Chapter 61
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
ROSAMUND
Right before lunch, I spot Lord Eorl crossing the garden underneath my window, and with a quiet curse, I fly out of my room and down the stairs. At breakneck speed, I race through the hall and burst out of the manor to catch him before he enters.
“Lord Eorl!”
He frowns and stops. “Good Gods, Rosamund. You’re out of breath. That’s so unbecoming on a lady. What’s the matter? I expect that something terrible must have happened to warrant such behavior.”
I flinch. I seem to keep committing mistakes without realizing, and every time he reprimands me is like a lash falling on my mind.
“Speak up, Rosamund,” he says when I hesitate. “It’s lunch time.”
“May I call you Orvyn, my lord?”
“No,” he says, “you may not.”
I start at the unexpected reply. “But you call me Rosamund!”
“And you believe our status is the same?”
I stare at him, open-mouthed.
“You may call me by my given name after the wedding,” he concedes, looking away. “That I will permit. It would look weird otherwise.”
I swallow hard, swallow the hurt. Doesn’t he see the conflict in his words? Should I demand he call me by my family name, also? I’m not sure about the social norms outside my home. “Fine. I will ask for some time with you, my lord, for—”
“You should stay away from that fae.”
My hands are shaking. “Wh… what?”
“That male you arrived with. Keep away from him. The tongues are—”
“Wagging.” I nod, feeling sick. “They are wagging about a lot of matters, my lord. The thing is—”
“I want what is best for you, Rosamund.”
That takes the wind out of my sails. “Of course.”
“Can’t you see that? I won’t have my wife’s name dragged through the dirt. That’s reflecting badly on us. Both of us.”
“I understand,” I whisper.
“Do you?” he demands.
Gossip. Caution. Isolation. And he called me wife. The reality of what I’m about to do, link my life to this man’s, become a married lady, stuns me.
“You aren’t to be around other men,” he continues.
A last spark of rebellion pushes me to say, “But you spent breakfast with that woman, and then went upstairs with h—
“You and I are not the same!” he snaps. “First of all, I am a man, and you are a woman, and second, and just as important, you’re here because I made allowances, but don’t you dare act as if you’re above me, as if you’re some sort of princess!”
Princess. I almost hear Valen’s deep voice curling around that nickname, and my eyes burn. Now the word feels sullied.
I realize my hands are curled into fists. “I don’t think I’m above you. I think we’re equals.”
“I beg your pardon?” He glares. “This is my manor, my lands. You’re a disowned girl desperate for my help.”
I can’t speak. Can’t deny that he’s right. It’s just that I had thought… hoped for something else. Something more.
“The stepdaughter of a man who works with the House of Fireflies,” he mutters darkly. “With Lord Sinen, who has his eye on the throne.”
“That’s the debt they owed him?” I gape at Lord Eorl. “What could Stepfather ever do to aid such a plot?”
“There’s always a plot or another to grab the fae throne.” He waves a negligent hand. “Our king is secure on the other side of the Central Sea. I hope the fae turn on one another and return this world to us.”
I’m still staring at him, and that seems to annoy him.
“Was I clear?” he asks. “Was there anything else?”
He’s asking, at least. That’s worth something.
“I wanted to spend time with you, my lord.” I swallow past the lump in my throat, and the disappointment burns. “Get to know each other before the wedding. See if we are a good match.”
“Nonsense. Who cares whether we’re matched or not? It’s a done deal.”
“Still, I’d like to find out more about you,” I whisper. “What you like, what you need. What you expect of me.”
He gives me a once-over, his gaze moving from the top of my head to my toes and back up. “I see.” He approaches me and I hold my breath, expectant. “You want to obey me.”
“I… No.” I frown. Valen’s voice fills my mind, and although I don’t want this, I feel obliged to try. Swallowing bile, I say, “I want to be a good wife to you, my lord. Learn how to please you in bed—”
“I have harlots and mistresses for that.”
My brows shoot up. “What? But I—”
“If I desire intimacy with you, Rosamund, I will inform you in time. If I decide I want an heir for my estates, for instance. But let’s get something cleared up: I don’t find you desirable.”
“You don’t?”
“Is this a joke?” A gasp escapes me when he shoves me back a step. “Do you think your family hasn’t told me about you? Think I’m blind and can’t see? You’re scarred. Hardly a thing of beauty. Nobody else would have you.”
“I…”
“One scar on your face, that’s bad enough.
You have no shame, showing the one on your chest?
” He grabs the neck of my dress and pulls, almost ripping it.
“This. Would it have killed you to wear a higher collar or a shawl to hide it? Instead, you let everyone see I’m taking a scarred creature as a wife? ”
I lift a hand to my chest. I’ve always worn high collars, but after my journey with Valen I thought… Foolishly, I thought my scars didn’t matter, that they weren’t that ugly.
Because Valen had said so.
Valen lied to me.
About everything. About the way I look and my scars. About men wanting to find pleasure with their mates. About my betrothed wanting me to know my way about his body.
My betrothed wants nothing to do with me.
As if to confirm it, he steps back, brushes his hands down his vest and jacket, as if wanting to rid himself of any trace of me. “Now let’s go have some lunch. The guests are waiting.”
He’s acting as if nothing has happened at all, when my bright hopes are reduced to sparks winking out in a descending darkness.
I miss lunch. Can’t stomach anything right now anyway. I don’t even enter the house, choosing to wander the gardens and orchards, my head pounding and my heart aching.
What am I doing? What am I going to do?
Swallow the hurt, a voice says in my head. Like you’ve been swallowing insults and accepting blows back home for ages, like you’ve been letting your stepparents make you feel small and insignificant.
Nothing has changed.
Nothing but me. I have changed, I feel it in my bones. I don’t feel like sitting down and taking it anymore. I thought I could.
I have come here as an orphan, rejected even by my adoptive family, and hoping for something better, but it’s starting to sink in that this isn’t the family I hoped I’d find.
And worst of all, I miss Valen. I miss him even though I saw him last night, miss him even though I know I shouldn’t. I miss being near him. Talking with him. Laughing with him.
There’s a relief in finding out that Lord Eorl doesn’t desire me, because… I don’t desire him, either. From the moment I met him, I’ve felt repulsed by him. I just didn’t want to accept it.
But isn’t this what most marriages are like?
This is an impossible situation. I can fight it. I should fight it. Demand what I’m due, what any wife deserves—trust, faithfulness, respect. Even if we set love and desire aside. I can make friends and allies, and construct a life on these bare rocks given to me.
But is it what I really want?
Wanting Valen, I scold myself, shouldn’t make you doubt your plans. You don’t undo years of hoping and planning for a handsome fae werewolf.
No, but what about for a kind, wonderful man?
Movement in a corner of the garden catches my attention. There are four men hunched over something. I hurry toward them without knowing why, only that their posture revives memories of my stepfamily’s treatment of me, of my stepsister shoving me to the ground and bowing over me to gloat.
“You!” I shout as I start running. “What are you doing? Go away!”
“Princess,” a male voice says from behind me, and I whirl about with a gasp.
“Valen!” I’m staring at him, my heart pounding, his tall body and handsome face a balm on my soul.
“What’s going on here?” he mutters, watching the men who shoot me dark looks as they hurry away. “Who are they?”
“No idea. They were acting weird.” I nod toward the spot where they had been hanging out, and Valen sniffs the air.
“Blood,” he says. “Wolf blood.”
“Wolf?” Now I see the dead animal. “It’s not—?”
“Not a werewolf. No. Just an animal that must have sneaked into the gardens.” He frowns. “Lone wolves are sometimes driven to extreme measures.”
“But these men didn’t kill it.”
“No. Kon or Darian must have done it.”
I blink. “Who?”
“My friends. They’re looking out for me. For us.” He lifts his hand to tug on the collar that’s still around his neck, and winces. He lowers his hand to his side, instead, pressing.
I watch him with growing concern. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you hurt? Wait… don’t tell me you got into a fight?”
His jaw clenches. “Does it matter?”
“Don’t cause trouble here, please,” I say softly.
“So I’m the troublemaker, huh?”
I shake my head. “No. No, you’re not. That wasn’t what I meant.”
“It’s…” He trails off, his gaze narrowing on me. Following it, I look down and find bruises on my wrist. “Who did that?”
I swallow hard. “Nobody.”
“Princess…” He takes my hand, turns it this way and that. “What the hell? Who do I need to kill?”
“Nobody,” I squeak. “Lord Eorl’s grip is hard. When he danced with me last night—”
“The fuck?” His teeth flash, fury darkening his eyes.
“There is only one time and place when a man is allowed to leave bruises on you, Princess, and mark my words: that can only happen in the throes of passion, and only if you consent. If you want to be marked. If you enjoy it. If the pleasure is ten times the pain.”
I should pull my hand away, only, I don’t want to. Being close to Valen again makes me shiver pleasantly. “He didn’t realize, I’m sure.”
“I don’t like him,” he growls.
“I know.”
“Come with me.”
My breath leaves me. “Where? I can’t flee with you, I—”
“To meet my friends. Darian and Konstam. My best friends have come to accompany me home. I’d like for you to meet them.”
My throat closes. “Valen… Don’t go yet.”
“I’m still here. Come.”
I shouldn’t be leaving the premises, especially not in the company of a man. But I’m dying of curiosity to meet these friends, more werewolves, to see if they are like Valen.
“Okay,” I whisper.
His grin scorches my mind, wiping it clean of doubt. “Follow me then, Princess.” He tugs on my hand. “Let’s go meet my favorite wolves.”