Chapter 16 Very Old Wine #2
Aurora hesitantly walked into the kitchen, then grabbed a plate. She tried not to seem overeager, but she was ravenous, and in the end, she piled her plate with as much food as it would hold. The Starmaker raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
“I didn’t have dinner,” she said, and then felt ridiculous; of course she hadn’t. She had left the wedding long before the reception had even begun.
“I remember.” The Starmaker put more food on his plate as well. “I was there, you know.”
Aurora slid onto a stool at the island, slowly exhaling. “I owe you an explanation.”
He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at her, which Aurora took as an invitation to continue.
“I have loved the stories of Reverie ever since I was a little girl. I learned them all by heart, and I knew from a young age that I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to be able to tell stories like the ones I heard as a child.” Aurora paused, taking a bite of a devilishly sweet pastry.
“Before our encounter in the woods, I was to wed Farren, whose family owns and operates Eternal Reverie. His father promised me a column once I married his son.”
“Are you going to tell me your whole life story?” the Starmaker asked with annoyance.
Aurora rolled her eyes. “You’re so impatient,” she said. “Just listen.”
The Starmaker waved his hand through the air as if he could not care less whether she continued or not.
“When I saw you standing at the altar, I got angry, so angry that you were being forced to play a part you did not want. Angry that we both were. And then that anger turned to panic, and I couldn’t calm myself down, couldn’t ignore my instinct to run.
” Aurora shook her head, still so full of that feeling, surprised by the intensity of it even now.
“We are Starmakers, and our stories are going to be told for generations; at the very least, shouldn’t they be true? Don’t we deserve that?”
The Starmaker was quiet, and Aurora wasn’t sure he would answer her. Then he spoke. “I don’t know,” he said wearily, and she could tell it was a sincere response. “I’m not sure I know who I am anymore, aside from the Starmaker.”
It was one of the most honest things he’d ever said to her, and it made her chest ache with both sadness and understanding. She thought back to his childhood room, the way it looked as if no one had set foot in it for years.
“Well, for starters, you’re grouchy. You’re not a morning person.
You prefer silence to casual conversation and have a soft spot for animals.
You also quite enjoy your tea, flowers, and poetry.
And every time the snow deer pull us down that particularly steep drop on the way to the glacier, you get an excited look on your face as if it’s the most fun you’ve ever had.
” Aurora said it lightly, trying to ease the weight of his admission, but the Starmaker watched her with confusion.
Then his expression shifted, and he looked genuinely moved.
But it was gone almost as soon as it appeared, leaving Aurora questioning if she’d even seen it at all.
“I do love that drop,” he admitted. “Otherwise it’s not a very charitable description, is it?”
“Then how about this: you make me feel as if I can be extraordinary.” Aurora was stunned when the words tumbled from her mouth, and she wished instantly that she could take them back.
She couldn’t believe she had said it out loud, and she looked away, mortified.
Leaving him at the altar and rejecting Farren in the same night had made her bold; bolder, she thought, than she ought to be.
But the words were also true. From their very first day together, the Starmaker’s only expectation of her was that she be great; he had never treated her as if she were anything else, and it had empowered her in a way she had never experienced before.
The Starmaker shifted in his seat, and she could feel his eyes on her. “You are extraordinary,” he said plainly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The Sun chose you for a reason.”
“As she did you,” Aurora said. “It would be a tragedy if you forgot all the reasons you were chosen.”
“Hm,” was all he said in response, reaching for a bottle of ice wine sitting in a silver bucket. The Starmaker hesitated. “Would you like a glass?” he finally asked, pulling two from the shelf. “I’ve been saving it, and now seems as good a time as any. This particular bottle is from my wedding.”
“You were married?” Aurora asked, unable to hide her shock.
“Almost,” the Starmaker said. “I called it off. I had the decency to tell her before the ceremony, of course, but it was months after I’d come into my magic, and I knew it wouldn’t be the marriage I had once hoped for.
She still wanted to proceed, but I had no desire to watch her fade away someday. ”
It reminded Aurora of her conversation with Farren, and she understood.
She understood entirely. “Up until this moment, I’ve always assumed marriage was something I wanted.
But I’m realizing now that what I really wanted wasn’t marriage at all, but rather the life it could afford me.
” Aurora said it softly, as if she should be ashamed.
She thought about how she had mourned losing her position with Eternal Reverie more than her life with Farren, and now she knew why.
“If I were not the Starmaker, I would have liked to be a husband. To wholly belong to another.” The words were so quiet Aurora barely heard them, and yet they caused something deep inside her to stir.
She couldn’t make sense of it, so she changed the subject instead, needing to focus on something else.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before the ceremony.”
“As am I,” the Starmaker said, pouring two glasses of wine and handing one to Aurora. “Especially because it forced me to announce that you are the Starmaker Rising.”
Aurora gaped at him. She knew it wasn’t fair of her to be hurt, not when she had left him standing there alone, but she couldn’t help it. “You agreed that you wouldn’t.”
“Yes, just as you agreed that we’d marry—insisted, really. But I had to explain why you moved to the castle so suddenly, and this is the perfect reason; your family won’t become the subject of gossip and the castle won’t lose the faith of those it protects.” He paused, met her eyes. “I am sorry.”
“You weren’t forced to do that. You could have said anything.” Aurora’s voice began to rise, and she tried to stay calm, but the weight of the entire mountain was pressing down on her shoulders, crushing her.
“I wasn’t given much time to prepare,” the Starmaker said, matching her tone.
“You are the Starmaker! They would have believed anything you told them,” Aurora said, standing, hating that she felt betrayed by him. He had handled being left at the altar better than she was handling this, and she knew it. And so did he.
“The jilted Starmaker,” he corrected, and Aurora didn’t know why, didn’t even feel it coming, but she laughed, a truly unhinged thing that could only be described as a cackle.
The Starmaker stared at her as if he couldn’t believe the sound that had just come from her lips, and then he was laughing, too.
Aurora clutched her stomach and laughed so hard she cried, and when she had no energy left, she sat back down.
“I didn’t get the chance to tell you earlier, but you look beautiful.” The Starmaker’s voice was low, and Aurora watched him, unable to breathe. His gaze trailed down her face and over her neck, sweeping across the bodice of her dress, which glistened in the dim candlelight.
“I can’t get it off,” she finally admitted. “It’s so tight and I’m so full, and all I want is to be free of this dress.” She paused. “Will you help me?”
The Starmaker swallowed, his jaw tensing. “Help you…?”
“Unbutton my dress. I don’t want to wake Ina, and I’ll never be able to sleep in this. It doesn’t need to be a big deal; I simply cannot reach the back on my own.”
The Starmaker said nothing for several breaths, and then he nodded.
Aurora stood, walking to where the Starmaker was seated. She turned her back to him and pulled her hair over her shoulder, waiting.
And waiting.
And waiting.
Finally, the Starmaker’s fingers brushed her skin, gently undoing button after button.
She could feel his exhales whispering across her back, and she shivered, hoping the Starmaker couldn’t see the goose bumps that were forming along her spine.
She had told him it wasn’t a big deal, that she only needed help, but her body hadn’t fully internalized the message, and her breaths became shallow as an ache began deep in her center.
His fingers made it all the way down to her tailbone, caressing her skin ever so softly, and Aurora felt unsteady on her feet. The Starmaker cleared his throat. “Done,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
Aurora turned slowly, holding her dress up in front. Their eyes met, and she had the sudden urge to press her lips to his, to learn how he tasted. To learn how he felt. It wasn’t so much a want as a need, and Aurora was dizzy with desire.
The Starmaker’s eyes were dark, searching her face, catching on her lips. Then he abruptly blinked and turned his head, grabbing the counter as if he needed the extra support.
Aurora came back to herself, taking a deep breath and reaching for her wine, wholly unprepared for what had just passed between them.
“To challenging each other,” she said, tipping her glass to him, desperate to clear the air of the moment.
The Starmaker raised his drink as well. Their glasses touched, and Aurora took a long sip, eager for the sweet chill of dessert wine to slide down her throat and ease her stirring gut.
Instead, a wretched sourness hit her tongue, and Aurora violently turned her head, spewing the beverage all over the kitchen.
The Starmaker’s wedding wine—the precious liquid he had been saving for hundreds of years—was running down Aurora’s chin and dripping onto the counter.
She took in the mess before her, utterly shocked.
Everything was covered, and she fought the urge to walk from the room without a single word.
What a tragic turn of events. She could feel her cheeks flaming, and she turned to the Starmaker, mortified.
He stared at her, slowly raising his glass to his nose. “Hm,” he murmured to himself. “I guess dessert wine can go bad.”
He set down his glass without taking a sip, stood, and walked to Aurora.
“You’ve got something just here,” he said.
He slowly brought his thumb to her jaw and rubbed it across her chin, lingering for just a breath.
Then he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Aurora holding up her wine-stained dress, drowning in embarrassment.
Everything was silent.
Then she heard his laughter burst forth and bounce off the castle walls, reaching her all the way back in the kitchen.