Chapter 11 Cethin #3
He hummed. This close to her, he wanted to touch her, even if it was simply brushing his fingers down her arm. She’d need to get used to his touch eventually, but for now, he didn’t need a repeat of yesterday.
“This way,” he said, bending to retrieve the bag of dropped pastries and gesturing down the passage. “Once we’re beyond the door, I can Travel us somewhere else to discuss matters.”
“Can’t we walk there?” she asked tightly, keeping pace at his side.
“We could, but we will inevitably be stopped by someone along the way who will likely have questions,” he answered, motioning for her to ascend the steps in front of him, only to realize her feet were still bare. “You forgot your socks and shoes.”
“I didn’t forget them. You can’t feel people coming when wearing shoes,” she said simply, climbing the stairs.
By the Fates. She said the most bizarre things sometimes, and while it was somewhat annoying, he was far more intrigued by her odd mannerisms and unusual statements.
Reaching the top of the stairs, he rapped his knuckles twice as he called out, “Tobias, it’s me. We’re ready.”
A moment later the door opened, the six sentinels standing at attention. Two even managed to hide their surprise at Kailia’s presence. The other four, not so much.
“Your Majesty…” Tobias started, trailing off. He was the lead guard on the shift, and he would report today’s happenings to the Captain of the Guard, who would in turn report them to Tybalt.
Something to handle once this deal with Kailia was finalized.
“Did you need something?” Cethin asked, his tone making it clear the answer to that question had better be no.
“It is nothing, your Majesty,” he conceded, taking a step back. “Just making sure all is well?”
“We are fine. Thank you,” Cethin replied, his hand dropping to Kailia’s lower back. He didn’t touch her, but his hand hovered close enough that he could feel her body heat. Looking down at her, he asked, “Are you ready?”
Her answering smile was pure poisoned sweetness, and he returned the sentiment as he pressed his fingers to her bare back, pulling them through the air and to his private floor.
As soon as their feet landed in the main receiving room, she moved away from him, putting a good amount of distance between them.
While she took in the space, he moved to set the pastry bag on a side table, pulling out another roll and taking a bite.
After chewing and swallowing, he said, “Those are the main doors to our suite.”
“Our,” she quipped.
His answer was a mocking smile. “If anyone calls on us, they will use those doors.”
Two large double doors marked the entrance. Black stars and glistening waves were etched into the wood. While there were other entrances, they were for the private use of the royal family, which for the last year had only consisted of him. Even the staff used the main doors.
“This entire floor is the king and queen’s private home,” he went on. “The receiving room is precisely that, but through that door is a much more informal living space. Are you sure you don’t want a roll?”
She scowled, but snatched the roll out of his hand when he held his other half out to her. She took it and shoved the whole thing into her mouth as if to prove something, and then her eyes went wide.
“What is this?” she managed to get out around the food.
He huffed a laugh. “A speciality from one of my favorite bakeries in town. I always get them there. The kitchen staff has tried, but they can never get it quite right.”
She nodded while she finished chewing. Cethin merely held out the bag, and she took the whole thing, pulling out another roll.
“Anyway,” he said, not wanting her to see his satisfaction at her enjoying something from him. “Through here is the sitting room,” he repeated, pushing past the door that separated the receiving room from the rest of the space.
He’d changed several things after his father’s passing, not wanting to live in a space where pieces of his parents’ spirits might linger, but there were still a few things he’d let be for nostalgia’s sake.
Everything was dark greys and light creams with silver and black accents throughout.
The sitting room was his favorite with three sofas arranged around the hearth.
There were a set of armchairs near the window with a low table between them.
A set of doors led to a balcony that faced to the east, with a set of furniture out there as well.
Bookcases lined the walls, some filled with books, others with various trinkets and framed art.
A room off to the right housed a small washroom, so one didn’t need to go far when needed.
“There is a dining room through the door on the left,” he continued to explain.
“Through the door on the right is a hall leading to various rooms. A study. Washrooms. A small den. Library. Extra bedrooms. The king and queen’s bedchamber is at the end of the hall with its own large bathing room, where that bath is being prepared for you. ”
“I can take a bath in my own bathing chamber,” she spouted, wandering around the sitting room.
“And you will.”
She paused, looking over her shoulder. “You just said it was the king and queen’s shared bathing chamber.” When he remained silent, she said, “We are not sharing a bathing room or a bedchamber for that matter.”
“Part of the negotiations, I suppose,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets.
She crossed her arms, the two of them once again facing off across the room from each other.
“Do you not like the space?” he asked. “We can have it redesigned however you wish.”
“Then I wish for separate bedchambers for the king and queen.”
His features fell flat. “I meant the decor. Not the layout of the entire floor.” When she continued to stare back at him, irritation prickled his skin. “Are we negotiating before or after you bathe?”
“What, exactly, is the proposal here?”
Now it was then.
“Sit,” he said, motioning to the sofas. She moved stiffly, and he took a seat on the one across from her. “I require a wife, and you need to avoid a public trial and likely execution for trying to kill the king.”
“I wasn’t trying to kill you,” she argued. “A dagger to the thigh will not take you to the After.”
“Yes, but I’m afraid the people of Avonleya won’t see it that way,” he said with faux sincerity. “Pity if rumors started spreading that would confirm those suspicions.”
Her jaw clenched, and he could see her grinding her molars.
“But if that same person were betrothed to the king, I’m sure he could clear it all up as a misunderstanding,” he went on. “Ensure the protection of her that he’s been offering her the entire time.”
Her chin lifted. “And my arrow?”
“Once the union is binding, it shall be my marriage gift to you,” he answered, settling back on his sofa and draping an arm along the back.
“Gifting me something that is rightfully mine,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes and sinking deeper into her seat.
His head tilted. “What other gifts would you like from me, tiny fiend?”
“My own rooms.”
“No. The staff will gossip if we are found to be sleeping in separate rooms.”
“How in the realms would they discover that?” she asked, her exasperation creeping into her tone.
“When they clean,” he said simply.
“I’ll clean myself.”
“We are not cleaning our own floor,” he said dismissively.
“Did you never learn how? You’ve simply been catered to and pampered your entire life?” she threw back.
“For fuck’s sake. They’d gossip even more if we started cleaning our own space. They’d think we are running out of funds and can’t afford to pay them,” he ground out.
He watched her think that over, and by the gods, he wanted to know what she was thinking. What arguments was she internally having with herself?
After two full minutes of silence ticked by, he cleared his throat.
“Let’s lay out the negotiations as they stand now.
You will agree to be my wife and queen, in title only.
After the union is finalized, I will give back your arrow.
In return, you will be granted a full pardon for the two times you stabbed me and will be under my protection. Nothing will harm you.”
“For how long?” Kailia asked.
His brows knitted. “For how long, what?”
“Do I have to remain your wife? How long will the protection last?”
“The marriage will be binding,” he said darkly. “And my protection will last as long as the marriage does.”
She uncrossed her arms, hands falling to her lap where she smoothed them along the fabric of the dress. Once. Twice. A few more times before she seemed to suddenly realize what she was doing. She was looking anywhere but at him, and he stayed silent, giving her time to process.
“And an heir?” she finally asked.
“That can be discussed at a later time.”
“But it shall be expected of me?”
“Something we can decide together, years from now,” he repeated.
Her bare feet tapped a chaotic rhythm as she went silent once more.
“But we will need to be convincing, Kailia. I want to make that clear,” he added.
That had her gaze swinging back to his. “How can I possibly convince people I’m in love with you when I hate the fact you exist at all?”
Cethin stood then, crossing to where she still sat. He leaned over her, one hand bracing on the back of the sofa. She looked up at him, determination and loathing staring back.
With his other hand, he picked up a lock of hair, twirling it between his fingers. “The veil between love and hate is thin, tiny fiend. Both are fueled by passion, and I think I’ll be fine with either one from you.”
Her features scrunched. “That makes no sense.”
He sighed dramatically. “Alas, love rarely does, but that is neither here nor there at the moment,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest his statement. “Have we reached the end of our negotiations? Are we in agreement?”
“A forced agreement,” she muttered.
“An agreement nonetheless,” he said, straightening and pulling his dagger from his belt for the second time that day.
For the first time since he’d met her, something akin to fear entered her eyes. “This agreement comes with a promise of protection?” she clarified. “I agree to this arrangement, and you will return my arrow and grant me your protection?”
“A promise I swear on my crown, tiny fiend,” he answered, his heart beating faster in anticipation of finally sealing this deal.
“Fine,” she finally said, taking the dagger from him.
She dragged it across her own palm before doing the same to Cethin’s, digging the blade in far deeper than necessary. He hissed at the discomfort, glaring at her.
“It’s an accord,” she said, clasping his hand.
And this bargain felt different as their blood merged. There was the normal prickling of a Bargain Mark along the left side of his chest, but there was also something more. Faint flares of silver and dark green light that Kailia clearly saw too, because she gasped, yanking her hand away.
“What was that?” she demanded, shooting to her feet and forcing him to take several steps back.
“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully, but her eyes narrowed, telling him she didn’t believe him in the slightest.
Without another word, she turned and headed down the hall, presumably going to bathe. He swiped a hand down his face as he watched her go.
He was betrothed.
But there was no doubt in his mind that the negotiations had been the easiest part of this arrangement.