“Cerian?” She looks up at him. “Are you all right? Your heart...it’s—”
Panic edges through him, and he drops his arms and backs away.
Don’t run.
Would the heartlanding even let him?
“Do you need some space?” she asks as she wraps her arms around herself.
Does he? The urge to run wars with a longing to never leave her side.
She shivers again. She must be freezing.
“I wish for a warm fur-lined cloak, hat, and mittens for”—he swallows as he gazes into her eyes—“for my human princess.”
His breath catches when the heartlanding grants his request, clothing her in the most luxurious fox-fur-lined green woolen cloak with a fur hat and wool mittens to match.
Is she ever not gorgeous? Even in her monstrosity of a wedding gown, she was perfect, though the gown itself left something to be desired.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“Are you warm enough?”
She nods. “Though I kind of like it when you hold me.”
Kind of? She seemed blissful. As if...
Whistling wind.
Is she falling in love with him?
Surely not.
He’s not...lovable. Not like Tharios and Elowyn. He’s moody and prickly, and he doesn’t like to talk. Plus, he scowls a lot.
Not exactly charming qualities.
“What are you thinking?” she asks softly.
Well, he certainly can’t tell her the truth. Can he?
All secrets are laid bare in the heartlanding, though. That’s what Father says. The thought usually terrifies him, but something about being here, now, with her makes it less terrifying.
“Cerian?”
“I was just...I...”
She steps closer but says nothing as she waits for him to finish.
“I thought you would hate me,” he says. “But...you—”
“Don’t?” Her eyebrows lift, and a faint smile graces her lips. “I...”
Now it’s her turn to struggle for words, and his stomach tightens as he waits for her to speak.
“I don’t know exactly what I’m feeling,” she finally says. “But when I’m not with you...I miss you. You’re sweet, Cerian. And thoughtful. And even your glares are growing on me in an oddly endearing way.”
Endearing?
