Chapter 16 #2
The wine cellar isn’t far from the kitchens—I’ve seen servants going in and out, fetching bottles.
As soon as I open the arched wooden door, a chill wafts up from the depths.
Racks of wine line the stairs. Probably the less valuable stock, meant to be accessed quickly for dinners on any given night.
The farther I descend, the colder the air gets, labels fading under layers of dust. I reach the bottom and spy Alaris kneeling with his back to me, the sleeves of his shirt pushed past his elbows. His long torso twists as he moves crates, searching the lowest rack.
“Looking for a wine, Ly?” he asks, without turning. He lifts a bottle. “I only ask that if you sneak one of these, you save it for a special occasion.”
Maybe I wasn’t as quiet as I thought. “I’m not here for the wine. I’m looking for you, actually.”
“And here I thought I’d have to track you down first. I hear you’ve been keeping busy since we’ve been apart.”
I stiffen. So Karns has reported on my exploration. No use denying it. “Is there a problem with that?”
“If I had a problem with it, I wouldn’t have waited for you to find me in the wine cellar. I want you to be comfortable here. Apologies for not checking in since I’ve been back.”
“No need to bother, my lord.”
“Alaris. And it’s not a bother. I’ll have you know my trips to the aviary are the highlight of my schedule.”
Does he ever turn the charm off? Something about it feels sour, after seeing him return with a lady on his arm.
“Then your schedule must be very empty. And yet here I am to save you more time.” I hold out the scroll, a little wrinkled from my nervous grip. “There’s a message for you.”
His attention drops to it. He settles to face me, resting a forearm on his folded leg. “My hawks usually handle the message deliveries.”
I gesture around the room. “They couldn’t very well reach you in the wine cellar.”
“Told you that, did they?”
“You aren’t near a window. It seemed more efficient to come find you myself.”
“The birds come inside if it’s urgent.”
I didn’t know that—I have only seen them circling the castle and alighting on windowsills. I pivot. “And I’m sure the maids don’t appreciate the cleanup. I’ve mucked the aviary floor enough times to know they cause a mess.”
“It’s better than cleaning up blood from severed fingers,” he says, eyes roaming my intact hands, and lingering on the one still holding the message aloft. “Which is what usually happens if someone tries to take a scroll before they reach me.”
“Then I guess I’m more likeable than the company they’re used to.” Like their lord. I waggle the fingers of my free hand. “Not a scratch.”
Alaris’s eyes flash, his lips curling, like he heard the insult I didn’t voice. He brushes dust off his silk shirt and puts out his palm. “Alright then.”
I stride forward, note held out, victorious. Him accepting this message is implicit agreement for me to hand deliver more.
He stands as he reaches for the note. I’m forced to look up to meet his gaze, our chests only a foot apart.
His fingers brush mine on the scroll, and I let go too fast, the memory of being this close to him in the dark surfacing before I can stop it.
I hope the dim light is enough to hide the flush I’m sure is on my cheeks.
I release the paper and force myself to step back.
His eyes dart between mine, perhaps trying to suss out my reaction.
He tucks the note into his pocket, bends down, and picks up two bottles.
He holds one out to me. “Here, take this. As a gift.”
I don’t reach for it.
He dangles it. “I won’t ask you to try it in front of me. You wouldn’t tell me what you thought of the vintage anyway, but I think you’ll enjoy it.” His eyes glint. “This will be your proof that wine really does age better in the bottle.”
“You know that spill was an accident,” I grumble. I accept the dusty gift with both hands and turn it over. I’ve seen bottles with green, purple, and gold labels like this—they only come out for honored guests on high holidays. “I thought you said this was only for celebrations.”
“You’ve apparently won over your sharp-beaked charges.” His low voice hums. “That is an accomplishment worth celebrating.”
I tuck the bottle close to my chest, and gesture at his own. “And what are you celebrating?”
“Ah. I have a guest.”
The phrase is innocuous, but something in his halted delivery is not. I stiffen as I realize what he means: a woman. Another visitor here to share his bed.
“It must be someone special,” I say, stepping back farther. “Then I won’t keep you. Thank you for the wine.”
His mouth opens like he is going to say something else, but I don’t want to hear it. I curtsy, smooth and practiced, and rush up the cellar stairs.
I go straight to my room, not eager to be seen in the hallway with such an expensive wine. I set it on my table and eye it. It’s a finer vintage than I was ever allowed to sample at the palace, and I should celebrate. I’m a messenger now, with an excuse to wander the castle.
But for some reason, I don’t feel like toasting my success.
I climb into bed without dinner, hoping sleep will come quickly, and blur the thoughts I don’t want to explore. In some other room, Alaris and a woman are probably clinking glasses. Maybe they are laughing across a candlelit table. Or maybe, they have already moved on to other things…
And I should not care about that at all.
All I want from Alaris is that stone. What he does with his evening doesn’t matter to me.
I only feel sour because our brief encounter was my sole experience.
His hands and his face are now the only shape my desire has taken.
That was the first time I felt that kind of want.
Of course it lingers. Of course I’m jealous of someone else who gets to indulge in it.
There is no doubt he’s skilled. I bet all women feel this way with him.
It will pass in time, with new experiences. But I won’t get the chance to have them if I don’t stay focused and survive.