Chapter 37 Wren
The parlour has been decorated in the same fashion as the rest of the main hall—all crimson and gold banners and autumnal wreaths. Food has been laid out on a table to the side—piping hot dishes of buttery potatoes, roasted meat and braised vegetables. None of that is what amazes me.
It’s the blue-green dress hanging in the corner that does, stitched with golden suns and purple butterflies, with gossamer sleeves and a billowing skirt. It’s so beautiful that it looks like a faerie creation—a spring meadow and a golden forest, all in one.
“Finally!” a voice pipes up from the corner, making us both jump. “I’ve been waiting forever.”
Runara skips into the middle of the room. She’s dressed in a nightgown, but her face is wide awake.
“You’re not supposed to be here, Ru,” Cassiel groans.
“Mama said I couldn’t come to the ball. This isn’t the ball. This is the parlour.”
“I cannot argue with that, but it is late.”
“I wanted to see Wren in her dress! Besides, she’ll need someone to help her get into that. You can’t do it. You’re a boy.”
Cass’ cheeks heat, and I have no doubt he planned to do just that.
“Wait,” I say, “my dress?”
Cassiel scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, if you want it? I just remember that you said you like pretty things, but if it’s terrible, Runara chose it and I have no idea what it looks like.”
“Rude,” says Runara.
“Accurate,” he corrects. “Although I did suggest the colour. I think it would suit you. Does it?”
My fingers graze the fabric. It’s the softest thing I’ve ever touched. “Well,” I tell him. “We shall have to see.”
Runara claps her hands. “Turn around, Cass! I need to help Wren get ready.”
“Ru, I’m blind.”
“It’s weird to have you standing there! Turn around!”
Cassiel sighs, and diligently turns towards the wall. I shift off my outer clothes and haul the dress over my head. Runara assists with my laces. “There,” she says, draping my braid over my shoulder. “You’re perfect.”
My eyes well up. I can’t help it. No one has ever called me perfect before. How could they? Everyone I know can’t lie.
Runara hovers in the room, eyes shifting between the two of us.
Cassiel turns, and I pretend he can see me. He smiles as if he can. “You can leave now, little sister,” he says.
“But I want to—”
“Goodnight, Ru!”
She shoots him a scowl and sticks out her tongue—both actions I feel are lost on him—but gives me a solid squeeze before rushing away.
Cass steps closer. He holds out his hand. “You did say you wanted to learn to dance.”
I take his hand, ignoring the softness of it. It is his turn to be the teacher.
The music from the great hall trickles through the walls like a breeze—light, quick, impossible to catch. Cassiel tilts his head, listening. “That’s a galliard,” he says. “Six steps. Fast.”
“Six steps,” I repeat, already daunted. “And here I thought walking in this dress would be my greatest challenge.”
He chuckles. “It might be. But let’s see.”
He tries to guide me through the rhythm, counting it out beneath his breath.
I try to follow—heel, toe, step-step-turn—but somewhere between the second and third beat, I misstep and end up turning the wrong way.
My skirt tangles in my feet. I trip and instinctively grab his shoulder to steady myself.
“That wasn’t six steps,” I mutter.
“It was a very enthusiastic three.”
“Do I get points for enthusiasm?”
“Endless points,” he says, still grinning.
We try again. And again. I start too soon, or too late. Once I walk into him. Once I spin off entirely and crash softly into the wall.
“This is ridiculous,” I huff, laughing despite myself. “Are you sure this is a dance and not a trap designed to humiliate me?”
“Both can be true.”
He’s so patient. Each time I get it wrong, he adjusts gently, not with the sharpness of a tutor, but the quiet encouragement of someone who genuinely wants me to enjoy myself. He never lets go of my hand.
Eventually, the music changes. The drums fade, replaced by something gentler—drawn-out strings, the slow murmur of a lute.
Cassiel stops, and I look up, waiting for the next explanation. But his expression shifts. Not to correction. Not to instruction.
Something softer.
“I have no idea where your hand is,” he says, “but it should be in mine right now.”
“Dancing didn’t look so tricky when everyone else was doing it!”
“Everyone else has years of practice. You won’t master anything overnight.”
“That’s good advice. Did I give you that?”
He smiles. The soft music continues. I pause, waiting for him to explain the next steps to me, only he doesn’t.
“Cass?”
“Let’s try something different,” he says, and slides a hand around my waist.
Warmth rushes through me, curling in my chest, spreading down my spine.
His other hand takes mine again, sliding against my palm.
Cass’s body leans slightly into mine, his breath warm against my cheek.
He holds me close. There’s no twirls, no jumps, no complicated steps.
Just him and me, swaying in time to the music, and the awful, wonderful feeling of wanting this moment to last forever.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice against my shoulder. “I can’t see you, but I know you are. I know who you are.”
My breath catches, my step faltering for just a fraction of a second. It’s almost unbearable—the intimacy of it, the honesty, the way he holds me in this moment like I am something precious… the way he’s wrong.
Because he doesn’t know who I am. Not really.
And yet… sometimes I think he knows me better than anyone.
“Stay with me,” he asks.
The words press against something fragile inside me. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere…” I murmur, keeping my voice light, playful. But there’s an edge to it I can’t quite hide.
Cass pauses, his steps slowing as if my words have shifted something inside him. He leans his head against my shoulder, his voice lower now, heavier. “I don’t mean now,” he whispers, so close I can feel the heat of his breath on my skin. “I want you to… I want you to…”
He exhales, the weight of whatever he’s holding pressing into me, settling deep in my bones. My heart stutters.
“I want you,” he finally breathes. The words are soft, raw—a plea stripped bare. “I want you to stay here with me. Please, Wren. It’s only without you that my life is truly dark.”
My hands tremble slightly where they rest against his back. I want—Stars, I want—to pull him close, to promise him everything he wants to hear, to tell him I will never leave, that I’d give him the sun if he wanted it. But the words won’t come. They knot in my throat, too heavy, too dangerous.
I don’t lie. I can’t—not to him. Not when every part of me aches to tell him the truth, to promise him a life I can’t give. So instead, I cup his face in my hands, my fingers trembling.
“Why would I ever want to leave you?” I ask softly, giving him the kind of answer I was raised to give. A fey’s answer. Not a lie, but not the truth, either.
Cass turns his face into my palm, pressing a kiss to my skin, soft, reverent.
He exhales, a sound so full of longing it makes my chest ache.
“I just have this feeling,” he says, his voice thick with uncertainty.
“I can’t shake it. This feeling that you want to run, that you’re waiting for something. Like a bird perched on a windowsill.”
I swallow, trying to ignore the way my heart trembles, the way the moment presses too close.
His fingers tighten on my waist. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he says, his voice breaking.
I close my eyes, just for a heartbeat, trying to gather the strength to answer. To be strong, to keep my distance, to protect myself—
“You’re…” My voice falters, cracking under the strain of it. I swallow hard, forcing down the lump in my throat. “I don’t want to lie to you,” I whisper. “I never want to lie to you, and I… I never want to leave you, either.”
I mean every word. But no matter how much I wish I could promise him more, no matter how much I want to believe in a future with him, the truth is I don’t know where this path will lead.
All I know is that I want to stay with him.
His fingers find mine again. “Do you mean it?”
“Yes,” I promise him, “I mean it.”