And he could swear her heart speeds up every time he does.
Arisannaswallowshernervesas Cerian leads her to lunch with his family. He’ll probably never say it, but he seems to enjoy having her hang on his arm. His hand is warm and strong and comforting, like a lifeline in her new home. She never imagined herself being so clingy, but here she is, wandering the corridors at Windhaven while clutching the hand of an elven prince she barely knows.
When they enter the cozy family dining room with its round, tree-grown table and matching chairs, the others are already there, and their quiet chatter ceases as everyone looks at Cerian and Arisanna.
Holding hands.
She quickly lets go of him, but it’s not soon enough.
Stars above. She should have let go before they passed through the doorway.
But other than a few smiles, no one comments, not even Tharios. Thank the heavens.
“You look strong, Mother,” Cerian says as he directs Arisanna to an empty chair between him and Viala. “I hope you were all right after...after—”
“Don’t you dare apologize, Cerian,” Queen Nestraya says. “I have longed to spar with you since you were a young elfling. Your father overreacts. I’m perfectly well.”
Cerian’s parents exchange a glance that seems to contain an entire wordless conversation. They clearly adore each other despite their poorly hidden clash of opinions on Queen Nestraya’s state of health. It’s sweet.
Tharios grins beside his mother, and she pokes his arm. “You’re next. It’s been too long since I faced you in the arena.”
“I’m not nine anymore, Mother.”
She sighs, a sad smile on her face as she rests her forehead against his. “No, you’re not, my little love.”
A pang fills Arisanna’s heart as food is laid out on the table, and Elvish conversation rises around her. QueenNestraya sacrificed so much so Arisanna could be here today. Was it worth it?
Talk turns to their upcoming journey to Celesta, and the seriousness with which Tharios discusses the state of affairs in the Lostarien capital is surprising. But it makes sense. As the crown prince, he probably stood in for his father frequently while travel was difficult for his parents.
The meal is simple, and everything clicks into place about why Cerian prefers the foods he does. Nothing is mixed together. The potatoes are spiced and roasted but separate from the other food. The meat, which must be venison, is tender and delicious, but it’s not slathered in sauce or onions or the like. Sliced, sautéed mushrooms sit in their own bowl on the table, and everyone else seems to keep their food separated on their plates.
Everyone except Viala. She piles it all together and even teases Tharios by dropping a mushroom in the middle of his potatoes, which he forks into his mouth by itself as he grins at her.
Arisanna isn’t as brave as Viala is, though. She keeps her food separate, as the others do, and she definitely doesn’t touch anything on Cerian’s plate.
Not that she wasn’t feeding him from her hand earlier. No one else needs to know that, though. It’s a wonder he even eats nuts and berries mixed together.
When they’re done eating and everyone else goes their separate ways, Cerian remains at the table, and Arisanna follows his lead.
“What are you thinking?” she asks in Nunian. After the rapid Elvish during the meal, her mind needs a break.
Hopefully, Cerian’s in a talking mood.
He leans back and sighs, responding in kind. “It’s quiet without Elowyn.”
Arisanna does her best to hide her shock at his willingness to say anything at all. “She did a lot of your talking for you, didn’t she?”
He nods.
“I miss my family,” Arisanna whispers.
He finds her eyes, and something unspoken passes between them. A shared understanding.
“At least I have you,” she ventures. It feels forward, but she gazes steadily into his eyes, and he doesn’t look away.
“I’m glad it was you waiting for me in Nunia.”
Are they having a moment? A real moment? She’s afraid to move—to do or say the wrong thing and ruin it.
