“You can’t believe we just did this?”
“Yes. I hope you don’t think I’m a lustful, unchaste woman. I try to be a decent person and appease the gods, but with you, it would seem I couldn’t control my urges.”
“The gods don’t expect you to be chaste, sweet human. Anyone who told you that just wanted to keep youinnocentfor their own purposes. Among the fae, it’s rare for both parties to be inexperienced when they enter a mating union. Until we meet our fated mates, we fornicate to our hearts’ content, and the gods don’t punish us for it.”
“Fornicate to our hearts’ content.” She chuckles. “You have a way with words, Tristan.” She grows quiet, though I sense her continued thoughts regarding my own state of arousal. My cock remains hard as ever.
Gods, am I a dolt for wanting to take things slow? I have a feeling that if I pushed, just a little, I could have her on her knees in seconds sucking my cock. While the idea of her lips around my length is a pleasing one, I don’t want her to regret anything in the morning.
Which is why I must force myself from this bed and sleep on the godsdamn rug-covered floor of the tent.
“Perhaps you should go wash up a little before you sleep, sweet human.” I gesture to the bathing area, which contains a spelled, self-cleaning tub filled with steaming water, as well as several self-cleaning basins for quick washing. The area also holds a toilet, and the floor-length curtain can be pulled across for privacy’s sake.
She scoots forward on the bed, out from between my legs, and turns to look at me. Her face holds a deep blush. “Yes, that’s a good idea. I’ll go do that and then?—”
“And then we will go to bed,” I say, cutting her off before she can suggest more carnal activities. Like seeing to my pleasure.
Her face starts to fall, but she’s quick to recover with a forced smile. I know it’s forced because, fucking gods, I’m getting better at sensing her emotions and thoughts with every passing minute.
“Yes, then we will go to bed.” She covers a sudden yawn that’s not false in the slightest, and hurries to the bathing area. She pulls the curtain.
I gather a blanket and a pillow from a chest, then arrange yet another makeshift bed on the floor of my own tent. But Amelia is worth it. If taking things slow so I might better earn her trust will endear me to her more, then that’s what I’ll do. I’ll sleep on the floor for a fucking year if I must, though I sincerely hope we start sharing a bed long before that much time passes.
I hear splashing water, and after a short while, she emerges from behind the curtain, looking refreshed and more confident than she had moments ago when she’d been on the verge of shyly suggesting I take a turn pleasuring myself. Perhaps while she was in the bathing area, she gathered her thoughts and saw the wisdom of waiting.
She casts a mournful glance at my makeshift bed. I’ve already gotten part way under the covers, and my head rests on the pillow. I offer her what I pray is a reassuring smile.
“Goodnight, Amelia.”
She hops on the bed and gives me an affectionate look. A grin tugs at her lips, the hint of a sweet smile. “Goodnight, Tristan.”
I wave a hand and the faelights dim.
CHAPTER 21
AMELIA
Seatedin my opulent floating carriage, a sense of dread fills me when the tall stone walls of Sorsston come into sight, as well as the castle towers. Tristan has mentioned nothing about the possibility of me visiting my family members, but in all fairness, I haven’t asked if I could see them. The truth is, I’m not sure I want to.
Guilt hits me. I should want to visit Mama as well as my sisters, but the situation is so complicated I doubt the visits would be happy ones. The letters have likely reached them by now, so at least they know I’m alive and safe.
That’s the gist of what I told them in the five letters I wrote, one to my mother and one to each of my sisters.
I told them I’d left Lord Nevel because he was a violent man who was treating me with great cruelty, and I told them I was somewhere far away, safe and sound. I told them I probably wouldn’t see them again but begged them not to worry.
My guilt deepens. Despite my best efforts, they are all likely worried about me. Not that I can blame them. If the situationwere reversed, I would be worried sick about whichever one of them had fled Sorsston after suffering an abusive marriage.
As the city grows closer, my unease increases. I try to convince myself it’s nothing, but it doesn’t work. I try to tell myself that I’m only upset because I’m in close proximity to the family I can’t visit, as well as my friends who are still working in the castle.
I used to dream about leaving Sorsston, even as a child. I used to wish I could travel across the realm, going from city to city as I sold charcoal drawings, likenesses of people I would draw on the spot in a bustling marketplace.
I withdraw the leather casing from my bag that contains the only drawings I have left, the ones I hid from my father and somehow managed to smuggle with me on the fateful day he brought me to the castle. I sort through the pictures, images of my mother and sisters, as well as our old dog, Miss Peaches, and a cranky cat that used to linger on our porch that I’d lovingly named Prince Whiskers. My heart aches as I stare at the images.
It's been ages since I’ve drawn anything. I never managed to get my hands on a charcoal pencil while I was working in the castle. Later, after my marriage, I’d asked Lord Nevel to buy me one. He’d erupted in a fury and said he would buy me a ‘stupid fucking pencil’ the second I birthed him a son.
Given that it’s been years since I’ve drawn anything, I’m not even sure the skill remains, though my fingers itch to try.
I glance out the window at Tristan, and as though he senses me staring, he looks my way and offers me a warm smile and a wave. I return his smile and wave back, and I can’t help but notice the strange glances that pass between his soldiers. I suspect they’re starting to realize the way he treats me is rather unusual by fae standards.
