Chapter Twenty-Eight
Avari
The wind still hummed in my ears long after we landed.
Walking through the cobbled street, it felt like I had gone back in time.
The architecture, stuck in another era, had a charm the new builds lacked.
Though slanted and imperfect, the burnt bricks and chipping paint called to my soul.
The faint scent of woodsmoke and baked bread lingered in the air, mingling with the warmth of the sun.
‘What is this place?’ I asked, breathing in the village as if its essence might answer back. It smelled fresh and like freedom.
Shoulders relaxed and a smile taking over his face, River said, ‘Where I wanted to move before I became king. I built a house and everything.’
I didn’t think the scenery fit his persona. ‘You wanted a quiet life?’
‘Why do you seem surprised? I enjoy privacy and simplicity,’ he winked, making me wonder whether he was being serious.
‘You just seem so complex and outgoing,’ I said, laughing. ‘I would’ve assumed you’d live in a city that never slept.’
He shuddered. ‘Wrong. I would open my weaponry forge here and have enough kids to form my fireball squad. We would crush the other teams.’ A vibrant gleam lit his gaze, and he chuckled softly and knowingly, like he held a secret.
Entirely astonished, I complained, ‘Poor woman, how many kids do you need for a fireball team?’
More laughter tore from him as he explained, ‘Six for the small leagues, twelve if I’m going pro.’
‘After giving you so many, that woman would deserve the world.’ I shot him an expectant look, knowing males didn’t always appreciate the struggles of bearing children.
River nodded, looking ahead and smiling as if he were imagining the life we talked about.
‘I will bring the world on a plate for my mate anyway,’ he said, eyes losing focus. ‘Do you want any children?’
Finding myself as the topic of conversation unsettled me. I didn’t like admitting how difficult life was for me. ‘One day. But it’s a little more complicated for me.’
A crease formed between his brows as he studied my face with a tightened expression. ‘How so?’
‘My mother. I couldn’t have children knowing I am defenceless if she tries to hurt them.’
A muscle twitched in his cheek as his posture turned rigid. ‘I am sure your mate will keep all of you safe.’
It didn’t escape my attention that the king had softened his attitude toward my partially fae genetics, though he needed to realise the differences. ‘I am only partially fae, remember? We don’t really get mates.’
‘Didn’t you say your people don’t usually wait or look for them? That’s probably why. You have fae blood in you, so you are capable of finding a mate.' Certain of his words, his tone never faltered.
I had to admit I found the phenomenon fascinating. ‘Our last conversation on matehood actually encouraged me to research the topic, but I still find it confusing.’
Patting himself on the chest and smiling encouragingly, he said, ‘Ask away.’
‘It’s the whole concept of one person being the one destined for you. I’m supposed to believe that in the whole world and realms there’s only one individual that I should be with?’ I challenged his optimistic approach, aware that I didn’t hold enough knowledge to debate it anyway.
‘Some say our souls have been divided in half, and we are supposed to find the missing one.’
Fate played a vital role, but I wondered whether one could really entrust it with their lives.
I nodded. ‘What if you find your mate, and you hate them, find them repulsive, or just don’t want to be mated?’
The confrontation in my tone turned River slightly defensive as he explained, ‘Like everything in life, matehood is optional.’
Optional. The word lingered in my head like a promise I didn’t quite believe.
Did my negative approach offend him? Perhaps I criticised their ways too much, but there were plenty of factors to consider in this matter that, as someone who grew up in a culture different to theirs, I could clearly see as problematic.
‘That’s what you say, but the story of the Water King Theodore and the witch Eleonor was tragic,’ I countered. ‘He forced her to mate him.’
He snorted, unimpressed. ‘Where did you get that from?’
‘History books—you just have to read between the lines.’
‘You might want to read about it from another perspective. Their story is quite touching,’ River announced as we stopped in front of a quaint café. ‘Enough of that; let’s get food.’
The café smelled of cinnamon and melted sugar, the kind of sweetness that wrapped itself around you and refused to let go.
The aroma of pastries, cookies, and cakes filled the little space, enough to send me into a sugar high. While the king waited for me to pick what I wanted, and I bounced from one cake to another, he eventually ordered all four flavours to be delivered to our table outside.
With the subtle sunshine basking us in orange hues, once we sat down, I accused him, ‘The flight took it out of you, huh?’
Smiling, his eyebrows raised lightly. ‘Why do you think so?’
‘Why order so many cakes?’ I scrunched my nose, light critique lacing my voice.
It made him snicker. ‘We can share. Unless you’re a germophobe or find me disgusting, then I’ll have to order another round.’
I shook my head. ‘Just this once I will, so don’t be greedy and leave some for the townsfolk.’
As the waitress arrived with the sweets he ordered, I once again faced a dilemma over which to try first.
As if he realised, River pushed a plate with the chocolate cake towards me, saying, ‘It smells the best.’
Digging into the velvety dream of cocoa and cream, it felt like my taste buds started living through an out-of-body experience. The richness and intensity of the chocolate mousse paired perfectly with the whipped cream that cleansed the palate.
A small, involuntary sound escaped me—dangerously close to indecent. ‘God, you have to try this.’
Snatching a bite of mine while I dug into the blueberry cake on his plate, we stopped talking and focused on experiencing instead.
‘Did we live up to your expectations?’ the waitress asked when we finished, smiling brightly and placing a hand on my shoulder in a friendly way.
‘Oh, it exceeded my expectations; that’s the best cake I’ve had,’ I said, as my companion focused on paying the bill.
The second she left, I demanded, ‘Take it out of my pay cheque.’
A scowl scarred his face. ‘Why?’
‘I want to pay for it,’ I responded calmly, not understanding the issue.
‘Even if you do, I’m the one paying anyway. What’s this pressure to pay for yourself about? I can pay for you,’ River pressed, as I sat assessing him in wonder.
This must have been one of the cultural differences because I couldn’t understand. ‘Why do you even want to pay for me?’
‘I just want to,’ his deep chuckle vibrated through the crowded space, earning us a few curious glances.
‘Weird—and not what I asked.’
Uncertainty shimmered behind the cover of confidence as he asked, grinning, ‘Why is it weird?’
‘Why do you want to pay for me?’ I repeated. Sometimes it felt right to tease him, though at this time it was my subconscious that needed an answer.
He lifted his hands in exaggerated surrender. ‘I just like it. What’s the issue with it?’
‘Because I feel like I’m using you. I already live in your court rent-free,’ I finally admitted.
It wiped the grin off his face.
‘First of all, I kidnapped you, so it would be a little weird to charge you rent. Other than that, I set up a bank account for you anyway. But you don’t have to spend that money.
I’m pretty financially stable, you know.
I can even afford to get us some tea after the cakes without filing for bankruptcy,’ he said, mocking my concern.
Being nitpicky, I challenged, ‘What use is a bank account if I have no access to it?’
Reaching into the back pocket where he kept his wallet, he pulled out a burgundy card engraved with vines and flowers. He placed it in front of me, smirking the whole time.
The satisfaction on his face threatened to make me burst out laughing. ‘I love the design, but it’s a card in your name.’
‘Yeah, it’ll look pretty in your hands as you spend my money,’ River said, fluttering his lashes like a bird showing off in a mating dance before nodding for me to take it.
I sighed. ‘I want to spend my own money.’
‘Then the concept loses its appeal.' The smile disappeared, replaced by a practised pout.
Recalling our chat about his regard for praise, I asked, ‘What is the appeal of my spending your money? Is this another kink?’
A mischievous smile stole my breath away. He looked made of sin. ‘It very well might be. So do your worst.’
Chuckling, I refused. ‘I can’t. I don’t want to ruin you.’
‘Maybe I want you to, witch.’