As a child, on blustery days, this was my favorite thing to do. The furs beneath me reminded me of times my mother and I had sat here with mugs of warm plum cider. Building my own happy memories in the estate, apart from my childhood, felt right.
Emmerick had cooked the most decadently spiced lamb, and I’d all but licked the plate before the estate floated it back to the kitchen to be cleaned.
After eating, he lay facing the fire, with an elbow propped up on a pillow, the other arm free to sip the wine we had mulled. I sat beside him, leaning against the sofa. He appeared so relaxed there, with the top few buttons of his tunic open. My curious gaze caught on the dark hair of his chest peeking out. My stomach was full and warmed by the burgundy spirit.
I would gladly live in the moment for the rest of eternity.
We settled into a quiet conversation about Sybilla’s itinerary for him. We’d go to the West Corridor first. It was the most difficult to traverse since there were no Egresses, thanks to Bringham’s steadfastness against allowing Source magic. The prick still wouldn’t let me search his lands for relics.
After dealing with the least pleasant ruler, we’d travel to the South and East Corridors. The Sheffields and Nadiars held amicable relations with Luz.
“I can’t believe she’s really done it—brought magic back into the realm,” Emmerick said about Sybilla. “Her ancestors are likely rolling in their graves.”
I sipped from my ceramic mug, cupping it with both hands before setting it aside and resting my chin on my hugged knees.
“I am not all that surprised. Many hid their ties to Source magic in Henosis while living through the Order. For them, it is a relief.”
His brow creased. “I never suspected there were any Source-wielders left when the Order began...”
I scooted closer to him. “Oh, there are. Most hold smaller amounts of the bloodlines that were once gifted magic. Nothing like what you’ve seen of Asterie or Fenris or whatyouare capable of. But it’s always existed here. Even among those that you know and would never suspect.”
He scoffed. “Like who?”
I chuckled. “Like the young woman at the flower shop who asks about you every year. She seems quite smitten with the Constable who bought his mother flowers so frequently.” The shock-stricken look on his face was endearing.
“Sophie Willix? She was barely eighteen when I fell asleep—she used to work in the back of her mother’s shop and go ghost pale whenever I walked in. She rarely squeaked out a word.”
“Well, she isn’t eighteen anymore. Maybe pay her a visit.”
He narrowed his gaze, straightening up on his elbow a bit more. “Are you trying to pawn me off on the poor girl? I hardly think I should entertain a girlish crush from twenty years ago—but Sophie, she’s a Source-wielder?”
“She’s nearly forty now. Completely age-appropriate, and she hasn’t aged a day over thirty, considering she is a Soil-wielder. Why not entertain yourself? You’ll have plenty more women falling at your feet. Kings so often do.”
I ignored the stab of jealousy that wanted to spread and told myself it would be easier to restrain my desires if he stopped looking at me with such fondness and turned it toward someone new. He should have his fun and enjoy everything this world offered him.
“Well, it makes sense why the shop’s flowers were always the best blooms I’d ever seen. And stop meddling in my intimate affairs—or lack thereof.”
The fire crackled, drawing my attention.
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve been asleep for two decades—you’re telling me that a roll in the sheets with a pretty florist sounds terrible to you? You are a good man, but you’re not fooling me. No man isthatgood.”
He stiffened for a moment before sitting up and sliding infront of me to place a foot on either side of mine. I hugged my knees tighter, afraid that if his legs brushed them, then I might test howgoodhe truly was.
With the light of the fire dancing across his features, his soft linen tunic, and his thick wool socks, he looked so at home here.
“Are you going to tease me if I tell you I’m nervous about being with someone again?” When he held my gaze, the vulnerability of his question warmed my cheeks. He ran his palms up and down his shins, awaiting my answer.
“I would never,” I whispered conspiratorially, feigning insult. “But why do you feel that way?”
He rubbed the back of his neck—a motion that grew more charming every time he did it.
His leg bounced, brushing mine.
“It has been so long. I’ve only been with two others. I just... I feel like the pressure tolastwould render me embarrassed.”
The wine had loosened his tongue. I chortled ungracefully. Men had such odd priorities. “Thatis what you’re worried about?”
He glared when the snort burst from me; no malice reached his eyes though. “You said you wouldn’t tease me.” He groaned and collapsed back onto the pillows.
