This wasn’t how I was supposed to arrive. The plan was to arrive in a carriage, dressed in my finery, with my trunks filled with my favorite things, and my trusted servants and friends. Kier. Bert. Perhaps Della.
Not disheveled and filthy, arriving on foot from the woods and led by a werewolf, with nothing in my name. No trunks. No gold. No books and knick-knacks to make me feel at home in this new place.
Ifhe takes me in.Ifhe still wants to marry me.
Of course he does,I chide myself.You can’t lose your faith in people because of what your family did. Give him a chance.
If he gives you one first. That would be a good sign, right?
Gritting my teeth, I make myself move. “Shall we, then?”
“As you wish,” Valen says, sounding as somber as if he’s heading to a funeral. He’s obviously unhappy with me marrying Lord Eorl. He’s suspicious of him.
It’s not helping my uncertainty. But moving forward is the only way.
We climb down the hill and cross a grove of ash trees. My feet ache, and the cold wind keeps blowing my long hair into my eyes and making me shiver. Valen has released my hand and is walking just a few feet ahead, clearing the path for me.
He’s such a gentleman for a werewolf.
He’s such a perfect man. Such a catch.
Stop thinking like that. He isn’t meant for you.
It hurts.
Stomping against the hard ground sends shocks of pain up my legs, and it helps clear my head. I will do what I came here to do. It will be great. This will be my happy ending. Deviating from my path would never be a good idea. This is my story. I outlined it in my head so many times, pictured scenes and heartwarming moments.
I pictured my wedding. My future children. Cozy days and warm nights. I can’t let this… childish infatuation with a fae take it away from me.
Feeling more level-headed, I follow Valen out of the grove and across more meadows where deer dart through the wreaths of mist. We finally see signs of civilization again—distant farms, enclosures with cattle and horses, the remains of a small cart, cultivated fields, and black apple tree groves. Some trees are familiar from back home, some I’ve never seen before.
Another clue to my cluelessness about the wider world.
By now, Valen seems to have regained his stride, the strange, slow pace he’s kept all day giving way to speed and purpose. Soon enough, the manor rises in the distance, over the low,rolling hills and fields. It’s a huge structure, at least three stories high, with a steep roof and towers at each of its four corners. It’s built of red stone, a splash of crimson and black set against the muted brown and green landscape.
“I can’t believe we’re here,” I say, unable to take my eyes off the manor.
Valen grunts something unintelligible in reply. He’s reverting to his barbarian werewolf ways, I think, and I almost laugh out loud. It’s not funny, though. I don’t want the return of a stressed-out Valen, a Valen in pain, lashing out with teeth and claws, making sarcastic comments full of rage.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it. I focus on my feet, my scuffed shoes covered in mud, the hem of my dress painted in it, until a sound has my head coming up sharply.
“Wait. Do you hear that?” I lift a finger. “Goats bleating. There’s a herd nearby.”
He turns and gives me a flat look. I mean, right. With his enhanced hearing, he probably heard them from miles away.
“It means people are nearby,” I continue lamely.
Feeling ill at ease around Valen is a horrible feeling. He’s made me feel so comfortable these past few days. I’ve never felt as good in my skin as I have with him. Easy in my bones and flesh. Confident in the words I speak and my reactions. I hadn’t realized how restricted I’d always felt before. How ill-fitting. Walking on eggshells, both for myself and for the sake of others, overcautious and knowing I’m always in the wrong, no matter what.
He makes me feel accepted and valued. Makes me feel perfect.
A shade of sorrow passes over me at that realization. The sorrow of a future loss, even if it hasn’t yet come to pass. An anticipated homesickness for a home you have only glimpsed.
Valen feels like home.
It’s a hell of a realization, and I work hard to bury it back where it came from as we make our way in the direction of the noisy goats. I’ve fought so hard not to feel anything for Valen. Now the floodgates are open, and how does one close them again?
A dog is barking, and it suddenly appears, leaping out of the grass and snarling at us. I jerk back with a gasp, and Valen goes very still.
