“Surely, you haven’t either?” I ask him. Wren squints his eyes up, like he’s deciding on something before he speaks.
“Actually, I have. I have only been on the Isle of Men for about ten years, and I am thirty now.”
I restrain my jaw now, else it drops open in surprise. I never knew; I hadn’t asked. I inspect Wren’s face closely now, but he doesn’t hide from my scrutiny. He has the faintest creases next to his eyes and a few barely there lines on his forehead that I have seen when he concentrates, but for the most part, his skin is clear and free of sun spots.
Wren appears no older than I. The scruff at his neck and chin that shadows his jaw is light and still just as sandy as his hair.
“I just assumed you were closer in age to Chiron and me. I’m twenty-five years old, to the best of my knowledge. A child of autumn, birthed near the last harvest.” Wren’s gone shy under my gaze now and shakes his head. Chiron takes this moment to chime in, pulling my eyes back to him.
“I’m twenty-seven, my name day just passed with the equinox of Spring. Netta, you’re the baby of us all then. Green as a girl, they say?” His tone is mischievous, most like that first morning than it has been since, and it doesn’t fail to amuse. I scoff at him.
“Likely as green as you are, Prince.” Taking another drink from my mug, using great restraint to not make a face as I stare him down. I can tell Chiron appreciated the saccharin drawl I say Prince with because his smile is wide, and he rubs his chin with his thumb and forefinger. His eyes are dark, amused, and something else…I cannot name it, but I can feel the shift between us.
His eyes remain on me for a long time, and I do not dislike the attention. Wren remains quiet, taking in the room and Chiron and I.
We eat a rich stew with crusty, warm bread; it’s the best meal I’ve had, maybe ever. On the Isle, I keep my fare light, drinking mostly water from the mirror and eating fruits, vegetables, and the occasional grain. It’s the diet of most of the sisters, to aid the sight and to preserve our animals.
We share more drinks, and Chiron regales us with tales of the Kingdom. He is a natural storyteller, and onlookers smile upon us and take heed of his contagiously good humor.
When we finally leave the tavern, it is very late in the night. I am warm, and everything is a little fuzzy at the edges. But I feel well…I feel lighter. I walk between them now and appreciate the support we give because we all stumble down the dirt path in the dark. When we make it back to the cabin, we are laughing and silly, because we must be a sight to behold.
“The bumbling royals, their first night out,” Wren says, good humored and far, far less gracefully than he normally speaks. It is sweet to see him like this, both of them.
We take turns using the washroom, and I take this rare opportunity to let my tresses out of their pinned braids. They fall down the middle of my back and the tension at the back of my neck, I didn’t even notice, releases. Chiron has built up a fire when I finish grooming, and Wren is perched in the armchair, his ever-present journal in hand. I smile at that, you can take the scholar out of the library, but…
Chiron watches me now from the doorway, his eyes are full of something again, and yes…yes. He is admiring me in truth. I return his gaze equally, allowing him to look his fill and taking my own time to really look at him. He is leaning in the doorway, arms across his chest, the ties loose, and his shoulders and neck well defined. His hands are sculpted with shadowy veins, and his arms are dusted with dark hair. He is…verypleasing to look at.
I turn and fall back onto the bed, and the softness is magnificent. Chiron joins me, and we continue to chat lightly into the night. Sometimes, Wren chimes in, and we are all very agreeable. The feeling of the ale has worn off, but the comfort and levity of the night remains. Chiron and I are turned towards each other now, and a question is poised on his face; I can see it clearly—the slight hesitation there. I am just brave enough to answer it.
“You have something you’d like to ask me, Sir?” I add at the end of it, letting amusement hum in the invitation.
It’s well met, and Chiron’s face softens to me, leaning forward onto his elbow and much closer to me.
“I was just thinking about the Rite. You….” He ends on a whisper, once again unsure of continuing his words. I am intrigued, because I, too, have been thinking about the Rite, after it— in the cave. So I lean forward too, mirroring his position and whisper,
“What of it?” We are close now, I can feel his warm breath on my cheeks. The heat of it simmers on my skin pleasantly.
“When they bound us together that night, something changed…for you. Didn’t it? You enjoyed it?” His voice is so soft now; there is no judgment in his question, but there is something else. Something I still cannot name, so I don’t try to. I think back to that night, this part of it is blurry and fragmented, like a vision on the surface of the pool. But I answer honestly because I know he knows the answer to his question.
“Yes. I enjoyed it. It felt like floating.” I realize something now, the way he is looking at me, the tender expression is not just amusement or interest. His eyes are filled with fascination, heat.
“And after…” He begins, moving perceptibly closer now. I do not flinch or move away from his advance.
“When we touched, in the cave. I wanted…I wanted…more.” His admittance comes out breathless, pulled from his mouth by a force unseen. He does not take it back; he is not surprised. He is asking me something. I shudder in a breath when I respond, confirming for myself the feeling that has simmered in me this night. After the ritual, things were still foggy; the mist shrouding my conscious mind was thick, but it did not influence me in a way I did not want. I wanted. I want now.
“I did as well. I do.” That is all the confirmation Chiron required. When his lips press to mine, they are still gentle, asking for permission from me. I give it, pressing closer and parting them for his admittance as my eyes close.
His mouth is hot and searching, the tingling zapping through my entire body and into my toes. Chiron leans forward into me, our chests grazing. His hand presses to my shoulder, and slides down the length of my arm as his tongue tastes the seam of my lips.
He rests his hand at the supple curve of my waist, giving it a light squeeze that sends a soft moan from his lips. It vibrates in my own mouth, and the heat in my belly turns to a fire.
I was taught to honor the desire in me as I see fit, so when Chiron’s lips leave mine and trail tender and hungry kisses down my neck, I consider this.
I’m facing toward the fire, and Wren is there. No longer writing in his book, but watching our kiss with restrained interest. He is hungry too, but he is too reserved to ask for it. His eyes on me, on us, feeds the fire in me. I could let this take over, but I am too much in my mind to give over to my body right now. This, us. We are not a night of companionship; we are bound.
This moment means more to the realm than what I feel right now.
Chiron’s lips fade away from my skin as he, too, realizes what I have seen and turns toward him. Wren doesn’t look away; he doesn’t show embarrassment, just his quiet interest. I smile at him. I suspect Chiron is smiling too, because Wren nods at us both and goes back to the book.
