Chapter 32 #3
Alleria turns her head, and the moment she spots the vaelcait, her lips curve up.
She takes a slice of meat from her plate and crosses the courtyard.
When she reaches where the vaelcait sits, she holds the meat out to him.
He considers her, tail swishing slightly, then he leans forward and takes it with the delicacy of an elder being offered tea.
She laughs, a delighted sound that reaches my ears on the breeze, then reaches out with one hand, slowly enough that Dubh-chrá could evade her touch if he wished.
He does not.
He tilts his head, and she runs her fingers through the fur under his jaw. A quiet rumble comes from him.
“You going to keep staring all night, or are you going to do something about it?” Therin’s voice comes from my right, and I turn to look at him.
“I’m going to keep staring for a while longer.”
He snorts, and tips his goblet against the rim of mine, soft enough that the chime barely carries. “And then?”
“And then I’m going to do something about it.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, and fills his goblet from the bottle at my feet, before stepping away. “Try not to be too obvious when you pull her over here.”
“I am never obvious.”
“Cairn.” Therin manages to sound deeply affectionate and utterly disrespectful all at once. “You’re pulling so hard right now, the entire Guard can feel it.”
He’s gone, leaving me no chance to deny it.
Alleria’s head turns, and her eyes find mine. I set my goblet down on the broad arm of the chair, and reach for her along the bond.
Her hand lifts and presses flat against her breast. When she realizes what she’s doing, her eyes narrow.
I do it again. Slower this time, longer, letting her feel the intent behind it.
Come to me, if you choose.
She takes my offer.
The second she moves toward me, all eyes snap to her.
This is a courtyard full of fae who can feel the air around me change.
Vessara very pointedly turns her head and laughs loudly at something Brael says.
Therin catches my eye and lifts his goblet in my direction, the corner of his mouth pulled up.
Every other thread in the bond falls quiet under my attention, the pulses of my Guard dropping back to the place deep inside where they live, until the only one I let myself feel is hers.
Her bare feet on the stone. The dress moving against her thighs as she walks. The chain in her hair catching the light with every step. The blood bond winds tighter the closer she gets, a slow, hot thread, drawing taut behind my ribs.
She stops in front of my seat.
I lean forward, set my hand against the curve of her hip, and draw her forward. She comes willingly, and I guide her to sit on the broad arm of the chair.
“Moirthalen.” I lift my goblet and bring it to her mouth, my fingers brushing her jaw to tilt her chin. “Drink.”
She does, eyes on mine over the rim. The wine paints her lower lip dark until her tongue licks it clean. The bond between us pulses hard enough that I have to force it down.
“What is it?” She's looking out at the courtyard now, at my Guard pretending not to look at us.
“Moonlace wine. From the cellars under our feet.” I lean closer, letting my mouth brush against her ear. “Put down there a very long time before you were born, by hands that had no idea that one day a human-raised halfling in a moon-dress would be the one to drink it.”
Her head turns toward me. “Your hands?”
“My hands.”
Her lips part, pink staining her cheeks.
“Not yet, Aethryn.” It comes out rougher than I intend.
I take a sip of wine before continuing. “I have spent the last hour watching you be folded into the Guard. I have watched you look at me eight times across this courtyard, and tell yourself each time that you won’t do it again, only to do so anyway. ”
She swallows, the pulse in her throat racing.
“I have been very patient with all of it.” I press my goblet to her lips again.
“I have been patient because I wanted to give them tonight. I wanted to give you tonight. I wanted you to spend enough time here that you can feel what you have walked into. That you are not alone. That this—” My hand finds the small of her back and I spread my fingers against the bare skin where the dress falls open.
She shivers. “This is yours now, as much as it is theirs.”
I tip the goblet, and she takes a sip of the wine.
“I am going to take you out of this courtyard, and I am going to undo that silver in your hair, because I want to see it down around your shoulders when there is no one to watch but me. Then, slowly enough that your skin will remember every place the moon set the fabric against you, I am going to take this dress off you. Once I have you naked, I’m going to spend a great deal of the night reminding you whose claim you accepted, until you cannot tell my name from your own. ”
Her breath hitches.
“But not yet.” I press my mouth to the curve of her throat. “Drink your wine, Moirthalen. Watch your Guard. They have waited a long time to be whole again. They are allowed another hour of you.”