“The woods unnerve me,” she murmurs, not meeting his eyes.
“I see.” He lowers himself to his seat again, and she tentatively looks at him.
She must seem pathetic to him. He loves the woods. Of course he does—he’s a plant wielder. She’s probably safer by his side in the woods than she is anywhere else.
That realization hits her hard. He would protect her, wouldn’t he? She can trust him to keep her safe.
“May I hold your hand?” she asks softly before realizing how utterly ridiculous she sounds. As if she’s a young child and not a grown woman. Somehow, the idea of holding on to him makes the prospect of the dark forest less frightening, though.
His brows go up this time. “Right now?”
Stars above. Her cheeks must be flaming. She should have chosen her words more carefully.
Before she can clarify, he moves to the bench beside her and extends his hand. She stares at it and then meets his eyes.
What is she supposed to say now? She can’t refuse him. But just sitting here holding hands sounds even more awkward than anything else they’ve done.
Except maybe when he helped her out of her wedding gown.
Unsure what else to do, she places her palm against his and threads her fingers between his own. His hand is warm, as it’s been every time she’s touched it.
As their eyes connect, something inside her flutters. Is her heart racing? Or is the pounding in her chest coming from him?
She swallows, trying to wet her suddenly dry throat. “If I follow you off the train, will you promise not to let go?”
His hand tightens around hers. “I told you I wouldn’t let any harm befall you, Arisanna. I won’t let go.” As he looks into her eyes, there’s something there she can’t define. Something fierce and protective. Almost...possessive.
It makes her heart pound until the sensation is deafening, her blood thrumming loudly through her ears. He must feel it, too. He says nothing, though.
“If you wish to hang on my arm as well, I won’t stop you.” A glint appears in his emerald eyes, and his mouth quirks.
Is he...teasing her?
Who is this elf she married? Beneath the aloof exterior and the glares and the brusque words?
No need to embarrass herself further, though. She has no intention of launching herself at him every time an owl hoots tonight.
“Your hand will suffice.”
Not letting go of her, he stands, and she follows as she clings to her cloak.
“Do you wish to put that on?” he asks.
When she nods, he takes it from her and somehow manages to set it across her shoulders without dropping her hand.
And he only glances down once.
Is he blushing? What an awkward place this is. As if marrying a stranger wasn’t awkward enough. The heartlanding could at least provide more practical clothing while they’re becoming acquainted with each other.
And save the risqué leathers that barely cover her for later? What kind of thought is that?
“Shall we?” he asks.
“Shall we what?”
Those expressive brows of his wrinkle once more. “Get off the train?”
“Right. Of course.”
