Chapter 38
Elsedora
Ever since Emmerick had returned to Luz that morning, my thoughts circled too frequently back to him.
Had he slept well?
How was he handling his reunions?
Did he think about me, too?
I’d tried to hold up the note he left me to the sunlight to see what he’d scribbled out, with no luck.
A scratching at the stable door brought me up from my pondering. My daydreams had begun while replenishing the horses hay. I slid the door open, and a screeching hawk greeted me, dropping a letter onto the wet sod at my feet.
I sighed, retrieving it before it soaked through.
Sybilla’s rushed penmanship appeared as I unraveled the parchment.
I have a proposition. You prefer life in the North.
If I were to relieve you of your duties in the Sahlms, would you be King Mattock’s advisor as he returns to the throne?
You know the issues the Corridor faces better than anyone.
I ask for propriety’s sake, but we both know that if you say no, then I’ll just fire you from your duties in Sahlmsara, anyway.
I wish to see you where you are happiest.
Please accompany Emmerick on his tour of the realm. Larkspur will join you. Keep her on good behavior.
Your eternal friend,
Sybilla
Rubbing the page between my fingers, my pulse quickened. I imagined his future. He’d rise to become the beloved King of the Corridor that I held dear. Eventually, he’d find a queen worthy of ruling at his side, and their heirs would lead for centuries to come.
A happy family around a royal table. Halls full of laughter. All I had to do was stay out of his way.
Mayra joyfully gobbled down the dead fish that I’d poured from a bucket. At least she seemed entirely unbothered. The whole barn reeked of the sea. Thick piles of hay helped keep the space warm, and all the windows were latched shut as the snow persisted.
“She really loves to meddle in other people’s lives,” I said and scratched the Griffith’s neck over the stall door.
Mayra purred, only taking a moment’s break from her feast to stretch her neck in contentment.
“It may be for the best, no? Settling here. I’ve taken on too much—searching for relics, advising in the Sahlms, helping in Helos. Focusing on two things rather than three could be a good change of pace.”
Emmerick needed my help. I could slow down to be there for him. In an advisory capacity.
Her beak crunched through fish bones, and I scrunched my nose in disgust. “Right. Talking to a bird will not get me far. I’ll leave you to that. Behave, menace.”
On my way out of the barn, I slid the wood door shut to block the biting winds. They pulled at my braid, and I reveled in the feeling of prickling cold against my cheeks. Snow fell thick, and gray clouds darkened the midday sky.
Yet even wind-torn and blustering, the orchard remained the most beautiful place. Home.
I dusted snow off the stone bench and sat to admire the lustrous landscape.
That evening, a heavy knock thudded from inside the house.
The hallway Egress.
I’d cast the ward to only allow my loved ones through the entry, so I flung the door open, expecting Lark or Fen. Emmerick stood there, scratching the back of his neck.
“You’re here,” I whispered.
He’d left that note saying he would return for dinner. It still surprised me to see him.
A smile spread across his face. “I am. And with news,” he answered.
I stepped aside to allow him through—he took up a great deal of any small space. I bent away, avoiding the brush of his arm. Instead of walking past me, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into an embrace in the doorway.
Melting into him, I dug my fingertips into the muscles of his shoulders.
He’d started it.
“Good news?” I asked, my heart pounding against his chest. He squeezed me tighter.
“The best news. Mama’s fever broke,” he whispered into the hair at the top of my head. I planted both of my hands on his chest and pushed him away just enough to meet his gaze.
“She’s going to be alright?” I breathed out.
So few times had someone come through this door to deliver good news.
He nodded. “Wyeth thinks so. She says she’ll need a lot of rest and tonics for the pain. Her recovery will be slow. But she will recover.”
His hand slid up to cradle my cheek as he looked down at me with an intensity that raised the hair on my arms. The way the lamplight caught his dark lashes and the warmth smoldered in his golden-brown irises put me on the edge of arousal. A lump grew in my throat.
His touch felt too natural. Too intimate. His nearness felt like a homecoming that I rejoiced in.
“She asked about you. And pestered me about whether I’d been here to see you yet. You’ve left quite an impression on her.” His thumb trailed my jawline.
A fluttering sensation gathered in my stomach. To be held by him, to feel his skin on mine—it was divine despite knowing it shouldn’t be. I owed him the space to find the future that he’d waited for.
“I am so glad,” I breathed out; a weight lifted from my chest. I’d been such a terrible friend these past weeks, avoiding the cottage.
He unraveled his arm from around me, hand falling away too quickly, as though he, too, realized his error. I missed his warmth as soon as he withdrew.
I quirked a brow and said, “I have news too.”
“Does it have anything to do with Sybilla taking it upon herself to choose a new job for you?”
Huffing a laugh, I nodded. “It seems I’m your new advisor, if you accept me. Ready to learn a thing or two about the fickle nature of royals from someone who’s dealt with far too many, puppy?”
His brow creased slightly as though disappointed. “Of course I accept you, but do you actually want to do that?”
Reaching up, I fixed the collar of his tunic—an excuse to touch him again. “That depends. Are you keeping your promise of making me dinner?”
He bit his lower lip in a way that was far too appealing when he nodded.
“Well, I suppose if you keep feeding me, then I’ll be your advisor.”
He laughed and playfully snatched my hand away from where it had settled on his collar before lacing his fingers in mine.
He dragged me toward the kitchen and spoke over his shoulder. “Deal. But I am still putting you to work cutting.”
There was a levity to his gait.
I laughed, letting him lead me and marveling at this lighter-hearted side of him.
A glimmer of my imagination allowed me to wonder what it would feel like if he came home to me each night.
I’d tried to preserve as many of the original window frames at Lamoreaux as I could, but they did little to ward off the cold drafts from the storm outside.
Instead of having us eat in the formal dining area, where there was no fireplace, I’d brought out every fur and blanket I owned into the parlor and placed them in front of the largest fireplace in the house.
We sat there on the comfortable pile, cross-legged, and ate our meal in comfortable silence.
As a child, on blustery days, this was my favorite thing to do. The furs beneath me reminded me of times my mother and I had sat here with mugs of warm plum cider. Building my own happy memories in the estate, apart from my childhood, felt right.
Emmerick had cooked the most decadently spiced lamb, and I’d all but licked the plate before the estate floated it back to the kitchen to be cleaned.
After eating, he lay facing the fire, with an elbow propped up on a pillow, the other arm free to sip the wine we had mulled.
I sat beside him, leaning against the sofa.
He appeared so relaxed there, with the top few buttons of his tunic open.
My curious gaze caught on the dark hair of his chest peeking out.
My stomach was full and warmed by the burgundy spirit.
I would gladly live in the moment for the rest of eternity.
We settled into a quiet conversation about Sybilla’s itinerary for him.
We’d go to the West Corridor first. It was the most difficult to traverse since there were no Egresses, thanks to Bringham’s steadfastness against allowing Source magic.
The prick still wouldn’t let me search his lands for relics.
After dealing with the least pleasant ruler, we’d travel to the South and East Corridors. The Sheffields and Nadiars held amicable relations with Luz.
“I can’t believe she’s really done it—brought magic back into the realm,” Emmerick said about Sybilla. “Her ancestors are likely rolling in their graves.”
I sipped from my ceramic mug, cupping it with both hands before setting it aside and resting my chin on my hugged knees.
“I am not all that surprised. Many hid their ties to Source magic in Henosis while living through the Order. For them, it is a relief.”
His brow creased. “I never suspected there were any Source-wielders left when the Order began...”
I scooted closer to him. “Oh, there are. Most hold smaller amounts of the bloodlines that were once gifted magic. Nothing like what you’ve seen of Asterie or Fenris or what you are capable of. But it’s always existed here. Even among those that you know and would never suspect.”
He scoffed. “Like who?”
I chuckled. “Like the young woman at the flower shop who asks about you every year. She seems quite smitten with the Constable who bought his mother flowers so frequently.” The shock-stricken look on his face was endearing.
“Sophie Willix? She was barely eighteen when I fell asleep—she used to work in the back of her mother’s shop and go ghost pale whenever I walked in. She rarely squeaked out a word.”
“Well, she isn’t eighteen anymore. Maybe pay her a visit.”
He narrowed his gaze, straightening up on his elbow a bit more. “Are you trying to pawn me off on the poor girl? I hardly think I should entertain a girlish crush from twenty years ago—but Sophie, she’s a Source-wielder?”
“She’s nearly forty now. Completely age-appropriate, and she hasn’t aged a day over thirty, considering she is a Soil-wielder. Why not entertain yourself? You’ll have plenty more women falling at your feet. Kings so often do.”
I ignored the stab of jealousy that wanted to spread and told myself it would be easier to restrain my desires if he stopped looking at me with such fondness and turned it toward someone new. He should have his fun and enjoy everything this world offered him.
“Well, it makes sense why the shop’s flowers were always the best blooms I’d ever seen. And stop meddling in my intimate affairs—or lack thereof.”
The fire crackled, drawing my attention.
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve been asleep for two decades—you’re telling me that a roll in the sheets with a pretty florist sounds terrible to you? You are a good man, but you’re not fooling me. No man is that good.”
He stiffened for a moment before sitting up and sliding infront of me to place a foot on either side of mine. I hugged my knees tighter, afraid that if his legs brushed them, then I might test how good he truly was.
With the light of the fire dancing across his features, his soft linen tunic, and his thick wool socks, he looked so at home here.
“Are you going to tease me if I tell you I’m nervous about being with someone again?” When he held my gaze, the vulnerability of his question warmed my cheeks. He ran his palms up and down his shins, awaiting my answer.
“I would never,” I whispered conspiratorially, feigning insult. “But why do you feel that way?”
He rubbed the back of his neck—a motion that grew more charming every time he did it.
His leg bounced, brushing mine.
“It has been so long. I’ve only been with two others. I just... I feel like the pressure to last would render me embarrassed.”
The wine had loosened his tongue. I chortled ungracefully. Men had such odd priorities. “That is what you’re worried about?”
He glared when the snort burst from me; no malice reached his eyes though. “You said you wouldn’t tease me.” He groaned and collapsed back onto the pillows.
Sprawled out with his arms behind his head, his tunic rose up his torso—a temptation sculpted just for me.
Behave, behave, I repeated to myself.
I cared little about how long he lasted. Curiosity spiked over what he looked like in the throes of passion.
“Oh, puppy...” I cooed.
“I knew this was a terrible idea to bring up with you. Clearly, this is not an issue you understand.”
I leaned over him, forcing him to meet my gaze. “You would be wrong about that.”
His brows rose.
“I have not been with anyone in ten years. Maybe more.” It had been more. Since discovering the mirror’s power, I hadn’t been able to follow through even when I’d tried.
He stared up at me with his mouth agape. “No one? You always spoke of trysts and wild affairs.”
“I lied,” I answered plainly and covered my mouth.
He shook his head, still searing me with an intense stare.
I continued, “It’s easier than admitting that I don’t desire the things I once did. I have a reputation to uphold.”
His gaze burned into mine. “Why tell me now, then?”
I shrugged. If he was admitting vulnerabilities, then why shouldn’t I? I’m sure my sexual appetite still existed within me somewhere—my attraction to him proved it. The buzz of mulled wine and the warmth of the room made no topic feel off-limits.
He felt like the safest person to hold my truths. And he was being mature enough to not laugh at me as I had over his anxieties. A pang of guilt struck me.
“If you’re truly concerned, there are ways to prepare yourself. How many times have you taken care of your needs since waking?” I asked him with no air of teasing.
His brow creased. “What? You don’t mean...” He glanced down at his groin briefly and shook his head.
“You sincerely might be the best of men. You are telling me you’ve been awake for two whole days and haven’t even given yourself a good stroke yet? I’ve identified your problem, pet.”
Emmerick looked downright mortified before he threw an arm over his face.
I’d promised him I’d respect his boundaries. Yet here I was toeing one just to see where he would draw the line.
Despite my greatest efforts, my self-control had floated out the damned window.
I had a wicked idea.