“Well, if you’re both determined to go forward with this, I have work to do,” Mother says. “I’ll need to air out the connecting bedchamber and find wedding clothes for you,Rominy. Rearrange the ceremony...” Her voice trails off into a series of mumblings.
Rominy’s cheeks take on a pink cast in the yellow lamplight at the mention of his chamber, and Arisanna pushes away thoughts of her own sleeping arrangements with Prince Cerian.
Clearing her throat, she turns hesitantly to her mother. “Speaking of clothes, Prince Cerian and I agreed to gift most of my trousseau to Princess Elowyn.”
“You what?”
“They came on horseback, Mother. I can’t take multiple trunks with me. Prince Cerian promised to buy me a whole new elven wardrobe in Celesta.”
That might be stretching the truth just a tad, but it’s close enough to what he said.
“Besides,” she continues, “you saw how different their clothes are. Princess Elowyn needs Nunian clothing far more than I will.”
Mother lifts her nose. “Indecent is what I saw.”
Rominy looks ready to bolt at the turn their conversation has taken.
“Mother.” Arisanna rubs her brow. She’ll develop a headache soon at this rate.
Father sighs. “A late tea awaits us in my study. I suggest we adjourn there and let ourselves cool down. As unhappy as I am about these recent developments, I fear you both are right. This is necessary for Nunia’s continued peace with Lostariel, and we will just have to make the best of it.”
“It’scolderthanIthought it would be.” Elowyn lowers herself to the bed in the guest-chamber the human servants offered her. “Wow, this is really soft.”
“It’s a building made of stone,” Cerian says as he eyes the water closet. “Of course it’s cold.”
Elowyn jumps back up. “Is there one of those showers Tharios told us about?”
“Why would you bring rain inside your dwelling?” Cerian asks.
“Doesn’t it sound amazing? Warm water dripping down on you at the turn of a lever?” She glances around the small room. Luxurious towels sit on a shelf near what looks like a small wardrobe. “That must be it.”
As she reaches for one of the wheels mounted on the wall inside the enclosure, Cerian takes a step back. “Don’t get me wet. We’re not all water wielders.”
She ignores him and tugs at the circular lever on the right.
“I think you’re supposed to turn it,” Cerian says.
“Right.” She twists the wheel, and water pours in tiny streams from a hole-laden faucet above, splattering her arm. “Oh, it’s cold! I thought it was supposed to be warm!” She hurries to shut the water off as laughter rings out behind her.
“The handle on the left, Elowyn,” Tharios says from the doorway.
“Ah. I see. So one is for cold water, and the other is for hot water? How convenient. I wonder where the hot water comes from. I’ll have to ask Prince Rominy.”
“If you didn’t scare him off,” Tharios teases. “He sure bolted when we arrived.”
Elowyn frowns as she dries her hand on a towel. “I think perhaps I came on too strong.”
“The humans like their personal space,” Tharios says.
“He did seem unnerved when I leaned across him to see out the window. His heart was racing again.”
“There you are.” Viala pokes her head in the small water closet behind Tharios. “Is this one of those showers you told me about? I hope our chamber has one.”
Tharios wraps his arm around her. “If you like it, maybe I can attempt to construct one for you when we return to Lostariel.”
Viala smiles adoringly up at him, and Cerian rolls his eyes.
If Tharios and Viala managed to find love after their own arranged binding three years ago, surely there’s hope for Elowyn and Prince Rominy. Elowyn’s brow wrinkles. As long as she doesn’t scare off her soon-to-be binding partner first.
