The thought startles him, though he did almost kiss her in the heartlanding.
He’s not foolish enough to try right now. Not with the way his palm is growing warm. He should probably move his hand away, but her lips are so...perfect. Soft and full with that delicate little dip beneath the pad of his finger.
What were they talking about?
“Am I distracting you?” she asks against his finger.
“You’re always distracting me,” he mutters, and her lips tick up in response.
The woods. That’s what they were discussing.
He opens his mouth, struggling to find the right words. “I...don’t...”
Her merriment fades, replaced by a softness uniquely hers. Full of compassion and acceptance.
“Your finger is getting hot, my fire wielder,” she whispers, and he quickly pulls his hand away.
But he doesn’t run. Not yet.
Exhaling slowly, he starts again, careful to keep his hands to himself. “You said the next time I feel like running...to take you with me,” he whispers.
She nods, waiting for him to keep going.
“Will you come with me today?”
He holds his breath. What if she says no? She doesn’t like the woods. Perhaps it was foolish to ask.
“Always,” she says softly.
“Always?”
“I will always come when you ask me to.”
“Always?”
“Until the beating of our hearts fades.”
His heart pounds as fire threatens to erupt from his palms. Is she leaning toward him? His eyes settle on her lips of their own accord.
“Cerian,” she breathes, but his voice has abandoned him, and he can’t even begin to respond.
When his palms tingle, he groans as images of that lump of snow he destroyed fill his mind, and he somehow finds his voice again. “I...I need to—I’m not running—I just need to...talk to my father.”
“Go do what you need to do. I’ll be ready to leave when you return.”
“Thank you.” He shoots for the door before she calls him back.
“Maybe change into regular clothes first? Unless you normally wander around Windhaven in your nightclothes, in which case carry on.”
He looks down at the linen shirt and trousers he’s still wearing. They’ve been sitting here eating breakfast in their sleeping attire. They really are bound—married, as she calls it.
And no, he doesn’t generally wander around Windhaven like this.
He quickly collects his ayervadi leathers from his wardrobe and ducks into the water closet to change. When he emerges a few minutes later, Arisanna looks up as her eyes wander over him.
And she bites her lip.
Whistling wind. He needs to speak to Father. Especially if she’s going to keep looking at him like that.
