Unless they’re both unconscious right now.
At least Cerian is being more forthcoming than he was before.
“So this will happen again?” she asks.
“Yes. Perhaps frequently if the magic feels it would benefit us.”
“Benefit us?”
Cerian shrugs and steps away from the glowing doorway. Apparently, he’s reached his word limit for the moment.
With a slight huff, she follows him as she pulls her cloak tight around her. No need to give him more of a show than necessary if they didn’t come here to...bond.
“Shh.” He puts his finger to his lips, and she treads lightly as they emerge into a clearing with a silvery lake. Moonlight glistens on the placid surface as tiny ripples flow from one side, where a doe and her fawn drink from the water’s edge.
A gasp slips from Arisanna’s throat at the spectacular sight, and the doe stares toward them as her large ear twitches. Then she bounds away with her fawn trailing behind her.
“Sorry,” Arisanna whispers.
Cerian shrugs. “The beauty of the woods is an eternal stream of ephemeral moments strung together, one after another. When one moment ends, a new one soon takes its place. Look.”
She’s more shocked by the poetic nature of his observation than by the swan that gracefully lands on the moonlit lake. Before she can respond, the entire scene transforms back into the room at the castle, where she lies in a heap of petticoats and hoops beneath her monster of a gown.
Perhaps that other dress wasn’t so bad after all.
“They’re waking up!” Mother’s voice intrudes on Arisanna’s thoughts, and she bites back a groan at the sight of Mother hovering over her.
“Permit them some space.” Cerian’s father’s voice carries from the edge of the room. “The return from the heartlanding can be disorienting.”
Is that why the room is swaying?
“Are you all right, darling? What did you see?” Mother asks.
Well, she’s certainly not going to tell Mother about her gown. Arisanna opens her mouth to describe the lake instead, but no words come. It’s as if her voice has ceased functioning.
“She can’t speak of it,” King Lorial says. “It’s for her and Cerian alone.”
Mother doesn’t look pleased with his answer, but she lets it go.
That’s actually a relief. Arisanna’s mortification at the entire experience needn’t be on display for anyone besides her new husband.
For whatever that’s worth.
“Your gown is going to be wrinkled and dirty when you pick yourself up off the floor,” Mother says. “I should have laid a blanket for you to collapse upon.”
Arisanna has doubts about her ability to pick herself up off anything with this ludicrous dress on. Unless she wants to flash her new husband a view of her hoops and petticoats.
Which is actually probably more modest than the view she already gave him on the train.
King Lorial doesn’t need to see that, though.
Where is Cerian, anyway? She can’t see much around her voluminous skirts.
And where’s Father?
“How is Mother?” Cerian asks quietly. He’s somewhere near her feet from the sound of it.
“She’s already improving,” King Lorial says. “Thank you, my elfling.”
