36
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Every day that I spent in Saoghal had me feeling more and more like a pixie, because my first idea as I stopped outside of Raegan’s bedroom door was to scent the air.
The last time I stormed down this hallway, I could smell him the same way I could smell fresh gravy being cooked over a stove.
Now, though, as I hesitated at that solid threshold, it was different.
There were traces of Raegan, the faintest, trace smell of him that I recalled from my year away from him.
But nothing so strong and overpowering that it caused my knees to wobble like he normally did.
Which, my very-human-brain told me that my smelling of the air was successful and I could deduce that he was not in his room.
I needed to do whatever the opposite of touching-grass was, and soon, because as I crossed over into Raegan’s room at last and drowned in the fact I was in his room, something possessive and not-human roared to life in me.
Shaking that feeling off, I quietly shut his door behind me and silently thanked greater forces that I didn’t have a sudden urge to start doing some weird shit like marking his room. Instead, I had a job to do, and very little idea as to where to start.
There was a desk in the corner. That was the most logical of places to find an ancient scroll with a summoning ritual for a god, right?
Shrugging to myself, I crept, keeping to the overwhelming amount of shadows that seemed to be dominating Raegan’s room.
By the time I reached the desk and turned round, I was left staring at that odd phenomenon.
He had the same floor-to-ceiling window panes that the rest of the Cluaineach castle had, the window that looked over the entrance to the palace that I had seen him leaning against not so long ago.
So I could not figure out why Raegan’s furniture – short at his bed and his desk – seemed to be intentionally placed in the shadows.
But I didn’t have time to worry about that, so I shook my head and crouched down, starting to leaf my way through the odd-shaped units that I supposed were supposed to be drawers.
One by one I pulled them out, using my shaking hands to lift at a variety of parchments, all varying stages of decaying and shifting colours of brown and orange.
I was so busy desperately trying to find something, that I didn’t hear the footsteps. Nor did I smell his approach. It was only when the door creaked open, a body heaved against the doorframe, and a king let out a disappointed sigh that I realized.
“What are you doing?” Raegan asked, his voice unreasonably level considering I had broken into his room and was scouring his documents.
“Uhh–”
Yes, I actually said Uhh. I, Olivia Loughty, evenly between twenty-seven and twenty-eight, said Uhh in response to a serious question.
There was a creak and then a thud, Raegan having shut his door and resorted to leaning against it. “Is there more to your story than Uhh?”
No, not really.
“I was… I–” What I really needed was to completely distract Raegan. There were only two ways to do that, and I refused to stoop to the level that one of them required. So I quickly changed paths, shot up to fully-standing, and turned to face him. “I am confused, Raegan.”
His brows both shot high, indicating his confusion as to how my break-and-enter had anything to do with my confusion.
I had to pull at threads in my brain to make my pleading make sense. “I was confused about the concept of mating bonds and I thought–”
Raegan groaned as he palmed his forehead, finally pushing off of the door and taking a few steps towards me. “Olivia, not this again–”
“Shush,” I grumbled. “I can’t help it. I feel so… strange around you–” Not a complete lie. Yes, focus on half truths. The ceadan bond would give me away far too quickly if I did anything otherwise. “I think we might be.”
He shook his head several times, each swipe of it drilling more and more pain into my heart. “This, between us? It is not a mating bond.”
“But, Raegan–”
“It is not a mating bond!” he said, his voice stern yet his expression elsewhere entirely as he began to pace. “No… It cannot, I cannot– No. It is not a mating bond.”
While his pacing continued, I stared at him and slowly used my foot to close the drawer behind me. “I feel otherwise, though. And others, they have said–”
“Others are wrong,” he snarled, though his frustration was odd in that it didn’t seem to be pointed at me. No, instead he stared at the ceiling as he walked back and forth, back and forth. Finally, his movements stopped and he turned to face me. “What does that have to do with you being in here?”
“Well I just felt drawn to your room–” Not a lie. I always felt drawn towards him. “And the only thing that made sense was a mating bond–”
“No,” he grumbled once more. “What you feel… It is nothing more than the ceadan bond. A simple oath transformed and accentuated with magic. That is all.”
I frowned at that. Was he talking about more than what I was talking about? Was he suggesting that the entirety of what was between us was just the ceadan bond?
Worst of all: was he right? Was it truly just the pledge of loyalty that made me crave him so?
“I do not believe you,” I huffed. Yet again another truth.
I hated the bitter laugh that came out of the King, not Raegan. “Well I cannot make you believe me, can I?”
You probably could.
But I saw an in. An opportunity to tackle two problems at once. “Records! You must have records, do you not? Documents? A path of the history of pixies? Something that I could read to hopefully understand you all better?”
I had piqued Raegan’s thin interest.
“It would help me put my outrageous idea of us being mates to rest, of course.”
It hurt me to say it, and it hurt him to hear it.
“It probably would. But no, we do not have… documents. We do not keep our parchments, instead we return them to the earth. Our tales and stories are told only by mouth. Do you humans do it differently?”
I nodded, but my mind was elsewhere.
Pixies didn’t keep records. They didn’t keep transcripts. They didn’t keep ancient scrolls with rituals. Rory must have known this. Brian, too. All of the pixies that had come up with this absurd plan. Mustn’t they have?
Raegan was still talking, muttering about something to do with his history, but I was so deep in that confusion that I had zoned him out.
Rory was wrong. It was a simple accident. Nothing more.
So my plan still stood – I would need to tell Rory that no such thing existed. That their one plan to refrain from killing Raegan just went up in flames. Tomorrow, after Imbolc. One day early, I would head to the causeway and meet the booth-master.
“Olivia?”
“Sorry, what?”
Raegan’s smile was small and adorable as he shook his head at me. “I said you should get some rest. The Imbolc Ball starts early and stretches long. You will need your energy. And your strength.”
“Right… Right, sure. I am sorry, by the way.”
One of his brows curved upwards, his smile still overly humoured.
“For breaking into your chambers. It was not right of me—”
He cut me off quickly with both his words and his body as he took one significant step towards me and crowded my space. “You are always welcome in my chambers.”
Whatever I had prepared to say in response grew thick and indigestible in my throat. Instead of trying, likely having nothing to offer but something stupid as a retort, I nodded with a new shyness and ducked away from him, striding towards his door.
“And Olivia?” he called, causing me to pause right as I planned to open the door. “I would like at least one dance with you, tomorrow.”
Another statement that I had no response to, resorting to making a strangled noise and slipping out of his door. I flinched as I slammed it behind me.