“They are awful,” I correct. “Page after page on war strategy and arrow distribution. Riveting stuff.”
He folds his arms loosely across his chest, leaning against the bookshelf.
“You were looking for something more interesting.” It’s not a question, more an observation as his eyes flick between me and the book I'm holding.
“Yes.”
…And I was looking for information on your kingdom that might help me get home.
His lips twitch with a small smirk.
“And you think folklore will get you home?” He’s teasing me. I know he is.
“Well, it’s still more interesting than your dusty old books,” I say, placing the book back on its shelf. “I suppose you’re here to scold me now. Return me to my confinement.” I mutter, feigning innocence, as I raise both hands in surrender. He clicks his tongue, giving me a playful smile. I like this side of him. Less rigid, less carved from stone.
“I was, yes,” he admits, “but then you mocked my military notes, so I’ve decided to sit and let you read Manual of Blade and Shield: Volume 3. I think it’s around here somewhere…” he chuckles to himself, clearly amused by his own humour.
“Ha ha, hilarious. Seriously, that may be an excellent form of torture if you ever needed some new ideas.” I respond, taking a seat on the sofa. We stare at each other for a while, and I wait for him to tell me to follow him back but he turns to a bookshelf I haven’t looked at yet, his eyes wandering over all the book spines before landing on something and picking it out. He walks over to me, handing me the book.
“It’s less dramatic than the butterfly folklore, but more useful.” I grab the book from his hand gently reading the title. Flora and Foundations of Greyhollow.
“Here,” he says, sitting beside me and turning to a page on Stone Memory. I read the passage carefully, but the words don’t really make sense to me. I turn to Rowan with a confused look before he shuffles closer, pointing to a diagram. “The stones of this castle are runed with magic. At even a single drop of blood, they turn darker, almost black,” he says. I think back to the corridors that appear darker, the walls that I thought were just aged.
“What use is that?” I ask, genuinely intrigued.
“Accountability. It serves as a deterrent to violence and has been around for centuries. Violence within these walls cannot be hidden. If blood is spilled, the stones record it. It’s a moral warning system,”
“Is it just in the castle?”
“Others that have been able to access rune magic may have used it, but the castle is the largest record of it.” His shoulder brushes mine as he points to something in the book. It’s barely anything, but the contact is enough. My thoughts falter mid-sentence, and I become increasingly aware of everything. The steady rise and fall of his breathing, the faint scent of steel and soap and something that’s distinctly him. I swallow, trying to focus my eyes on the page in front and the words he is saying, but I haven’t listened to a word he’s said. I’m too distracted. My knee shifts slightly, pressing against his.
My heart pounds loudly in my chest.
My mind appears to utterly betray me when I envision him leaning in closer and his careful control slipping. I find myself breathing in short, broken gasps.
Focus, Elodie.
And not on his mouth.
“Is there something more interesting that’s on your mind, Hawthorne?” Rowan’s voice causes a rush of heat to my face. I turn to face him. His eyes search mine, then drop briefly to my mouth.
“I don’t know what you mean,”
Lie. Yes, you do.
You just don’t want to admit it.
My lie doesn’t even sound convincing to myself, let alone to a knight trained in interrogation tactics.
“I think you know exactly what I mean,” he pushes. My knee brushes against his once more. He leans closer, not enough to touch, but enough that the air shifts. I swallow, feeling completely at his mercy.
Neither of us moves.
My body betraying me as I inhale softly, shifting closer. He smirks at me, knowingly, before leaning close to my mouth, I think he’s about to give in to whatever the hell is happening here but then he breaks the silence, “So, tell me again how bored you were with my military texts?” It takes my brain a full second to catch up.
“What?”
His lips brush the corner of my mouth when he speaks as his grin widens.
