Arisanna smelled like berries when he buried his nose against her neck. It was delightful. He could have drunk in her scent for hours. She hasn’t complained, but he probably could stand to bathe, too.
The image that thought creates in his mind leaves him shaking his head to clear it and pulling back the vine that somehow found its way under the water closet door again.
As if his fire magic wasn’t trouble enough.
At least his vines are fun to play with.
Whistling wind. That’s definitely not helpful.
“You prefer the window closed?” the queen asks. She must have noticed him shaking his head.
His tongue sticks, but he manages, “No.”
He definitely prefers fresh air. Especially traipsing through the woods with Arisanna.
Perhaps he should just accept that she’ll consume his thoughts while she’s out of sight.
All the time, really.
Surely she’s dressed by now. Should he check on her?
No, of course he shouldn’t check on her. He shakes his head again.
“Are you sure you’re well? This...lack of balance Elowyn has. It’s not contagious, is it?”
To his shock, she lifts a hand to his forehead, and he stumbles backward, almost tripping over a chair.
“I don’t know, Cerian. You feel warm to me. Perhaps you should let a doctor, or whatever you call them, look you over just in case.”
“Mother.” Arisanna smiles from near the water closet, and relief fills Cerian so strongly that he almost topplesover. Arisanna’s eyes alight with gentle humor and warmth. She must have heard her mother’s concern about his health.
“I think Cerian may be coming down with whatever Elowyn has, Arisanna. Does he feel warm to you?”
“He’s always warm, Mother. He’s a fire wielder. It’s normal.”
He could kiss Arisanna for leaving out the part where she sets him on fire. But not now. Not with her mother here.
“Oh. Well. Why didn’t you say something, Cerian?” the queen asks.
“I’m sure he’s tired, Mother. We all are. It’s been a long couple of days.”
“I’m sure it has. It’s all right, though. I’m here now to care for you both.”
Horror fills Cerian, and he snaps his gaze to Arisanna. She offers him an apologetic smile, and he swallows his dismay.
Or tries to, at any rate.
“Your hair is wet, Arisanna,” the queen observes.
“That’s what happens when one washes it, Mother,” Arisanna says with a soft sigh.
“It just seems like an odd time to bathe, but perhaps things are done differently in Lostariel. You really should pin up your hair while you’re here, though. What will people think?”
Arisanna’s smile fades as she looks down at her hands. “I may need to borrow some hairpins. We left Darlei in a hurry.”
“No,” Cerian says, the word bursting from him before he can think better of it. Both women look at him, and he clears his throat.
He can do this. Be Arisanna’s champion and protector.
