With a sigh, he collects an extra blanket and pillow and plants himself in the upholstered chair facing the bed, where he watches his human princess until his own eyelids droop in sleep.
Whyisthebedmoving?
Arisanna blinks her eyes open in confusion as she looks around...a train? Didn’t they arrive in Darlei?
In the seat facing her is Cerian, and the inexplicable relief that fills her when she sees him makes her cheeks warm.
“The heartlanding.” He takes everything in before meeting her gaze.
Of course. Their heartlanding. That should have occurred to her. Especially since she’s wearing that...dress again. At least her cloak drapes across her lap and covers her legs at the moment.
The silence between them grows, and neither of them rushes to fill it. Vague memories of him carrying her filter through her thoughts, but surely that didn’t happen...did it?
She barely remembers anything after arriving at Windhaven. All she wanted was sleep. Where did she even lie down? In a bed of moss?
She must be misremembering that, too.
Well. This is awkward. Are they going to sit here and stare at each other all night?
“I like your hair.” As soon as the words tumble from Cerian’s lips, he looks horrified.
Did he mean to say that?
She fingers her hair where it hangs loose aside from the ribbons woven between the strands, holding her thick tresses away from her face. It’s a little shorter here than in real life. “Thank you.”
He quickly looks away, turning toward the dark window as if he can make out something in the inky blackness, but all Arisanna sees are their reflections.
“I think we’re slowing down,” he says.
Great. He probably wants to visit that moonlit forest again. After their never-ending ride to Darlei through the Wildthorne Woods, she wouldn’t mind a break from more of the same.
He’s right about the train slowing. The high pitch of brakes as metal rubs against metal assaults her ears, and he flinches.
At least she didn’t fall into his arms this time. That’s a good thing. Right?
The hazy memory of him carrying her fills her mind again. His solid chest at her side. Her head as she rested it against his shoulder and neck.
Did that actually happen? She could ask him, but what an awkward conversation that would be.
He rises to his feet, and she stares up at him.
“Are you coming?” he asks.
“We don’t really have to get off, do we?”
“Are you still tired?”
Stars above. What sort of exhausted fool did she play for his family before falling asleep who knows where last night?
She doesn’t feel tired now, though. At least, not enough to use that as an excuse to stay on the train, where it’s light and safe and dangers don’t lurk in the shadows.
She looks up at him, unsure what to say, and that brow of his furrows once again.
“Tell me,” he says.
He probably didn’t mean to sound as brusque as he did.
“Please,” he adds more softly.
