“You should change,” he muttered, his fingers curling into tight fists to keep from tearing her dress to shreds.
Caelian reared back as though he’d smacked her. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your dress,” he clarified, clearing his throat. Swallowing. Hard. “It looks uncomfortable. Like it pains you.”
“I…” Her chest heaved and she ducked her head, ribbons of silver, pink, blue, and light purple hair falling around her face like a curtain. “It does. I hate it, actually.”
Her hair was glimmering like an iridescent waterfall, and it took everything in Kjeld’s power not to reach out and tuck the loose waves back so he could see her face. “I thought as much.”
Kjeld shoved to his feet, a mistake that left Caelian on her knees before him, an image he’d pictured in his mind a thousand times over. Her eyes, wide and as dark of blue as the Havnokk Deep, gazed up at him. He could drown in their depths, in the endless abyss of the haunting sadness that filled them. She rolled her plump lips together, chest rising and falling, as the quickened pace of her heartbeat echoed in his ears.
He reached down, cupped her by the elbow, and carefully lifted her to her feet. That caution was always there, in the back of his mind, imploring him to be mindful of how easily he could hurt her. His excessive strength was still something he was struggling to control, and he was unaccustomed to the unnatural brute force of his newfound fae abilities. And Caelian…she was so delicate now. Like the softest petal of a summer rose. One rough hand, one careless touch, and she would bruise.
A tiny scrap slipped from the stack of letters in her arms, and he caught the torn piece of parchment before it hit the ground.
“Almost lost this,” he mumbled quietly, setting it on top of the bound letters, when the familiar name scrawled across it caught his eye. “Wenfyre?”
Instantly, Caelian’s guarded expression morphed into one of interest. She moved in closer, her skirts swishing, lightly rustling against his pants. She was unaware of the effect her nearness held over him, how she captivated him, how just sharing thesame air as her was enough to make him worship her like an ancient Northernlands goddess.
“You know it, then?” she asked, holding the torn scrap of paper out to him. “This Wenfyre?”
“Aye, my lady. I know it.” Kjeld accepted the paper, careful not to allow his fingers to graze hers. “It’s a realm south of Brackroth, home of a Druid queen, where the magic is tied to nature, and the land itself shimmers with power.”
“Oh. Oh, I see.” Caelian clutched the letters closer to her, and her gaze dropped to the polished floor. “I did not realize it was so far.”
Kjeld’s brow furrowed. Certainly she hadn’t been intending to travel there, and especially not alone. “Are you planning to visit?”
“Maybe. At the very least, I was considering it.”
Again, she tugged on the fluffy collar of her gown, and his irritation mounted. Why she continued to suffer in silence, to be uncomfortable in her own skin, was beyond him.
“Why Wenfyre?” It came out as more of a gruff demand, but if Caelian noticed the rough edge in his voice, she paid it no attention.
“Because I believe there are answers there, and I intend to find them.” She shifted her weight, angling her hip to one side. “It must all be tied to my mother somehow. She lied to us for years, from the very beginning, claiming she was a fae when all along she was a Druid. I just want to know why. I doubt my father would have cared much, in fact, I’m certain he would have fallen in love with her either way. But why did she feel the need to lie? What was she hiding from us? And why did she have to kill him?”
Her voice broke on the last few words, as though a rogue wave of long-forgotten emotion suddenly crashed into her. Shepressed her lips into a hard line, willing away the threat of tears welling in her eyes.
Kjeld scratched the underside of his jaw. No wonder she was questioning if there was anything left of Trysta’s personal effects this morning. Apparently she’d devised some sort of plan and intended to see it through. “You’ve discussed this matter with Ariesian?”
“Not yet.” She stiffened, her spine straightening. “But I see no reason as to why he would refuse me.”
Clearly she did not know her brother as well as she thought, because Kjeld would bet hard-earned gold that Ariesian would shut down her plan before she could begin.
“And you think Wenfyre can unlock all these secrets?” he asked, folding his arms over his broad chest and widening his stance. He did not particularly care for the idea that Caelian intended to travel to Wenfyre…alone. Without anyone to protect her. If Ariesian even approved of her plan at all. “That you will find the answers you seek there, in some faraway land you know nothing about?”
“I don’t see why not.” She sniffed then and lifted her chin in spite. “Besides, I know plenty now, thanks to you. Wenfyre is the home of a Druid queen. It’s south of Brackroth, the magic there is tied with nature, and the land itself shimmers with power.”
She smiled brightly but it was not genuine. It no longer illuminated the entirety of her face. The light of it could not reach her eyes, and they stopped sparkling like starlit night skies some time ago. It was a smile, yes. But the kind that was practiced in a mirror so the world saw only the reflection of what she wished them to see.
Caelian shrugged and waved a careless hand through the air, dismissing his concern. “What more do I need to know?”
Brat.
Her flippancy infuriated him.
He steadied himself, closing the already intimate distance between them. Her breath caught, and the bewildered beating of her heart thrummed through his veins, causing him to long. To yearn. To crave. It was intoxicating. The sound of it. Like a bewitching melody made solely for him. Curious how his heightened fae senses seemed to thrive whenever she was near.
“There is plenty you don’t know, Caelian.” Her name was like honeyed wine on his tongue. And it was the first time he’d used her given name without the preface of her title before it.
