Anyway, it’s more decent than the other gown was with the flimsy wet fabric clinging to her. She didn’t miss the way Rominy stared. That would have been impossible. A smile slips across her face at the thought.
With a shrug, she wanders back into the sitting room of their little cottage. A storm rages outside here, too, as if the heartlanding is pushing them to stay off the boat and out of the garden. To remain inside by the warmth of the cozy fire as it casts flickering shadows around the room.
Rominy glances her way and smiles. “You, too?”
She spins, drawing out a soft laugh from him as her skirt billows around her.
He’s not sputtering and turning red or running away.
It’s a little shocking.
“I would have felt underdressed if you had come out in an evening gown.” He scoots over to make room for her, and she plops down on the fur hearthrug beside him. “You’re really all right? I didn’t hurt you when I landed on you?”
She’s about to tell him she’s perfectly fine, but the words feel wrong on her tongue, and she can’t bring herself to say what she’d planned to say.
Concern fills Rominy’s eyes. “You are hurt. Elowyn—”
“Just a little sore.” She smiles softly up at him, but he looks unconvinced. “Tharios would be useful right about now.”
“Tharios? Prince Tharios?”
“The one and only. You don’t have to use his title. We’re family now.”
Rominy chuckles a nervous huff and nods. “Right.”
“He has life magic. He’s good for injuries.”
“That must be convenient. What kind of magic does Cerian have?”
“Fire and plant magic. Don’t tell Tharios this, but Cerian’s plant magic is stronger than Tharios’s plant magic is.”
Rominy laughs at that. “And his fire magic? Which of you is the master?”
“Why, I am, of course.” She sends an innocent look his way, and he laughs harder.
“I don’t know if I should believe you.”
“I’m not sure I can lie to you.”
Rominy’s mirth fades. “Have you tried?”
Hmm. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that.
“Not lied, exactly. Stretched the truth? I was going to tell you I was fine after our ordeal on the stairs, but the words wouldn’t come.”
“Why would you lie about that?” Rominy’s brows furrow, and she sighs.
“I didn’t want you to worry about me. I really will be fine.”
He still doesn’t look convinced. For a few moments, he studies her, and she can barely meet his gaze. What is he thinking?
“Don’t lie to me, all right? You’re my...my wife. Just...let’s be honest with each other. Please.”
The sincerity in his eyes warms her heart, and she nods. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. Just tell me the truth. Are you really all right?”
Something about the way he looks at her makes it hard to think. Or breathe.
