“We’ll prepare the rabbit. All you have to do is enjoy." Chiron adds backing out of the doorway. “When you’re ready, we’ll eat, and then we can decide what we want to do with our evening.”
“Okay,” I say softly, still looking from the bath to the soaps and back to them. Wren has also backed out of the room, and they stand together now, looking incredibly pleased with themselves.
“Can you…close the door?” I ask them, an eyebrow raised.
They both smile now, Wren bashful, Chiron…cheeky. But Chiron reaches for the door, and in a moment, I am alone.
When I slip into the bath, tension I didn’t know was still in me melts away in the hot water. The bathing in the cave before our Rite was cold, the water an icy blast to my senses. This says:
Let your troubles fall away from you.
So I do. I wash, but mostly I relax, soothed to somewhere close to delirium.
My mind wanders of its own accord to Wren and Chiron. They are so starkly different from one another. Wren is withdrawn, never pushing his way into anything, but still a grounding presence to me in every room. Just quiet. Chiron is the lifeblood of the same room, controlled and charming. Both are so securely masculine in their own ways. So handsome…
The warmth in my stomach persists, and I recognize it for what it is. Desire has bloomed not from our binding, but from everything that has come after. Slowly forming in me, unchecked and waiting to make its presence known.
Chiron’s interest is easiest for me to parse. His soft but sure touches, his proximity—I feel these things. Wren’s is harder; I’m not sure what he wants. But his kindness and attention to detail are promising to me. I intend to find out what is happening here for myself. This night.
I decide it’s time to leave my tranquil pool, and part of me wishes I could stay a while longer. But another part, the one my heart leads by, says it’s time to emerge now. So I leave the tub, I dry myself with the thick cloth they leave for me, and I dress in the rich, creamy shift. Wren truly thought well to set my bag in the corner, because the comb is there, and I can work the wet knots from my tresses. I leave my hair undone in shining obsidian waves down my back.
When I emerge into the main room of the cabin, the air is cooler than in the washroom, but not unbearably so.
I’m directed to the small table, and I take my seat while they ladle out shallow bowls. They are fine porcelain but lack the filigree that denotes them as priceless. Everything about this little hideaway is so intentional. Fine, but not ostentatious. It gives me the sense that Chiron’s parents appreciate well-made things, but aren’t caught up with the need for more. I think that is reflected well in Chiron.
Chiron and Wren sit opposite me, and we eat in quiet, easy conversation. They tell me of their pantry adventuring—Chiron picking out the preserved vegetables and Wren deciding what herbs to use. I smile at their stories, and I laugh at Wren’s soft bashfulness. It feels truly like these two have an easy connection to one another. They are not in contrast; they complement. When I’ve finished eating, I rise and walk to stand between them, placing a light kiss on each of their cheeks.
“The meal, the bath…you have both been so generous today, I thank you.”
I take our bowls to the washtub to soak. Wren retreats to a small chair, and Chiron reclines back on the bed, the same pose as he did the morning he suggested we come here. They both appear at ease in their own unique way.
For a glimmer of a moment, I am unsure of what to do. Whom to approach…how to start this? But I do not have to. Chiron sits forward and slowly swings his legs off the bed. I wonder if I projected my intentions toward them somehow. His eyes are dark and heated. Wren slowly lowers his journal, bright, blue eyes on me and then on Chiron. Slightly wary, slightly intrigued.
I take a steadying breath. I am no girl; I’ve been at this precipice before. But this feels different, like the very foundation of this small cottage rests on how I move through this room. But move I do. I walk slowly to Chiron, placing myself between the space of his legs.
Chiron peers up at me, the mischief of his usual smiles has transformed into something else entirely.
“How can I help you, Netta?” He asks quietly, his voice a drawling, silken thing between us. I smile too, knowing. I cannot help myself.
“I would like to pick up where we left things the other night.” Chiron’s hands move to my hips, and I bend toward him slightly. Before our lips so much as touch, a knock resounds through the cabin, and his forehead meets my own. We separate slowly, stiffly. Wren walks to the door. He opens it a hair, not wide enough for a boot to pass through, and speaks in low tones to whoever is calling.
When he closes the door and turns to us, he looks reluctant to speak and disappointed. He holds a small note in his hands, and he places it in mine. I unroll the small parchment, and Chiron reads it aloud:
The Magistrate has received your message and sends an entourage at first light for entrance to Nerine. The city anticipates the Trinity’s arrival.
I sit on the bed.Banked once more, but this time it is not of my own choosing. I look at Chiron wearily. Wren already has one of our bags in his hand, stoic and ever practical.
Chiron gives me an apologetic smile. The heat in his eyes is still there, but he rises from the bed slowly, resigned.
It is late, and we have little time to pack our things if we intend to get any rest before our departure. But before he leaves me, he turns to me and says with so much conviction in his low voice that I cannot even form a reply other than to nod at him.
“When we have you, Vonetta? It will not be in stolen hours. We can have nothing less thaneverything.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Vonetta
The ride to Nerine is slower than all of our travel so far, but the ride is relatively short in comparison. The “entourage” includes several riders to both lead and follow our open carriage. Everything is very stately; from the tall, magnificent beasts that pull us onward to the guards, to the rich cloaks on their shoulders and exquisite blades holstered on their backs.
