My wife can be a cook, he insisted,but not a kitchen slave.
So they left the mess to the servants and then strolled together through Solturne Hall. They were close enough to hold hands, but Sephia didn’t trust herself to do this. She kept her arms wrapped tightly around her middle as they walked.
They passed several others—nobles and servants alike—who bowed and then watched them with unabashed curiosity. Sephia did not focus on their faces, but rather on the twists and turns of the hallways, and on the various rooms they passed. She needed to better memorize this place for practical, related-to-her-mission reasons.
Nevertheless, her eyes kept being drawn to less practical things. To the gold-framed works of art. To the wall sconces that flickered with various-colored flames. To the soaring ceilings, the marble statues tucked in seemingly every nook, and the windows that gave glimpses of gardens so beautiful they made her mouth fall open.
She had scarcely left her room over the past three days, and never so early as this; the morning light bathed things in a glow that made her feel as if she had never woken up from her cloud-filled dreams. She had grown up in a palace of her own. She was used to splendor. But…
What would it be like to wake up every morning and stroll through these halls?
Why did this feel so different from home?
Because it’s drenched in dangerous fae magic,came the harsh reply from her smarter, more sensible side.
They reached one of the spiraling staircases that led to the second floor, and Tarron paused at the foot of it and said, “You were right, earlier, you know.”
“About what?”
“I like order. I like…calm.”
She glanced over at him.
“And you are…”
“Chaos?” she supplied.
He shrugged.
“Yet another thing Nana Rosa used to say.” Homesickness surged through her. She averted her eyes so he couldn’t see any emotion that might be welling up in them. They climbed the steps together, and when they reached the top, Sephia found more words spilling out from her before she could stop them: “My sister was the calm one.”
“Was she?”
Sephia bit her lip, sealing her reply inside. It felt like she was revealing too much of herself already, and she was hesitant to share any more.
But then again, he didn’t know their separate personalities, did he? She stilllookedlike Nora, and that was what mattered. It wouldn’t hurt anything if she acted like Sephia. He wouldn’t know the difference. Right?
The only question was, why did she suddenlywanthim to know the real her?
“You miss her terribly, I’d imagine,” said the prince. “Your sister, I mean.”
She pictured Nora’s face. Tried to remember the cadence of her voice, the sparkle of her laugh. It had only been days since she’d heard these things, but it felt like much longer. A lump formed in her throat, but she managed a nod.
Tarron took her hand, and they continued their walk.
She wanted to pull away—she didn’t like all of these tumbling, complicated feelings she was having, and his touch made them worse—but she kept holding on to him. They had made surprising progress this morning. He was starting to trust her a bit, maybe.
Which is precisely what I need from him.
“When things have all settled down,” he said, “perhaps we can arrange a visit.”
Sephia slowed to a stop, staring at him, unsure of what to say.
“We’ll think on it,” he said, giving her hand a small squeeze. He started to pull her back into motion, but at that moment they both noticed they were being watched; a small group of elegant-looking females were gathered at the end of the hall, whispering amongst themselves while occasionally tossing a not-so-subtle glance at the prince.
“A lot of staring this morning,” Sephia commented, stiffly.
“They’re just…curious. Surprised to see us holding hands, perhaps. Not all of them are convinced our wedding ceremony is going to happen.”
