30. Cassiel #2
The dance falters. We forget the steps entirely.
The fey still spin around us, radiant and wild, but we’re caught in our own orbit now, the pull too strong to break.
She laughs softly against my mouth, that breathless sound I’ve missed more than I’d ever admit.
I rest my forehead against hers, and we stand there, unmoving, while the rain drips from our hair and the lights turn the air to gold.
“Let’s go,” she murmurs.
I nod. Words don’t seem enough anymore.
We leave the clearing hand in hand, slipping between the glowing trees, the music following us in fading echoes.
The forest path gleams, rain-slick and shimmering.
By the time we reach the treehouse we were given, laughter and song are only memories behind us.
The door creaks softly as it closes. Lanternlight spills across her face—gentle, warm, turning her eyes to molten amber.
Wren grins. “Such a shame we only have the one bed.”
I grin right back. “How shall we cope?”
She steps towards me, palms sliding against the damp silk at my chest. “We’ve been through worse together.”
I take one of her hands and bring her palm to my mouth, kissing the centre of it.
I travel up to her wrist, lips grazing the bellflower tattoo, to the crook of her elbow, her birds, her throat…
I plant kisses down her neck, and each one falls like a raindrop.
I could drown in her embrace. I want to.
I want nothing to remain of either of us that isn’t a part of each other.
My lips graze the tip of the tattoo on her chest that peaks out from her gown.
“Do I get to see this now?” I ask.
Wren smiles. “You first.”
“I don’t have tattoos.”
“It’s not the tattoos I’m interested in seeing.”
I smirk, shrugging off my waistcoat and yanking off my boots. Wren helps me with my shirt, peeling it away from my skin. The trousers I do myself, followed by my small clothes. All of it lies in a pile at my feet.
I’m entirely naked in front of her.
Wren’s eyes widen, her pupils blown wide. She’s seen me naked before, of course, but I’ve never seen her looking at me.
I enjoy it almost as much as I’m going to enjoy seeing underneath her dress.
Wren swallows. She slips off her shoes, and turns around, gesturing to the laces that hold up her dress. I step towards her slowly, fingers brushing over her back, trying to ignore how thin her spine is, fixating instead on the beautiful pallor of her skin, and the warmth of her near me.
I undo the laces. Wren steps away. She turns, and the gown slides off her, lying in a pool on the ground.
She toes out of it, pulling back her hair so that I can see all of her—all of her in perfect clarity, for the first time.
She’s so thin. Her midsection is still bandaged. Her skin is puckered with small scars, even though the fey are supposed to heal fast. I understand why she wanted me to be naked before she was; she’d feel too exposed if I wasn’t.
Her eyes dart downwards. “Do I disgust you?” she asks.
“Never,” I say. I close the gap between us, lifting up her chin towards me. The gold in her eyes glows. “You’re beautiful, Wren.”
“You don’t have to lie to me—”
“Did you love me, when I was thin?”
“No,” Wren says quietly. “By the time I fell in love with you, you’d put some weight on. But I would have. Loved you, that is, in whatever form you took.” She places a small kiss against my jaw. “I never loved you because of what you looked like, Cassiel.”
I cup her face with my hands. “Nor I, you, although I rather think that goes without saying.”
She laughs at that, and I turn my attention to the tattoo over her heart—the one I’ve been unable to see clearly until now.
It’s the word vastren, with a snowflake inside of a sun. It’s the Xadenese word for ‘the one who has consumed my soul.’
It’s what I called her. What she called me.
“Why did you get this?” I ask, reaching out to trace it.
“I… I needed something, something to…”
“To what?”
“To keep you with me. To let me know that it was real.”
“Why the sun and the snow?”
“Because you’re my solstice,” she tells me, eyes shining. “My sunlight after darkness. And I’m so, so sorry I couldn’t be yours.”
I take her face in my hands again, squeezing my eyes shut to blot out my tears. “But you were, Wren,” I tell her. “You are.”
Our mouths meet again, hard, almost painful.
I want to vanish inside her kiss, to be reborn against her heart.
I gather her against my body and lift her towards the bed, spreading her over the mattress.
I wind her hair around my arm like a rope, and stare down at her.
She doesn’t seem so breakable like this. Her eyes are liquid gold.
I keep my eyes on her as my hands descend, brushing over skin and scars until I reach the bandage at her middle.
“Are you sure you’re—”
Wren leans up, grabbing my face. “I can take you any day, prince,” she promises.
I grin against her mouth, then pull back again, continuing my exploration of her body. I’ve mapped it all with my hands before. Now I want to commit it to memory. If my sight vanishes again tomorrow, I want to remember all of her. Every curve, every freckle, every angle. I want all of her.
I kiss as I touch, keeping my eyes on her even as I reach her lap, lift her leg over my shoulder, and descend onto her centre. She shuts her eyes then, arching her back. Her skin trembles deliciously as I kiss between her legs.
“You wanted me to see stars,” I whisper against her. “How are the ones you’re experiencing—”
She grabs the back of my head. “Don’t stop,” she says. “Don’t you dare.”
I am only too happy to oblige, especially if she keeps making those delightful sounds.
She comes undone between me, and before longing, she’s pulling me back up towards her, kissing my neck, raking her fingers down my back, and murmuring desperate pleas into my ear.
Her skin is damp and sweet against mine and I want to inhale through touch, blot out the world, exist inside her. She kisses me so deeply I could drown.
The lights are low when I climb into place. Darkness crisps at the edges of the room. I glance at the lanterns. Wren registers my hesitation, tilting my face towards hers.
“Something wrong?” she asks.
“I want to see more of you.”
Wren smiles. She clicks her fingers, and the lights flare. Saints, she’s so beautiful. Her eyes are peat and fire, liquid black, whiskey, gold and glittering. The flames turn her skin luminous, painting her in shades of mahogany, ember, chestnut. My eyes rove over every inch of her.
She tilts her head. “Cassiel?”
My throat aches. The rest of me burns. I don’t want to give weight to everything I feel, so I force my tongue into something more light-hearted.
“I always knew about your excellent thighs,” I tell her, “I wasn’t aware of your stunning legs. Do they really need to be that long? Not, of course, that I’m complaining.”
Wren laughs. She pulls me closer.
I kiss the inside of her wrist. I trace the infinite symbol with my thumb. Wren does the same against my chest.
Then she’s guiding me into place, and however much I want to keep my eyes open, a few more seconds is all I can manage.
I collapse against her, and she blows out the light with a whisper.