“Is it ready for her?”
Grandmera turns to Arisanna, and Arisanna suddenly understands Cerian’s frequent urges to run.
“Of course it’s ready if you prefer it, my youngling. Though you were adamant about your preferences last night.”
Arisanna glances at Cerian, but he seems more eager to hear her response than to come to her aid.
Memories of Cerian’s conversation with his mother flood her.
She didn’t want me there.
Does he want her in his chamber?
“Which room would be mine?” she asks.
“The one beside Cerian’s, of course.” Grandmera gestures to one of the doors. “It belonged to Nestraya when she was an elfling.”
Cerian’s mother grew up here? That wasn’t part of Arisanna’s tutoring.
She gazes into Cerian’s eyes, but they’re closed off as if...as if he’s scared. Of being rejected?
“Can you add a door between them? With your plant magic?” she asks softly. “In case I need you?”
At her words, something in his eyes softens—melts, almost. “I can do that.”
“I’ll let you two sort everything out. But before you start tearing down walls, feed your human princess.” Grandmera eyes Cerian with a look that would melt glass, and he nods.
With a squeeze of Arisanna’s shoulder, Grandmera disappears into what must be her own chamber, and for a moment, Cerian studies Arisanna as she tries not to fidget under his gaze. He looks like he wants to say something, but in the end, he just holds out his hand.
Well. That was unexpected. Without hesitating, she hurries toward him and slips her fingers between his, and he leads her down the corridor to find food.
They Always Miss Breakfast
Episode 33
ArisannaclingstoCerian’sarm as he leads her to the Windhaven kitchens, and he silences every voice in his head telling him to put space between them. The way she ran to him when he held out his hand earlier awoke something fierce inside him—a desire to protect her and keep her safe.
That same desire he felt in the heartlanding.
Her eyes are large as she takes in everything, from the tree-grown walls to the windows in the ceilings and the many curving corridors.
“If you let go of me here, I might wander for hours trying to find you again,” she murmurs.
He looks down at her and swallows as words sit on his tongue in response, but he can’t bring himself to say them.
“What?” she asks. “You can talk to me, remember?”
“I’d sound like a simpering fool if I said it.”
“I can’t imagine you as a simpering fool.”
“Neither can I.”
“You’re scowling again.”
Is he?
“Let me guess what you were going to say,” she says. “‘Oh, Arisanna, don’t be ridiculous. Just retrace your steps.’”
