“Forgive me for not understanding,” Elowyn says quietly to the doctor as she clutches Rominy’s arm. “Rominy has explained it, and I am now prepared to undergo this procedure.”
“Don’t give it another thought, Your Highness. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
Elowyn swallows and nods, and Rominy can’t resist the urge to press his lips to her temple.
That’s his Elowyn.
“Whatdoyouusuallydo on your birthday?” Arisanna asks after she and Cerian finish stuffing themselves—and each other—with far too much sweet bread.
Cerian shrugs. “I don’t do much.”
For a moment, Arisanna eyes him as if trying to read into his words, and he sighs.
“I go out in the woods.”
“Alone?”
Watching her face, he nods.
“I see.” She puts on what looks like a genuine smile. “Don’t let me stop you. I can probably survive without you for a day.”
She...what?
“If you need some time to yourself,” she adds.
Usually, the idea would appeal to him—time away from everyone and everything, where he doesn’t have to care what anyone is thinking or expecting. Where he can just exist alone with the trees and the odd squirrel that scampers past.
But the thought is less appealing this time.
“Or not,” she says as her brows draw together. “What are you thinking?”
He looks at the table. At the remnants of the sweet bread upon which they feasted. At the wooden figurines on his shelf. At the window and his wardrobe. Even down at his hands.
“I get the feeling you’re avoiding me.” The hint of a smile fills Arisanna’s voice. “Unless I’m next on the list of places you’re planning to train your eyes.”
When he glances up at her, her lips are lifted in a teasing grin, and the corner of his own mouth twitches. “Perhaps.”
“Thank you for not running,” she says softly.
Not running. It...didn’t cross his mind this time.
Unsure what to say, he nods.
“So why are you not looking at me?” she asks. “Is it because I’m too distracting?”
She’s teasing him again. He shakes his head as a smile attempts to sneak across his face.
“What then? You can tell me. You haven’t scared me off yet.”
Thank the fates for that.
“Shall I guess?” Before she can open her mouth again, he presses a finger to her lips the way he did earlier.
“That will not be necessary.”
Her eyes dance with mirth, but she doesn’t attempt to talk.
If only he could press his lips to hers instead of his finger.
