos to tell you where to find me…” Cypress trailed off, now feeling ridiculous for saying it aloud.
Would that have even worked?
That familiar rakish grin appeared on Torren’s face, and his eyes darkened. “Well, go on then. I’ll be ready soon, Duchess.”
Where were you? The question burned Cypress’s tongue, where she kept it locked behind her teeth.
Instead, she rolled her eyes.
“Thanks for the permission, Thief,” Cypress snapped and then walked away from him.
Maybe she let her hips sway a little more than usual when she felt Torren’s eyes on her receding form.
Once inside the gardens, Cypress removed her boots, set them aside, and then laid across one of the stone benches that was currently in a dappled pool of sunlight.
She’d learned her lesson the last time that she waited for Torren. There was no telling how long he would keep her that way.
Cypress draped her hair over the edge of the bench, fanning the strands out to catch more of the breeze. She hoped her hair would be fully dry by the time Torren was ready to leave.
She crossed her ankles, then folded her hands over her middle. Cypress closed her eyes and basked in the sunlight shining through the leaf ceilings of A’aravos Paravale.
Wake up. Open your eyes.
Like a bowstring pulled taut, Cypress snapped to consciousness.
“Good morning, Duchess.”
A flush of heat burst across her cheekbones.
What would Torren’s voice sound like if he said that to her while still hoarse and thick with sleep? What would it feel like to wake with their legs tangled together?
“Took you long enough,” she said.
How long had he been watching her sleep?
The grin on Torren’s face only spread, stretched wider. “Did you have a nice cat nap?”
Cypress scrunched her face up and hissed like a cat.
Surprised laughter pealed out of Torren. His expression made Cypress chuckle and be glad she hadn’t suppressed the urge, as absurd as it had been.
Cypress stretched and pushed herself upright.
As she pulled on her boots, Cypress admitted the nap had been pleasant—somehow more restful on a stone bench than the night she’d spent tossing and turning in a luxurious bed.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Torren laughed and sat next to her.
Cypress shook her head. “No, the nap was nice.”
“Why’d you hiss at me then?” Torren asked with his head cocked to the side.
Cypress shrugged and kept her gaze steady on her hands as she pulled the laces tight on her boots. “I just felt like it.”
“Oh, did I make the kitty angry?” Torren crooned and leaned into her space, his breath in her ear.
A shiver ran down Cypress’s spine.
“Kitty is perfectly fine, thank you,” Cypress said, then stood. “Are you done now?” She asked, arms crossed over her middle.
Torren looked at her through half-lidded eyes, and it was all she could do to keep her feet in their place, to not place her knees on either side of his hips and kiss him until her lips bled.
“Not nearly, but yes, let’s go,” Torren said, then stood and walked out of the gardens without looking back to see if she followed.
Cypress trailed after him, her hands clenched into fists at her side.
She had made a colossal fucking mess out of this. What was she thinking, kissing him like that?
At least there would be miles and miles of hard travel between them, making conversation a chore.
By the time Cypress and Torren left A’aravos Paravale, the afternoon had been nearly upon them. With the sun on their backs and only hoofbeats for company, they galloped through the Wylds until nightfall.
Hardly a single word was said until Cypress and Torren once again found themselves camped within a Faerie ring large enough for them and the horses.
The pair fell into a familiar routine, built from the previous weeks on the road together.
After cooling down the horses, Torren started a fire while Cypress unpacked a few provisions.
When Cypress laid the food she’d collected on a worn-down stump, she locked eyes with Torren for the first time since they’d left the palace.